#This moment from episode 3 still like shakes me to my core every time

[coconut530]

Stephpotterdrawtober & 31 Days of Nevermore Day 17: Son & Betrayal

[yearningandstillnotlearning]

𝚃𝚘 𝚊 𝚗𝚎𝚠 𝚋𝚎𝚐𝚒𝚗𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚊𝚖𝚎 𝚘𝚕𝚍 𝚏𝚎𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐.

- B.E.

First request!!! Req by: @bilsluckyheart !! Thank you for your faith in me and i hope i didn’t disappoint <3

A/N: used one of my experiences and altered it some more!! Help!!

C/W: m*n mentioned, comphet implied, death mentioned (?), angst, hurt no comfort, no use of y/n, Billie referred to with her name instead of she once, hope i didn’t miss smt

Summary: You finally get a partner and as you said you didn’t care what they were like! You just wanted to not be alone. Is that what fulfils you? Is that what you expected to happen when you were finally “not alone?” Bet you didn’t expect to lose what you realised way too late was what you truly wanted there with you.

❀。 •*₊❀。 • *₊°。 ❀°· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · · ❀。 • *₊°。 ❀° ❀。 •

A man, a man supposedly being your boyfriend but you can’t seem to help that you see him as a best friend more than anything. Sex feels rather like a playtime-pass time than intimacy - what’s supposed to be dates instead is like going out with your dad’s friend instead of your lover - being with him feels more suffocating than it does to be utterly alone.

Sick worried about your sexuality and cravings, controlling to the core. You needn’t have cut her off, did you? You didn’t like her like that, right?

Or was it just you being in denial? Have you thought how obvious it is when others hear how you talk to her, your tone, your blabbering, clinging onto every little detail ever just for the sake of a never-ending conversation. How your eyes light up the entire milky way the moment she looks your way, gives you attention, answers your texts, you you you in her mind you wanted it to be you.

And he saw that as a threat, his very own misery being contagiously inflicted to you, all in plain sight.

So many excuses for how he is- but you cant deny it. You don’t dare deny it, and you know it too.

The car rides you’d wish would lead to her, the friends you’d go out with you wished would include her, the indirect questions of his old friends in a flick of hope to hear about her.

She was never to be talked of again.

He broke up with you, why are you sad? Body shaking with devastation, tears running like real-life waterfalls, screams of a broken heart hope. You had only hoped you like him, you had only hoped you could convince yourself you like men, the way they like you. The closet shut so quick for the sake of being with someone for once, anyone.

It doesn’t take long until you realise you’re better without him, you aren’t miserable yourself, you were forced to be but yourself. The episodes and constant crying is over, your body has no one to reject anymore, so as the months go by, why do you still feel crashed?

Mind replaying the thoughts you had while dating him, how often you’d think of Billie, wish for her upon every shooting star, hoping your words would reach her under the same night sky.

You weren’t in love with her though? Right?

The times she’d laugh at your stupid jokes and you’d only grow warmer, all from inside out. The way she laughed at your idiotic jokes, eyes shut closed and uncontrollable irregular panting laughs, you felt your heart open up and flutter like a lotus. You weren’t breathing anymore - you were blooming.

Or how she would always react to you with a smile, no she wasn’t always happy, but she felt that way whenever you were in the picture.

You knew she wasn’t always happy, especially when you tried to contact her about a month after your breakup, after the breakup of probably the most pathetic relationship ever.

Her hometown being your own isn’t helping, with a new year of studies crawling in and summer days shortening she’s come to visit family and friends and you cant help but imagine every other girl she interacted with was you.

Stolen glances while passing by the street, yours were full head turns, trying to drink up as much of her as you can in that luck-pathed moment, whereas hers almost looked through you. Short and cold, like broken icicles used as daggers.

The eyes that once bent and twinkled with such a welcoming warmth you now find them leaving you breathless. The hands that once opened up like wings, fingers empty of their shiny rings, -something she always did knowing how the sensation makes you cringe unpleasantly- knowing she’s gonna see you, eager to be held by you contentedly, palms facing you with a silent request to hold them — now you see fallen, the only thing about them looking at you being the big shiny intimidating rings peeking from a fist.

The mud is dirty, the water is not the best. All kinds of things found around the pond taking a sip or a dip. But a lotus flower grows again tomorrow even cleaner than before. Why can’t she see it?

You a year ago today is nothing compared to you right now, you know what you are and what you want. So why is she suddenly scared to get wet? Why is every person attracted to the pond but her?

Everyone but the one you want.

The one person to bloom the lotus within you, the one to plant the lotus seed inside you, to keep it from rotting all along. She gave it life and left it with you to die.

Or at least you tell that yourself to feel better, better about the fact that you left her without a word and hoped for the best.

You hadn’t realised just how much time had passed, or that time had passed at all. Now out of your mind and back to your body, looking right at the entrance of a park, you hadn’t moved an inch since you looked back and was met with a killer gaze. The evening sky turning to yet another dark night. Were the nights always this cold?

You lean against the random buildings fence, state of shock unbothered. Your head tilts up as the breeze kisses past your features, thats when you realise your body has betrayed you yet again, wet cold teary cheeks.

Blink,, blink,,, blink… and you shot your eyes up ahead, the stars in the dark blue of the sky dancing along the hue of the endless horizon above and beyond, and for a moment you saw her eyes again, for a moment you saw her staring at you the way she used to. For a final moment before you felt your heart rip itself apart.

...

..

You had no outlet for your love to her, you didn’t have her. What was there to do with a feeling so tender that sucker punches your stomach the moment it sees the owner of it whole? A feeling that fights against your held back words and actions, trying to get out in any way, ends up finding that the only way out, is through.

There was no room for it. If you clung onto it, it would only destroy you.

[vizowrites]

OOOH I GOT A GOOD BLITZSTRIKE IDEA FROM EPISODE 6!! So you know that blitz had a I'm assuming was a illusion with poorly drawn moxxie and striker, etc yea that but striker just came to save the day! Da da daaaaaa (I am morning drunk-)

I made a post about just how badly I needed this exact thing in my life so THANK YOU SO MUCH for sending it to meeeeeeeeeee!! <3 <3

Now normally I'm all for the AU idea of Striker joining I.M.P. and just kind of automatically jumping in as an official member of their unofficial family, but I have to say for this.....I actually kind of like it better if I stick more to the canon here. Striker's not a member of I.M.P., he's still got his angel weaponry and the bounty on Stolas's head to settle after the mishap at the Harvest Moon Festival, and--most importantly--hasn't crossed paths with Blitz [or any of the others for that matter] since.

He hadn't been expecting it to happen when it did that night, either.

There wasn't much on Striker's mind other than his target as he slithered his way through the servant's quarters entrance of Stolas's manor house, entirely uncaring of the numerous cameras and other security features that he passed along the way. He had it on good faith that they would just happen to be disabled that night--a pissed off royal birdie had told him so. He'd also been told exactly how to navigate his way through the house undetected, exactly which rooms to avoid, and exactly where he would find the "cheating prick" at this hour. What he hadn't been told--and what he'd deliberately chosen not to ask--was just what the Goetian Prince would be doing by the time he made his soundless entry into his study. There was a small part of him, somewhere deeper than he usually cared to try to reach, that couldn't help but think of a certain impressive imp Boss that might be involved. There was an even deeper part of him, though, that felt the sharp sting of conflict as he found he couldn't make up his mind on whether he was hoping to see said impressive imp Boss there or not, considering what he would probably be doing.

His tail unconsciously flicked once, causing Striker to coil it tightly around himself in order to prevent what would have become a full blown rattle otherwise. This was ridiculous. He was here for one thing and one thing only: he had a job to do.

A job he was fully intending to enjoy.

A slow grin spread across his face as he shrugged the strap of his angelic rifle down from his shoulder, catching the weapon effortlessly and feeling the warm sting of its power against his fingertips. He really was going to enjoy this, he thought to himself as he silently crept into the study, taking advantage of the many outrageously sized pieces of furniture casting shadows around the room to stay hidden.

Just one shot. He just needed one shot.

The flickering glow of what he presumed to be firelight seemed to beckon him, encouraging him, and before he knew it he had the butt of the rifle pressed firmly into his shoulder and his right hand hovering just beside the trigger--ready and waiting to take aim and fire. All he needed was one glance now, just enough to see where exactly Stolas was in the room, and then it would be over. The fact that he couldn't hear the owl demon moaning in ecstasy strangely pleased him at his core, confirming that he in fact wasn't enjoying the company of his favorite plaything tonight. Good. It meant he didn't need to spare a second thought for who else might get caught in the crossfire. Anyone else honestly wouldn't matter.

.....He tried to distract himself from thinking about that thought too deeply by finally taking his glance, trying to focus back on the one who didn't matter to him at all.

Instead, he found himself looking straight at the one being that did.

"Blitz--" The half-whisper caught in the back of his throat, thankfully stiffling the majority of the sound as Striker's eyes went wide. He didn't know how the hell Stolas was doing this--he didn't know this was something the Ars Goetia could do--but somehow, in the middle of what he'd previously thought was just a fireplace casting the twisting forms of light and darkness across the room, was a strange mirror-like orb that seemed to be reflecting an image to the Prince sitting across from it in one of his high-backed chairs.

An image of Blitz, tied to a much smaller chair, struggling as some strange green something started to pool beneath his feet.

What the flying fuck was happening?

"Oh darling, what have you gotten yourself into this time?" Stolas cooed from across the room, completely oblivious to the hitman staring at him as he watched the scene unfold before him as if it was his favorite daytime drama. "Let's be extra careful about what we say from here on out, shall we? You're not going to be very happy with me if I have to come down there and take my book back from your charming daughter. Especially since that's going to delay her rescuing of you by quite a bit."

Striker didn't know what to do. There was a part of him that felt the unmistakable urge to just raise his weapon and fire, to carry on with the plan just as he'd intended and figure out the rest from there. But there was that other, deeper, part of him that had frozen, leaving him unable to look at or think about anything other than the imp that was now spilling his guts out in whatever room he was in as easily as if he'd just been sliced open.

And the vermin was there with him--apparently tripping balls as he slumped into his own chair and started mumbling incoherently.

Perfect.

"Now just what is happening here?" Stolas murmured, his voice catching Striker's attention--that urge flaring up in him again, and yet, before he could think about whether or not to actually take aim at him, he instead watched as Stolas lifted his hand from beneath his chin and gave a little wave over the orb. The image within shifted, rippling as if it were made of water, and when it finally settled again it was of something new:

Moxxie, now freed from his bonds, making his way up a marble staircase lined with candelabras towards a cape-wearing Blitz playing piano.....and they were both singing.

What. The. Fuck. Is. Happening??

"Ooohh my," Stolas chuckled delicately from behind his curved fingers, amusement sparking in his glowing crimson eyes as he watched the scene unfold. "Your little underling here has quite the imagination now, doesn't he? Well if his truth is this entertaining--" He lifted his hand once more, his fingertips hovering over the unnaturally glowing scene. "--I really must see yours now, Blitzy."

Don't--

Striker didn't know why he felt such a sudden surge of protectiveness for Blitz's privacy of all things in that moment, but seeing the image ripple again as it began to change had him biting his lip hard enough that he could feel it start to bleed. Just what the fuck was this asshole doing? Did he just get himself off to spying on Blitz like this?? At times when he's clearly in trouble and needing help that isn't prying into his drug-induced hallucinations??

If he'd been a better person, he would have killed Stolas then and there just to make this stop. But since he wasn't, his curiosity stilled his hands for another few moments as the window into Blitz's vison settled into view.

He didn't like any part of what he saw.

The memory of himself referring to Blitz as a "rodeo clown of a boss" came back to him with the viciousness of a bite, causing him to tense as he watched as Blitz--stumbling around in a clown costume--started getting tormented by voices and swirling figureless masses of color. The first to solidify was Moxxie, spewing bullshit that honestly Striker could barely care to keep up with, except for the fact that it was so obviously berrating Blitz for.....something. Just what the hell did Blitz care what that little baby dick had to say? He knew he was better than that.

.....Didn't he?

Striker felt his grip on the rifle loosening as he sank back fully onto the floor, his pale eyes glinting and his tail starting to vibrate hard against his shirt. He tried to muster up every ounce of his self control, willing it to stop before the rattling sound tipped off Stolas--only for his tail to go utterly still as something very similar lashed its way around Blitz's throat and threw him to the ground.

And there he was, staring at himself.

"But you don't want to do things alone Blitzo!"

Hearing himself--not himself, that wasn't even his fucking voice--say that made his blood run cold with rage. How fucking dare whoever was doing this impersonate him like this! Using him to torment Blitz like this! And Blitz was seemingly actually buying it--wait, Stolas had called this Blitz’s “truth”.  Did this mean.....was this what Blitz thought of him?? What the fuck!? Since when the hell did Blitz ever hear Striker call him "Blitzo" once before in his life?? Never! He wanted to grab Blitz by the shoulders and shake him, screaming right into his face that he would never say his name like that when he knows damn well that the O is silent! Okay, so he might’ve called him “Blitzy” when they parted ways because he was bitter over Blitz choosing to stop him from killing Stolas instead of running off with him to take down Overlords--and that was his bad.  And yeah, he might've been trying to get on his good side to have an easier shot at killing Stolas, sure, but...that didn't mean that the things he'd said to Blitz weren't true! He really did want to be partners!

The scene changed again, another set of stairs, and Blitz frantically climbing up them to try and escape the figures that were literally haunting him--Striker feeling that cold burn spread in his chest at the sight of being one of them.

Though nothing could have prepared him for the tidal wave of feeling that would crash over him in the moment he saw just who was waiting for Blitz at the top of those stairs.

Stolas.

You Daddy Fucker.

"Are you afraid to love people, Blitzy?"

Striker's fingers clenched so hard around his rifle that he thought he was going to snap it in two, his pale gold-green eyes fixed on the sight of Blitz crawling on his hands and knees up that glowing staircase, as golden chains fastened around each of his wrists and around his neck. The rest of the voices were lost to the roar of whitenoise now ringing in Striker's ears as he watched Stolas pull Blitz willingly onto his lap, holding him by that chain attached to the collar at his throat.....

"Oh Blitzy--!"

And when he heard that erotic gasp and saw that look on Blitz's face, he finally couldn't take it.

The next thing he knew, he was back in the hallway, making a beeline for the room that he'd been instructed to go to only after he'd finished the job. Oh he was going to finish it all right. He was going to finish it slowly and painfully. But there was something even more important that he had to finish first.

He honestly didn't remember what he'd said when he stormed into Stella's room. He didn't know how long he had been there and he had no idea how he got away with being there for any amount of time without her calling for security to run in and tackle him to the ground. Most of all, he had absolutely no idea what the hell kind of reason he could have possibly given for her to locate the party of imps on Earth and open him a portal to get to them--but whatever reason he gave must've been a pretty damn good one. The next thing he knew there was a glowing blue door literally opening in front of his face, revealing a blood soaked room and the now united beings of Hell trapped between a steel door and two human fuckers who were pointing pistols at their faces.

