#wren with a whisk what will he make

[thedragonhermit]

More Person of Interest x Fallout AU!

I said in my previous art post that if I kept thinking about this AU I would post more about it, and guess what, I've been thinking about it :)))) So here's a summary of what I've currently got for it (I say "summary" but this ended up really long oops)

John Reese

His backstory is practically the same as PoI canon except it all happened in the pre-War Fallout universe, with the CIA National Clandestine Service: Special Activities Division under the control of the pre-War Enclave. Him, Staton, and Snow still had their final mission in China, but their infiltration was more high stakes as it was during the Sino-American War.

After surviving the missile strike, Reese manages to return to the States and works to track down Jessica just like in canon, only his search leads him to the community of Sanctuary Hills near Boston. By the time Reese gets there, she's already dead.

He learns her husband Peter abused her/disguised her cause of death as a car accident, and avenges her the night of October 22, 2077 by disposing of Peter. The following morning, Reese, still wallowing in his despair and rage over not being there for Jessica, is still in their house when a representative from Vault-Tec shows up at the door. He ends up answering and is signed up for Vault 111 under Peter Arndt's name.

Just like in Fallout 4, the representative's timing couldn't be more perfect as the bombs start falling not long after. Although Reese is in a state where he wouldn't mind going out with nuclear fire, he's whisked off to Vault 111 with the other residents who've applied, enters just as Boston is hit, is provided a vault suit to change into, and is directed into a "decontamination" pod-- aka a cryopod meant for testing the affects of long term stasis.

Reese doesn't wake up until 210 years later when the Vault's life support systems are beginning to crash, and exits to find a bespectacled man claiming to have just saved his life and somehow knows his name is John Reese; not Peter Arndt as Vault-Tec's records claim. He also manages to convince Reese not to kill him over knowing all this and to instead join the cause he woke him up for.

Harold Finch

A researcher for the Advanced Systems division of the Institute, though oddly not everyone can agree whether he was brought into their fold from the outside, or if he's always been there. Despite being in Advanced Systems, his work is primarily for the Synth Retention Bureau as the sophisticated Machine he built and maintains provides them their mass surveillance of the Commonwealth, while also predicting potential threats and locating runaway synths with incredible accuracy.

Finch is also seemingly the only one in the Institute who has a modicum of sympathy for the "uncouth, unclean, and uneducated" masses above ground, considering he's secretly using his Machine to try and help the people of the Commonwealth-- even if those efforts conflict with the Institute's plans.

He's a very mysterious and private man; the more you learn about him, the less you seem to really know him. Finch will talk about places and factions outside the Commonwealth as if he's seen them with his own eyes/interacted with them himself, and yet will deny having done so. He'll even talk that way about pre-War events, unnerving Reese with implications that Finch is from his time.

The Truth: he was born around 2234 and raised Harold Wren in the Enclave alongside his best friend, Nathan Ingram, with the two building the Machine together at Raven Rock. When their creation (mostly Harold's creation as Nathan would admit) neared it's official completion in 2276, Nathan confided in Harold that he'd overheard the Enclave higher ups' true intent for it-- to merge it's surveillance and predictive capabilities into President Eden; effectively erasing the Machine's emerging identity and just making it a part of the pre-War ZAX unit.

Harold was seemingly unbothered, having suspected this was going to happen and already accepted it, but Nathan was less accepting. Vowing to save the "life" Harold had inadvertently created, he downloaded the Machine's code from Raven Rock's servers and split it between two portable devices -- a modified Pip-Boy and an eyebot -- so he could run away from the Enclave with it. Harold learned of this plan when Nathan gave him one last chance to join him, only for Harold to try and talk him out of it. His friend's mind was stubbornly made up, however.

Harold didn't let Nathan get too far from Raven Rock before finally going after him, unable to abandon (or be abandoned) by his childhood best friend. Nathan was so pleased, he immediately handed over the Pip-Boy, claiming Harold technically held more custody over the Machine, then took a few unfortunate steps right into a hidden landmine.

Harold woke up, head pounding and the back of his neck bleeding, with the eyebot beeping frantically over him. When he sat up, he saw that Nathan was dead and that the Machine was somehow still functioning despite the haphazard way it's code had been cut in half, warning him of imminent danger on the Pip-Boy's screen. The Enclave was already coming after them.

Though it was extremely hard to leave his best friend, let alone how painful it was to move, Harold got to his feet with the eyebot's help and limped to the closest settlement to get quickly patched up before leaving the Capital Wasteland altogether.

He spent the next few years wandering the greater Wasteland with the Machine as his only companion; getting the Enclave off their trail with a convincing dead body double, trying not to attract the attention of the Brotherhood of Steel or more deadly factions like Caesar's Legion, all the while coming to better understand the very thing he'd built.

When Harold learned of the Institute in the Commonwealth, he convinced their Director into letting him join, then uploaded most of the Machine into their servers to hide it from Enclave and BoS searching-- though he kept the most vital code on the eyebot and a back door in his Pip-Boy to shield it from the Institute themselves (all parts of the Machine communicate remotely via an encrypted radio station).

Having seen the greater Wasteland for what it was, Harold gained a sympathy he hadn't been raised with while in the Enclave; a sympathy he could see the Institute also lacked. So he elected to take matters into his own hands and improve it with the Machine. But they couldn't do it alone.

Thankfully, he had happened to read an old, pre-War Enclave record when he was younger about an exceptional agent named John Reese who'd allegedly ended up in Boston despite being pronounced dead on mission in China...

The Machine

Considered a "miracle" as it's the first AI of it's scale to be successfully created post-War.

It's eyebot hides in plain sight among the eyebots that patrol Diamond City when it's not with Finch.

In PoI canon, the Machine provides it's "irrelevant" numbers by listing letters that match up to authors on books in Finch's library, with the dewey decimal system becoming the target's social security number. That system is flipped in this AU; the Machine gives numbers that match up with books in the Boston Public Library (Finch and Reese's hideout, tho I can't decide if they left the super mutants in it to help with their cover lol) that spell out their target's name.

Okay great, they have a name, now how do they track them down without the internet? Well, the Institute with all its surveillance of the Commonwealth has a large database of "persons of interest" that Finch just so happens to be able to access (I think in F4 it's just lists their secret synth agents?? But I feel like they also listed off people they felt may cause issues... idk, if that's not canon, it is canon for this AU!)

There are names they receive that don't appear in that database however, meaning the boys have to track them down the old fashion way-- asking around until someone who knows the target tells them where they are. The Machine will help sometimes by providing a time and place where the target is most likely to appear next.

Obvs the names of every Fallout 4 companion comes up, either their own name or someone related to them. They also get all the names related to F4's main and side quests (as well as some PoI characters like Shaw).

Technically there already is a threat predicting AI in Fallout 4 (Predictive Analytic Machine aka P.A.M.) which the Railroad can gain access to. It's purpose pre-War was to predict when the bombs were going to fall, but it's more like a complex algorithm that requires human input to operate-- whereas the Machine is a proper thinking AI that takes in it's own input via surveillance in order to make it's decisions.

I like the idea of Finch becoming aware of P.A.M.'s existence when the Railroad is suddenly out predicting the Machine, and though the Machine is ultimately capable of out thinking P.A.M., Finch ends up "crippling" the Machine in such a way that it can only out predict P.A.M. so much to allow the Railroad to continue evading the Institute.

Bear/Dogmeat

Instead of finding him at the Red Rocket gas station between Sanctuary and Concord, he's been confined to the life of a Gunners dog. When Reese sees him, he can tell he doesn't like his "owners" considering he's acting stressed and is kept on a leash unlike this gang of Gunners' other dogs. Reese also finds the name "Dogmeat" mean (like how he didn't like canon Bear's former name, Butcher) and that's why he renames him when he frees him from the Gunners.

Bear answers to both Bear and Dogmeat, but Reese is convinced he's happier when called by his new name.

Root

A Wastelander originally from the Texas area named Samantha Groves. When she was very young, her and her mom were picked up by Caesar's Legion and were stuck with them for a time, until a moment for escape opened up. Her mom urged her to run west towards NCR territory, which Root did and allowed her to be rescued by the Followers of the Apocalypse.

Under their care and tutelage, she proved herself naturally talented when it came to computers and started coming into her own as an impressive hacker. She befriended an older girl named Hanna who was also under the FoA's care, but sadly she was abducted and killed by an NCR officer, with Root the only witness.

No one believed her when she said what had happened to Hanna, leading to her taking matters into her own hands and luring a gang of Fiends into killing her friend's murderer before leaving.

For some time after, Root traversed the Wasteland, earning caps mostly by being a shadowy assassin who made use of hacking computers whenever they were available. The further east she traveled, the more she heard rumours about the Institute, peaking her curiosity and leading her to the Commonwealth. Where she eventually learns of the most incredible thing she's ever heard of: a miracle of a god-like Machine watching over everyone in the area...

S2-16 aka Shaw

An elite SRB Courser who was personally trained by Conrad Kellogg (for those who don't know Fallout 4, he's basically Hersh and provided the special combat training used by the Courser synths of the Institute. If Hersh were in this AU, he'd just replace Kellogg, but I've decided to keep Kellogg instead).

Like I said in my art post, her partner M4-39 becomes a bit too infatuated with the Railroad (whom they're supposed to be enemies with) and goes so far as to give himself the name Michael before trying to defect to them. He tries to convince S2-16 to go with him -- who he had started calling Shaw instead of her designation -- but he's ambushed and gunned down by X6-88. Shaw is considered also compromised just by having been his partner, even though she wasn't into the idea of joining the Railroad, but X6-88 doesn't believe her.

Just like in season 2 episode 16 (see where I got her designation from haha), while Reese and Finch are trying to help her out, Shaw gets captured by Root who's wanting more information on the Machine-- though in this AU she's wanting a way into the Institute so she can get at it directly. But the only known way in is via teleportation. Each Courser has a relay chip in their brain that allows them to be teleported back, which Root threatens to cut out of Shaw if she doesn't give her another way in. Shaw's freed before that can happen, but later agrees to Finch's proposition that she have her chip removed (in a safe manner) to prevent the SRB from tracking her down.

The job of a Courser, for those unaware, is to hunt down and bring back escaped synths. In order to ensure they follow through with their orders, they are installed with emotional dampening programming to prevent them from sympathizing with their targets. Although Dr. Amari is able to remove her relay chip, she's unable to remove this programming, leaving Shaw just like she is in canon: mostly devoid of emotion (besides rage).

Free of the Institute, she officially starts going by Shaw in honour of Michael and turns to focusing on tracking down Root (in a toxic yuri way).

Joss Carter and Lionel Fusco

Both were members of Diamond City Security until Carter's display of detective work during one case impressed the Great Green Jewel's only detective, Nick Valentine, so much that he offered her a job as his partner. Ever since, she's worked as a part of the Valentine Detective Agency alongside the old synth sleuth and his assistant, Ellie Perkins.

She's drawn into working with Reese and Finch after Valentine's name is given by the Machine when he's locked up by Skinny Malone in Vault 114.

Although Reese becomes known as "the Man in the Vault Suit," he also becomes a suspect in Valentine's ongoing Mysterious Stranger case, leaving Carter to try and keep him off Reese's trail.

Meanwhile, just like in canon, Fusco is stuck on the opposite side of things as he's a part of this AU's version of HR; a collection of corrupt DCS officers (which is most of them) who work back door deals with Gunners and Raiders for chems and caps, while pulling all sorts of strings in Mayor McDonough's favour.

He's dragged into Reese and Finch's operations when the Machine gives them Piper Wright's name, as HR is obvs not a fan of Diamond City's famous nosey reporter. With Fusco under Reese's thumb, he manages to get HR off her case as best as he can, but it's tricky work with Piper not being one to give up a story that easily, danger be dammed.

A Few PoI Baddies

Speaking of HR, Alonzo Quinn is still it's secret leader, being both an Upper Stands resident and Mayor McDonough's advisor. HR is ultimately in McDonough's pocket and takes a fair amount of commands from him, so long as Quinn agrees to them as well.

Patrick Simmons, HR's second in command, is the head of Diamond City Security instead of just being an officer.

Elias operates out of Goodneighbor and gradually takes control of most of it's gangs, including the Triggermen. He has a deal with Mayor Hancock that allows him to operate on the promise he won't pose a threat to Hancock's rule, though who knows how long that will last. I kinda want to make him a ghoul just for fun... that and/or go really wild and make him the son of Eddie Winters...... idk

Control would be the head of the SRB, potentially having replaced Zimmer after he went off to the Capital Wasteland.

Samaritan would be an Enclave creation, likely built from pieces of the Machine's own code that may have lingered after Nathan and Harold escaped.

Annnnnnnd that's basically the framework of what I've got!

[woemoved]

57.

a mirage of peonies surface in her mind the moment the leather perches atop petite shoulders, not even a morsel of delicacy present in its placement.    nothing but a ' plop. ' there are many of these flowers discernible in her mind,  a throng of colors adorning a verdurous field littered in nothing but peonies.    obviously there is no garden at dellecher that even closely resembles the one she envisions, for their garden is quite paltry by comparison,  but what she imagines is merely the closest she can come to compare now being embraced by their scent.    the impassivity with how it dropped upon her shoulders is what makes it that much better however,  the threads entrenched with their scent coalescing with her own traces of lavender and vanilla.   

legs bent at the knees dangle just off the edge of the dock.   she's far enough from the body seated alongside that they don’t touch if they remain still,  but within close enough proximity where their arms or knees brush if they shift in place.    he is no prince,  no knight in shining armor,  such as those she performs against on stage,  but even still he’d come to her rescue.    when staggering disquietude teetered her on the precipice,  when thieved of control and any sense of safety,  kenneth had been there to whisk her away upon assent.

she smiles into the collar of his jacket,  a shudder rattling up her frame but not from the nippy temperatures still creeping into the emergence of spring.    “  i was thinking,  ”    wren initiates gently,  easily and with a touch of mirth in her tone.    “  there’s quite a lot we haven’t done together.  ”    a lot we don’t know about one another,  which evidently she does not allow herself to state.    she’s learned that with kenneth,  revelation comes by degrees,  comprehension comes with time.    “  considering where we are,  i know that can be difficult.    but  …. how about we do something,  for fun.  ”    eyes veer from the stagnant waters ahead,  braving a peek up in his direction.    “  there's not a single person around to stop us.  ”

gothic horror, dark academia action prompts, accepting.