At Blitz's face.

The shots rang out one after the other, followed by the distinct meaty thuds of two bodies hitting the floor. Striker didn't particlarly notice the fact that the portal had closed behind him the minute he stepped into the room, rendering him just as trapped as the others, but he also didn't particularly care. That bird bitch was still going to get exactly what she wanted when he got back--he would make sure of it. But for now, at least, it was enough just to be able to stride over to that face--full of disbelief and shock--and cup it tenderly in his palm.

"You ain't gotta do jack shit alone, Blitz," he said, and the sincerity of his own voice shook him from the top of his head down to the soles of his feet. "You're not alone, Blitz."

He didn't know it until much much later, but hearing Striker say those words to him had made Blitz feel as though he'd just been handed the keys to his chains.

[laughingphoenixleader]

Here’s another full-fledged fic, friends!

Pairing: Kanan Jarrus/Hera Syndulla

Rating: G

A/N: This one’s set the night of Season 3, Episode 3: The Holocrons of Fate. This is my vision of how Kanera dealt with the whole K-disappearing-for-six-kriffing-months thing. Enjoy and feel free to leave feedback if the Force calls you to!

@kanerallels <3

Hera Syndulla can’t wield the Force.

Not even a little bit.

But even so, she’s been told that she has a real talent for sensing other people’s emotions.

It started when she was a little girl—a knot in her stomach or some tension in her lekku would appear out of nowhere. She’d suddenly feel frustrated, sad, or afraid without understanding why. Except for times during puberty and her time of month—unfortunately, Hera wasn’t exempt from actual mood swings—those feelings that came out of the blue were never hers at all. When these unexplained emotions appeared within her, Hera would come to find out that someone close to her was struggling with something that had induced the exact feeling that Hera had experienced. So, she was often able to figure out what the people around her were feeling before they understood it themselves. It even, on occasion, happened with complete strangers.

Over time, she even became capable of knowing whose wave of emotions she was being hit by. Everyone’s felt slightly different. Emotional intensity varied from person to person, as did how they felt their emotions. Some beings felt their emotions pounding in their temples, others carried their stress in their shoulders, while others’ feelings made knots in their stomachs materialize. Hera became such an expert on discovering how each person was feeling that she’d often greet a friend or family member by asking why they were feeling so angry, sad, or afraid. The closer she was to a person, the more sensitive she was to their emotions, and the stronger they felt to her.

Hera has never been as in touch with anyone’s emotions as she is with those of Kanan Jarrus.

During the six months when he distanced himself from Hera and the rest of his family, she had always known when the nightmares had come. But he had never come to find her like he used to when the terrors struck. Hera could feel the pull to him—it was always present, no matter how she denied it—growing inside of her until it was almost unbearable, but she had steeled herself and remained where she was (usually the pilot’s seat). She spent plenty of nights staring off into the stars like she and Kanan used to do together, feeling the pain of doing nothing gnawing at her soul. But her respect for Kanan’s desires and needs outweighed it all. She knew him better than anyone else, so she could tell that he didn’t want her help right then. If he had, he would have come and found her. He had to come to her on his own time.

For six months, Kanan hadn’t wanted her help. He hadn’t wanted her.

Hera had to keep telling herself that this hadn’t broken her heart.

When she feels the sickening wrench of panic in her chest while sitting in the pilot’s chair on Atollon, though, she knows in her core that this time is different. This time, he needs her.

In an instant, she’s jumped to her feet, placed her datapad on the floor of the cockpit, and is slamming the button on the Ghost’s controls that opens the door to Kanan’s cabin. No one but her knows that any of the cabin door locks can be overridden from the cockpit, and she plans on keeping it that way.

She’s in his cabin in a flash, heart racing and Kanan’s fear coursing through her veins. She can hear him tossing and turning in the dark as she presses the button to turn on the lights. The dark-haired Jedi in the bottom bunk is drenched in sweat, the sheets twisted around his thrashing form. His scarred eyes are shut tightly. Hera realizes that, though he returned from his self-imposed exile several days ago and lost his sight six months ago, she hasn’t seen him without some sort of blindfold or mask covering his eyes since the incident. His face is twisted into an agonized expression.

Hera runs to his side. “Kanan,” she tries to call him from whatever world of horrors he’s trapped in. “Kanan, wake up!”

The Jedi’s whole body immediately responds to her voice, turning towards her and stilling slightly. Kanan’s always told her that he loves the sound of her voice. So she keeps talking.

“Don’t worry, everything’s fine.”

Kanan’s face twists again, and he seems to look around searchingly, though his eyes are still closed. His body is shaking, his fear palpable.

“It’s me, Kanan, I’m right beside you; you’re safe.”

His eyes fly open.

Kanan’s eyes, eyes that Hera could have stared into forever (though she had usually done her best not to think about that), eyes full of beautiful, vibrant aquamarine, are now pale and colorless.

Hera scolds herself for the lump in her throat that forms. It doesn’t matter. This shouldn’t upset me. Am I really that shallow?

She shakes off the sudden wave of sorrow and focuses on Kanan.

“Hera?” he calls for her, still searching. His face fills with panic again. “Where are you?”

“Look at me—“

Hera stops short.

That was how she had always drawn him from his nightmares before. Look at me, she’d tell him. I’m here. She’d turned the light on for this exact purpose when she’d entered, forgetting for a moment that everything had changed.

She’ll have to get creative this time.

“I can’t!” Kanan cried. “I can’t anymore, Hera, it’s gone—“

“I know, I know—“

“You’re so far away,” his voice breaks as he speaks.

Hera moves closer. “No. I’m right here, Kanan.”

“No,” he says miserably. “You’re gone—you left me—everyone left me—I’m useless, I’m broken, no one needs me anymore—it’s too late—“

His voice, full of anguish, breaks again and his body shakes with tears that he is no longer able to shed. Hera forgets that he broke her heart, that he left them all, that the deepening relationship between them had suddenly become nonexistent. The man she loves is hurting, and she’s going to fix that. Or, at least, help him through it.

She goes back to the door, turning off the lights so she’s forced to see how he sees. Then she climbs into the bunk beside him.

His body is racked with sobs as she places a hand on his cheek. He gasps at her touch.

“Kanan,” she says in her most soothing, reassuring tone—the one that has never failed to calm him before—“do you feel me?”

“Hera,” he whispers, filled with relief, and sounding…awestruck, for some reason.

“It’s me,” she tells him comfortingly, emphasizing her next words. “I never left you, and I never will.”

Kanan begins to mumble her name, one of his hands finding its way on top of hers, the other holding onto her forearm for dear life. The way he says her name always makes her heart race, though she’s never really understood why. No one else pronounces it like that…the way he speaks out the two syllables somehow sounds and feels like a caress. He begins to speak hastily; desperately.

“I can still fight for the Rebellion—I have the Force, it’ll help me see—I’m not truly blind because I can see myself.”

“I believe you, Kanan,” Hera presses her forehead against his. “You’re not useless. We’re never giving up on you.”

Kanan feels her arm, touches her shoulders, his hands seeming to be on a mission to make sure she’s really there. When they near her lekku, Hera moves them away. He’s touched them before, with her permission. That first time he did was the best nights she’d ever had…and so was every other night he’d done it again. Now that he’s been gone for so long, and he clearly doesn’t want her…

Focus on your mission. He needs you—right here; right now.

Hera slips out of her thoughts and feels Kanan place his hand on the side of her face for a moment, then take her in his arms and hold her close. He presses his forehead to hers. Their closeness makes Hera’s heart attempt to catch up to Kanan’s pounding one.

Slowly, his body relaxes. His heavy breathing evens.

Hera relaxes, too. More than she has in six months.

She hasn’t let herself realize how much she’s missed the complete safety she always feels in his arms. She lets him hold her, tucking her head underneath his. Kanan makes a noise of discomfort, and she smiles softly, placing her forehead against his again. This has always been the position they’ve used when comforting each other. Kanan sighs contentedly.

Eventually, he stirs, and she knows he’s emerged from the nightmare.

“Hey,” Kanan greets her, the panic gone from his voice, gentleness and awkwardness taking its place.

There has never been awkwardness between them. Not like this.

Hera lifts her head from his. “Better now?” she asks him.

He shudders. “That’s an understatement.”

Hera strokes his cheek in reply. The last six months had seemed to fade into oblivion during the last few minutes, but now she feels the shards of pain return.

Will he ask me to leave?

“Hera…” he says her name for the thousandth time that night. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” she responds quietly.

They don’t move from their positions.

After a moment, he continues tentatively. “You don’t have to stay.”

Hera can still feel the remains of her anger towards him from several days before cutting into her, but the image of his tortured face and voice from earlier are seared into her mind.

“Do you want me to leave?” she asks gently.

His arms involuntarily tighten around her.

She laughs softly in spite of it all. Though her hurt and anger is returning, she’s delighted that he wants her beside him.

“I’m staying.”

Hera realizes that he’s been holding his breath when he resumes breathing again. His pulse speeds up, though it isn’t pounding frantically like it was earlier.

The night he’d come back, they’d had their worst fight to date. Once they were alone in his room, she’d tried—Kanan would chastise her for using that word—to hold her emotions back, to be understanding, but her hurt had led to anger, and it had burst out of her, as it often did. Words had spilled out of her, words she’d bottled up inside her for the last six months. She’d said things she knew she’d regret, things that she could see cutting through him. But her own pain had blinded her in that moment. She’d kept going for those six months, never stopping long enough to deal with her hurt, so it had only festered. Kanan had been defensive, stony-faced, his arms crossed, and that had only enraged her further.

Then, today, after several days of avoiding each other, Maul had attacked the Ghost. Throughout the experience, Hera’s lekku had burned with the knowledge that her last interaction with Kanan, besides a short phrase here and there, had been full of biting words and simmering hurt.

She’d spent the hours after Kanan had rescued her and the others contemplating out what to say and how to apologize. She’d been in the middle of doing so when the wrench of terror sent her straight to his room.

The fight had ended with her snapping, “Don’t pretend you still want me. You proved that that wasn’t true when you abandoned me—abandoned us for half a year.” Her voice had broken against her will. “You didn’t even say you were leaving. Or when you’d be back.” Then she’d slammed on the button to close her door in his face, blinking furiously to hide the scorching tears in her eyes. Hera had slid down the wall, then spent the rest of that night finally letting the tears she’d held back spill out of her.

“You…you want to stay?” Kanan now asks her uncertainly. “Everything you said several nights ago—it all makes sense, and I’m so sorry.” His earnestness and guilt rolls off of him as he continues. “I understand if you don’t forgive me; I know I hurt you—I was gone for so long—“

Hera interrupts softly. “I forgive you.”

He stops his uncomfortable, awkward squirming.

“You do?”

His tone is so full of uncertainty and hope that Hera’s heart melts.

“I do,” she tells him gently. “For everything.”

Kanan begins to protest, torture and regret emanating from his voice, even as Hera can feel some of the tension begin to drain out of him. “No, Hera, you shouldn’t forgive me so easily. I don’t deserve that. After all these years, I just left. The way I made you feel…” Kanan’s voice wavers before he continues. “I thought that the Force was telling me to spend time alone—that was my excuse. But I distanced myself from the Force, from you, from everyone—and I don’t even know why.” He shakes his head, incredulous at himself, then desperately starts to explain. “I couldn’t handle any responsibilities or obligations. My feelings took over—I thought I was useless, that I was a failure because of my blindness—my depression overwhelmed me. I was lost—lost again, like I was when you found me on Gorse.” Kanan’s still holding her, but his embrace feels almost fragile, like he’s afraid that she’ll rip herself away from him at any second. “I thought I had grown since then, that it would never happen again. It wasn’t just that I lost my vision—it was that Ahsoka is gone, that we lost against that Sith Lord—” Kanan heaves a sigh, one heavy with self-hatred. “And now I’m making it about me again.”

Hera listens intently. He’s clearly been carrying this within him for too long. “It’s all right,” she reassures him quietly. “Talk to me.”

“I never stopped wanting you,” he says in a rough voice, one filled with sincerity and raw emotion, and Hera’s broken heart skips a beat. “And I know that that doesn’t seem true, because I still stayed away.” He’s quiet for a moment. Hera can practically hear the gears in his mind turning as he works to verbalize and explain. “I couldn’t face you. Not when I felt so lacking, and you’re so…so capable, so impactful, so successful.“

Hera nearly protests at this, but she stays silent for his sake, knowing that her interruption won’t be helpful to him right now.

“I was ashamed. Ashamed of my weakness. Ashamed that I didn’t sense Maul coming, that I didn’t stop him somehow. And…I couldn’t face the pain of not being able to see you. I didn’t want to hold you back or burden you, or make you feel like you had to let me tag along on missions. I thought that you were better off without me in your way.”

Hera’s heart is reeling and rejoicing at the fact that she is still wanted, that he never really rejected her, but she also knows that he’ll only keep spiraling downward if she doesn’t interject at the right time—which is now.

“You don’t have to explain it all to me,” she tells him sincerely, though the still-angry side of her screams that that isn’t true.

“I’m just trying—I just want you to know that…that I still love you, Hera.”

The earnestness in his voice and the admission of “I love you” does it. Hera can feel her shattered, rejected heart begin to heal. What he says next only soothes it further.

“The depression drowned everything out—but sometimes I would hear your voice, or see your face in my mind, and that kept me from losing all hope. From giving up on everything.”

Hera’s heart swells, and tears spring up in her own fully whole eyes. She places her forehead against his again. His breath catches, but he finishes speaking. “I understand if you don’t feel the same way. I don’t know why you would, after how much I hurt you. I…I can tell you’re heartbroken, Hera.” His body starts shaking again, as if he’s living inside of another nightmare. “And knowing I did that to you—just because all I could think about was myself and what I needed, rather than what you and the rest of the crew needed—“ Hera can feel the unshed tears again as he begins to apologize, again and again, until he loses the ability to speak. She gently cradles his head, stroking his disheveled hair, her own healing heart throbbing at his anguish. She brushes her thumbs over where the tears would be, if everything were different.

“I’m too full of mistakes,” he sobs. “You deserve much better than someone like me.”

Hera decides that now she’s on a mission—a mission to stop her Jedi’s spiral of self-hatred.

“Listen to me, Kanan Jarrus,” she tells him in a firm but kind tone, as she continues to stroke his hair. “You’re no worse than anyone else. We all make mistakes. We’re all selfish at times. Even those of us who devote our lives to helping others sometimes hurt them instead. Caring about someone means helping them move on from their mistakes and make it right. What kind of people would we be if we never gave others a second chance?”

His dry shaking begins to stop, and Hera can feel him listening in rapt attention.

“You know I don’t give up—and I never gave up on you. I never will. Yes, you’ve hurt me, but I care enough about you to forgive you. Who you are right now is worth forgiving. You’re worthy of forgiveness, of my choosing you, even though you aren’t perfect.” Hera’s words seem to hit hard, since Kanan’s breath catches again. She continues genuinely and tenderly, “Even if I met the most perfect person in the galaxy, I’d still choose you instead. You’re truly good, Kanan.”