[spiritusmuses]

Archer chuckled as she said it was a sick joke. "I mean we ended up having sex after Mia kind of how we created Izzy. I think it's pretty normal." He chided a little bit. But he listened for the kids and didn't hear them and figured Wren had whisked them off for a while. "What I'm not into is my wife not looking at me. I am very into you in lingerie on our bed. Though I am not sure how you let Wren convince you into cuffs." He chuckled as he didn't make a move to walk into the room just yet, no he wanted to see his wife squirm. "Baby open those eyes and look at me." He commanded quietly, as he waited to have her eyes on him again. He just wanted to see that desire in her eyes.

Tanya heard the door open, her heart beating out her chest. Why was she nervous? She had slept with Archer probably a million and one times. But it had been over two months since the baby was born, which meant they had gone even longer without sex because they definitely stopped before she went into labor. Would her husband even want her again? Or was he fine not sleeping with her.

She heard his voice and swallowed thickly, looking up at the ceiling because she was too afraid to see his reaction. "Pretty sick joke since she had a baby with her." She teased back at him. Closing her eyes, she hoped he'd notice they were the only ones in the house. "The key is on the nightstand if you're not into this."

[necros-writing-stuff]

Hi what do you think (All Male) Eden, Bailey, and Wren would be like with a sickly, naïve, and frail (Fem) S/O? (And by frail I mean with very little pressure their arm would break) Also if you want you could do A/B/O.

Shout out to anyone with chronic pain, we're the sexiest bitches.

Just a smidge ABO.

NSFW below

Bailey

Finds it annoying. He's busy, he doesn't have time to coddle you.

No he doesn't think you're cute when you look up at him like that, stop it.

He thinks you're fucking adorable.

How have you managed to stay so naive in a town like this? A treasure to be protected, he thinks.

Find you a private doctor, away from Harper. Can't risk you being whisked off to that asylum.

Going to have to work on his temper. Can easily hurt you if he's not careful- even if his anger isn't directed at you.

He could just have a stressful day and grab you by the writ to drag you into his office for some stress relief, and now you're crying.

Pulling you into his lap, kissing your cheek and shushing you as he wipes away tears. Daddy didn't mean to hurt you, it's alright. You're alright. Move your neck to the side so he can't scent you, now, there's a good girl.

Slow, sensual sex where he refuses to break eyecontact and dirty-talks like nothing else.

Cockwarming with his knot inside, kissing over your cheeks and rocking you to sleep stuffed full. So gentle and cute in his arms.

Definitely has a thing for white lingerie.

Eden

Insistent that you only take care of the easy work around the cabin. He'll do all of the hard stuff, you just do what you can and keep them company, that's all he asks.

If you need hospital visits its going to be difficult. Eden doesn't trust the hospital, doesn't want you anywhere near it.

Can be pushed to accompany you to the hospital if your situation is bad enough Eden can't tend to you.

Your naivety worries him. Makes him even more protective because what if someone takes advantage of it?

That first time out in the woods, when he initially kidnaps you? It was the worst. He hurt you so bad, not aware of just how fragile you are.

Tries to be gentle now, but still needs a reminder that his cock is not a jackhammer.

Big on having you sit on his face. Likes how your thighs shake, how he has to hold you up with his strong hands because you nearly collapse on him from the pleasure.

Eden letting you tie his arms to the bedpost so you can ride him without fear of him losing control and hurting you.

Gentle with his mating marks. Starts it off as little nips to his neck, upping the pressure so your body is used to the pain when he sinks his teeth in for real.

Likes you in his shirts. When you're sick in bed, wrapped in his clothes and scent it makes him calm. Even though you may be in pain in that moment, he's here. He's right here to take care of you, you're safe.

Wren

Feels a little bad sometimes, like he's taking advantage of you. You're not fully aware of how far things can go the first time he pulls you into his lap during blackjack, but he loves how flustered and wet you get for him.

Loves how you come back wanting more, despite the risk to your own health.

What if Remy caught you? You couldn't fight them off.

But here you are, letting his fingers rub at your clit while his friends watch, hiding your face behind your cards.

He'll walk you back to the end of the moors if he has to. What if something got you out there and he lost his favourite blackjack buddy?

Chastises his friends if they're rough with you if you go under the table.

Let's you deal with your health problems mostly by yourself. Wren doesn't really know how to help, you've been dealing with it all your life, surely you know best there.

Careful dragging you around when he sabotaged stuff. You sure you don't want to wait at the cottage? It's pretty cold out.

Continues games with his friends when he knots you. You can take a nap, if you want, he's going to be there for a while.

Sleeping with you clothes under his pillow because your scent makes him calm. Definitely wanks off with his nose in your panties, cock leaking on his pillow at the thought of it being you.

[redeemedsoutlaw]

@redeemedqueen

Panic pumped through veins at an accelerated rate due to the overactive thumping heart. Sounds were simultaneously muted and blaring leading to a fog of confusion with every step taken. It had been two hours since Rowan’s mobile device rang. Two hours since he was informed of his daughters whereabouts by a police officer. Two hours since he dialed the number of the nanny only to find out the young woman didn’t realize Wren had wandered off to begin with. In these two hours all Rowan could think of was losing his little girl. Being a single father came with many responsibilities unthought of when the decision had been made years ago. In spite of the turbulence and unstable footing Rowan Oxley wouldn’t go back to change the decision to keep his daughter. Days where fear crept in did come about but never had such dread flooded in.

Limbs quaked with concern, guilt and anger. Concern over Wren’s mental state. Guilt for having a job that often whisked Rowan away for a few days at a time. Anger the nanny hadn’t noticed the child’s absence. Wren hadn’t been a child who demanded attention but her personality made the girl hard to miss. How a person could be so focused on technology they didn’t realize a child was lost was befuddling! Boots scrambled over pavement until coming full stop under a neon sign reading ‘Roni’s’. There was no time to analyze the environment as he rushed inside to find his little girl.

Daddy was called turning full focus to the running three year old. Arms welcomed the small frame with a firm hug evoking shrills of needing to breathe from the child. A quick scan was done of the child’s body as an officer stood beside them. “Can you go sit down for me?” Rowan directed Wren to a set of chairs in line of sight before full attention was given to the officer. It was with many regretful sorry’s and voicing disbelief in the nanny the officer released the girl back into his custody. Details of how they ended up in this bar could be given by the brunette standing just feet away.

It was after the officer of the law left Rowan let words sink in. They were standing in a BAR. Bloody hell! Of all places for Wren to wander it had to be an establishment unsuited for small children. A hand drug down facial features in an attempt to ground oneself. An apology didn’t seem enough to the owner for disrupting a later afternoon of business. Surely seeing a three year old bounding around the bar would turn a few patrons the other direction. Blue eyes searched for anyone who could point him in the direction of the owner. Anxieties rose at the absence of a brunette behind the bar. Thanks could not be given if this person left for the evening. A deflating feeling tugged lips down. This would not be the day to express gratitude and sorrow for his child actions. It was after turning to gain the toddlers attention he noticed the brunette beside her. Had she always been sat there? A pause was taken to admire the woman. She was stunning. This made him chuckle a bit because leave it to Wren to find a beautiful woman forcing Rowan to break through barriers. 

“I take it YOU are the person I should be thanking and apologizing to?” Words were soft and sincere as Rowan reached the table. “I have no idea what came over her. Wren never takes off.” Unless this instance happened before without his knowledge. The thought of this being a repeat situation turned his stomach. “What can I do to make it up to you? Name your price. Anything.” The last word was drawn out in a manner surprising even to him. It almost sounded flirtatious. Rowan had never shied from honest compliments but words never crossed to potential interest until now. For fucks sake he didn’t even know the woman! None the less a small smile remained as a hand was extended. “I’m Rowan. Rowan Oxley father of the year.” Rolling eyes were accompanied by a chuckle. 

​

[joaquinwhorres]

The Fool (Ch. 6) {Fred Weasley x F!OC}

SUMMARY ››››› After getting tangled up with the Weasley Twins during the events of the Quidditch World Cup, Wren Collings’ life takes a turn for the chaotic. It threatens everything she has going for her, but she’s not convinced that’s entirely a bad thing.

PAIRING ››››› Fred Weasley x Female OC

WORD COUNT ››››› 4,589

WARNINGS ››››› There is no depression or mental health issues in this story, but there are mentions of death, violence, abuse, some PTSD, etc. As most of the specific warnings revolve around major plot points or are found throughout most chapters, I’m just going to rate certain chapters on the movie scale. This is chapter PG-13.

A/N ››››› General plea for validation through reblogs and comments.

Series Masterlist | Read on ff.net | Read on AO3

Wren felt sick all morning.

Ever since Fred and George had been escorted off to the Hospital Wing by Lee Jordan, she felt as if her stomach was twisting in on itself. She supposed this was a natural reaction to sending your friends to the Hospital Wing--a theory that was further solidified throughout the day as it seemed like everybody was talking about the failed attempts to enter the Tournament. Fred and George were not the only ones thwarted by the ageline, but their story was by far the most popular throughout the castle. Wren had even heard a group of ghosts gossiping about it, and several portraits had stopped her on her way to the common room to interrogate her about the incident and settle a debate as to whether their beards had gone down to their waist or their ankles.

The Common Room was not much safer in terms of avoiding talk of the Failure. Lee Jordan appeared to be holding court in the corner, recounting the story from his perspective to an enraptured audience, and even up in her room, Wren couldn't seem to get away from the terrible feeling that had made itself right at home in her core. Even her Potions' homework wasn't enough to distract her from the fact that Fred and George still hadn't made their way up to the common room yet, and it was nearing lunch.

Which was why right before noon, Wren found herself hovering outside the Hospital Wing.

It seemed to be busier than normal, which wasn't that much of a surprise, given how many names of unsuccessful entrants Wren'd heard other students throw around. She had to admit though, that she was a bit surprised at how raucous the noise was. Wren edged a bit closer to the open door, one voice rising above the others in an uncanny imitation of an old Scottish woman. "Albus, last year a known murderer and pack of Dementors roamed the school, and the year before that the heir of Slytherin opened the Chamber of Secrets. Perhaps, we could open it up to all students turning 17 this year?"

A slow measured voice responded, "Now, now, Minerva. Dementors and Basilisks are one thing, but a student died over 200 years ago from this Tournament. And even though it's now Ministry sanctioned, and we could potentially make it a tad bit safer, we must remain true to the spirit of the games, and only students who are of age can enter."

"But Albus, a student died--"

Footsteps rounded the corner, and Wren jumped back whirling on the couple who just came down the hallway.

Not a couple.

The bronze haired boy who was smirking as he said something to the girl walking beside him was Simon. He looked up from the blonde, his eyes landing on Wren who was just a step away from entering the Hospital Wing, and surprise quickly overtook his features. Still, he didn't look quite as surprised as Wendy Fairchild did, her cheeks turning a delicate pink.

"Wren?" Simon said, as if he couldn't believe that she was actually there. Then again, she could count the number of times she'd been to the Hospital Wing over the past six years on her fingers, so maybe it wasn't entirely unreasonable for him to be so shocked. Her eyes were drawn once again to Wendy, who suddenly looked very uncomfortable and very trapped. Simon stepped away from the blonde and towards Wren. "Did something happen? Are you alright?"

Her eyes shifted to the Hospital Wing's door, the noise suddenly quelled by the sound of a sharp admonishment. "I had a stomach ache, is all," Wren said, stepping further away from the door.  "Hi Wendy."

"Hi Wren," Wendy greeted, her eyes darting between the couple as the tension between the three thickened. The blonde Ravenclaw licked her lips, her eyes darting for Simon as if he'd provide a way out of the awkward situation but he was focused on Wren, the worry gone from his face, and a cool stoniness taking over in its place. A small sigh escaped Wendy. "Well, I best be going. Thank you again for the help, Simon," she offered a brief strained smile at the couple before hurrying off down the hallway.

Wren looked down at the stones between her and her boyfriend, eyes studying the grooves and dimples.

"I heard about what happened to Fred and George," Simon remarked, and Wren's stomach rolled. Words bubbled up, excuses and explanations and apologies all at the tip of her tongue as she looked up at him, but he continued. "I'm sure you see now why I didn't want you to do it."

Wren flushed and nodded her head, pushing a strand of hair back behind her ear. "Simon I--"

"It's ok, Wren," Simon cut her off, stepping forward and folding her into his arms. "I forgive you." He pulled back slightly, cupping her face in his hand. "At least you realized how foolish it'd be and pulled out."

Wren offered up a shaky smile which dissolved as Simon bent forward and kissed her, before releasing her and wrapping an arm around her shoulders. "Maybe next time, you'll just listen to me."

The sick feeling in her gut was worse, her insides churning in protest even as she kept her lips sealed shut, keeping her confession trapped inside. Simon looked down at her, seeming to note her silence.

He sighed, withdrawing his arm from around her. "You might as well just ask, I know what you're wondering."

Wren's brow furrowed in confusion as she cast him a look. "What I'm wondering?"

"Wren, I'm not stupid. I saw the look you gave me with Wendy, and I see the look you're giving me now. You're easy to read."

Realization dawned on Wren at what he was implying, and she quickly stumbled over her words. "Simon, I--"

"She needed help with her Alchemy work, and that's it. Nothing happened."

"I know--" Wren started again, but Simon cut her off.