After a moment of silence, Kanan whispers, “You really mean that?”

Hera lifts his face and presses a kiss to his forehead. “Of course I do. And I really do forgive you. If you’ll forgive me for hurting you instead of listening to you over the last few days.” Now her own voice is colored with remorse. “I should have been there for you, helping you readjust.”

“But, Hera, I understand why you were angry. I deserved it.”

“That doesn’t make it right,” Hera points out. “Will you forgive me?”

Immediately, he replies, “Yeah. I forgive you.”

Then his hands move for the first time since his nightmare. He places one on her cheek, while the other moves to the small of her back. Hera’s heart begins to pick up speed as his face nears hers. “Is it all right if I…?” he asks in a whisper, ever respectful of her boundaries. In answer, Hera moves her own face closer to his, and their lips meet.

Six months is a long time.

But the longer you’re deprived of something, the sweeter it is when you finally get to experience it again.

The first thing Hera feels is the warmth. It spreads throughout her whole body, especially her lekku, chasing away the emptiness and loneliness that became the new normal in Kanan’s absence. One of his hands caresses her cheek, while the other pulls her close, resting on the small of her back. She pulls the band from his now-destroyed ponytail, slipping it expertly onto her wrist (she’s had plenty of practice) and threading her fingers into his hair. She can feel him smile into her lips when she does so, which makes her smile in return. Kanan seems to get a burst of excitement, a delighted gasp escaping him. Hera pulls away just enough to ask, “what is it?”

He responds, his voice charged with enthusiasm and love,

“I got to feel you smile again.”

A wave of emotion sweeps over Hera, her heart squeezing at the overwhelming amount of sweetness infused into that small sentence. She presses her lips to his again, beaming just for him. Kanan laughs giddily, a sound of pure joy.

Hera hasn’t heard him laugh in so long.

So she can’t help but laugh with him. A moment later, his thumb begins stroking her cheek more urgently. She gently breaks the kiss to ask, “What is it, love?”She can feel his giddiness rise at the term of endearment, which makes her beam again. He murmurs in a voice filled to the brim with gratitude, “Thank you, Hera. For forgiving me. I thought that I’d lost this. I thought that I’d messed up too badly to ever earn your affection again.” Misery seems to overwhelm him at the thought.

“There’s no need to earn it,” she assures him, placing her other hand, the one not entwined in his hair, on his chest. “Honestly, I couldn’t take it from you if I tried,” she confesses.

“Are you saying that you’re hopeless, Hera Syndulla?” The cocky slyness, which had made up the Kanan Jarrus that she first met all those years ago on Gorse, fills his voice.

She rolls her eyes, then remembers that the lights are out, and that he can’t see her anyway. And yet—

“You just rolled your eyes, didn’t you?”

“You earned it,” she deadpans.

He laughs again and somehow pulls her closer, so that their foreheads are touching again.

“There’s the Hera I remember,” he declares, tenderness and the classic mischievousness returning.

She showcases her own mischievous streak in her reply. “Missed me, love?”

“Every second,” he answers tenderly.

“I missed you, too,” she tells him, warmth filling her tone and her soul.

That sly mischievousness again. “Especially my sense of humor, right?”

“Actually, that’s what I missed the least,” she switches back into deadpanning.

“Hey!” he protests, his tone a convincing one of feigned offense, but then it makes way for the trademark slyness. “But you did miss it.”

Hera groans. “That is not what I said.”

“You’re not denying it,” Kanan teases.

After a moment, he declares, “I’ve finally found the one benefit that comes with being blind.”

“What’s that?” she asks, resigning herself to whatever nonsense he’s about to spill.

She can hear the grin in his voice. “Now I can’t see it when you glare at me.”

Hera rolls her eyes, then says in a playful tone, “But you can feel my anger in the Force, right?”

Kanan’s silent for a moment. “It’s impossible not to.” He shudders, mortified at the thought of it.

“Kanan Jarrus, you’re a Jedi Knight and a veteran of the Clone Wars, and you’re afraid of me?”

He lets out a huff of laughter, like the answer is obvious. “You bet.”

Hera’s voice is devious. “You should be.”

“Everybody should be. You’re terrifying, Hera.”

She chuckles, shaking her head slightly, her forehead still pressed to his. “You’re exaggerating.”

“Come on, I never exaggerate.”

After a moment of silence on Hera’s part, he amends reluctantly, “okay, I usually don’t exaggerate. You’ve seen how the kids and I look at you when you’re furious with us.”

Hera considers this. She always knows that when she gives members of her crew that glare, they’ll do whatever she says. Usually. “Maybe I should use it on whoever’s trying to attack us sometime.”

“You should. Just to see what would happen.”

She laughs. “I don’t even need a blaster. No armor can protect those stormtroopers from my death glare.”

“You better believe it,” Kanan murmurs, stroking the small of her back.

“I sure am glad you’re not angry with me anymore,” he adds after a bit of comfortable silence.

“Me too, love.”

Chills ripple over him at the term of endearment, and she chuckles lightly, a bubble of joy rising inside of her at how much he treasures her little ways of showing him how much she loves him.

Hera has no clue how long they stay like this, stealing kisses, sharing little touches, slipping in and out of conversation (complete with plenty of smiles and eyerolls). What she does know is that the distance between her and Kanan has disappeared. The emptiness and feelings of being incomplete have been replaced by fullness and completeness. No, they aren’t as close as they were before Malachor, but Hera has faith that that will change over time. What matters most is that she knows that Kanan is happier than he’s been in a long time. Eventually, they drift off into sleep, still holding each other close. Their dreams are peaceful, for there’s no room for nightmares when nothing but long-awaited contentment fills them both to overflowing.

When morning comes, the members of the Ghost Crew don’t need to be able to sense each others’ emotions to know that things have finally changed for the better.

The family is whole again.

[give-grian-rights]

HERMITCRAFT 8 LIVEBLOGGING

fifteen hermits worth of liveblogging. i am losing my mind. LONG POST AHEAD.

JOE HILLS (First HC8 Video)

Mumbo did the speech. he forgot everything he was supposed to say <3

Pearl and Gemini were just .in a pit . having stuff thrown onto them

Every Hermit is staying on the same continent !!

FIRST DEATHS VERY QUICKLY, Iron Golems took out Tango and Etho (maybe more?)

Joe seems to be the only one looting the chests

Evil Jevin !!

Evil Xisuma appearance on Jevin’s 60 second video!

Pearl has something planned for an “archeticual wonder” for a resupply area upon death?

Stress, Xisuma and Joe are capturing villagers and starting up a resupply debut.

Bdubs is killed by Cleo and is now OUT FOR BLOOD

First death counts- Etho, Tango, Bdubs, Cleo?

Cleo was killed by Keralis

Joe has now supplied Cleo with weapons and food . She left but not before saying “Time to kill BDubs again!”

Gemini was killed by Bdubs! They both died and are now at spawn.

Pearl was killed by Cleo

Pearl is planning a respawn inn !!

Cleo was killed by Iskall

Cleo was killed by Pearl

False, Stress, and Gemini team up??? AA!!! they brought a delivery of supplies to Joe <3

i wish i knew what was happening on that end .

APPARENTLY XISUMA IS ONTO MAKING THE SECOND VILLAGER BREEDER ALREADY ??

Iskall is the first with Diamonds??

Breathe in that ash !

WAIT IS TANGOS EYES LIKE THAT RN BECAUSE HES TEAMED WITH KERALIS AND BDUBS ???

KERALIS, BDUBS, AND TANGO TRIED TO DO A SHAKEDOWN ON JOE. HE TRIED TO DROP LAVA, GOT HIMSELF ONTO TWO HEARTS BECAUSE HE PLACED IT ON HIMSELF, AND IS NOW SWIMMING OUT INTO THE SWAMP

the big eyed trio are now off to shake down Gemini

Joe fell in Lava in the Nether

Joe Death To Lava Two: Electric Boogaloo

Joe drowned trying to kill a glowsquid

WATCH JOE’S VIDEO OH MY GOD SEAN HILLS RECAP RAP??? MY BELOVED????? i am gonna be streaming this unironically later LIKE OH MY GOD THIS SLAPS. ALSO THE CREDITS AT TEH END IS HILARIOUS

Zedaph Episode Recap

Zed gave us a recap of the continent every Hermit will be living on !!

Wouldn’t recommend Zedaph as the first video for the season, he skips the intro/speech but it’s Zedaph and hes making it fun!! Lots of nice editing :)

~SCIENCE TIME !~

Zedaph.. why is your starter base made out of concrete ?

There are no sheeps whatsoever on his mountain

Hes calling his lab an icecream sandwich..yeah i see it

Zed tried to make a portal underater...f

Scar died to a creeper </3

Zedaphs base is gonna be tracking how long hes there/someones loading the chunk!

XISUMA LIVE BLOGGING

A cool cinema scene of him becoming an axolotl!! <3

NOW I CAN SEE IT, GRIAN WAS THE FIRST DEATH!! Death by Iron Golem!!

XIsuma’s baseplans need over 45 THOUSAND BLOCKS TO BE PLACED

He’s also planning on making a shulkershell farm!!

i’m not gonna lie ! talking axolotl X is horrifying ! thanks !

Day one Villager Breeder... chaos.

Xisuma Derp! looked straight at a buncha wool and said how badly he needed beds and then walked away

THE GIRLS CAME OVER AND CONVINCED HIM HE NEEDS TO MOVE THE DESIGN OVER MY FIVE BLOCKS FOR SWAMP VILLAGERS..

THE GIRLS ARE JUST LAUGHING AT HIM AND HIS VILLAGER TROUBLES

day one and Xisuma has got his axolotl!!

Very pretty starterbase!!

XB’s

..I’m not gonna lie theres not much to say!! He’s very calm :) he says hes going into it without a plan, and htat last season was the only time he had any thought of what he was gonna do.

He made a real nice starter house and thats about it!

Cleo’s

Bdubs: “She ain’t gonna hurt me!! i’m invincible, babey!”

Cleo learnt that BDubs will never hurt her even if she deserves it . I am starting to realize why she kills him

SHE DECIDED SHES GONNA BE A PROPER CHAOS GREMLIN THIS SEASON...

AISDJASID CLEO GOT PAID TO KILL BDUBS?? HDUIAIHSI SCAR WHY

“Alright I found my mission for the season! Murder.”

Cleo, Mumbo, Grian, and Scar are all holed up in a cave together!

..Scar died from a skeleton !

Cleo has now split from Grian and Mumbo! Scar is missing in action

CLEO FOUND A GOAT

SHES KILLING THE GOAT???

she got a HORSE <3 and Joe gave her a saddle! I think her name is..Widget?

She LOVES the candles for shamboo n waterbottles and bits n bobs for her armorstands!!

Got her Armorstand stickgod book <3

Geminitay POV

NEW HERMIT NEW HERMIT NEW HERMIT!!

She has a LOVELY voice!!

The pov of her in a hole . being surrrounded . is kinda hilarious

It might’ve been Etho who was first death?? I GENUIENLY CANNOT TELL BECAUSE OF EDITING

All the murder was just for heads!

Seriously her voice is. wow

WE LOVE A QUEEN WHO KNOWS HOW TO CRAFT A SHIELD WITHOUT USING THE GUIDE <3

False, Gemini, and Stress are on the great journey for MOSS !

Gem just blew their minds with the moss.

TANGO KERALIS AND BDUBS ARE BACK Keralis: “Show the diamonds show the diamonds show the diamonds!” Gem: “Keralis. This is not how you make friends.”

The boys suecessfully recieved a diamond each

Etho n Iskall are travelling together!! You dont see those two together often

Etho got a glowsquid head!!

Gem: “Etho doesn’t share, is what i’m learning..?”

Etho hooked her with a fishing rod and said she has to do what he said .

In order to get the diamonds, Tango, Keralis, and BDubs placed down a sign saying “Gem is Great!” and Gem used a glow inksack on it.

Etho: “So..What is this? Do you have an ego, or this a motivational thing, or..?” He said, while laughing

Iskall: “I think its really funny that you have set your base up in the middle of a birch forest.” Gem: “I love birch forests! Do you not like my birch forest? Iskall: “I love it, yeah.” Gem: “This is the best biome in the game, Iskall.” Iskall: “Mmmm..” Etho: “I’m pretty sure I heard Iskall talking earlier that like, of all the biomes in the game, there was one he hated more than anything. Gem: “Oh really? And what was that one?” Iskall: “..Taiga.” Gem: “Taiga.. That’s true, thats a good one, thats a good one.” Iskall: “Don’t like Taiga.” Gem: “Mhm.” Etho: “Which one do you hate more than anyone?” Iskall: “..Diorite fields. Thats a bad one.” Etho: “Yeah thats a bad one.” Gem: “Didn’t know about that one. Well make sure to avoid’em. Birch forests are really good.” Iskall: “I’m a big fan of birch forests.” Gem: “Yeah, me too, me too. I’m glad we’re on the same page :) This is so beautiful! All the white and- and the like zebra stripes! is fantastic.” Iskall: “I..Um.. Yes.”

OH SHE’S CANADIAN,, ETHO HAS A FRIEND /j

She’s still in college :O SHE’S A SCIENTIST?? SHES WORKING AT A HOSPITAL?? POG!!

She accidentally found an enchanted golden apple in a mineshaft!! she thinks its the first she ever found in survival!!

She has a cow, sheep, and a few crop farms set up!! Her starter house has INTERRIOR!

SHE CHANGED HER SKIN AND ITS SO PRETTY AND HAS OVERALL AND I LOVE IT!!

shes doing a cottage core inspired base!

WOAHH!!! SHE MADE HTE MOST GOREGOUS CUSTOM TREE I’VE EVER SEEN ??

BDUBS IS HERE and he is so so so impressed by the tree ?!

also hes carrying a clock.. :(

He’s here with a present!

HE BROUGHT BAMBOO!

she thinks its so funny that he stops conversations to sleep AOIDHFEAUI\

SCARS

WE GOT A TRANSITION SCENE!! the canonical reason for the bed in his old village always being occupied is because underneath it, was his wizard portal!

Bdubs: “It’s a new season! You’re the little guy now!”

They are all very amused by that ^

they’re rubbing the fleece of bdubs jacket .

Bdubs: “Have a nice rub :)” PLEASEAHSIOJDIUASLDHIASDA

His starter base is gonna be a wagon and he wants the end game to be a bioshock esque skyscraper!

he confused a horse for a player . flashback to iskall thinking mumbo was a mob

PEOPLE THINK MUMBO DOESNT HAVE PANTS ON.... </3

Scar, Mumbo, and Grian.. have NO braincells. at all. THey just placed a crafting table with a boat on top with a bed on top with a boat on top .

this is what BROS FOR LIFE looks like.

BOATEM POLE !

SCAR IS STUCK UNDERGROUND IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT IRL AND HAS NO PICKAXE..

AND HE DIED TO A CREEPER .

it seems like Grian, Mumbo, and Scar are working together !!!! HOLY SHIT !!

THERES SO SO SO MANY FARMS???????

he died several times trying to catch a skeleton with a sword

FIRST CHEST MONSTER OF THE SEASON <3

SCAR JSUT TOLD BDUBS HE LOOKS LIKE OSCAR THE CROUCH... BDUBS CANNOT EVEN ARGUE

OH NO.... GRIAN WENT AFK IN A HOLE . WITHOUT A HELMET .

THEY PUT A  GLOWSQUID HEAD ON HIM

OH MY GOD MUMBO MADE A NOTEBLOCK SONG?? AJUDA

SCARS BUILTING IS SO SO SOOS GOREGOUS SERIOUSLY GO WATCH THE VIDEO OH MY GOD ITS HUGE

its a giant ass house boat wagon . its pulled by a llama . that killed him . so now its trapped, pulling hte agon, forever

Grian: “..Thats a very big house, for a very little hat.”

GRIANS SUPER SPECIAL EGG??

SCAR PUNCHED IT..

they really came out here . and killed the egg already.

Scar: “..I touched the thing”

TANGO POV

We see the three big eyed boys forming <3 they interrupted Tangos intro

THEY’RE BULLYING HIM ABOUT HAVING SMALL EYES AHIDUIASUHDWIS

HE TRIED TO CALL THE TRIO TEAM BUG EYE... THE OTHERS ARE VERY OFFENDED

they found an axolotl and Bdubs was TERRIFIED just screaming “WHAT IS THAT YELLOW THING?!”

BDUBS IS ATTACKING IT ???

okay nope Bdubs caught one and Tango lost it

Bdubs is naming his axolotl Idiot

AMAZING HOUSE. WHY IS TANGO SO GOOD AT BUILDING AND REDSTONE??

Impulse POV

MUMBO TRIED TO PLACE DOWN A BERRY BUSH TO HURT IMPULSE . HE FORGOT HOW BUSHES WORK..

I DIDNT EVEN NOTICE THAT IMPULSE WAS IN THE BOATEM POLE

so it looks like those four are hteo nes who grouped up together

PEARL BROKE THE CONSTITUION SHE GOT IN THE WRONG BOAT SMH

THIS IS SEASON EIGHT! FIVE BROS !

So its gonna be about five people in the same area!!

YOO!! Fantasy build for Impulse!!

G gave Impulse a spyglass, they had a fun moment of zooming in on eachothers face and complimenting eachother IHAUDIHAW

Grian and Impulse worked on an xp farm!

ASHDUIWAHISD GRIAN JUST LOGGED ON INFRONT OF HIM

a pillager stole his boat . not just any pillager . the one with a banner. </3

he has to live with Mumbo tuning a song .. </3 haha

Mumbo POV

it took fifteen seconds until Grian ran in during Mumbos intro

CONFIRMED? GRIAN WAS FIRST DEATH?

SECOND PERSON TO THINK MUMBOS PANTS ARE SKIN COLOR. GRIAN..

Grian: “Can you..Briefly explain why you’re just wearing a hawaiian shirt?” Mumbo: “Uh- what do you mean ‘just wearing a hawaiin shirt? I have shorts on as-well, dude”

FOLLOWED BY

Mumbo: “Can you explain why you’re wearing a red jumper?” Grian: “You know- you know i was born with this!”

MUMBO AND GRIAN STOLE THE BOAT LOOT FROM RENDOC

I THINK RENDOC JUST STOLE THE DIAMOND MUMBO THREW??

Grian: “Is that Scar?” Mumbo: “I can’t see past your giant waffle!”

DSFSDFJIOA they did an edit where they placed down a boat, both Mumbo and Grian got in, they made noises and then bopped up on top of the ravine they were in <3

THEY HAVE NO BRAINCELL THEY JUST PLACED DOWN A BENCH AND SAID “THIS IS THE MARK OF OUR VILLAGE!” and then placed a torch and a boat and a bed and aANOTHER BED..

..Mumbo is trying to be a pacifist this season!

Grian’s taunting him with beheaded things

And obviously part of being pacifist means he’s gonna be vegetarian in minecraft!

..he cannot use monster farms because pacifisim..

Mumbo was in the middle of reading the magical Timmy shack that Tango made (did i remember to mention that? who knows) and IN THE MIDDLE OF GETTING TO THE PART ABOUT IF YOU REMOVE STUFF FROM THE CHEST, NOTHING WILL BE ADDED IN IT AGAIN. Grian opened the chest . Mumbo SHOUTED HIAUDHUW Grian jumped man

They renamed it “Cave of Do Not Enter” HIAUEDUH

Mumbo and Scar BOTH did not know- at least Mumbo didn’t, Scar forgot,  that podzol spawns from two-by-two spruce..

him and his guitar song to be played underneath his house.. it goes with the aesthetic i suppose

MAN HE NEEDS SO MUCH HAYBALES I FORGOT THATS NEEDED FOR THE TUNE HE WANTS

Mumbo: “What.. On Earth.. Scar, it’s meant to be a starterbase, buddy! What is this? This is many things, many many things, a starterbase is NOT one of them!”

HE LITERALLY DIDNT KNOW THAT THE DRAGON EGG TELEPORTS... WHEN YOU TOUCH IT...

BDUBS

nothing special we havent seen yet!! just him screaming about axolotls.

He was working in the Mesa in his intro, skipping the “speech” from Mumbo

He released Idiot the Axolotl and lost it .

Him SCREAMING “Gemini” is HILARIOUS

While Gemini gave away those three diamonds, Keralis got so excited he won a bet with Tango and Bdubs, that he gave back . two of the diamonds . and none of htem released until well after they left

Bdubs: “That’s why i have my mwoss skin!” PLEASE I LOVE THE WAY HE SAYS IT.. make the moss hood.. REAL..

it took me a while to figure out what his base is but i LOVE IT so so much!!!

Nothing much new to add !!

Stress pov

please i love her . very good !! False seems to have joined her sheerly because Stress sounded like she knew what she was doing. she does not.

False felt peerpressured and asked Stress for permission to fight her because everyone was killing eachother .

It ended up with Stress following False. they found a village!

ISKALL only saw him one other time today!!

JEVIN APPEARS AGAIN !

XISUMA FELL INTO HTE BREEDER AND IT WAS SO FUNN IUAHHYIAUSD

Ren: “Ya look goregous, Stress!” Stress: “Thanks! Don’t murder my dog!”

She’s so proud of herself for caving!! (with False n Gem

Iskall blew up!

..Iskall fell from a high place

Stress has a LOVELY ravine base!!

False

False wants to become pirates with Stress <3

gatekeep gaslight girlboss

BIG OL MUSHROOM HOUSE !!

it looks like a mushroom church and i LOVE IT.

Nothing new we didn’t see from Gem. She does want to come up with a banner design for her base, though!

Grian

..Mumbo just thought Grian had a purpose so decided to follow him <3

ALSO HIS INTRO, AS HE JOKED ABOUT IN THE OTHERS VIDEO, WAS, IN FACT, THE BOATEM POLE

Grian is SO PROUD of the fact taht they got good loot from a treasure map. Ren and Doc are NOT IMPRESSED

Grian: “Lets go, potato boy!”

Mumbo: “I don’t have to replace everything I break! Peace Love and Plants- are these plants..?” He says, mining amethyst

pants

he who controls the egg, controls the server... Grian.. you’re doing great sir

...He decided.. his goal.. is to make his OWN..caves and cliffs update... HELLO..?

Grian was the first one to kill the enderdragon, MAN. Speedrunning career WHEN? /j

Grian: “And now [Mumbo] is flexing on my bed!”

he might not have a base. but he has an egg.

It is now 2am. i cannot do this anymore. This will be continued.. tomorrow!

[onechicagorpf]

Not A Stranger - Part 3

Pairing: Jay Halstead x Reader (Chicago Med intern)

Waking up in bed next to a random naked guy after a drunken night out usually sucks, but eh, whatever. you’ll never see him again, right? Well except this time, random naked guy turns out to be your ED attending’s little brother, so maybe you’re a little bit screwed…

Read Part 1 here Read Part 2 here Read Part 4 here

Warnings: SMUT. A little bit of R-rated smut! Swearing, the usual cuss words. Some angst/PTSD, although it’s not overtly discussed. Dubious medical content (discussion of amputation & blood), some of which has been shamelessly lifted from a season 3 episode of Code Black!

A/N: So there’s definitely going to be a Part 4, lol! I’ll try and have it out by this time next week. Send me asks/messages/leave a note if you liked this and want to see more - it really makes me feel so much less insecure about my writing ahaha! Also do send me short prompts or requests that I can fill as blurbs (i.e. nothing that’s going to be a several chapter story - I will request those later on!) - preferably for Jay but I can do Will as well! Female!Halstead sibling is also okay :) Anyway enough talking, enjoy!

PS: I make mention of bearded Jay in this chapter; this gif is totally the version of him I had in my head for this chapter!

"Walter Holden. 16 years old, victim of an auto accident, came in with a dislocated right leg."

There's droplets of rain on the other side of the windows. It blurs the view - all of a sudden, the buildings you can usually see from the 13th floor of the hospital are just fuzzy, beige blocks.

"Preliminary exam showed no other major trauma, and his vital signs were strong. His leg just had to be reset."

A shudder goes down your spine - was the hospital's conference room always this cold? Well, you don't know - you've never been in here before.

"Dr Halstead advised 10 mil of morphine, but the patient refused pain medication, and the leg was reset. It was at this point that Dr Halstead handed the patient off to Dr Y/L/N, requesting her to evaluate his leg for blood flow."

There's been a strange tapping noise for the last 5 minutes, but only now do you realise it's your fingers against the oval, wooden table.

"Dr Y/L/N? Dr Y/L/N!" You snap out of your reverie and look up. Dr Lanik's glaring at you. You apologise. He takes his seat, next to Mrs Goodwin and Will, both of whom send you a soft smile that doesn't quite reach their eyes. They're trying to be reassuring, but it doesn't matter - you're ready to drown yourself.

Clearing your throat, you speak. "I was instructed to evaluate his right leg for blood flow. I did so by checking his pulses, uh, dorsalis pedis and posterior tibialis." You pause, as some of the other occupants in the conference room - all members of the board or lawyers, all wearing pristine suits and a cold, calculating expression - turned to look at each other.

You clear your throat again. "It was a uh, a textbook exam."

"I'm sorry, in which textbook does it say to check for an arterial injury by just palpating a pulse?" Dr Lanik cuts in sharp.  Will closes his eyes, as you struggle to breath normally.

"90% of all patients - "

"I can't hear you, Dr Y/L/N." Dr Lanik's voice booms across the room, and Will's had it.

"This is ridiculous, there's no need to be intimidating her like this - she's a first year resident and - "

"And she was satisfied with a pulse check to evaluate blood flow? Do I need to remind everyone here that the acceptable course of action in this scenario is to order a doppler or an ABI? That boy's leg was sitting for ages without proper blood flow, and eventually the best we could do for him was amputate it."

Will shakes his head vehemently. "Pathology's looked over the leg - they determined that the severity of the accident combined with the amount of time it took CFD to extricate Holden from the car meant that his leg wasn't viable before he even stepped into the ED." Will turns to you, his eyes piercing as he spoke directly to you.

"There was nothing you could've done that would've changed the outcome. Nothing."

You take a deep breath. You don't nod.

"Alright, we've heard everything we need to hear." The head of the legal department says, after a few moments of discussion with the board members. "Given the findings from Pathology, we will not be terminating Dr Y/L/N's employment here at Chicago Med. However, we recommend that her OR privileges be revoked, and that she is attached to an attending for a duration of 2 months, by which point hopefully she will learn that not every case is a textbook case." She stares directly at you. "Dismissed." Chairs scrape against the floor as everyone makes their leave.

Will places his hand on your shoulder, and you realise you haven't moved even after everyone's left.

His voice is soft. "We all make mistakes. And - "

"I could've been the reason he lost his leg. If he'd come in with ample time to save the leg, and I just - and I just didn't realise it, I could've been the reason a kid had to lose a leg." There's tears in your eyes as you turn to look at Will, who just sighs.

"Yeah. But that's not what happened."

"I got lucky." You shrug, tears freely streaming down your face now. "I just got lucky."

Will doesn't say anything. He just hugs you.

***

It's not the kind of thing you just get over, you realise, because it's been 5 days since it happened but you can't get it out of your head. You've been barely getting any sleep; often you jerk awake in the middle of the night or the early hours of the morning, after which it's next to impossible to fall asleep again. It's also affecting your work more than just making you tired - you keep second-guessing your medical judgements, deferring to Will or Natalie or Ethan for anything and everything. None of them bite at you for it, because they know what's going on and they know what you're going through, but some part of you wishes they would. Wishes that they'd just grab you by the shoulders and shake you, and say "Be a damn doctor."

Dr Charles met with you for lunch earlier today, and you lamented your troubles. The kind and thoughtful psychiatrist patiently listened, before giving you some wisdom you needed to hear. Amongst which was "find a distraction".

"You mean focus on something else?" You asked, chasing a watermelon cube at the bottom of your fruit cup.

"Yeah, but it's a little bit of a dangerous tactic. See, you don't want to distract yourself from dealing with the pain and the guilt you feel, because emotions don't tend to go away when you suppress them like that. But if you're having trouble processing it, it can be helpful to take your mind off of it for a while, wait til some time has passed and it's not so...intense. And maybe then it'll be easier to tackle and get over, y'know?" Dr Charles advised and you nodded, taking it in.

You think about what exactly you could do to distract yourself as you finish your shift and make your way towards your car in the parking lot.

Maybe I should take up painting?

The thought of yourself - little miss notoriously bad at anything artsy - trying to paint has you chuckling softly. You're about to give up on this whole distract yourself thing when, as if on cue, your phone buzzes with a text message. You get into your car, turn on the heating, and pull out your phone.

J.H. 11:32PM

So...guess who's back :)

You can't help the smile on your face. Jay's been undercover for the past week - it actually got started the next morning after the night you went over for "hockey". He'd gotten a text early in the morning asking him to come in, and so the two of you had actually barely spoken since...the festivities of that night.

You 11:33PM

Congrats, detective :)

J.H. 11:33PM

Wanna come over and help me celebrate?

Huh. Well maybe Dr Charles wasn't off-target with the whole "distract yourself" thing - although you're positive having meaningless sex is probably not one of the healthy methods of distraction that he was envisioning.

But quickly, you realise it doesn't matter - ever since what happened, you haven't been sleeping well at night. It's been close to 6 days and you're wrecked, so maybe some good, tires-you-out-completely sex is exactly what you need?

You 11:34PM

Be there in 15

 J.H. 11:34PM

Can't wait :)

 Your lips curve into a smile as you pull out of the parking lot and down into the main road.

***

"I've been waiting to do this...for so long..." Jay murmurs in your ear before pressing kisses down the side of your neck, his hands roaming all over your body. You tilt your head to the side, exposing the expanse of your neck to him.

“It’s only been…a couple ‘a days…” You reply softly, and you feel Jay’s huffs of soft laughter into your neck. You turn to look at him, pulling away. “What?”