"I made one mistake," Simon said. "One. And you and I both know that you're just as responsible for it happening as I am."

Wren looked to the ground, nodding her head. "I know. I…" she trailed off. "You're right. I shouldn't have even wondered. I'm sorry."

Simon sighed, his arm going around her shoulders once more. "I forgive you, I just wish you'd believe me that I love you."

"I do," Wren said, looking up into his face. "I know you love me."

He nodded solemnly. "More than anyone else ever could," he said before pressing his lips to hers and whisking her away to lunch.

Wren spent most of her lunch picking at her food and absentmindedly listening to Alicia's ranting about her parents and their post-Hogwarts desires for her and to Katie's wondering about whether everything Professor Moody did was strictly legal.

If the other girls noticed that Wren hadn't really touched her food or seemed to be preoccupied, they didn't say anything. It's possible a look was shared, but she didn't catch it.

Instead, she sat there distracted until she noticed her dorm mates getting up from the table, and she did the same, leaving behind a half full plate to follow them up to the common room.

There, she lost four games of Exploding Snap in a row, and was in the middle of losing a fifth when Fred and George burst through the portrait hole, announcing their arrival with a chorus of "Heyyyyy".

Wren's head snapped to them, watching as the twins modeled their newly clean-shaven faces, stroking the smooth skin of their chins to a smattering of applause and laughter.

Fred scanned the common room, his eyes locking on hers once he found her. He navigated his way around the couches and chairs to her. "There she is…" Fred said as he approached, and she flinched. Alicia tapped the stack of cards and looked entirely unapologetic as Wren glared at her.

"Cheater."

"Hardly," the other girl returned, twirling her wand between her fingers.

Fred plopped himself next to Wren as George sat next to Alicia, throwing himself into her lap. She shoved him off, and with a dramatic sigh, he switched to laying in Angelina's.

"About time you're back," Angelina said, tugging at George's ear. He winced, swatting her hand away. "How long does it take to fix a couple of beards anyway?"

"Longer when Dumbledore interrogates us for the secrets of our near success," Fred said, catching Wren's startled glance. "Don't worry--we told him we couldn't divulge any information."

"He seemed to understand but mentioned he'd be much obliged if the recipe  should ever end up under his office door," George said with a grin at Wren.

She flushed, shaking her head. "It didn't even work. I mean you two could have ended up--"

"Maybe it didn't work, Fred cut her off. But no one else even made it through the age line. We're the only ones to have crossed it."

"It was a good bit of magic, Wren," George agreed.

"But it just as easily could have landed you in the Hospital Wing for more than a few hours," Wren argued, and the group exchanged looks.

"I thought we'd been over this," George said, sitting himself up. "It was a minor risk, yeah, but we've taken bigger risks with our own testing."

"Besides, I doubt Dumbledore would have put any enchantment on the Goblet that could harm students if the whole point was to keep underage witches and wizards from entering," Angelina reasoned.

Wren wet her lips, turning this over in her mind. She still couldn't help but feel guilty for her failure, but what made her feel even worse was not the fact that she could have hurt Fred and George, but that she was disappointed her potion hadn't succeeded.

"Come on," Fred said, nudging her shoulder with his own. "You've got to admit, it was at least a bit thrilling to give it a go."

The corner of her lips traitorously twitched up. Around her, her friends made sounds of approval, George even reaching forward to shake her leg excitedly.

"He really came to ask you about the potion?" Wren asked, and Fred nodded solemnly.

"Seemed genuinely interested too," George added.

Wren offered a real smile then, and the group seemed to (accurately) take that as an end to the  conversation.

The rest of the afternoon passed happily. George finally ended Alicia's streak in Exploding Snap and Lee came into the Common Room about an hour later and recounted recent would-be entrants' failures for them. Now that Wren wasn't wracked with worry and guilt with Fred and George, she was able to laugh along with the rest of the group, especially over Lee's dramatic impersonation of Milicent Bulstrode breaking down into hysterics over her newfound beard.

By the time it was dinner, the events of the morning felt like they had passed weeks ago, and Wren traipsed down to the Great Hall with the group more than ready for the Halloween feast.

She wasn't, however, ready for the selection of Champions. Her heart stilled for a moment as Cedric's name was pulled from the cup, her eyes skipping over the group of Hufflepuffs shaking his shoulders and cheering, and instead focusing on Nora.

If Wren were in Nora's shoes, she'd be pale. But instead her cousin was alternating between clapping loudly and cupping her hands around her mouth to cheer.

She was only silenced when a fourth name came out of the cup.

In fact, the whole Great Hall went quiet for a beat. And then another one. And then the whispers started, moving through the room like wind rustling through the trees.

"Harry got his name in?" Angelina hissed next to Wren.

"How?" Katie whispered back, her eyes moving to Wren, but Wren was already focused on Harry, whipping his head around with surprise and saying something hushed and quick to his friends. Dumbledore called him up to the front table and her eyes followed his path, a clawing tightness in her chest as she watched him pass behind Fred.

How had he, a fourth year who by all accounts was not the smartest in his year, managed to get across the age line when the combined minds of her, Fred, George, and Lee hadn't managed it?

Her jaw clenched as a hand closed over hers. "Hey," George said, leaning across Angelina to get her attention. "If You-Know-Who wasn't able to kill him as a baby, you won't be able to now, even with that look."

The joke, coupled with Harry's disappearance into the chamber behind the professors' table, drew the small group's attention to Wren.

"I'm not trying to kill him," Wren protested as Dumbledore and other adults disappeared into the back room as well. With the disappearance of those in charge, the hall grew noisy once more, the chatter electric. "I just don't understand how he got in is all."

The look of mild annoyance on Fred's face melted as he took her in. "She's jealous!"

"Am not," Wren huffed.

"Come on, Wren, a win for Harry is a win for Gryffindor," Angelina said, but her smile was a bit tight, and Wren felt a bit embarrassed at being jealous when Angelina, who had legitimately entered, hadn't been chosen.

"And more than that," Fred said, bending his head forward conspiratorially. "It's a reason to party."

By the time Harry Potter, the guest of honor and very reason for the party, arrived at the Gryffindor common room, the party was in full swing. Students had come together to lay out a solid stash of snacks on a few tables, and Fred and George had procured a few cases of Butterbeer in a suspicious amount of time. This of course meant that everyone was almost vibrating with excitement to greet Harry. Indeed, all of Wren's friends left her the moment he came through the portrait hole to bombard him with well wishes and questions.

Wren, for her part, hung back with Alicia, making her way through a bag of crisps while staring warily at Harry. "Reckon he'll tell anyone how he did it?" Wren asked as Alicia took a long sip from her butterbeer.

"Harry?" Alicia asked, her voice a bit raw from the carbonation. "Probably not. He's rather tight-lipped. It'd be easier to get it out of Ron."

Wren nodded, scanning the room for the twins' younger brother. As her gaze skipped from redhead to redhead, none of them belonged to Harry's best friend. "Where is Ron?"

"This is really bothering you, huh," Alicia asked, her expression sympathetic. "I know you wanted it to work, but honestly Wren, it was always a long shot. The twins knew that."

Wren had no intention of trying to get Ron Weasley to tell her how Harry entered, but she would have been lying if she dismissed Alicia's claim outright.

She had known it'd been a long shot too. She always had a healthy dose of skepticism throughout the endeavor.

But she couldn't get rid of the small, irritating feeling of disappointment that scratched at the back of her mind.

She doubted Dumbledore would want her potion recipe now that someone had had an actually successful workaround.

"Why the long face?" Fred asked, walking back up with George. Over their shoulders, Wren could see Lee tying the Gryffindor banner around Harry's shoulders.

The two followed her gaze and Fred snorted. "Still on about that, then?"

"No," Wren said petulantly. The twins exchanged a knowing look, and she scowled, swatting at them. "I'm not!"

Fred's eyes darted over her shoulder, and she whipped around to catch Alicia mid-nod before pretending she was sipping from her drink.

"I'm not!"

Fred and George exchanged another look, although this one seemed to be more of a conversation between two pairs of eyebrows than just a look.

"Alicia, we're stealing Wren," Fred announced, wrapping an arm around Wren's shoulders and guiding her forward before Alicia could even respond to the statement. George trailed after the two of them, the group stopping in a relatively quiet nook of the common room, away from the thick of the party.

"It has recently come to our attention that you, Wren Collings, are a natural born inventor."

Wren quirked an eyebrow, staring dubiously back at Fred. "What?"

"You're upset that you didn't find the solution to the age line and Harry did," George filled in.

"Plus, you greatly enjoyed the plotting involved in making our potion," Fred nodded.

"So we were talking…" George started

"And we think you'd be an excellent addition to the Weasley Wizard Wheezes product development team," Fred finished with a smile.

"The what?"

"Fred and I have always dreamed of opening a joke shop. We've been working on a few products over the summer," George explained.

"Fake wands."

"Tom-tongue toffees."

"Trick quills."

"And we think that your mind and potions and Herbology expertise would help us with our next  venture," Fred said.

"Your next venture?" Wren repeated.

"Puking pastilles," the twins chorused with a nod.

"Puking pastilles." What they were proposing was so ridiculous, Wren wasn't able to come up with a coherent original thought. Instead she was turning the idea over in her mind--product development with the Weasley twins. It was true she'd enjoyed developing the aging potion with them, but that had been a one time thing. A deal. And even then it hadn't worked. Now they wanted her to come up with entirely original recipes for members of the public to eventually consume? She could poison all of London. Or worse, she could--

"You're spiraling," Fred said matter of factly. "I can see it right here," he said, poking at the crease between her eyebrows, and Wren slapped his hand away. He grinned at her. "Come on Wren, this is an exciting new venture. Nothing to get too in your head about at this stage."

"I just don't think I--"

"If this is going to be another self-deprecating statement, I should warn you. You're wasting your breath," George interrupted, holding up a hand.

"We happen to think you are nothing short of a genius, and there isn't anything you can say to convince us otherwise," Fred added.

Wren blinked at them. "I--" they cast her reproachful looks and she switched directions. "Thank you."

Fred smiled. "I'm going to take that as confirmation that you're in."

Wren shook her head, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear. It would be easy to tell them no. To stick to the plan of just studying for her classes and spending free moments trying to track down Simon. But she didn't want to.

"Yeah," Wren said with a tentative smile. "I'm in."

While working with Fred and George on the creation of puking pastilles was fun and often led to Wren laughing so hard her sides hurt, it was still, at its core, work . She was fairly certain she had never used her brain so much. Not even for NEWT-level Potions or Transfiguration.

Still, there were far worse uses of her time than being tucked away in the common room or a corner of the library, drawing up plans and theories with Fred and George and sometimes Lee.

"I need a break," Wren announced, placing her book on top of the stack they had pulled.

"Breaks are for the faint of heart," George said automatically, not even bothering to look up from his reading. It had been the line the three used to keep each other on track.

"I fear I'm going into heart failure," Wren answered, dramatically, dropping in her chair. "If I have to read another line about common Italian plants' side effects, I think my heart will finally give out."

"Alright Georgie, I think a break's in order. We don't want poor Wren's heart to explode," Fred said, snapping his book shut.

"So when Wren's going through heart failure, we get a break, but when I'm dying of boredom, you just eulogize me."

"That's about the size of things," Fred nodded, and George grinned, shutting his book and looking over at the two. He opened his mouth to say something, but before he had the chance, a look of curious confusion crossed his face.

"Hullo," he greeted, and Wren turned to see Simon walking towards the group.

"Hi, love," Wren smiled up at Simon. His bronze hair curled above his eyes, and she reached out a hand for him. He shot a quick look at her and then at the Weasley twins, keeping his hands firmly in his pockets. Wren curled her hand back in, resting it on her shoulder as if that was what she intended to do. "What are you doing here?"

"Searching for my girlfriend," Simon offered a small smile. "Have you seen her?

"Simon," Wren laughed lightly as Fred and George exchanged mortified looks at the excuse of a joke.

"Oh! I hardly recognized you. Haven't seen you in ages."

"Ha ha, very funny," Wren smiled and let out an exhale as if he was joking, but he had that look in his eyes that she knew too well. He turned to Fred and George.

"So you're the reason my girlfriend's gone missing."

"What can I say, our presence is a delight." It wasn't the tone of Fred's voice as much as the look of George's face that made her stomach drop.

"Thank you for sharing Wren with us," George stepped in. "Must be hard to let this one go."

"Indeed," he swiveled to Wren. "Speaking of which, have a second?" Simon asked, flashing a seemingly charming smile. Wren looked up at him, and a flash of fear, which she hoped was unnoticeable, crossed her face. She slowly nodded.

"For you? Always," she said, standing up to follow him. Had he heard about George? What did he want? She had heard that tone of voice before, and it never ended well. She followed him a couple of rows over so that it was deserted and nobody would hear them.

"I didn't realize you three were so close," he commented, his voice still friendly, but in the dangerous phase. If Wren thought that her research was going to give her heart failure, she was certain that this conversation might give her a heart attack. It pounded away in her chest, as she racked her brain for an explanation. She had a feeling after Simon's reaction to the aging potion that he wouldn't particularly care for the truth.

"We're not that close," Wren dismissed. "We've just been studying together this year, is all. They're a whiz at Charms, and honestly this NEWT schedule is keeping me so busy--"

"Wren," Simon stopped her. "Don't insult my intelligence."

"What?"

"You're lying. I can see it all over you. What are you really up to with them?"

"What am I really up to?" Wren repeated, her heart beating faster. "Studying. Simon, where is this coming from? Why are you upset?"

"Why am I upset?" Simon asked. "After how you acted when you saw me walking down the hall with Wendy? I should have seen that you were projecting--accusing me of cheating while you're off spending your  afternoon in a dark corner of the library with the Weasley twins!"

"Simon, it's not like that. You've just been busy and I—" Wren started to argue, jerking away and shutting her mouth quickly as Simon shoved a finger in her face.