There’s a teasing smile on his face. “Most women take it as a compliment if a guy says he hasn’t stopped thinking about her.”

You shake you head, putting on a teasing look, “Uh-uh, that’s not what you said, you said you’ve been wanting to do this – ”

“It was implied – ”

“It wasn’t implied and even if it was – ”

“It was implied and even if it wasn’t, that’s still a compliment.” Jay says pointedly, a huge grin on his face. You narrow your eyes at him, trying to hide the growing smile on your face. He chuckles, seeing right through you.

You smack his arm. “You keep laughing at me in bed and I’m gonna get mad.” This gets Jay full-on laughing, and your jaw drops in pretend-outrage. “You fucking – ”

“No, no, no c’mere – ” Jay pacifies you, leaning over you, arms on either side of you as he starts to kiss your face, your jaw, the corner of your mouth. But there’s still the slightest smile pulling up the corners of his lips, and when he presses them to your lips, you can’t help but laugh into the kiss. Jay reaches up and holds your face, the kiss becoming soft, loving, drawn-out, and some feeling deep in your core tells you you’re just…somewhere else right now. You don’t know how to describe it, other than that everything in this moment feels perfect, feels right.

A shiver goes down your spine, and maybe it’s because Jay’s shifted, and is now sucking a spot on the base of your neck, hard and strong and deep, and his hands are skimming downwards, unbuttoning your soft cotton top before unzipping your jeans. And maybe it’s because you don’t know what the fuck you are doing here, with him, with all of this. You think about how wrong this is, how bad this is, how his brother’s your boss and this was just supposed to be one drunken hookup and then it became two (except you weren’t even drunk that time) and now it’s about to become three –

“Y/N?” Jay calls softly, and you look at him – his hands resting gently over the hem of your panties, his face hovering over the space between your legs, and the look of…almost reverence in his shining green eyes.

You stop thinking.

Your hands reach downward, sliding your panties off and Jay eagerly helps, getting them off completely. Just like last time, Jay draws out the foreplay – kissing, licking, and nipping at the skin of your inner thighs, making the heat in your core build. Running your fingers through his dark hair, you yank it a little to get him to get going, and he pinches your hip – a quick slap of the wrist. Laughing, you repeat the action, pulling on his hair, and he groans.

“You’re real impatient, you know?”

“Jayyyyyyyy,” You whine, pouting down at him. He’s got this look of a predator – a confident, cocky smile on his face. Jay dips his head down, his mouth making contact with your cunt.

“There we go,” You murmur, gasping as you feel his hot breath on your most sensitive regions. Jay’s hands grip tight into your supple skin, holding your thighs open for him as his tongue circles your opening. Your back arcs as you moan, the sensation of his tongue on you setting off what feels like fireworks in your head. Jay’s mouth presses into you, hard and deep, his tongue licking and lapping at your now sopping wet cunt.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck – ” You whisper, eyelids fluttering shut as Jay softly flicks his tongue over your clit. He repeats the motion, going up and down, teasing your clit and your hip jerks upwards sharply in response. Settling your ass back down against his soft sheets, you catch your breath and mutter a soft apology – “Shit, sorry,” – and Jay taps your thigh, a silent “don’t worry about it”, as he’s nosed his way back between your legs immediately.

Jay laps at your folds and you try to keep your head about you, try to not lose your mind, but it just feels so good. He sucks your clit into his mouth gently and your eyes roll into the back of your head. “Oh my god, ohhh my god – fuck!” You whimper, as he keeps sucking your clit, pausing to flick his tongue over it. Your fingers clutch the sheets around you hard enough to rip holes in them. The loud moans out of your mouth are bordering on screams. The feeling in your core, the heat, starts rising like a wave reaching a shore –

“I’m gonna – I’m gonna – I’m gonna – ah, ah, ahhhh – fuck! Fuck, fuck – Jay! Jay!” You scream, your vision whiting out completely as you arch off the bed, riding out the waves of pleasure wrecking your body. You hands fly downwards to grab Jay’s head as you jerk away from his still-working mouth, your oversensitive clit causing tears to pool in your eyes. Pulling him up, you whisper his name over and over again, like he’s the only gospel you know. Jay shifts up, laying down next to you and pulling you close, your bodies fitting into each other like a perfect pair of puzzle pieces. You look at him through your teary eyes and all you see are his green irises staring right back at you with a measure of something dark and lustful in them. You hold his face in your hands, running a thumb over the rough stubble of his cheeks, his jaw, where a soft beard has started to grow. His lips are glossy and wet, from you, and you see now there’s a soft pink line going across his nose that you trace with your hands, frowning.

“I’m okay,” Jay says in a soothing voice.

“What happened?” You ask, concerned, the frown between your eyebrows deepening as you look up at him.

A soft smile. “Kinda got into a fight. Guy tried to punch me, I dodged it, but his fingernail scratched me. It’s fine.” Jay replies quickly, and his face is so close to yours that you’re breathing the same air. You don’t say anything, but you must still be frowning because Jay speaks again. “It’s literally just a scratch.” You hum softly in response, running your hands down his front, unbuttoning his shirt, scanning the expanse of his chest and abdomen with your fingertips and your eyes.

Jay lifts your chin and you turn back to him. “What?”

“Are you checking me for other injuries?” He asks, chuckling. You look back down, pausing for a moment. “Maybe…it’s not like you’d tell me if you got hurt, right?” Jay just laughs, and there’s your answer. You ignore the burgeoning feelings in your heart of some kind of dejection.

Your fingers run over a sliver of raised skin, on his lower right flank. It’s a thin, pale pink scar that runs about 3 inches. You work in an ED – you know exactly what this is.

“You were stabbed?” You ask, stunned. “When?”

Jay sighs, grabbing your fingers in his hand and holding them closed. “Army stuff. Not a big deal.” He pushes your fingers away to your own body, and then reaches for the blanket and pulls it up over the two of you, like as if the conversation’s over.

“You don’t want to talk about the Army,” you point out, as Jay lays on his back, some distance between the two of you. He sighs again, looking upwards at the ceiling. “Is that a question or a statement?”

You know you shouldn’t push, but you do anyway.

“You should talk to someone about it  – ”

“I talk to people about it. I have.” Jay’s voice is tight. He’s still not looking at you.

“You can talk to me about it...” You say, and you’re terrified. Because what you’re really asking is “Do you think I’m close enough, do you care about me enough to let me in?”.

Jay turns to you, a soft smile on his face. “It’s fine. I’ve got other people for that.”

Hiding the immense desolation that’s weighing like an anchor on your chest from showing, you just send a shallow smile his way. 

He’s got other people for that. He’s got other people for sharing his feelings, his pain, his suffering, his life. He doesn’t want you for that, I mean, why would he share all of that with you? You’re just a warm body – some random girl he’s having sex with. Nothing more.

You pull the blankets tighter around you, turning away from Jay. Trying your best to quell the wave of sadness flooding what feels like every single part of you, you drift asleep. 

***

“Dr Y/N?”

You turn, and there’s Walter Holden on a bed in the ED.

“Walter?” You walk to his side, stunned. He’s crying – tears spilling out of his soft baby blue eyes, his youthful face scrunched up in pain and anguish.

“Why did you do this to me? Why?!” He yells, his voice cracking. You shake your head. “Walter, Walter I’m so sorry – I didn’t know, I didn’t know, I didn’t mean to – ” You choke on your words, and as you look down the bed you realise that Walter’s amputated leg is bleeding at the stump.

“Oh god, oh my god – ” You get up, shocked as the blood starts gushing. Walter screams.

“Help me! Dr Y/N – help me! Help me!”

You hear your heart hammering in your ears, your head is spinning, you stand up and you feel faint.

Will rushes into the room. He starts holding as much gauze as he can to Walter’s leg. Nurses and doctors flood the room, and they begin moving Walter out. You’re standing, back pressed to the treatment room wall, aghast. 

Will turns to you, his face red with rage. “What are you even doing?! Fucking hell, Y/N – you can’t do anything right?!”

There’s a painful lump in your throat, and you can’t breathe. Something grabs your hand and you snap your head. It’s Walter, and as they wheel his bed out, he looks at you with so much fury and torment in his eyes.

“YOU DON’T DESERVE TO BE A DOCTOR!”

“No, no, no, I’m so sorry Walter, I’m so sorry – I’m so sorry – this can’t be happening, no, no no no – ” Tears stream down your face and you start shaking. Your knees buckle, and you fall to the ground, sobs wracking your body. Somewhere in the distance, you hear your name being called, but you can’t answer, you can’t do this anymore, you can’t – you just can’t…

“Y/N! Y/N!”

You jolt, your eyes flying open. Jay’s over you, his eyebrows drawn together, his eyes wide, concerned, his hands holding your shoulders where you realise he’s been shaking you – shaking you because – because –

Fuck.

It was a fucking nightmare. Again.

You let out a cry of pain, bringing your hands up to cover your face. “Breathe, just breathe.” Jay says softly, rubbing your arms up and down.

After about a minute, when you don’t feel so shaken anymore, you wipe your eyes and slowly sit up. Jay shifts with you, sitting right next to you. You can’t look him in the eyes.

“I’m – I’m sorry I woke you,” you whisper to your palms, resting atop your folded legs.

“Don’t – don’t worry about that. Y/N, what happened? It sounded pretty bad…” Jay says and you shake your head.

“I’m fine, it’s fine – ” Your hands run through your hair roughly. You need to go. You need to go – you need to leave – you can’t be here –you can’t be here with him –

“Hey. Hey,” Jay repeats, when you don’t answer. He reaches across and his warm hard gently grabs your face, trying to get you to look at him but you just push his hand away. You get up, grabbing your underwear and jeans from the ground and start getting dressed.

“Y/N!” Jay gets off the bed, and comes to you. You sidestep him, or at least you try to, but he’s much taller than you and his shoulders are broad; he stands in your way and grabs your arms softly.

“Y/N, look at me – ”

“Why?” 

You give him what he wants. You look up at him, you stare him directly in his eyes, shaking in anger and fear and what feels like the weight of the world on your shoulders. 

“Hmm? Why? This isn’t – you don’t care – what does it matter –” You yell at him, your mind frazzled as you fall apart in his arms.

The frown on Jay’s face gets deeper, and he shakes his head, leaning close. “Hey, talk to me. C’mon, you can talk to me – ”

“Why the fuck would I talk to you? You’re just some guy I’m sleeping with!” You spit harshly, shaking his hands off and stepping back. Jay’s mouth falls open, and his shoulders sag. His face contorts into something awful - dismay, defeat, hurt.

For a moment, you want to run back into his arms – apologise, say you didn’t mean it, say you’re just scared – but you don’t. You move around him, grabbing your shirt. You put it on and make your way out of his bedroom, and out of his apartment.

You don’t know why you said what you did. Actually, scratch that, you know exactly why you said that. In fact, you know exactly why you’re what you’re doing.

Every relationship you’ve ever had up to this point’s fucked you over. Every single one. You’ve been cheated on, you’ve been lied to, you’ve been told you were just some piece of ass, not an actual girlfriend. And now?

Now you’re scared shitless of what this thing between the two of you is. You’re scared shitless that you’re making a mistake by screwing around with your boss’s brother and you’re –

Well.

You’re scared shitless you’re falling for him.

So, you do what you do best. Dump out of this, push the self-destruct button. Get him to push you away so you don’t have to go through the pain of falling for the guy you can’t have. The one that you know’s going to screw you over, because he’s going to realise he only really sees you as a hookup – that he doesn’t love you.

You try to hold back the tears, because you’re driving home and the last thing you need right now is a car accident. There’s a buzzing sound from your phone and you perk up. As much as you want to tell yourself to not get your hopes high, you can’t help yourself, and you speed down the road to the red light so you can push the brakes and wait. Your fingers wrap around your phone and you immediately check the screen. 

The smile on your face falls – it’s just a stupid notification from Instagram. You toss your phone back onto the passenger seat, hard enough that it bounces off and hits the ground. Tears once again threaten to fill your eyes, and there’s a painful lump in your throat. You swipe at your cheeks, where a single tear has made its escape, and turn to look at the screen next to your steering wheel – it shows the time as 3:45AM. Leaning back against your car seat, a deep sigh exits your lungs.

You realise there’s no way you’re going to sleep again today, what with the whole Jay thing on top of the Walter Holden nightmare that’s been haunting you for the last 6 days now.

The lights turn green.

Swearing under your breath, you throw your car into a U-turn and drive to Med instead.

[mulderist]

DEVIL AT MY DOORSTEP

Post-Orison Hurt/comfort || MSR, UST || Scully POV || Moderate violence || AO3 link

A/N: This fic was originally written way back in 2001 when I was in college. It was my first post-episode fic and I posted it to FF.net back in the day. I unearthed it 3 years ago and gave it some extremely heavy edits because it’s that ridiculous and dramatic (lol). I then nervously posted the revised version to AO3.

@today-in-fic

"If you want to pack some things we can get outta here," Mulder said as he walked into my bedroom. I pulled open a dresser drawer revealing my copy of the Holy Bible. I felt the strong weight of guilt in my hand as I lifted it out. Mulder noticed the book. "You can't judge yourself," he tried to reassure me. I walked over to my bed and carefully sat my beaten body down.

"Maybe I don't have to." I told him.

"The Bible allows for vengeance."

"But the law doesn't."

"The way I see it," Mulder began as he leaned toward me, "he didn't give you a choice. And my report will reflect that, in case you're worried. Donnie Pfaster would have surely killed again if given the chance."

"He was evil Mulder. I'm sure about that without a doubt. But there's one thing that I'm not sure of," I said softly.

"What's that?"

"Who was at work in me? Or what? What made me - what made me pull the trigger?"

"You mean if it was God?"

"I mean - what if it wasn't?" There was a beat of silence and I could sense that Mulder wanted to say something. Instead I felt his hand gently slide across my upper back. I looked up at him and could see the concern written on his face.

"I'll finish up out there," he said. Then he moved past me and back towards the bedroom door, pulling it behind him.

I slowly stood and went to my dresser to find some clothes. I tossed an outfit on the bed and stripped off my pajamas leaving them in a heap on the floor. As I absentmindedly packed an overnight bag I took a look around my bedroom. The bookcase I had pulled over on Pfaster to slow him down resulted in a disjointed cascade of books and broken trinkets. There were stains of crimson blood, more than likely my own, which dotted the once clean carpet. The thought that blood was shed in my bedroom made me swallow hard. I scanned over my bed to the wall where my mirror once hung. All that remained were jagged pieces of glass and the remnants of the frame. More pieces scattered the floor. I closed my eyes briefly attempting to block out the events that had occurred. Then a shudder shook me back into reality and I turned to leave my room.

The police had finally cleared out leaving an unsettling calm in the apartment. I was grateful Mulder took it upon himself to answer their questions. As I walked to the living room I could still smell a faint scent of lit matches combined with the dying fragrance of my candles, though they had been extinguished for some time now. I stopped after I crossed the thresh hold and looked down at the large burgundy stain on the rug. Very faint markings of a chalk outline could still be seen on the floor. I saw Mulder sitting on the end of my couch with his elbows on his knees, hands folded. He rose when he realized I was in the room. I said softly,

"Let's go."

Mulder nodded and followed me out the door, locking it behind us. Once we got outside he took my bag and popped the trunk to place it inside. I took my place in the passenger seat and winced slightly as I reached across to grab the seat belt. My eyelids felt like lead weights and I couldn't help but let them close as I leaned my head back against the headrest. I heard Mulder get in the car and start the engine. He tried to make conversation on the ride to his apartment but I think after a short while he realized I didn't want to talk just yet. He knew me well. The remainder of the drive was in silence. Even after Mulder parked the car we still said nothing. It wasn't until we had stepped inside his apartment that he uttered,

"I can put some coffee on." I glanced up at him and nodded with a heavy sigh.

"I think I want to take a shower."

"Sure," he replied, sounding slightly wounded, "It'll be ready once you're done."

Jesus, why are we doing this awkward small talk? He handed me my overnight bag and before I went down the hall I squeezed his hand. After I closed the bathroom door behind me I put my bag on the floor then turned on the water for the shower. As it warmed up I slowly shed my clothes and inspected myself to see if there were any injuries I might have missed. I turned slightly and saw the initial stages of bruising setting in on my upper back. My naked figure in the mirror was unsettling. I had never seen myself look so vulnerable. I turned away from the defeated reflection and pulled aside the shower curtain, stepping into the warm waterfall.

Steam began to swirl around in the tiny room, creating an eerie fog. The slight burn of the water began to relax me as it massaged my tired frame. I self-consciously crossed my arms over my breasts and placed my hands on my shoulders. I then ran a hand over my wet hair. "Ah, dammit," I hissed. My index finger found a remaining chip of glass hiding at the back of my head. A speck of blood oozed from where I was pricked. That's when I noticed my fingernails. There was a fine line of scarlet caked under them.

Blood.

Blood that was not mine. My hands showed traces of the struggle in my apartment. I flexed and tightened my right hand noticing how awkward and stiff the movement was. Sprain, edema, contusion, hematoma: bland clinical terms I knew all too well. I took the bar of soap off its dish and began working it into a lather. As the suds formed on my arms, I tried to wash away the gritty feeling, the sense of guilt, and the memory of Donnie Pfaster.

Pfaster. His cryptic face clawed its way to the surface though I tried desperately to suppress it. His was the face of pure evil, a vision of a demon that shook me to my core. When I took the case I tried to prove to myself that it didn't bother me. I had gone through the counseling sessions during and after Minneapolis. Bouts of anxiety would return every once and a while, flashes of terrible things usually triggered after a particularly difficult assignment. Subconsciously I knew I was kidding myself when I thought I had overcome what happened.

For a fleeting moment, time seemed to melt away as I stood there breathing in the heavy steam. Water pushed the soapy residue from my body and I saw a light red trail spiral down the drain. I closed my eyes for a moment but couldn't shake the chaos that happened in my apartment. Pfaster was in my home - the devil at my doorstep. I angrily grabbed a bottle of shampoo and squeezed some of it into my hand. As I massaged the gel into my hair the familiar scent wound around in the air and my mood softened. Then my thoughts turned to Mulder. He told me not to look any further and I followed his advice. I don't know how he ended up in my living room with his gun drawn, ready to do what I was shockingly more capable of doing. He always managed to find me – to save me. I was still in shock when he rushed over and held me close. I just stood there, motionless, letting my weapon slip from my fingers. Every time I ended up in his arms I had this overwhelming feeling that I'm safe and it's a sensation I never want to lose. As I rinsed my hair I did what I feared most.

I lost control.

The water felt tepid as it mixed with the scalding tears in my eyes. I brought my hands to my face as if to conceal the pain and anger from myself. Oh God I thought. Everything was rushing at me too fast; horrible sounds and smells returned shocking my senses. I lost the comforting warmth that had enveloped me. Stability failed and I placed my left hand against the cool tile wall. My knees softened and with a hand over my mouth, I tried to muffle my crying. My shoulders lurched as I sobbed and I moved my hip closer to the wall for support. Water raced down my bruised back. My arms slid across my stomach and I held on, trying to shield myself from the terrible thoughts flashing in my mind. I leaned a shoulder into the wall almost as if I expected it to open up and embrace me.

"Mulder…"

I didn't realize I had said it aloud. It's not the first time I've called out to him but it felt different as I stood in his shower. I needed to say his name. I needed to know he was on the other side of that door. I needed to allow myself this one fleeting moment of vulnerability and begin to accept the unacceptable. As my sobs slowed one was caught in my throat. I hated how I sounded when I was upset and more often than not tried desperately to express sorrow in silence. Over the roar of the water I exhaled deeply and wiped my eyes. My hands found their way to my shoulders once again and I breathed in the last few clouds of steam. Then I turned off the faucet, pushed aside the shower curtain and stepped out onto the waiting bathmat. I pulled a towel off the hook and gently dried off, finding comfort in that familiar scent once again.

I got dressed and combed my hair then walked out to Mulder's living room. There was a lone mug on the coffee table. I happened upon him lying down on the couch, eyes closed. I moved closer and noticed that his brow was furrowed. I touched his shoulder causing him to stir.

"Mmm, sorry I must have dozed off. Did the shower help? " he said while he sat upright and ran a hand through his hair.

"Yeah, I think so. I feel a little more human." I joined him in the space he had cleared. He stretched then reached for the mug and took a long swallow. I leaned back against the couch.

"I can pour you a cup if you'd like," I heard him say. My fingers began to fiddle with a tender spot on my left hand.

"No thanks." I know Mulder could tell I had been crying, puffiness under the eyes was not easy to conceal. I could feel my cheeks flush and I licked my lips as I searched for something to say.

"I'm sorry, Mulder. I'm still having difficulty finding the words right now and I can't stand this awkward small talk."

He shook his head after swallowing a sip of coffee. "You know I can see it on your face. And this awkward small talk wouldn't be so awkward if you would just let me in. It's like I told you earlier, I've never seen something give you this much of a head trip before."

"I have to be able to accept this on my own terms, Mulder." That tasted bitter. "I've been trying to forget for five years. I just can't do this right now." I got off the couch and started to head for his bedroom. After pushing the door slightly behind me, I turned down the sheets and slowly crawled into the large bed. I gingerly placed my head upon Mulder's pillow and felt the smoothness against my skin. Every muscle in my body struggled to unwind. Before I closed my eyes I noticed a shadow move in front of the door.

"I'll be fine." I muttered under my breath.

The last thing I heard was the click from the door being closed.

I awoke in the dark to a stinging sensation in the side of my head. My mouth was sore and I could taste blood. There was a taunt strip of cloth tied tightly around my head causing my cheeks to hurt. My hands were bound behind my back and my bare feet were tied together. I weakly struggled to shift positions, fighting the pain in my temple. Once my eyes focused I slowly maneuvered myself near the light source coming from the crack underneath the door. Where the hell am I? I couldn't see anything in the room aside from the hardwood floor. I attempted to sit back up and tried to figure out how I got here. Adrenaline had kicked in now and I started thinking of a way to escape. Then I saw a shadow sweep across the floor. Suddenly the door pulled open. I shot back against a nearby wall in a lame attempt to protect myself. I looked at the figure in the doorway and it didn't look human. The figure bent down, grabbed my ankles, and dragged me on the floor out of the closet into the empty room. I writhed and twisted in its grip. A dim light from somewhere else in the dilapidated house illuminated the figure just enough so I could distinguish human hands as they removed the tie from my ankles. The man reached over and forcefully pulled me up by my shoulders to my feet. Our eyes met for a split second as I stood and in that moment I felt malevolence swarm over my body. His pushed me in front of him and a smile snaked across his lips.

His hand roughly clung to my bare shoulder as he shoved me down a hallway. Everything in the sparsely lit house looked the same, bare and unremarkable. There was a warm glow coming from one of the rooms on the left and he led me in that direction. It was a master bedroom. Once inside I was shoved towards the bathroom. I saw an oversized bathtub nestled in the back under a window. There was a double sink to the right and the white porcelain toilet resided next to it with a towel bar hanging low over the tank. Candles covered just about every surface to provide mood lighting for whatever diabolical plans he had in mind. He moved me over to the sink and untied my hands for a moment, only to tie them to the towel bar. I saw the horrible smirk form on his face as he stepped back to look at his work.

"It'll all be over soon." And with that he left the bathroom. My mind yelled at me to escape. I pulled violently at the bar, foolishly hoping that I could pull it off the wall and run. Then I leaned my head down to meet my hands and try to loosen the gag. As I feverishly worked I heard a thud from the other room. I stopped for just a second and listened and to my horror I saw the man pull Mulder's body into the doorway and toss him on the floor.

No!

"Mulder! What have you done to him?!" I yelled against the gag. The man lunged at me and struck me across the face. Then he snatched my jaw and pressed the flat side of a knife against my cheek.

"Don't worry Girly-Girl. I have plans for him too." I fought the tears welling in my eyes. He moved away from me and went toward the bathtub, reaching for the faucet to turn on the water. I tried to free my hands from the towel bar while he was distracted. My fingers squeezed together and with a tug I was loose then I quickly removed the cloth from around my mouth. I looked out into the other room and saw Mulder stir but just as I did Pfaster noticed I had gotten one step closer to escape and took measures to slow me down. With a flash of metal his knife came quickly across my right hand. I tried to grab it; tried to disarm him for even a moment. He caught my arm and plunged the blade in-between my ribs. I screamed. He attacked me again, this time hitting my upper arm. I took all the strength I could muster and kicked Pfaster in the gut sending him back towards the bathtub. I cried out over the roar of the water and fell to the floor just missing the edge of the sink. I started to crawl in a prone position to the door and out into the bedroom, blood soaking rapidly through my tank top. I had to get to Mulder. He was lying face down on the floor and I could tell he was injured or God knows what else.

"S-Scully.." he muttered as he lifted his head revealing a gash on his cheek. My injured hand reached out for his, finding his fingertips and holding as tight as I could.

"Mulder, please…" I pleaded. "I need you to get up. I can't –" Pfaster was on his feet now. He turned around sharply and quickly ran out to seize my leg. I kicked him in the shin but he still managed to pull me in his direction. I cried out for Mulder as I was dragged back into the bathroom. Pfaster brought my arms above my head and held them together while straddling me. My right arm went numb from the stab wounds and blood started to seep into the bathmat as my body was pressed onto the tile. I winced as he tightened his hold on me, pulling my injured arm more than needed.

"You know," he began once he caught his breath, "I didn't think I'd finally catch the one that got away. That red hair never left my mind. I wasn't going to stop until I found you." My lips moved as I tried to form words, but no sound escaped. He stood and yanked me up off the floor. I could barely fight against him and that's what frightened me the most. I was running out of time. Still with a grip on my shoulders he turned off the water to the bathtub.

"Let her go, Pfaster," said Mulder from the doorway, his voice sounded dark. Pfaster pressed a hand over my mouth before I could put a voice to my suffering. The taste on my lips was nauseating.

"You're not going to take her from me. Not again," said Pfaster. Then he brought his face close to me and smelt my hair making my skin crawl. Then he dropped me in the tub, holding me under. I kicked and thrashed as hard as I could but I was growing weaker. I heard Mulder yell.

Two shots rang out.

The frigid cold water sent a shockwave through my body and stung my wounds. It hurt to move. It hurt to think. I could feel my body shutting down. All of my energy started to fade and I physically couldn't struggle anymore. I couldn't move. My breath slowed as I stared at the ceiling. The lights from the remaining candles flickered back and forth across the walls.

My life started to slip away.

Then I saw Mulder's face above me as he climbed into the tub. He reached in and quickly picked me up from under my arms then shifted my weight so he could slide his right arm under my knees. As he lifted my limp wounded body out of the bathtub I closed my eyes and heard him say "I'm sorry, Scully. God I'm so sorry." He carried me out of the bathroom, leaving the body of Donnie Pfaster behind.

Mulder knelt down with me on the floor of the barren bedroom, holding me tight in his arms. I coughed and sputtered, expelling the bathwater. He pulled out his cell phone and I knew he was calling for an ambulance. "Yes this Agent Mulder with the FBI, I have an agent down!" He gave some more information then tossed the phone aside. One hand pressed firmly on my side, adding compression to the oozing stab wound. "Help is on the way. Just hang on." My eyelids fluttered and I said his name.

"Scully, talk to me. Come on."

"What happened to you?" I asked weakly.

"That bastard cold-cocked me once I made it upstairs. He must have already had you tied-up in the bathroom. God, I should have shot him as soon as I saw him."

"I can't Mulder…" I said with a shiver.

"No. No. You have to stay with me, Scully" he said with a wavering voice.

"I can't feel …I don't…I'm sorry," My words were nonsensical as I tried to focus on him. My fingers grazed his shirt before I lost consciousness.

Mulder began CPR.

His lips felt so warm against mine as he forced air into my mouth. I felt the wetness of his cheek as he leaned in to deliver each breath. I was so numb I barely felt the chest compressions. His hands were soaked in my blood. Desperation crossed Mulder's face after he gave two more sets of compressions and saw no change.

"Dammit Scully, come on! You can't leave me!" I heard him say as he pressed on my chest. His composure was gone as he tried frantically to revive me. Mulder choked out a sob as he clutched me to his chest. He rocked back and forth then let out a primal, gut-wrenching scream.

A siren was heard howling down the street. Red lights flashed in through the window and danced along the ceiling as the ambulance pulled up. The paramedics flung open the door to the house and called in inside. It didn't take them long to find us. They rushed in and took me from Mulder so they could begin their work. He slid back a little and sat with his head in his hands. The EMTs readied the defibrillator to restart my heart. One of the medics cut open my shirt and stuck pads on my bare chest to prepare me before using the paddles. Then a paramedic called,

"Clear!"

I cried out and woke with a start; my hands pushed me into an awkward upright position on the bed. Disoriented at first and head spinning, I started to piece together where I was. The layout of the room became more familiar as my senses came into focus with the morning light. My weight shifted to my left elbow and as I rubbed my eyes I heard the bedroom door open, Mulder said my name as he entered. I sat up and he joined me on the bed. The wave of tension broke and quickly I leaned forward to wrap my arms tightly around his neck.

"I had a bad dream," I said softly, feeling my lip start to tremble as I pulled him closer. I felt like a child that needed to be consoled.

"Tell me," he whispered.

"I was in a house, like when I was taken before." My throat felt dry causing my voice to falter. "Pfaster dragged me into a room lined with candles and was intent on finishing what he started. You were there too but you couldn't - There was so much blood, Mulder," I pulled away from him and drew in a breath to try and regain some sense of composure. "It all just felt so real. " I shook my head and ran a hand over my hair leaving it to rest behind my neck. We sat there for a moment, no words between us. At one point he tenderly kissed the top of my head. Finally he said,

"I was hesitant to tell you, but I heard that song as I was getting ready for bed last night."

"Really?" I asked.