"Do not turn this into my fault."

"It's nobody's fault. There's nothing wrong here!" Wren began to grow hysterical. "You're reading into things that aren't there."

"So I'm crazy?" He dropped his hand, but moved closer to her, and she took a half step back.

"No, of course not," Wren held her temples "I just--there's no reason to be upset. I would never choose them over you. I-I'll go tell them I have to go. We can go to the courtyard, or wherever you want. "

"Don't even bother. I don't want to be your pity pick. Just go back to them," Simon scoffed, shaking his head. "At this point, I'm used to being left behind. Makes sense you'd do it too."

"Simon, I'll come with you. Just let me get my stuff. Please--" Wren reached forward grabbing his arm, and he snatched it away from her, sending her toppling into a bookshelf. A few books came loose, tumbling to the floor in a messy pile.

"You always do this," Simon's lip curled. "Make a mess of everything. I wonder if your precious twins will put up with half the things I do." Wren watched him leave, trying to blink back the tears forming in her eyes. He was right. She did always make a mess of things. She knew what she should have done--what she should have said. She should have packed up as soon as he came over. She should have told the twins she'd see them in class and told him she had more than a second--she had hours for him. She shouldn't have argued.

Wren wiped away a few tears as she bent down to begin picking up the books and finding their proper places. Footsteps approached the end of the aisle, and her head snapped, hoping Simon had come back.

"Everything ok?" Fred asked, standing at the end of the aisle where Simon had been moments before. Wren quickly glanced back at the book she was shoving into the shelf, as if that would hide her splotchy red face.

"Fine," her voice came out high and not quite as lighthearted as she'd hoped.

"And that's why you've decided to take up a part time job as a librarian?"

She let out a sigh that could maybe possibly be construed as a laugh. "No, I just--um--we stumbled into the books." She hoped that would explain the red face if not for Simon's conspicuous absence.

"Ah," Fred nodded, and she could hear the disbelief in his voice. "And where is the other half then?"

“He…he had to run off. Prefect duties. I told him I'd handle it.”

Fred's eyes rested on her, as she picked up another book and shoved it between two other ones, not able to even concentrate on making sure they were in alphabetical order. She couldn't understand why Fred had taken it upon himself to interrogate her. He was silent even as she picked up another book, as if for once he were carefully choosing his words.

"Must've run off pretty quick. I came as soon as I heard the books."

It was Wren's turn to furrow her brow at him. "Why?"

“What happened here?” George appeared over Fred's shoulder, stopping him from continuing the sentence.

“Simon couldn’t keep his hands off Wren,” Fred said to George. Wren flushed from the choice of words.

George wiggled his eyebrows at Wren. “Kinky.”

She turned redder if possible and Fred’s jaw ticked.

“Need a hand?”

Despite the fact that George asked the question, Wren looked at Fred. “That would be lovely.”

George moved around Fred and picked up the last few books, sliding them onto the shelf.

“Thanks, George,” Wren smiled. He reached over and squeezed her hand. His brow furrowed slightly. Wren looked over his shoulder at Fred who caught her eye before turning and heading back towards their seats. She looked back at George and offered a tight smile, standing up. "Let's go back to take our break."

[primasveraas-writing]

And In Darkness, I Stand- Chapter 2

Kallus' leg is never quite the same after Bahryn. But then again, neither is he.

1 2 3 4 5

2. The Relentless / The Chimera

The weakness does fade.

The next day is better, if only for the bacta and the pain meds. No one asks him about his unfortunate detour- not that his inferiors would dare, nor would his superiors deign themselves to care- so he writes his report on the incident, omitting all details regarding Garazeb Orrelios, and files the matter away.

Kallus doesn’t limp. There’s no need for that anymore, not when he can stifle or otherwise ignore the discomfort. He’s sitting most of the day anyway, his hours spent planning a new angle of attack to capture the Ghost crew. He skips lunch to avoid the trek down to the mess hall and more pain with it. If this is the cost he pays for a show of strength, then so be it.

It’s been a very long time since he’s felt so weak, he thinks, vaguely dazed, as the day creeps into the afternoon. He’s lightheaded and probably dehydrated at that.

Kallus sighs, tossing the datapad back on his desk. He’s behind on his work. Between the Lothal rebels and the other insurgent cells that keep cropping up, he’s been stretched thin.

That’s unfamiliar, too. He’s not used to losing.

But here he is. For the first time in years, he’s sitting at his desk, weak, injured, struggling to keep up with a group of pesky rebels that should have been eliminated years ago.

And that’s the icing on the stupid cake: it’s been a small eternity since he’s bent the rules. Kallus lied on a report- he lied about saving a rebel.

He groans, burying his face in his hands. Two rotations ago, if Kallus had discovered one of his subordinates doing the same, he would have recommended them tried and executed for treason.

He’s earned that much, in all likelihood. It would make things simpler. The action and the consequence swiftly following, rather than skirting around reality in a desperate attempt to save his own skin.

That’s not what occurred yesterday. Yesterday, he saved Zeb when he didn’t have to. Yesterday, Zeb did the same for him- literally carried him out of harm’s way- and offered to spare Kallus once more after that.

If he had taken him up on the deal, Kallus would probably be more comfortable, he realizes with a snort. The rebels have next to nothing, and they’d still take care of his wound.

Yet here he is- a top agent of the Empire, with resources worth trillions of credits at his disposal- and he’s sitting alone in his office with a growling stomach and a broken leg.

The line of thought is dangerous and foolish. It’s the kind of thinking that could get him killed. In fact- he has killed over messaging like that. The first indication of rebellion is questioning the might of the Empire, so they cull the curious and loud. Nip it in the bud, so to say, before the spark can catch flame.

Damn. Kallus has half a mind to turn himself in. But in the past 48 hours, he doesn’t know who he’s more culpable to- the rebels or the Empire.

It is, above all else, highly doubtful that any of these wonderings are markers of a good ISB agent. It’s stupid, for one. He should have killed Zeb the moment he made it to safety on Bahryn. Failing that, he should have turned himself in and begged for forgiveness, kissed Konstantine’s boots and sworn allegiance to the Emperor over and over.

It’s unlikely that sniveling would have worked, even if it is one of Kallus’ finely developed skills. No, it was over the moment he decided not to shoot Zeb.

So he has a choice- turn himself in and be jailed or exiled, at best, or move past what happened and reprove his faithfulness to the Empire. Own up to his actions or reach his full potential under the Empire, save for one little hiccup.

The latter seems the obvious choice. But Kallus still remembers the chill of the ice moon, the agony of waiting for the Empire to rescue him, his sole relief the Lasat next to him-

No.

Today, he serves the Empire. Kallus is sure he will not be caught in fudging the report. He’s one of the best, after all, and there’s no evidence to damn him unless he or Garazeb Orrelios decide to confess the acts of their mercy to the Empire.

It’s odd, then. Kallus is ISB, an Imperial agent. He deals in secrets and lies, so he should be accustomed to circumstances such as these.

But never before has he kept a secret with a rebel. He and Zeb are the only two people in the galaxy who know what really happened.

Zeb is the only person in the galaxy who has witnessed Kallus’ mercy.

And thus that is another thing he shares with Garazeb Orrelios. These secrets, a day together in the snow, memories of a burning planet, and a life debt formed around a tenderly bandaged leg.

It feels too significant to dismiss as an anomaly.

-

Kallus’ fist collides with the training dummy once more, a satisfying whack! splitting through the air.

His muscles ache, from his bad leg to his abdomen and back. One fall and he’s disrupted his whole body.

His spine, in particular, throbs. The limping, as infrequent as it now is, has shifted his weight and alignment. It hurts, yet he trains and pushes, a relentless wave crashing against an unyielding seawall.

Kallus knows what his body is capable of. He knows his limits, and he knows how to expand them. He knows what he should be able to achieve.

He throws his whole body into the next punch, and loses his balance. He pivots forward, twisting on his injured leg, and pain shoots through him, spiking white-hot through his every nerve. In a desperate attempt to save himself, he sticks his hands out in front of him, but his momentum is too great, and he crashes to the floor anyways, the world spinning, he nauseous and bruised.

The training mat smells of sweat and rubber. It’s disgusting, yet Kallus is so disoriented that the stench is the first thing that makes sense, that grounds him through the vertigo and agony.

Childishly, foolishly, he wants to cry. Tears prick at the corners of his eyes, burning, and Kallus raises himself up slowly, shifting so his leg is kept off the ground. He ends up on the floor before the dummy, half stuck, half afraid of the hurt that will follow when he stands.

Even he will accept that he cannot train any more today. So Kallus picks himself off the floor, painstakingly and gingerly, then unwraps his knuckles and wipes the sweat from his brow. He closes his uniform over his undershirt, and retreats to his room to lick his wound.

He’s still weak. Bahryn fractured him, and it’s doubtful that he’ll ever be at full capacity again. His strongest days are past him and he never even realized this fact to enjoy them while they lasted.

This misery is nearly enough to occupy him as he showers and changes. His weakness is troubling, unfortunate, damning. His career could be in jeopardy, should the injury get any worse, and he cannot think of a day that the leg hasn’t bothered him in all the time that has passed since Bahryn.

But it does not suffice. The pain, the threat to his livelihood, the sudden onset of his physical decline- it is not enough to distract him from the thought that whisked him away to training in the first place.

Tell Garazeb Orrelios we’re even.

So the debt is paid. Is that it? Is it over? Has he recompensed to the rebels, at least for that one day? He owes Garazeb nothing, not anymore. He owes the Empire his own life for his treason, for breaking the promises that founded all purpose in his life.

If he thinks about it, he still owes the rebels. He’s saved one of them, once, and one of them spared him, once. But what does he owe to them for all the years spent chasing them across the galaxy, for the torture and death he’s inflicted upon them?

It’s his life’s work, to have done so.

They don’t deserve it.

The realization sends a jolt of shock through him. Kallus sits up in bed, clutching at the sheets with a frantic grasp. He feels short of breath because-

It’s never been about deserve. It’s never been about compassion or mercy, or secrets, or care. The Empire is founded on and fueled by control, by order, by power.

Bahryn stripped him of all of these things. He was helpless, lost, totally dependent on Zeb to survive. Each breath of air on that accursed moon was attributed to another, and Zeb granted them all to Kallus without a second thought.

What is the reward for doing the same?

What does he owe for this debt that can never truly be repaid? Because he has deprived the rebels of so much, for so long. Even he, who has finessed the system and risen to the top, now suffers, alone and miserable.

Few others have had the luxury of mercy and kindness under the rule of the Empire. There are not enough insurgents to compensate for all that the Empire has done.

He could change this fact.

-

The discomfort and weakness become normal in due time. It is no longer a conscious effort to hide what remains of the limp, nor does he rely on a generous dose of medication to get through the day.

Kallus has healed. He has changed, too.

What started on Bahryn and continued with Sabine Wren has blossomed into something larger entirely. Kallus is no longer a mere Imperial officer. He is Fulcrum. He is caught between both sides of the war and has taken a page out of Garazeb Orrelios’ book- he has chosen mercy, to save rebel lives because they do not deserve to suffer under Imperial rule and at his own hand, not anymore.

He is still responsible for a great many deaths, now rebel and Imperial alike. If the whole galaxy were to know his sins, there would likely be very few beings who would agree that Kallus doesn’t deserve harsh consequences for his actions.

But he does sleep better at night now. Kallus plans to repent every day for the rest of his life, however short or long that might be.

He doesn’t know why he does it. To help a desperate rebellion and hinder a cruel Empire, yes, but beyond these satisfactions, he stands nothing to gain.

That is perhaps the starkest difference between the two groups. In the Empire, he works only for himself, a cog competing against other worthless mechanisms so that he may benefit, so that his superiors may benefit, so that the ringleaders of the whole operation may finally see an entire galaxy within their grasp. The rebellion consists of a ragtag group of misfits, fighting for what remains of their families and freedoms.

Kallus is doing it for them. To dedicate his life to those he has hurt before may grant him some peace. He’s a fraction of a step closer to being able to live with himself, at any rate.

Today, he is up at the crack of dawn, a habit he shares with the commander of his most recent station- Thrawn. Except, while the Chiss rises early to develop strategy or train, Kallus is gathering intel to send to rebel sources.

He’s sitting on the floor of his small room, back aching from hunching over the datapad and encryptor, his legs stretched before him, mostly bare, as he hasn’t bothered to shave or dress yet. The ground is cold, yet it keeps the edging tiredness at bay, a sharpness that eliminates the heaviness pulling his eyes closed.

Kallus shifts again, then freezes.

His right leg is straightened before him- he knows this because the muscles are strained, stretched too far, yet the leg is bent slightly to the side. There’s a patch of skin just below his knee that is discolored and rippled, a bump indicating where the bone below was broken.

That’s wrong. He hasn’t noticed the abnormality ever before, but there’s only one reasonable explanation for it.

He’s unhealed, after all.

It is no matter. He’s already in an incredibly vulnerable position, and he has nothing else to lose. If the faulty leg serves him until he is caught or dead, then there is no need to concern himself with the issue.

-

Most days, he does not wake up in pain.

Instead, any discomfort builds over the course of the day. Kallus wakes and goes about his morning with no hindrance. At midday, he might notice a twinge if he stretches and moves about, but he is not truly bothered until late in the evening, when he has trained or ran or spent more than an hour standing. It is something he can survive, provided it does not get worse.

Today, Kallus wakes up in pain.

He’s awoken before his alarm goes off, which is not atypical, but Kallus realizes almost instantly that his sleep was disturbed because of his leg, which feels like lead, burning where it attaches to his hip. He gasps aloud in the security of his quarters, waiting for the agony to cease.

It does not, ten, then twenty minutes later. He throws his pillow at the chrono beeping at him incessantly to get up, then swears under his breath and hops on one leg across the room, slamming the button on the chrono to make it stop, then stumbling into the refresher to gulp down whatever medications he has saved.