"Yeah," he looked down and motioned to take my hand, "I tried to call you but you didn't pick up. I guess you could call it divine intervention."

"That was playing in my apartment. He was playing that damn song…" Mulder leaned in and embraced me.

This time I buried my head in his chest and unwillingly started to hear the opening notes of the song fade in once again. My eyes closed and my hands pressed harder against Mulder's back, pulling him closer.

With those phantom tones I was replaying what had happened mere hours ago. The panic of knowing Pfaster was in my home, the anger that drove each blow I threw at him, the fear when he had me pinned down and screaming out for help.

Don't let go.

The tempo sent me reeling back to Minneapolis. That house. That closet. The feel of the rope around my wrists. Falling down those stairs and feeling paralyzed by fear. What was going to happen to me? Would I ever see Mulder again?

Hold on to me.

The rhythm began to fade and I felt the mist in my eyes. I pushed back for a brief moment and looked at Mulder as he brushed away tear that found its way to my cheek.

"Stay with me," I whispered. He nodded and I moved over, allowing him to slip into bed alongside me.

"It's alright. I'm here." He kissed the nape of my neck knowing there wasn't much else he could do but hold me. And that's all I really wanted him to do. At that point I didn't care that I had broken down. I had never wanted him closer to me than in that moment.

I was so tired. My body ached and eventually my sobs began to subside. The air was no longer caught in my throat. I began to listen to the cadence of Mulder's breath and I wasn't sure if he was still awake. My inhale met with his. Once he noticed my breathing began to slow he slid his hand from under mine. Fingertips found a strand of hair and placed it behind my ear. I could feel the sunlight coming through the bedroom window.

"Thank you," I uttered, my voice raspy and heavy with exhaustion.

"Rest. I'm not going anywhere." I struggled to shift positions and turned over to face him. My hand found his cheek and I moved closer, sharing his breath. The hint of smile tugged at his mouth. Ever so slightly my lips parted and I felt warmth as his lips met mine. Soft and tender.

At last I was able to begin to forget.

[franniebanana]

CQL Rewatch - Ep 17

For once, I agree with Jiang Cheng. Wei Wuxian probably spends way too much time thinking about alcohol. Yanli is, as usual, completely delighted by him.

I can’t really even imagine what this would be like for Wei Wuxian. Coming back to the place that used to be your home to search for who you consider your brother, having no idea if he’s dead or alive, and if he’s alive, what state he’s in. Every place houses one memory, if not hundreds. Wei Wuxian spent the better part of his live at Lotus Pier, over a decade, and in the span of a few hours, it’s just gone. I want to say that it gets burned in the book (but I can’t say that for certain)—however, that does make more sense when later on in CQL, they talk about Jiang Cheng rebuilding. Honestly, rebuilding doesn’t really make sense if all they had to do was replace a few doors and hang some more Jiang Clan lotuses.

You know what? I actually kind of love how this parallels a later scene. I never really thought of it before: we have Wei Wuxian and Wen Ning, and Jiang Cheng (when later on we swap out Jiang Cheng for Lan Wangji), sitting in a boat near Lotus Pier. Here we get Wei Wuxian, having been forcibly expelled from his home, while very much in charge of Jiang Cheng, who is unconscious. Later on, Wei Wuxian is unconscious, again having been forced to leave what once was his home. In that case, he makes the decision to leave, for one because he is unwelcome, but also because he doesn’t need that home anymore. He has a new idea of home with Lan Wangji, who loves and supports him.

This comparison is interesting because you see that Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji (and even Wen Ning, for goodness’s sake) are willing to cradle their loved ones, risk life and limb for them, and Jiang Cheng just isn’t. Even when he goes looking for Wei Wuxian later on, it’s predicated more on his need for revenge than for saving Wei Wuxian. And again there, we see that his motive and Lan Wangji’s motive are very, very different.

Worst hangover ever. Omg can you imagine being asleep for days and then waking up with your head on a wooden table? Can you imagine the back ache you’d have from being hunched over all that time? Oh my god, truly, it sounds horrific. And this is what innocent little Wen Ning did, hahahaha. Not that I feel bad for any of these assholes—they definitely deserved it. If Wen Ning had gotten caught, though, he would have been executed for treason, I’m sure. It shows you what a huge risk that kid took to help Wei Wuxian and his family—a huge risk. And not only did he risk his own life, he also risks his sister’s life, because he begs her to help as well. It’s unsurprising that Wen Qing is so upset by this, since her one goal is to keep her brother safe, and then he goes and puts both of their lives on the line.

I like how this whole little scene, from the moment Wen Qing steps out and sees Wen Ning and the others standing there, to the point when she tells the guards to stand down, has no dialogue. Neither Wei Wuxian nor Wen Qing speak, but it’s clear that Wei Wuxian is threatening hers and Wen Ning’s lives if she gives them up here. They could have added some whispered dialogue or whatever, but I’m glad they did not, because it’s so powerful—seeing Wei Wuxian shaking with rage and fear is definitely the highlight of the scene. Wen Ning looking at a complete loss is also great. Wen Qing’s actress should have done that scene over—she is just not expressive enough, especially opposite someone like Xiao Zhan, who does such a good job in these emotional scenes. Either way, I do like how cool Wen Qing is at the end, order the guards to back off, while still holding Wei Wuxian’s gaze. This woman has no fear.

I hate this outfit. It is the worst thing that Wei Wuxian wears in the entire series, and that includes the bloody rags he’s wearing when he wakes up in Mo Xuanyu’s body. I don’t know where this outfit came from. Did Wen Ning give it to him? Why? Were his other clothes not fit to wear anymore? Everyone else is in the same clothes—why did he have to go through an outfit change? And what is with that cape? What a pain! Jesus, I’m sorry, but I hate this costume. Normally Wei Wuxian looks amazing, but this is a stinker.

This part is pretty hard to watch: Jiang Cheng being so unresponsive, Wei Wuxian putting on a brave face and trying to accentuate the positive. He knows that Jiang Cheng’s Golden Core is gone at this point, but he doesn’t want to dwell on that. He wants to find a way to help Jiang Cheng, even at the expense of his own future. His request for Jiang Cheng to try again is so sweet—try again and Wei Wuxian will act more affected by it—anything to make Jiang Cheng feel even a little bit better. Not to belittle what Jiang Cheng is going through (because that would be awful—he’s feeling his life is over—how can he be a sect leader, how can he do anything without his Golden Core?), I can’t help but truly identify with Wei Wuxian. I don’t think he’d be human if part of him didn’t feel a little responsible for what happened, even though it really wasn’t his fault (the Wens wanted control and the outcome would have been the same, anyway). He’s probably going over and over in his mind what he could have done differently from the moment the Wens showed up, until when Jiang Cheng ran off on his own. Like most people who really care for one another, Wei Wuxian really wishes that it had been him instead. I think sometimes it’s almost harder to watch someone else suffer than to suffer yourself, especially in this case, because Wei Wuxian can’t do anything for him.

I really love how she reacts to being yelled at and told to go away. She’s taken Jiang Cheng and his family in, given him medicine and food, sheltered them all from their enemies—she’s done all of this, knowing that, if caught, it would mean death for her and her brother. And after Jiang Cheng screams at her, she simply leaves, her head completely cool. It’s unclear to me whether she ever felt anything for Jiang Cheng (some people argue that she 100% did—I really don’t know), but at this moment, she stays level-headed while he is blinded by hatred. It doesn’t matter that she has done all those things for Jiang Cheng, because she’s part of the Wen Clan. But Wen Qing isn’t ruled by her emotions like he is. And I love how she approaches the situation, taking the time to tell her brother how they don’t ever kill—they are healers and have been for generations. It’s such a good message that even in the face of such hostility, she can maintain her duty to continue healing him until they have to leave.

What a fucking mess. At this point, how does he even know what he’s read and what he hasn’t read?

I can’t really tell you how much I love this little scene between Jiang Yanli and Wei Wuxian. It’s hard to even put it in the words, but I feel like I run the gamut of emotions from joy to sadness. Wei Wuxian is doing everything in his power to figure out a way to help Jiang Cheng: he’s hungry, he’s exhausted, he’s depressed, he’s anxious, he’s afraid—and of course Jiang Yanli is all of those things, on top of still recovering from her illness. The joy on his face when he thinks of asking Lan Wangji for help—it makes me smile and breaks my heart at the same time. It’s this fleeting moment where he remembers his old life—their old lives—and then reality sinks in. It seems like Yanli thinks he’s hysterical or something, because as he’s insisting he can reach out to Lan Wangji, she’s insisting that he’s tired and needs rest. She’s trying to ground him to reality, because there’s no way he can get in touch with Lan Wangji with the way things are. Where would he even find him? And Yanli, ugh, my heart breaks for her—she’s just trying so hard to keep her little family together.

And then Wei Wuxian says he thinks it’s his fault, and Yanli loses it. I love her for this insistence that it doesn’t matter whose fault it is. It doesn’t matter—what matters is that it happened and now they have to live on. I mean, she must know that her brother blames Wei Wuxian for this and I think to hear it from Wei Wuxian makes her even more upset. But it’s so true. Placing blame on someone else might make you feel better for a time, or allow you to justify your actions or enact your revenge, but it doesn’t change anything. It doesn’t change that their parents are still dead. It doesn’t change that Lotus Pier was taken over by the Wen Clan. All of that is still there, even if Jiang Cheng and Yanli placed all the blame on Wei Wuxian.

Sorry this one was super short, all. This arc kind of drags in CQL. I think they should have left more mystery, because it’s pretty clear what they’re about to do here. Anyway, two more episodes until Lan Wangji comes back, I think? Ugh…too many.

Other episodes: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 |

[emerald-amidst-gold]

questions for dragon and wolf otp ❤️ 11, 17, 25, 31 & 50 :3

Let me tell you, I just adore rambling about these two sad, but beautiful fools. And I'm so happy that people like me rambling about them enough to keep asking questions! >:D

So, let's get ANSWERINGGGGG! >:3

11. Who is the most physically affectionate?

Fane. Fane, Fane, Fane, Fane. Fane is 100% the most physically affectionate. A lot of times, he taps into old habits that he used to do as a dragon when he's with Solas. Nudging, nuzzling, resting his head in the other's lap, etc. As time goes on, Fane branches out and develops more ways to express himself through touch. Leaning his shoulder against Solas', reaching out involuntary to hold hands, sitting behind and wrapping his arms around the other while burying his face into a shoulder, etc.

Fane is touch-starved. He would never admit it, but he is. All his life (both draconic and mortal), he's received only ridicule and harsh treatment. So much so that he disassociates from reality and goes numb, and that's even with Mhairi and Cyfrin around him. It also doesn't help that his literal body is a beacon of pain due to his scars. But, all it takes is a brush of a hand against his own, or cupping of his cheek from Solas and the world sings and feels. It seems cliche, but Solas and Fane both know how it feels to walk through life believing it to only a bad dream. They take solace in each other, and Fane desires it through touch. Not always, of course, Fane and Solas merely find joy in existing in the other's sphere, but when nights are cold and the world feels silent and grey, Fane needs more than what Solas' eyes can offer.

17. Do they ever trade clothes?

Ohhh, you're outing me with this question, you fiend! X'D

*takes a deep breath and taps two fingers together* ...Yes. Yes, they do.

Okay! So, obviously, Fane is built different than Solas. I like to think of Solas as being about 5'7 in height. I also like to think his overall structure is slender, but not like impossibly lithe. It's an in-between deal, but Fane is vastly different in structure and height.

Fane is 6'1. He's not as broad as Bull is, and that's because I don't want people to envision Fane as Qunari in build because he's not. He's athletic, but not immovably bulky. He retains the body shape of the Elvhen--slender and agile, but he does have more muscle mass due to the draconic aspects of himself rolling over.

...And because he wields a heavy ass sword to the point where he can swing it with one hand and barely lose his balance with the momentum. (BUFF ELVES FOR LIFE >:3c)

Anyways, the reason I put the above is it explains why Fane can give his clothes to Solas, but Solas rarely ever gives his clothes to Fane. Short story; Fane's would fit Solas, albeit it loosely, but Solas' wouldn't fit Fane.

...Fane isn't hard pressed by that though. He secretly enjoys when a bucket of water somehow finds its way from the rookery down to the elf's desk, soaking him and forcing him to change. *sips tea* Ahhh~ Nope. Not hard pressed at all.

25. How do they comfort each other when one of them is scared?

Presence, presence, presence.

Solas and Fane find joy in existing around each other without words or touch, but they also find comfort in that, as well.

Fane usually has border-line panic attacks after one of his nightmares and when he has to suffer through a bout of retching from either magic or memories of blood and flesh being torn and ripped from his body. During any such episodes, Solas will ground Fane--asking him gentle questions of 'where and what'.

For example: If it's after a nightmare of his father, Solas will ask, 'Vhenan, do you know where you are?' If Fane manages a nod or a shuddering sigh then Solas will continue with, 'Can you tell me where?'. If Fane responds with the 'correct' location then Solas will shift and ignore the 'what' part of the ritual, instead whispering Elvhen and soothing reassurances of, 'You are fine, ma'isenatha. Breathe. Breathe. Take your time, and I know I am here for whatever you need, whatever you desire.'

However, if Fane struggles or can't articulate then Solas will delve into asking the 'whats'. He'll prompt with simple questions like, 'What is solid?' or 'What is cold?'. These open ended questions are meant to reconnect Fane to the physical world, to pull him from the Fade and his spiraling fear inch by inch by urging him to think beyond what initially caused him to plummet (in this case, his father). This process can take quite a while, depending on how entrenched Fane is in his mind and his memories, but when Fane finally does manage to reconnect and utter, 'I'm...awake... I'm awake. Just a nightmare. I'm in Skyhold. I'm in Skyhold..' then that's when Solas will pull his dragon's head close to his chest and stroke his hair, offering familiarity of a kinder essence.

Now, when Solas finds himself quivering with fear, be it from his own nightmares or a momentary sensation of the world closing in, then Fane will do what he does best; observe. This might seem odd, but Fane does this to determine what will help Solas best. If Solas is tensed up, back rigid and shoulders hunched in a defensive position, then Fane knows to use his voice to coax the man back from the edge. If Solas is prone, posture defeated and visibly shuddering, steady hands trembling and chest rising and falling with increasingly sharper and sharper and sharper breaths then Fane knows immediately that he needs to reach out with touch. Not suffocating with an embrace, but just a grasp of hands, stilling the fearful tremors and giving back control. Fane understands how desperately Solas wants to be in control of any and every situation that involves himself, so the moment he detects the hint of terror in blue and grey from it being lost, then Fane knows that Solas needs him to help him get it back.

Once Solas reestablishes that control and the tremors stop, Fane will silently open his arms for his wolf and if he chooses to take the invitation (which Solas usually does), then Fane will always whisper, 'This dragon will catch you as many times as needed. So, let yourself spiral when it becomes too much; I'm here. I'm always here.'

...As you can see. I think about this a lot. X'D

31. Who is the big spoon and why?

To be honest, Fane and Solas take turns. PFFFT!