They will not act fast enough, nor are they powerful enough to truly solve the problem. But Kallus dresses, every muscle in his body tense, and he gets to work.

The Empire still lies in wait, led by Thrawn as he develops the appropriate strategy to eliminate the rebels. Kallus is grateful for the moderate respite from action, though it comes at the cost of working closely with the Admiral day in and day out. Thrawn is unnerving, not just to his enemies, but to all in his proximity. Kallus will be uncomfortable in all meanings of the word today.

And as expected, when Thrawn arrives to Kallus’ office, the pain has only doubled. Sitting does not alleviate it, and standing makes it worse. Focusing is a herculean task, and behaving normally is no more easily accomplished.

Thrawn’s presence demands these things in perfect condition. Kallus stands to greet the Admiral, offering a small nod in greeting, then Thrawn opens a map of Lothal in the middle of the room, gesturing to the places of interest. He knows the planet well, his experience aiding Thrawn’s careful study. The discussion is frank and swift, and it should be easy to follow.

Kallus’ leg is on fire. It is the worst pain he’s ever been in, rivaling the initial break and spreading through his body, which is rigid and tense and out of his control. He concentrates on standing still, on not letting his mask of neutrality slip, and it’s then he realizes Thrawn is looking at him.

“Agent Kallus.” He hates the red eyes watching him so closely, he hates them. “Are you quite well?”

“Of course, Admiral.” Kallus is a good liar, above all else. He wants to scream out loud, collapse to the floor sobbing and pounding his fists.

“Ah.” Thrawn appraises him a moment longer, then turns back to the detailed chart, his smooth voice returning to its drone about Lothal’s power supplies. Kallus’ vision is blurry at the edges, and he cannot read the inscriptions on the holo three feet away from him. The colors seem wrong and the buildings are colliding, and Thrawn’s words slip away into nothing, nothing, until they form an ungraceful, wavering song. White creeps into his sight, threatening to overtake the black of his office, and he thinks he is going to die like this, standing on a leg that should have healed months ago.

He becomes aware that Thrawn has stopped talking.

Kallus must reply- the fog clouding his brain is too thick, he doesn’t understand what’s been asked of him, and he is hopelessly lost with no way to return.

He bites down on his tongue, hard. The new pain is sharp, thick and stinging. His brain reels at the sensation, but he doesn’t gasp, blinking once to clear his eyes of tears, and with the motion, his vision returns. Thrawn his standing with his back to Kallus, hands clasped neatly behind him. The pause is too comfortable for any question to have been posed, and Thrawn has been particularly punctual today, so perhaps he has not bothered with a loaded question that the Admiral already knows the answer to. Kallus decides to weigh his bets by maintaining the silence as he tries to remember the last of Thrawn’s words that he was able to understand.

There is still a rushing in his ears, the white noise overpowering all else; Kallus bites down harder, and the galaxy bursts with sound once more.

“....but I am confident that this strategy will succeed, once the laborers are under control. Do you agree, Agent Kallus?”

“Yes.” He’s too strangled; he clears his throat and straightens, a fresh spike of agony emanating from his leg as it bears more of his weight. “Handling the working class is the first step towards uniting the people under Imperial rule.”

“Good.” The Admiral must really be as close as he can get to approval, because he does not turn around to stare at Kallus again. “I expect we will be discussing this matter further at a later date.”

“Yes, sir.”

Thrawn bows his head in acknowledgment, and Kallus does the same. The urge to yell returns again as Thrawn exits the room, his pace terribly slow and measured. Kallus is sure he is shaking; his clenched fists are no longer enough to disguise this fact, but the door hisses open, then closed again, and Kallus is alone-

His muscles give out all at once, and he collapses to the floor in a heap, limbs convulsing and his entire body trembling. Kallus’ breath is ragged and uneven, and he only realizes he is crying when he feels the wet heat on his face.

His leg is a horrible mix of utter numbness and stabbing pain. Kallus attempts to right himself, but every small movement only brings more agony. The world is lost to him, but he inhales. Exhales. Breathes.

Taste is the first thing to return to him. In his mouth, thick and warm, he recognizes the copper of blood, gushing from the hole torn in his tongue.

[oflightfeet]

with. – @ginnyren where. – a subway train. when. – february 25, mid day.

People watching is a perfect activity for someone like Wren Lightfoot. With their daily commute in public transport averaging at two hours a day, there’s plenty of time to do so. But it’s their observant and escapist nature, most of all, that makes it so appealing for them to simply look. With one of his favourite Massive Attack songs playing over their headphones, they slip into a subway compartment, letting out a breath of relief at the relative emptiness of it. Settling on a seat, eyes travel to find a subject of their escapist tendency to look at a stranger and try and invent a story around them entirely. He had been called a dreamy child by teachers in Spennymoor, and it seems to be a characteristic that they haven’t shaken since.

Their gaze falls on a figure that feels familiar, though Wren isn’t sure where they seem to recognise the other from. It’s like an itch on their back they can barely reach, eyes boring into a woman with a face framed with bangs. Someone from university, perhaps, or maybe just someone who tends to take the same commute? No, it’s not that — they’re staring now, and suddenly the other is staring back and Wren does not avert their gaze. Their mind is a maze now and they turn corner after corner, feeling like this person is like a puzzle to solve.

Ginny. Ginny Ren. The name falls through their head, tumbling from old memories and falling right in their lap. Early childhood in Spennymoor, the school they attended where they had had two friends: Jim and Ginny. Ginny, whose surname sounded so much like his first name, who had not minded how quiet Wren tended to be. Ginny, who was just another person that disappeared from their life after their father died and they were whisked away by the foster system, not daring to look back to their past life in fear of it breaking up their entire skin.

There is a moment of hesitation, and then Wren pulls down their headphones and gets up, shouldering their backpack and approaching this ghost from the past. “Ginny?” The name feels familiar in their mouth even if it has not been spoken in at least a decade. For a moment, Wren fears that they’re wrong, that they’re projecting their nostalgia on a total stranger, but there’s recognition in the other’s face too. “Ginny, what the fuck, you’re in London? It’s Wren, from St Charles, do you remember?”

[trans-clark]

Seeds Demo Album Track Breakdown (based on v12 of the script)

tw bullying, violence, unreality, drugs, hospitals, murder (and possibly others)

I’m going to try to keep spoilers to a minimum, but there might be some, especially towards the second half.

Prologue (Jane)

We are introduced to the institution of Sunny Hills (SH) and the protagonist, Jane, who gets locked in her room nightly. She’s different than the rest of the kids. She isn’t quite as affected by the drugs as the others.

This Evening’s Entertainment / Never Get Out of Sunny Hills

Chlorine/Christine, Sara/Buttons, and Analiese, the SH resident bullies, read out the other kids’ letters from home. Chlo’s hope is that the letters contain a clue as to how to get out. When there’s nothing there, she gets pissed off. Jane consistently doesn’t get a letter, and Chlo & Co. take the opportunity to bully her for it. This leads to a fight

Hate is the Product of Longing

A new kid (Alestair) arrives at SH. Chlo gives him a concoction of meds and the contents of a bottle labeled ‘bleach’ to ‘keep him quiet.’ Jane starts talking about her memories of trees, which no one else remembers. When Chlo calls her a liar, Jane gets violent and starts beating the shit out of her. Dr. Jimmy (the one in charge of SH) shows up and Jane is whisked away by the Nurses.

Some Days are Better than Others (Underscore)

Jane is locked in her room. This is all I know...

Things Left Behind

Jane is furiously drawing and sticking them all up on the walls of her room. Alestair, who has the room next door, talks to Jane through a crack in the wall. Hank, the janitor, watches the two from the hall.

The Wonderful World of Science

Jane is taken to Dr. Jimmy’s lab for another round of questioning and tests. He has a very strong desire to figure out what makes her tick (for science obvs. clearly no ulterior motives here /s). 

The Ballad of Hook Hand Hank

Chlo is convinced that Hank knows how to get out of SH and she and her squad regularly press him for information, no matter how many times he tells them he doesn’t know. In retaliation, they spread a story that Hank brutally murdered his family. 

Love is the Product of Longing

Hank visits Jane in her room and tries to talk to her. She’s resistant and guarded, but he persists and gives her a hint as to how to escape. As he leaves, Alestair rolls into his room. He and Jane get to talking and she starts saying things she remembers so she doesn’t forget them.

Butterflies are the Product of Love

Elsewhere, Sara is high key gushing to Analiese about her feelings for Alestair. She begs Analiese not to tell Chlo. 

One Big Thing

Alestair visits Jane, who has been locked in Dr Jimmy’s lab for a while after a massive incident with Chlo & Co. 

One Way to Go

A chunk of time passes, and Jane is still in the lab. Hank rolls in and takes her back to her room. Jane has a RealizationTM about her drawings.

Alestair, You in There?

Jane goes to find Alestair, and she apologizes and gives him a drawing of him out of his chair.

We Can Make the Change / Life is an Ocean

Jane and Alestair break the news to the others and try to convince them to work with them to find a way out. Chlo is resistant, even though her squad has sided with Jane. Chlo pushes Jane through a window.

Analiese’s Ocean

Analiese watches as the Nurses control the children, taking them away from the window.

Wingless Wren

Outside of the window, Jane wanders alone in a limbo-like Darkness. The Nurses watch her.

Life is an Ocean (Reprise)

Having found the way out, Jane makes the choice to return to SH to rescue the other kids and lead them out. She frees the kids and leads them to the door. As they leave, they are pursued by Dr. Jimmy and the Nurse. Jane tells the others to go on, and she goes back for Dr. Jimmy.

Where are You, My Long Lost Love?

Dr. Jimmy changes in to just Mr. Jimmy and reminisces on his time before being stuck in the existence that is whatever realm he created SH in. 

Weeds

The kids reach the portal out and each make a choice to stay or go.

[calico-kiwi]

making my cousins macarons for their bdays (+ one is going away to college) (some of them are ghosts cause i wanted to experiment and practice for halloween)

[one-leaf-grimoire]

“illusion”

Chapter 12

Finally, another chapter!!!! I think you will enjoy this one 0.0

Warning: VERY SEXY CHAPTER. ORAL SEX. :)))

I've never slept a whole night with someone before. Lawrence never stays after he's gotten what he wants, leaving me alone to curl up in my misery. Of course, Alice and I have had sleepovers where we shared the bed, but not like... this. When I open my eyes the next morning, stirred by the singing of the earliest bird outside, it takes me a moment to remember why someone's arms are wrapped around me so tight, their legs tangled with mine, and their face buried into the back of my head. Once the memory fades into my drowsy mind, I can't help but smile.

Because, despite how I arguably embarrassed myself last night, Julius is still here, holding me tight as he snores away.

None of it really makes sense, at least not yet. To be perfectly honest, I didn't know Julius would actually... feel something for me. The most I was hoping for was a one-night-stand, fueled by that fleeting moment of hunger in the hallway. The way he looked at me then, I knew I could get at least that much. I didn't expect him to grab hold and not let go, to show genuine interest in me, not just my body. It's foreign... something Lawrence never wanted to give me. Yeah, he would hold my hand, he would fuck me, but he wouldn't cuddle me at all, much less like this. 

Part of me warns against hope. But everything else is telling me to hold on tight myself.

Despite the warm feelings that flood my chest at the thought, I can't just hang around here forever. I crane my neck (pretty difficult in this position) and see that it's nearly 7 am on the clock. Breakfast is at 7:30, so people will be walking around the base soon. I can't be seen coming out of Julius's room in just my nightgown! If someone sees me, they'll talk, and before I know it, Lawrence is going to be knocking at the door demanding an explanation! UGh- There's nothing more I want to do than snuggle back next to Julius and sleep the day away, but it's too risky. With a heavy heart, I start to try and remove myself from him.

Emphasis on "try." The moment I move, Julius's grip tightens and he silently curls up around me. It's almost suffocating at this point, like some snake wrapped around its prey! "Uh- Julius- I need to go-" I whisper meekly, not sure there's anything I can do. 

"...no you don't." Julius finally speaks, his voice still weighted with sleep. His leg slides over mine and hooks around, trapping me further. "Stay here... just a few more minutes."

It's not like I have a choice, but something tells me that I was looking for a reason to stay. "Alright, fine." I relax into his hold, and I feel him smile against my skin, satisfied that he's won this small battle. His grip loosens, as if he's melting, and for a brief moment in time, I melt, too.

...but... I still don't get it.

I feel his lips again, this time on my cheek, the light touches like a butterfly alighting upon me. I have to squeeze my eyes shut and hold in a giggle at the sensation, a movement he picks up on. Julius chuckles to himself, still sleepy, his lips trailing down my neck and leaving delicate kisses behind. "How did you sleep?" he finally mumbles, his thumb drawing small circles over the hand he's holding. "I hope I didn't snore to loud."

"No, it was nice," I whisper back, his voice somehow grounding me more in reality. "Your bed is so comfy."

"You can sleep here every night, if you want. For- er- safety reasons."

I let out a soft laugh, and I hear him join me. "Maybe... we'll see."

"We'll see-" he repeats, then lets out a sigh. It's almost... sad. "Sorry... it's been a while since I slept next to someone."

Huh? Really? I have to resist the urge to turn over and look at his face. That's surprising... Julius has a lot of admirers, it would be easy for him to invite someone into his bed. But maybe, he has the same problem I do... the only love I knew was the physical kind, a selfish, lustful love that left me drained and disoriented. I remember the way Elia and the other girls talk about him, and how I even looked at him... like he was a piece of meat ready to consume.

He's like me, isn't he? He's... lonely.

"...I'm sorry."

"Hmm? For what?"

Love... I don't know if I'm ready to even say that word. Somewhere deep inside, the feelings coming off of Julius make something very clear... the potency of this feeling almost scares me. And for whatever reason, I'm the one in his sights, but instead of it being an honor, it seems like a burden. I'm a lost cause, right? My perception of love is skewed, ruined. And I know, if I turn around and look in his eyes... I'll get lost in them. I'll drown, because when it comes to love... I just can't swim.

"...nothing."

........................................

"So??? How was it!!!?"

Alice is waiting for me by the time I sneak back to my own room, promising to see Julius again at breakfast. "Um... good?" I deflect the question before turning to my dresser. "It went like you would expect it..." In reality, it did not go at all how I expected it, but at least now I don't have to lie to Alice. 

"Awww, come ooooon~" Alice whines, rolling over to keep watching me. "Tell me the deets!!! 

Uh oh. I avert my eyes and focus on stripping down and pulling on my uniform. "Well... it was very nice. But more than that..." I pause my dressing for a moment, a little smile playing on my lips. "He was nice... I don't know, maybe it's just because I've been with an asshole all my life, but Julius..."

"Ewww, never mind, if you're going to start talking about love stuff!" I turn and give Alice a disgruntled look, which causes her to peel back off into laughter. "Kidding! I'm happy for you, really." She sits up and swings her legs off the bed. "So, do you have a plan? Like- with Lawrence?"

"Not yet... I have to keep it secret for now," I tell her, pulling my robe over my head. "So you keep your mouth shut, you hear?"

"Got it!" Alice smirks and gives me a faux-salute. "And you keep your mouth shut, too... I'm sure it's hard to keep quiet when he's inside you-"

"ALICE."

Despite that just being a little joke, something starts to worry me as we make our way down to breakfast together. I feel... guilty. I know I shouldn't, but I do. God! If only I had held it together last night, I would have actually gotten laid... by a guy who actually cares about me, too. My ears start to heat up at the mere thought of it, but it's accompanied by a pleasant hunger in my belly that's definitely not the result of it being mealtime. I'm sure he meant it when he said he was fine with just sleeping, and he definitely enjoyed cuddling... but... I wouldn't blame him if he were a bit frustrated. Julius is lonely... I feel like I deprived him of something he needed.

It's a ridiculous thought, Julius hasn't demanded anything from me. But still... I want to give it to him. I want to know what it feels like with someone I actually like. Have I missed my chance?

No... there's going to be many more chances. Even today. It's only morning, after all! I'm sure another chance will come up if I'm patient.

Spoiler alert: I'm not patient in the slightest.

"Good morning, you two! My, you're looking radiant."

I thought Alice would be the one I have to rein in when it comes to my secret, but as soon as Julius sees us, I realize that it's him. He's already sitting at the table, fork in hand, but it falls to the table when his eyes land on me, and a big dumb smile becomes plastered on his face. Uh oh... don't be obvious, Julius!!!! I gulp and give him a nervous smile, hoping that none of the others already here will pick up on all the tension. "Oh... thank you! You look pretty good... yourself?"

Alice is nearly drawing blood as she bites her lip, dragging me to sit down next to her at the table. Julius simply chuckles a little to himself and thankfully remains silent, although his eyes don't leave my face the whole time. 

"What's got you looking so happy this morning?" Elia finally slides into the seat next to me, sourly looking at my face. 

"Huh? Oh-" I shrug, quickly busying myself with my food. "I uh- just had a good time at the lake yesterday."

Elia obviously doesn't believe me but doesn't pursue the subject. "Fine. Keep your secrets."

"Hey girls!"

We look over to see Giles and Nigel walking in, plates piled high with food. Those two are unmatched in how much they can eat. "Hey losers-" Alice counters. "Where's Wren? He usually comes down with you."

"Apparently he got called to a meeting with the captain," Nigel snickers. "Sounded kind of serious... maybe he's in trouble!"

"That would be funny," Elia adds, glancing at me out of the corner of her eye. "maybe he'll get kicked out."

"Or imprisoned!"

"Or exiled-"

More laughter comes from my friends, but I can't bear to join in. All I can do is smile weakly and eat, hoping that I'm wrong and one of them didn't drug me that night.

"Hey... look-" Alice grabs my shoulder, her voice hushed, and gestures casually down the table. More of the senior knights are here, but I know exactly who she's talking about. "Guess who hasn't stopped staring at you since we got here?"

Oh boy. Cautiously. I glance over and see that Julius is indeed staring at me, almost dazed-looking, his head tilted slightly as it rests on his hands. His food is going cold for sure by now, but... 

AhH! JULIUS!! Don't be so obvious... anyone looking at you right now will know something is up- His buddy Elger, who's sitting next to him, has noticed, and stares at Julius with a weird look on his face. I quickly look away before he can connect the dots, but it might already be too late. "Ignore him!"

Alice giggles. "My, you must have really rocked his world last night-"

"ALICE."

Even after the conversation moves on, I can feel those eyes burning into my skin. Butterflies swarm in my stomach, but at the core of it is excitement. It takes everything in me to not stare back at him, make bedroom eyes, and let him whisk me away somewhere private. Well... that's not such a bad idea...

I still want him. Even if I have the rest of the day ahead of me, I want him now. 

"Hey, where are you going?"

"To wash my dish! I'm not that hungry." I smooth out my cloak after I stand up, making sure to talk loud enough that the other end of the table can hear. "See you guys soon." With that, I turn and sashay off, fighting the urge to glance back at the table. All I can do is hope that this vague plan works...

But of course it does.

"Heyya."

As soon as I finish washing my dishes, Julius is already up and leaning against the kitchen doorframe, his usual smile on his face. "Oh, hi!" I greet, giving him a smile of my own. My pulse quickens as I struggle to move onto the next phase of my plan. Luckily, he does it for me.

"Want to go talk in private?"

"...yeah!"

And so, we head off upstairs, to his office. The entire walk there is filled with tension, so thick I could choke. I barely notice when he shuts the door behind us, I'm so lost in my thoughts. Now what? I'm not used to taking this type of initiative... oooh, what if he thinks I'm being to presumptuous? No, no,of course not... well-

"So... I've been thinking." Julius suddenly speaks before I can get my first word in. "We should start seriously sizing everyone up, and figure out who might be our culprits."

"...huh?" I blink, so lost in my self-made adrenaline that I can't immediately catch up.

Julius frowns. "You know? The ones who attacked you?"

"OH. Right!" I connect the dots and let out a nervous laugh. Get yourself together! Don't look like an idiot, at least... "Right, right, right... it's not fun to think about, but I suppose I have to."

"I'm sorry." Julius moves over to his desk and leans against it, his feet planted firmly on the ground. My eyes drift over his strong legs before quickly flickering away. Now that we're having an important conversation, I can't just derail it by jumping him right now... despite how delicious he looks. 

"Are you okay?"

Fuck! I just started going off into another daze. I jump a little as I feel his hand on my shoulder, and I blush a little as I let myself look up at his concerned face. "I know it's overwhelming, but I want to get to the bottom of this, okay?" I nod slowly, prompting him to lean in and press a sweet kiss to my forehead. I can't help but let a smile flicker on my face for a moment. "You know what you mean to me now... we can talk about this more later, though, okay?"

"...okay..." I lean forward and press my face into his chest, a gesture he accepts eagerly. The safe feeling of his arms around me threatens to make me melt right then and there, but then I realize that I have an opening.

"Julius?"

"Mhmm?"

"I was... uh... thinking."

"Thinking? Really?" I pinch his arm as he teases me with mock-disbelief. "About what?"

"...about..." I gulp, glad he can't see my face right now. "er... l-last night."

It's hardly noticeable, but I feel his grip shift at the words, just enough to make me realize that he's been thinking about it, too.

"Is that so?" His voice hasn't changed, still calm and comforting. "What about it?"

"You know..."

He finally gives me a real reaction, a soft laugh that I feel more than hear. "Right... I had a good time, you know."

A little pang of guilt hits me again. "Did you?"

"...yeah!" He suddenly pulls back to smile down at me, his narrowed eyes taking in my embarrassed face. "I always have a good time with you."

"Yeah, but- uh-" I feel a little frustration. I don't want him to think I'm so timid after last night! That was just a fluke! He's being so careful with me... I need to be more aggressive! 

"I mean it, don't worry." Julius's hand lands on my head and strokes it softly, which incidentally gives me an idea. "I thought I made it pretty clear... you're special to me, and even though I'd love to go farther with you, I want to go at a rate you're comfortable with- AH! W-what are you doing-?"

Julius cuts himself off, his voice wavering nervously as I suddenly kneel down in the middle of his little spiel. "I'm showing you that I'm perfectly fine with this rate- or whatever-" I tell him quickly, willing myself forward before I chicken out. I run my hands up his thighs, my heart skipping beats with every band of muscle I feel. "I mean... if you want me to?" I look up at him through my eyelashes, my lip pouting just slightly. I might be naive about a lot of things... but I know how to get what I want. 

The concern in Julius's eyes fades slightly, not quite disappearing all the way, but it's replaced by something else. Almost like curiosity... but more than anything, want.

"... go on."

I give him a little grin, finally letting my hands continue sliding up. Julius sucks in a little breath, for the most part silent as he stares down at me, his mouth twitching just slightly as I avoid his crotch and go for his belt instead. The anticipation is killing me, and it must be doing the same to him, but I will myself to be patient and make him so hungry for it, he can't resist. I want him to let go of his fear, and let himself pull me close, to let me in. He's a lonely man, and I want to help... in whatever way I can. And right now, this is how I do it.

"Here, let me help-"

Julius is quick to reach down and make quick work of the belt I was fumbling with, the zipper quickly following. Last night, I got to feel him up but couldn't actually get a look at him since I... passed out and all. But now, there's nowhere else to look as he pulls the front of his pants down and lets his already-stiff cock spring out at me. 

Oh shit-

It's bigger than I remember feeling last night, and I can't help but stare for a long moment, my mouth slightly open. I'm drooling, yeah, but it's also very intimidating. And it doesn't help when I feel that hand on the back of my head, pulling me in. "Take your time... but not too much time." Julius bites his lip and glances at the door. "We are in a shared office after all."

He's right, and I give a little nod before finally leaning in and letting my tongue dart out. Julius nearly spasms when I go right for the sensitive tip, sucking once before pulling off and kissing lightly around the spot. "Oh, you have a little technique?" he asks, his voice still steady.

"What did you expect?" I mumble back, fighting off a blush as I catch a glance of him staring at me. "I'm not innocent... not that innocent." To express my point, I lick up his length once deliberately, finally getting a reaction. I feel his knees wobble slightly, and his hand suddenly knots in my hair.

"Of course not... you'll be good and innocent for me, though, won't you?"

The words send a pleasant chill down my neck, the soft growl in his voice, stirring many forgotten emotions within me. This is nothing like it is with Lawrence. It's not so much a demand when Julius pushes me down onto his cock, softly moaning as I finally get to work some magic. It's... a plead. "Ah- y-ou're good that this-" Julius breathes out, his hand pushing me faster, more deliberately. He's coming undone, a lot quicker than he expected, and despite the way his cock chokes me and tears form at the corner of my eyes, I almost smile. This is what I wanted, for him to feel good because of something I'm doing. He only pauses once to sit down in his chair, his limbs weakening. I take the opportunity to pull myself off and smirk up at him, my cheek resting against his inner thigh while my hand teasingly strokes him. "Enjoying yourself?"

"What do you think?" Julius, despite being out of breath, flashes me a grin, his hand stroking down to my neck once. "Don't tell me you're getting tired." I shake my head quickly. "Good girl."

I lean back down to continue, this time his hand restricting my movements, slowing them. Despite saying that we needed to be quick, Julius is taking his time now, determined to milk me (or- er- himself-) for all I'm worth. I can't help but think about Lawrence in the moment, how he would react one day once I leave him to take the arm of my gorgeous vice captain. How indignant he would be, how enraged to find out that I willingly pleasured this man. Every aspect of this experience...

It's thrilling.

He starts poking into the back of my throat, and I whimper slightly at the foreign feeling, struggling to keep taking it. Despite how I was talking before, my stamina is terrible and I'm not sure if I'm going to hold on for much longer. "I'm almost there, baby, I promise-" Julius grunts out, one hand gripping the side of his desk while the other starts setting an unmerciful place. I just weakly whine in response, my throat starting to burn a bit. "You're being so good- I'm going to make you cum so fucking hard after this-" The promise makes another jolt of adrenaline go through me, the thought of him doing this to me quite exciting. "God- ah-"

Just as he starts to lose himself, something grabs his attention. Maybe it's a sixth sense, or maybe he was using his time magic to check ahead, but Julius freezes up before he reaches a climax. I blink my eyes open to see his own widening, a look of shock and fear on his face.

"Fuck-"

There's no time to hide. Just as the word leaves his mouth, the door swings open and the other vice captain Malota walks in. Julius lets out a squawk of surprise and nearly jumps in his seat in a vain attempt to react, but only manages to knock his knee super hard against the bottom of his desk. "YOUCH-" The shout leaves his mouth as he panics, disoriented, horny, and scared.

"Julius-"

The only good thing about this situation is that I'm hidden behind his desk, and from where Malota is standing right now, she can't see me. But still, she stops in her tracks at Julius's reaction, arching a thin brow as he does nothing but sit there and pant, slowly turning red.

"Julius... were you-" A look of slight disgust crosses her vulture-like features, and her eyes just glance down at the table, very aware of the presence behind it, before rising back up to her comrade's embarrassed face.

"You know what... I don't want to know."

Without another word, Malota swiftly turns around and races out of the room, her face becoming indifferent again. A moment later, the door slams shut, and the two of us are left alone once again.

"... "

Neither of us dare to move. Julius's eyes stay fixed on the door as Malota's footsteps fade away, before looking back down at me. He lets out a soft sigh, the corners of his mouth twitching at the sight of me staring up at him with his cock still in my mouth (it's not like I had time to move! And plus, the hand on my neck is heavy-). "That was... close."

He finally lets go, and I draw in a shaky breath as I sit up, my throat awfully dry after the recent abuse it just received. "S-she didn't see me, did she-"

"No, no, she didn't!" Julius assures me, glancing at the door again, his fingers deftly brushing the hair out of my face. "Malota wouldn't care anyway, don't worry." he gives me a reassuring smile before licking his lips a little. "So... are you-"

Wait, he wants me to continue? After we got walked in on?! I blink a few times, too aghast to say anything at the moment. Julius laughs sheepishly. "I mean, she's probably not coming back, right?"

"...right..."

Somehow, I find myself smiling once again. Julius mirrors it, his pulse quickening as he grabs the back of my head again. "I think we're going to get along famously."

Julius doesn't beat around the bush this time. He thrusts down my throat again and again, his hips raising just slightly to meet my lips each time, his hands guiding me at his pace. I handle it a lot better this time, feeling satisfied every time he moans under my touch. He doesn't say anything, but I know he's getting close by the way his movements become sloppy, and his cock twitches needily. I give him exactly what he wants, sucking hard for a few thrusts. And that's it- With one last pleasured sound, Julius pushes me down and cums, hard. I wasn't planning on spitting anything out, but I still gag a bit as his release hits my throat, hot and thick and almost too much for me to handle.

For a few blissful moments, he just sits there, tensed up with his eyes squeezed shut. Then, finally, he lets go of me.

Not completely, though. His hands gently take hold of my shoulders as I sit up and cough a little, taking a few deep breaths through my nose. I'm a little dizzy and can't really see through my blurry eyes, but I feel overwhelming satisfaction. I did it... Julius, you're mine, you hear! I want to make him feel like this, again and again, and for him to do the same to me. Maybe love is something I can't handle right now... but I can let myself be close to him.

Eventually... love will follow.

The sensation of his fingers on my face pulls me from my thoughts. Julius chuckles, worn out, and traces the corners of my lip with a fingertip. "You missed some-" he states, swiping up the remains of his cum and pushing his finger into my mouth. I whine a little at the movement but get my revenge by sucking once. Julius sucks in a breath and quickly removes the digit. "Ah ah- don't tease me, or I'll have to punish you~"

"Punish?" I repeat, reaching up and rubbing my eyes. When I blink them open again, I can see just fine, the blur of the passionate moment gone. "I thought I deserved a reward."

"Oh, that's right. Here-"

Before I can do anything, his hands close around my waist and hoist me up, so easily that it makes me squeak out in surprise. The moment he set me down on the desk, his lips are on mine, his arms holding me as close as can be. I eagerly kiss back, my sore jaw enjoying the respite, and reach up to cup his face with my hands. Julius pulls back just enough to look into my eyes, and the look of sparkling admiration in his own catches me off guard. "What?"

"Hmm?" Julius seems to almost be lost in thought. "Oh, it's just... I like you."

"...?" I frown a little. Isn't that obvious? "Well, that's good to know."

A little laugh comes from his nose, and his goofy smile widens. "No, I mean- Ah, you're full of surprises, and I like that... not just with this... kind of stuff, but also with- you know-" Julius's words are fumbled, almost incoherent He finally spares himself and cuts himself off with a shake of his head. "Never mind, don't listen to me, I'm just being an old sap."

Despite his sheepishness, I somehow understand what he was trying to say. With just a little difficulty, I lean up and kiss his forehead softly. "It's okay... I feel the same way, Julius."

"...I'm glad. Thank you."

With that, he buries himself back into my embrace, our lips moving so perfectly that it seems like they were made for each other. I close my eyes and start to get lost again, pure joy overtaking all logic and guilt in my mind. For a brief moment, Lawrence doesn't exist, my attacker doesn't exist, nothing does... nothing in this world matters but him. 

At least, just for that moment. Because the door slams open a minute later.

"Julius! Sorry to interrupt again, but-"

Both of us scream and whirl around, still holding each other, to see Malota run in again. For the first time, the emotion on her face seems real, the shock of seeing me, a girl engaged to a prince, being kissed by Julius. We sit there in silence for a moment, but then, in true Malota fashion, she sighs deeply, all emotion leaving her face.

"...I won't ask... but-" She straightens up. "We're leaving."

"Leaving?" Julius repeats nervously. I can feel his heart racing through his chest. "What's happening?"

"Apparently the Diamond Kingdom's been attacking the border since yesterday-" Malota explains, shocking us both. "But the Crimson Lion Kings were sent to handle it in secret. Now we're being called in."

We're being called in... wait... A jolt of fear shoots through me. That means... the Crimson Lions failed! The Diamond Kingdom beat them?!

"I see- the whole squad is going?"

"Yes. Our briefing is in 2 minutes." We can hear footsteps all around the base now, thundering urgently in the rush to get ready. "Be down there beforehand."

"Right." Julius's face is stony now, but flinches slightly as Malota turns to leave again. "Er- Malota- about this-"

"Don't worry. I don't care anyway-" Malota assures him before disappearing once again.

With a deep sigh, Julius lets go of me, helping me get off the desk. "I'm sorry," he apologizes, still looking pale. "She saw us- I should have been more careful."

"Maybe... but we have a bigger problem now." That familiar pre-battle feeling is already coursing through my veins. Trying to ignore the dread balling up inside me, I reach down and take his hand one last time. 

The Diamond Kingdom...

Maybe, for a moment, the world didn't exist. But now, it's crashing down on all of us.

[toloveawarlord]

Day 4: “Home for the Holidays”

You can find my masterlist in my bio!

Day 4 Prompt: “I promised I’d be here.”

Pairing/Characters: Ray & Wren Blackwell

A/N: I haven’t released Wren’s first chapter but she is Ray’s older sister. This story takes place when Ray is 12 and Wren is 15.

The chilled window pane fogged over the spot once wiped clean with each anticipation filled breath. Ray squished his nose against the glass, green eyes scanning the darkened perimeter of his home. Any movement caught his attention, inflating his hope only to be popped instantly by a wild animal or the wind brushing snow into the air masking it as a figure blow away in seconds.

Impatience showed in his fidgety state, fingers plucking at the top button of his cotton pajama top. The thread thinning and would certainly need repairs before the winters end.

Tick Tock. Tick Tock.

Casting a glance at the clock, the time nearly reached midnight. A dejected sigh left his lips. “Mama said the weather could have stalled her return.” Despite those words, the boy had hoped that his mother had been incorrect. He climbed down from the window seat in search of a snack. His stomach grumbled loudly, achingly empty.

Ray searched their stocked kitchen but none of the items would satisfy his hunger. Eating alone would only fuel his sadness. Collapsing onto the floor, he groaned, watching the hands on the clock move closer and closer to the end of Christmas Eve.

If he couldn’t settle on a food, then he’d find another way to entertain himself. What could a boy get up to when home alone?

Sword fighting.

Whisking the wooden sword from behind the couch where he’d last dropped it, Ray began some warm up swings. He pondered over each motion, imagining how a real one would feel within his palm. Heavy but he’d be strong enough to wield it.

In unbalanced turn, he swung downward only to be caught with an upward swing of the second wooden sword. A chilly breeze slid around his form, fighting the flames of the fire as it slithered by. His opponent the one he’d desperately been awaiting.

“Nice moves, little brother,” Wren praised with a warm grin.

The weapon clattered against the floor, abandoned without a second thought. “Wren! You’re home!” Overtaken by his excitement, Ray leapt into her arms with a little too much force, toppling the siblings over into the floor.

She attended a boarding school in Central Quarter, and with the recent snowstorm passing through, it had been nearly impossible to make the journey out into Black Territory. Yet, here she was mere seconds away from missing the final minute of Christmas Eve.

“I promised I’d be here,” She replied, laughing along with him. Her frigid hand pet his head, thankful that she’d made it in time to hear the clock chime in. While their parents were away at a lavish party, the siblings spent late Christmas Eve together, being the first to wish the other good tidings for the holidays.

A tradition that had nearly been broken.

The clock began to chime, and Merry Christmas was exchanged with more joy and love than the year before. Wren gave a wink and pressed her index finger to her lips. “How about a midnight celebratory snack and then I’ll formally challenge you to a duel?”

Ray’s head nodded vigorously. “I’m not gonna lose this year! Just you wait! I’ve improved!” He trailed at her heels, moving the conversation to his studies and lessons. He absorbed new material like a sponge, constantly searching out ways to improve upon what he already knew.

The two stayed awake for long past what would have been approved of by their parents. Wren set her empty glass of milk on the coffee table, finally able to take a breath after the wild evening she’d had. Kneeling by the couch where Ray had dozed off, she draped a blanket over him. Despite the trials it she’d overcome to be here, braving a snowstorm and nearly getting frostbite, she wouldn’t miss this tradition for anything.

Wren pressed a kiss to his forehead.

“Merry Christmas, Ray.”

[scifigeneration]

From their balloons, the first aeronauts transformed our view of the world

by Jennifer Tucker

A lithograph from Gaston Tissandier’s balloon travels depicts falling stars. Archive.org

Near the beginning of the new film “The Aeronauts,” a giant gas-filled balloon called the “Mammoth” departs from London’s Vauxhall Gardens and ascends into the clouds, revealing a bird’s eye view of London.

To some moviegoers, these breathtaking views might seem like nothing special: Modern air travel has made many of us take for granted what we can see from the sky. But during the 19th century, the vast “ocean of air” above our heads was a mystery.

These first balloon trips changed all that.

Directed by Tom Harper, the movie is inspired by the true story of Victorian scientist James Glaisher and the aeronaut Henry Coxwell. (In the film, Coxwell is replaced by a fictional aeronaut named Amelia Wren.)

In 1862, Glaisher and Coxwell ascended to 37,000 feet in a balloon – 8,000 feet higher than the summit of Mount Everest, and, at the time, the highest point in the atmosphere humans had ever reached.

As a historian of science and visual communication, I’ve studied the balloon trips of Glaisher, Coxwell and others. Their voyages inspired art and philosophy, introduced new ways of seeing the world and transformed our understanding of the air we breathe.

The first balloon flights

Before the invention of the balloon, the atmosphere was like a blank slate on which fantasies and fears were projected. Philosophers speculated that the skies went on forever, while there were medieval tales of birds that were so large they could whisk human passengers into the clouds.

A drawing from ‘Astra Castra’ depicts mythic birds that can transport people up into the skies. Archive.org

The atmosphere was also thought of as a “factory of death” – a place where disease-causing vapors lingered. People also feared that if they were to ascend into the clouds, they’d die from oxygen deprivation.

The dream of traveling skyward became a reality in 1783, when two French brothers, Joseph-Michel Montgolfier and Jacques-Étienne Montgolfier, launched the first piloted hot-air balloon.

Early balloon flights were difficult to pull off and dangerous. Aeronauts and passengers fell to their deaths when balloons unexpectedly deflated, caught fire or drifted out to sea. Partly due to this inherent danger, untethered balloon flight became forms of public entertainment, titillating crowds who wanted to see if something would go wrong. The novelist Charles Dickens, horrified by balloon ascents, wrote that these “dangerous exhibitions” were no different from public hangings.

Over time, aeronauts became more skilled, the technology improved and trips became safe enough to bring along passengers – provided they could afford the trip. At the time of Glaisher’s ascents, it cost about 600 pounds – roughly US$90,000 today – to construct a balloon. Scientists who wanted to make a solo ascent needed to shell out about 50 pounds to hire an aeronaut, balloon and enough gas for a single trip.

The view of angels

Some of the first Europeans who ascended for amusement returned with tales of new sights and sensations, composed poems about what they had seen and circulated sketches.

A glass lantern slide of a print titled ‘The View of Versailles.’ Private collection, used with permission.

Common themes emerged: the sensation of being in a dream, a feeling of tranquility and a sense of solitude and isolation.

“We were lost in an opaque ocean of ivory and alabaster,” the balloon travelers Wilfrid de Fonvielle and Gaston Tissandier recalled in 1868 upon returning from one of their voyages.

In an 1838 book, one of the most prolific writers on the topic, professional flutist Monck Mason, described ascending into the atmosphere as “distinct in all its bearings from every other process with which we are acquainted.” Once aloft, the traveler is forced to consider the “world without him.”

A drawing of dreamlike clouds from the travels of Wilfrid de Fonvielle and Gaston Tissandier. 'Travels in the Air'

French astronomer Camille Flammarion wrote that the atmosphere was “an ethereal sea reaching over the whole world; its waves wash the mountains and the valleys, and we live beneath it and are penetrated by it.”

Travelers were also awestruck by the diffusion of light, the intensity of colors and the effects of atmospheric illumination.

One scientific observer in 1873 described the atmosphere as a “splendid world of colors which brightens the surface of our planet,” noting the “lovely azure tint” and “changing harmonies” of hues that “lighten up the world.”

And then there were the birds-eye views of the cities, farms and towns below. In 1852, the social reformer Henry Mayhew recalled his views of London from the perch of “an angel:” “tiny people, looking like so many black pins on a cushion,” swarmed through ��the strange, incongruous clump of palaces and workhouses.”

To Mayhew, the sights of farmlands were “the most exquisite delight I ever experienced.” The houses looked “like the tiny wooden things out of a child’s box of toys, and the streets like ruts.”

So deep was the dusk in the distance that it “was difficult to tell where the earth ended and the sky began.”

A thunderstorm above Fontainebleau, France, from Camille Flammarion’s travels. 'Travels in the Air.'

A laboratory for discovery

The atmosphere was not just a vantage point for picturesque views. It was also a laboratory for discovery, and balloons were a boon to scientists.

At the time, different theories prevailed over how and why rain formed. Scientists debated the role of trade winds and the chemical composition of the atmosphere. People wondered what caused lightning and what would happen to the human body as it ascended higher.

To scientists like Flammarion, the study of the atmosphere was the era’s key scientific challenge. The hope was that the balloon would give scientists some answers – or, at the very least, provide more clues.

James Glaisher, a British astronomer and meteorologist, was already an established scientist by the time he made his famous balloon ascents. During his trips, he brought along delicate instruments to measure the temperature, barometric pressure and chemical composition of the air. He even recorded his own pulse at various altitudes.

In 1871 he published “Travels in the Air,” a collection of reports from his experiments. He didn’t want to simply write about his findings for other scientists; he wanted the public to learn about his trips. So he fashioned his book to make the reports appealing to middle-class readers by including detailed drawings and maps, colorful accounts of his adventures and vivid descriptions of his precise observations.

Glaisher’s books also featured innovative visual portrayals of meteorological data; the lithographs depicted temperatures and barometric pressure levels at different elevations, superimposed over picturesque views.

James Glaisher charted his balloon’s path from Wolverhampton to Solihull, England. 'Travels in the Air.'

He gave a series of popular lectures, during which he relayed findings from his trips to riveted audiences. Two years later, he published an English translation of Flammarion’s account of his balloon travels.

The trips of Glaisher and others gave scientists new insights into meteors; the relationship between altitude and temperature; the formation of rain, hail and snow; and the forces behind thunder.

And for members of the public, the atmosphere was transformed from an airy concept into a physical reality.

The trailer for ‘The Aeronauts.’

About The Author:

Jennifer Tucker is an Associate Professor of History and Science in Society at Wesleyan University

This article is republished from our content partners over at The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. 

[fel-fisk]

10, 31, 32, 41? 🖤

10. What is your favorite class to play?

i haven’t played as a lot, but i’ve got two warlock characters and i think i really like their dynamic :0 the relationship-with-the-patron aspect is fun for rp and story stuff, and the lack of spell slots makes spellcasting a little easier to keep track/less stressful of bc you just don’t have as many options :p my other main character is a bard &  in comparison i feel a lot Less Pressure playing a warlock

31. Tell me about your current party!

i’m in 3 currently so!! brief summaries of all of em booyah

PARTY 1 [the bandwagon of fun! party for a homebrew game], currently composed of:

”Wren” Firenze Jasperdune, a brass dragonborn bard [college of glamour] 

 “Sunny” Soluminaris Codexia, a high (sun) elf evocation wizard [+1 lvl knowledge cleric] 

Basil Smalltown, a lightfoot halfling rogue [thief]

Blank, a warforged eldritch knight fighter [of mysterious origin, name comes from him saying “entry blank” when we asked what his name was] 

“Nova” Novella Dante, a half orc sorcerer [dragon soul, gold]

We also have Clove, a high (moon) elf druid [circle of the moon] who was kidnapped :’) but will probs be returning soon bc her player, who is currently playing nova, misses her a Lot and kinda gave her away impulsively.

PARTY 2 [still unnamed, depite the campaign running for almost a year now. Playing Storm King’s Thunder,, but with plenty of added stuff],  currently composed of:

 Luka Oarback Um’Qatha, a goliath explorer [homebrew class bay-bee; he’s the survivalist subclass, which has some ranger-y flavour to it]

“Gnat” Nathan Gruffson, a [kinda babboon-esque] goblin druid [circle of the shepherd]

Teddy Greenbottle, a lightfoot halfling sorcerer [cloud giant soul]

Lightstick Octopodes, a chicken-obsessed high elf barbarian who was raised by orcs  [is a homebrewed caster subclass that i cant remember the name of :’v] 

Hector West, a (???race unknown) warlock of Sseth [homebrewed pact; he’s nicknamed “snektor” as we suspect he’s a yuan-ti but his yuan-ti traits might be bc of his pact??? we have No Clue.] 

We also had another guy, a tiefling invoker [homebrew class] named Hektor Greyfell,,, but he just got petrified into a jade statue and whisked away to some demon lord’s collection so!! yeah :’) his player’s going to be rejoining as a dragonborn forge cleric i think

[[theres also,, my dead character Kacharias Akti- a sea-elf/sahuagin warlock of Sekolah (homebrew pact o the deep one).. he got killed by a vamp and if my current character dies or gets whisked away, Kari will b back as a modified vampire spawn >:3c courtesy of his patron]]]

PARTY 3 [unnamed group o’ heroes. Homebrew campaign set in the “booma mountains’, a v australian setting :v] 

“Bug” Birgitta Cobblersen, a (3! year! old!) goblin warlock of Y’dizel [great old one ;0 Y’dizel, or “mr fizzy” is the monster under her bed/her imaginary friend] 

Qassiel, a cambion accursed [homebrew class based on the 7 deadly sins- her subclass is wrath]

Meri Calypso, a mermaid cleric of Trishina the Joyswimmer [tempest domain]

–and my dad’s just playing Shiro from voltron :’p who is an oath of devotion paladin that rides around on his summoned steed, who is a giant black lion. 

[[The DM also has a sorta player character NPC in the party called Kettle, who’s an ochre dragonborn druid [circle of the lifesinger, a homebrew subclass] ]] 

32. Most memorable NPC you’ve encountered in a game you played in.

i think my favourite NPC/the most memorable would have to be Scrungus;; who lives up to his name in every way possible. He’s a shopkeep that lives in this giant junkheap who is effectively just the scrungus meme;;  he looks like a humanoid version of This.

stinky, grungy, scrungy shopkeep who weilds a stanley knife as a weapon that can stretch out to sephiroth type lengths and Beyond. He sells such goods as “eeling potions” [throw it on the ground to make some giant eels appear], “bullet sweaters” [it sweats bullets],  “frying carpet” [a flying carpet that heats up the longer you fly on it until it eventually is just On Fire], scrungus fungus [which grafts onto your body and gives you a chance of doing wildmagic– my goblin urchin’s pet vole has one on her head now and, among other things, has accidentally set of chain lightning with it that nearly killed my familiar],,, there’s so much more but essentially? he’s a wild ride and Im Love Him.

There are so many other great NPC’s in all the campaigns im in tho, especially shop keeps and some of the villains we get pit up against.

41. Give an out of context quote from one of your games! 

..“S̭̭̣͎̼̪͊́̔̌͛̅͑̓̆͘T̥̣̘͍̙̰̝̄̂̆̂͌̎O͓̗̠̩͊͆̌̎̈́͟͠ͅP̨͕̮͚̭̿̄͌́̉̽ Y̶̢̡̨̻̠̗̳͍͌̅͌̏̂̓͊͆́̏͢͢Ö̙͖̥̜̮̭́̾̂͌̅Ŭ̡̧͖̖̪̜́̈́͂̋̔̊Ŗ̵̱͔̪̭̟̀̑̍̓̅̉̓͞ I̷̢̯͇̰̬͍̱͖͂̍͋̈̾͛̔̀̇́͜N̷̢̰̯̻̮̗̱̮̘̒̿͗̊̇̽̊̚͟F̧̲͖̺̝̟̖̻͔͆̀̒͒͠Ę̜̤͍̼͚̳̣͌̽͐͐̃̀͗͠͡R̸̢̜̗͔̗̣̝͆̐̈̾͆̀̑̀͢Ñ̴̢̝̮̘͓̜̊̀̓͝͠͝͠Ą͔̬̻̝̝͈̟̮̝͆̌͛̇̀L̶̢̧̪̣̹̻͎͗͒̋͌̚͜ J̷̨̻̣̼͚͓͋͂̊̔͌̕̚ͅU̵̯̭͓̗̮̬̲̝̻̹͆̃̅̐͠M̴̢̟̙̻͖͔̥̙͐͗̊̔̌̂̍̓̕͟ͅP̴̦̟̠̫͉̜͖͎̿̾̇̏̽̈́I̷̝͔̳͎̗̎̽̀̓͗͗͆̅͝N̨̨̘̟̬̹͒̇̀͌͂͂͋̎̄̿͢G̵̟͙̙̘͎͙̼̝̒͑̑͒̀̄̀̉̚͢ͅ A̢̯͕̲̙͆́̿̽̃̍͘͟͟͠͠B̗͍̣̹̙̹͈̙̘͖̓̾͂͗͊̉̾̚O̡̪̟̣̜͓͎͆̅̍̾̉̏̑́́͢Ṵ̵̡͇̻̠͙̻̃̀̎͋̋́T̴̢̹͖͇̰̯̒̉̎͗̄͑ͅ” ..

[ask-the-anxious-experiments]

Wren - I

Warnings: explosions/smoke, screaming, being trapped/anxiety

//A/N: Here’s the first part of Wren’s storyline! Hope y’all enjoy! ~Sparrow\\

There are 150 tiles on the ceiling in my cell.

(I would know. I count them every day, even when I know deep down that the number hasn’t changed—because maybe, just maybe, there’ll be one more or one less tile and something exciting will have finally happened.)

I’ve been living in the same cell for a long, long time. Had I some sort of notepad, I’d probably have counted—but I don’t. After a long time, the days blend into weeks, which blend into months, which blend into years. All I know is that for as long as I can remember, I’ve gone to sleep in the same bed in the same room in the same building—before that, everything is dark. I don’t have many memories of life before the lab; occasionally, images will bubble to the surface of my mind—things like a woman’s laugh and soft red hair and leaves crunching beneath my feet—but most of the time it’s dark. I don’t pry.

I’ve gotten used to it, mostly. There are some things you can never get used to, though.

The light above my door always lights up once. A beeping sound is always heard. A giant clad in white will enter. I will lie still on my bed as I wait for them to transport me via rubber-clad hands that are never careful enough to wherever I’m supposed to go so they can run some sort of test—test my flying, for instance, or my endurance, or my strength.

(I’m actually a pretty good flier. Apparently, dragonflies are some of nature’s most precise fliers—so I guess I have them to thank for my ability to make hairpin turns without losing control.)

Today starts like any other day.

The light lights up.

The beeping is heard.

A giant enters.

From there, everything changes.

Explosions. I think that’s what they are, at least—I’ve overheard them sometimes in passing—followed by the smell of smoke. I hear screams, hear glass shattering and objects crashing to the ground, hear footsteps thundering through the halls.

I’m not scared. I don’t know why; maybe it’s because I’ve spent so long shoving my emotions down to cope with the reality of my life that I don’t remember what fear is supposed to feel like.

The giant at the door springs into action. He lunges forwards, rubber glove-clad hands closing around my form and whisking me up into the air. My wings instinctively curl inwards against my body, and I close my eyes as the giant begins sprinting.

Where to, I’m not sure—but the ride is fast and bumpy, and my stomach turns over and over. I refuse to open my eyes, though—the screams and smell of smoke conjure images that are vivid enough.

It feels like an eternity before the ride ends. The hands around me still, and I feel them unfurl around me.

I open my eyes.

We’re in a room I don’t recognize. The walls are white, as is the floor, and there’s a twin-sized cot pushed up against the wall. Against one wall is a metal bookshelf crammed end to end with books of all shapes and sizes. Against the other is a shelf full of cans, bottles, jars, etc.—which I distinctly realize are packed with non perishables.

“Where are we?” I don’t ask. In the lab, asking questions rarely gets you the answer you want—rather, you get marked down as “troublesome,” a label I don’t need here.

The giant places his hand on the cot. I hop off, the soft white mattress stretching for what feels like miles around me. I sit, wings folded by my sides, and wait.

The giant leaves. The door shuts.

I wait.

There are screams outside.

No one comes.

* * *

In a similarly-sized bed in an apartment not-so-far away, Peter Parker felt a semi-familiar tingling sensation creep down his back and spread like wildfire across his arms. He glanced down, a shudder raking his body.

Something was wrong.

He glanced upwards at the compartment in which he stored his suit, then downwards at his calculus homework.

Sucking in a breath, he launched himself away from the desk and towards the compartment. Two moments later, he was fully clad in the snug, soft crimson suit, his web shooters secure around his wrists.

Thirty seconds after that, he was out the window, swinging towards a destination towards which his gut was pulling him.

[celestialswrites]

excerpt (3)

here’s some context: they got to a district called theta but before that almost died in some sinking sand and infected people. fun times.

The long walkway towards the large castle-like building held bustling crowds, sounds from children laughing to hurried footsteps and clanging pots filling their ears. Wren’s lips parted in amazement, her surroundings making the fear of the crowds ahead wisping away with the wind. Near the center of the long walkway, far up ahead, stood a circle of stands and shops, much more lively and colourful than Delta ever could have been. Wren’s eyes followed trails of stringed cloths of all colours of the rainbow that stretched across lampposts and buildings, guiding them down the walkway.

A small giggle left Kal’s mouth as a group of children ran past her in a flurry, tossing a red pouch between each other. Wren couldn’t help but notice this had been the happiest she’d seen Kal, even if she’d been quite cheery during their journey.

As they neared the market circle, Wren noticed the backs of a crowd facing her, surrounding somebody or something near her right. She somehow found herself being lured towards them like a curious child. A tall man with rich brown skin and long dreads smiled brightly at the crowd, juggling three green bottles between his hands. Wren’s eyes were glued to his movements, watching him catch two bottles in his hands and the last on his forehead. The two in his hands were placed on the stone ground, grabbing the one on his forehead and placing a cloth overtop it. Within a blink of an eye, he whisked the cloth away, and the bottle had disappeared.

The crowd cheered, and Wren stood awkwardly frozen in place, mouth agape at the sudden trick. A hand pulled her away from the crowd, yet her mind was still stuck on the trick, begging to know how it was done.

“Never seen a magic trick before?” Kal asked, dropping Wren’s arm and guiding her back to the palace that stood at the end of the district. Wren blushed for a moment before shaking her head.

“I’ve only seen a few tricks, an old man in the camp used to play tricks with old world cards,” Kal explained, smiling at the old memory and walking with a skip in her step along the path.

Wren stayed silent, eyes often glancing around at the new colours and people before Kal spoke up again. “Thank you, by the way.”

Wren’s eyebrows narrowed in confusion. “For what?”

“Saving me back there, in the Sand Dunes. I was almost toast before you pulled me out.”

Wren bit her lip, another question pulling at her mind. “What’s toast?”

“No idea.”

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