It honestly depends on how they both move throughout the night! Though, when they start out, Fane is the big spoon because he has a tendency to...curl. XD

So, you know how dragons are shown just kind of curling up like large cats? That's what Fane does with Solas. He'll burrow his face in our dear wolf's neck, pull him as close as he possibly can, and just...pass out. It's one of the fastest ways Fane falls asleep, actually. Solas, at first, was like, 'Fane? ...Fane?', but once it kept occurring all it got were fond chuckles and a single utterance of, 'Good night, ma'isenatha.'

...Fane just chuffs in his sleep and Solas has to try and keep a straight face. My boy is feral. Don't let him fool you. Don't.

50. Who makes the best flower crown?

You all are catching onto me, aren't you?! Aren't you?! *dinosaur scream*

Indirectly, Fane was the best at making flower crowns. Yes, you heard me. Was.

---

Fane used to wander away from Solas during the time of Elvhenan, seeking the forests and the mountains instead of enduring the piercing eyes of the Evanuris and the boiling rage that nearly made his icy core melt with its heat. As such, he would start...poking around in the meadows, draconic curiosity taking him by the horns. Once, during such a necessary venture, Fane stumbled upon a vibrant patch of blooming Gladiolus--golden and sweet. They swayed with magic and spirited wind, twinkling with the song that encased the entire realm.

They were beautiful in a world that had steadily been on the decline.

Fane nudged a bloom with his snout, blinking and huffing as a bell rung from it--glittering essence drawing out from the center and cascading to the earth below. Had the flower just sang? Sang as the spirits and elves did? He found such a thing curious, and so he had nudged another.

Ring. Another bell. He then nudged another golden chime. Ring. Another bell! They did sing!

Fane huffed again, cool breath sprinkling a light frost over the chiming flowers, but they endured with their beauty, with their eternal nature. His burst of air spurred up glittering pollen, wafting the sweet scent of these delicate bells up to his nostrils without preamble.

They smell of honey, Fane mused and began to gingerly nuzzle into the tiny patch, seeking more sweetness, more beauty. Why had he never seen these blooms before? He had graced this world for many, many centuries, and yet, never once had he observed golden Gladiolus. How odd, but it gave him an equally as odd idea.

The wolf likes honey, yes? Fane thought, eyes narrowing as he stopped his mindless snuffling. A feeling of warmth engulfed his snowy core, scales bristling from the foreign sensation before it ebbed away. Why did he always feel so...strange when he thought of the rebel?

Fane huffed harshly at the warmth coursing through him, actually shaking his head a bit before fixing the dazzling buds with an intense stare.

The wolf likes honey. Fane nodded in agreement with his mind and, with one edge of a sharp fang, sliced into the stem of the sweet bloom of gold. He nudged the severed flower to the side, snorting a bit when some pollen invaded his airways, but shook it off to continue gathering more.

Fane made short work of the small patch of Gladiolus, rising with pride to gaze upon his bundle of petaled nightingales. Each one softly chimed and glimmered, not at all perturbed by being uprooted. He supposed the foundation of magic was not so vile, so long as it was used as it was intended.

Now, I suppose I should head back. Fane growled under his breath at that thought. He didn't wish to go back to...to there. The lair of deceit and pitiful, self-proclaimed 'gods' who had nothing but desire in their single toned eyes. But...the wolf was there, and he wan--no, had to stay by the wolf's side.

Heat filled Fane's core again, making him growl once more and shake out his scales as they bristled with a sensation unnatural. Why did he keep getting so warm?! It was mid-spring! Not the height of summer!

Fane growled as the heat stubbornly refused to abate. Begone, begone, begone! He huffed heavily as the ember trickled away, leaving him cool and all together, snowy. There. Better. It must simply be the magic in the air. It is stronger within these woods.

With the heat of oddity gone and his mind decided, Fane turned his head to gather up his...bouquet? Is that what the Elvhen called it? He had seen arrangements done, but none of them held a flame to the golden blooms he--

Fane blinked, eyes staring down at...a spirit? Wait this spirit who was now holding his flowers was--

Wisdom. Fane immediately thought next, form slowly relaxing as he caught the familiar sight of the kindly spirit. Their body ebbed and flowed like the silk robes worn by the Evanuris, but not for a need to flaunt. It was merely their nature, their being. A womanly face gazed up at him, serene smile in place as golden flowers were cradled in ethereal arms.

"Greetings, White One.", Wisdom greeted, swirling eyes of magic and knowledge somehow appearing fond. "I see you have found a rare flower this day." They gently jostled the bundle in their arms, golden essence puffing forth and sound like that of jingling Sentinel armor.

Fane tilted his head at the spirit. They knew of the flowers that sounded of bells? Before he did? Odd, but he supposed spirits of Wisdom would know such obscure things. Wisdom chuckled softly, voice that of a tender breeze.

"I know many things, isenatha.", Wisdom said, communicating with him easily. Although, most spirits did. They gracefully floated down to the ground, images of legs folding depicting the image of them sitting. "Just as I know of a perfect way for you to present this gift."

Fane blinked and found his eyes darting to and fro, trying to avoid the knowing gaze of Wisdom as they smiled serenely up at him. Damn it all! How he wished his disconnection to the minds of others and they to his worked on spirits!

Wisdom hummed, mimicking the chime that sang from the flowers as they picked one up with a delicate swoop of their hands. Fane watched from his peripheral, somewhat intrigued while still wishing to rebuff he had picked the flowers as a...a gift? How ridiculous! He had only want--thought the wolf would enjoy the scent. Nothing more!

"Please, sit, White One.", Wisdom beckoned with patience and a gentle voice. Their hands began to directly interact with the blooms, summoning a tendril of magic to fabricate a vine. "This will take but a moment." A smile danced on their wispy lips, upper half of their face hooded by a vision of a hooded cloak. "...And I have no doubt Fen'harel will be warmed when you offer him this particular crown."

Fane made a questioning growl, but Wisdom offered no more, resuming the odd task of weaving magical vines and twinkling gold. He watched for a time, curious and puzzled, but soon, he found his body carefully lowering to the ground. He curled up a bit, resting his maw upon his claws and observing the act of the spirit quietly. He caught another smile from the kindly spirit before their face went neutral, focused.

A crown.. Fane mused as he watched just that be formed from both the natural and the imaginable. The warmth from earlier began to invade his body again, but this time, he made no moves to shove it away, so entranced by the delicate weaving of gold and blue. He merely narrowed his eyes and watched, letting the ember steadily grow. I want to see the sky smile.

Fane completely missed the tender look in Wisdom's otherworldly eyes, so besotted by the idea of a sight he shouldn't, but would desire.

---

Oh GOD, I blurbed! *yoinks this snippet for potential fuel for later* >:3

[daddychims]

Offside Pt 9

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9

Series Masterlist!

Genre: Smut, Soccer AU, College AU

Pairings: Soccer Player! Jungkook X Sports Trainer! Reader

Word Count: 2k

Other BTS members all make a cameo as well because I’m an OT7 Trash!

You work as a sports trainer, providing basic first aid and injury management for the Hanguk University’s soccer team. Going with your mundane life of caring for the dozen of guys hurting themselves in the soccer game takes a turn when one of the guys catches your eyes. It’s not his breathtakingly good looks or his muscular athletic body usually seducing girls at the campus that catches your eyes. But the action plan in your kit, indicating he is diagnosed with Asthma is what draws your eyes time and time again to the Golden Boy of Hanguk University.

Warning: Slow burn, eventual smut, Taehyung being a freaking tease the whole time, Fuckboy!Jungkook, Asthmatic! Jungkook , mentions of episodes of Asthma, Take your Ventolin kids, Take your medications kids!

"J-Jeon," You breath heavily, the sensation of his hard member brushing against your thighs running a rush of arousal between your thighs "open the door!"

He raises an eyebrow with a smirk flying on the corner of his lips "Sure?" he asks, pressing himself against you and grinding his lower abdomen

"I-Aah-" you moan out when he finally touches you where you need the most, eyes widening at the realization that the lewd sound has finally left your lips "J-Jeon!"

"See?" He smirks as he continues traps you between his two veiny arms that rest just beside your head on the wall "You just gotta let go and enjoy it," he leans closer, lips pressing close to your ears "Trust me, I can make you feel so good, you'll forget everything."

"B-But Jeon-" you voice out the words weakly, every nerve In your body fighting against your logic for more stimulation

"Just like that baby, " he nods in approval as he traps your earlobe between his teeth and nibbles on the soft flesh "Call my name like that"

You close your eyes, his seductive voice and sinful action against your core making you lose a momentary control when a loud knock on the door snaps you back to the reality, and you immediately flinch against his touch.

"Jeon, your girl is asking if she should go home?"

You hear Taehyung's words yelling against the wooden door, your eyes wandering on the guy whose face is resting a few inches away from your neck, eyes hooded and dark.

"Tell her to go home," He yells in annoyed tone "I'm busy."

"No!" You immediately retract as you guard your arms up against his chest to establish the space he's trying to occupy "Jeon, Stop messing around and open this door! Seriously!"

He raises an eyebrow with a smirk flying on the corner of his lips "You sure?" he asks, rolling his hips skilfully against yours in attempt to change your mind

"I-" you breath out, struggling to form the words "I'm sure!" you nod, trapping your bottom lips between your teeth to prevent any further sounds leaving your lips

"Fine!" His expression hardens as he rests one hand on the side of your head while the other plays with the lock of the door, you watch as his eyes glance between you and the door lock, gaze dark and unimpressed as you just wait for him to finish his task.

You sigh in relief, feeling the pressure off your thighs as he finally ceases his misbehave down there and unlocks the door with a click.

"I guess I'll see you soon," you murmur the words weakly, in an attempt to fill out the awkward silence between you

"In two days," He confirms as he grabs your arm and pull you to the side to open the door

"Can we meet on campus?" you quickly ask, trying to prevent the future risks of being alone with him in his room again

"No, I don’t really want people to see us."

"Oh" you respond with the sound of disappointment, as something inside you sinks unexpectedly, so he's embarrassed to be seen with me, you think.

"Meet here?" he asks, breaking the silence as he looks at you with intrigued eyes

"S-Sure!" you nod reluctantly as you quickly avert your gaze and turn around to leave his room.

When you open the door, Taehyung is waiting outside looking at you with a mischievous smile

"Here they are," He flashes you his usual goofy smile before bringing his eyes to the girl beside him who's standing there staring at the two of you, more specifically at Jeon "I hope we didn’t get in the way of anything."

"Nah its alright, we're done."

You hear Jungkook's words and immediately turn around to look back at him with furrowed eyebrows at how quickly he changed his plan with you.

"What?" He asks raising an eyebrow as he rests his weight on the doorframe "Do you have anything else you wanna discuss?"

"No." You reply dryly, trying really hard to hide the roll in your eyes at his smug act

"Okay then," he nods as he reaches forward and grabs the girl's arm and pulls her inside his room, giving you one last smirk which is tainted with annoyance before shutting the door in your face.

"Woah!"

You hear Taehyung's comment but decide to just shrug it off as you make your way down the hallway, trying to hide your own emotional turmoil and the fact that you were about to fall for the fuckboy's act a few seconds ago.

"I thought you guys were up to something," you hear Taehyung's voice as he wraps his arm "But I guess even Hanguk's golden boy cant get into your pants Sugar."

"Why? You wanted to call dibs on his girl?" You look at him with a teasing smile  as you stand just before the entrance and look back at him "Sorry I ruined your plan Tae!" you fake pout

"Not exactly my plan," he smirks amused at your response as he leans closer against your lips "I was more thinking about joining the two of you." he wiggles his eyebrows

"Maybe you can join them?" You point at Jungkook's room, tone tinted with a slight saltiness that is foreign to your own ears

"Nah," he throws his shoulder up, hands reaching up to mess his freshly showered hair "Jungkook will probably take his anger off on the poor girl, don’t wanna get in his way."

"What? Why?" You furrow your eyebrows, gulping nervously as you hear his words

"So unfair," he murmurs as he arms wrap around your neck and pull you closer to his face as he looks into your eyes "You pissed him off, but the poor girl will be walking with a limp for a week," he then smirks as if he's imagining what will happen in that room as he mutters "I'm pretty sure she'll love it though!"

You just stare at him with lost eyes, a cold shiver running down your spine as you digest every single word when he finally releases his hold on your neck "See you at training, Sugar!" he waves as he turns around and walks down the hallway to his own room.

-

"I can't believe you woke me up at 7 AM on a Saturday morning for a professional development seminar."

You bring your eyes from the pamphlets in front of you to the whining guy who's sitting across you, sipping on his iced coffee

"Joon, I'm sorry but literally no one in my group of friends are nerd enough to do this with me," you pout as you quickly take a slice of the cake in between you on the table and bring it to his mouth

"So what's with the sudden interest in Exercise Induced Asthma?" He asks leaning closer to look at the piles of notes you made in the one hour seminar "I thought you don’t wanna work in Sports!"

"I still don’t," You nod as you try to avert your gaze clumsily "But you know, the job opportunities are limited and who knows what I'll get once I graduate. Just trying to keep my options open."

"Very convincing," he laughs "Even my dog knows you want nothing to do with sports physio since year 1. who are you trying to fool?"

"I-" you hesitate before quickly bringing your pinky finger "Swear you wont tell anyone?"

"Woah, this is more serious than I thought," he nods intertwining his pinky with you "what is it?"

"You know Jeon from Hanguk's soccer team?"

"Of course," he nods "Hanguk's Golden boy, who doesn’t know him?"

"He has asthma," you murmur, looking around to make sure no one is hearing you

"Oh, that …" his expression hardens as if he remembers not very foreign memories "I knew that," he averts his gaze as he continues "Earlier this year when we were doing the team admission, the school asked me to give them a hand in the selections."

"He applied for SNU?" your eyes widen in surprise "and then chose Hanguk over SNU? That doesn’t make sense!"

"Well no," he shakes his head "Both schools were trying to recruit him," he takes a sip of his coffee as he continues "they kept upping each other's offer trying to lure him in and in the end he chose SNU!"

"Then why is he in Hanguk now-"

 "A week after he applied for the team, SNU rejected him and that’s how he ended up In Hanguk's team."

"Why would SNU let him go? Weren't they trying to recruit him in the first place?" you immediately ask trying to connect the dots "Why …" your eyes widen at the sudden realization "because of his Asthma?"

"You did NOT hear it from me," he quickly warns "This is highly confidential information, they will kick me out of the school if they know I told anyone."

"Oh," you nod, biting the corner of your lips "so that’s what happened!"

"Yeah, its shame he couldn’t join our team. the guy has a lot of potential," he nods with a pout  "I was looking forward to having him."

"That's why he's so adamant about it," you whisper as things start to make sense in your head

"Why are you suddenly so interested in Jeon?"

Joon's question brings you back to the moment and you part your lips to answer when his pupils dilate

"Are you- OH MY GOD YOU'RE FUCKING HANGUK'S GOLDEN BOY!"

You bite your lips, sending an apologetic smile to a couple of people who are doing their work in the pleasant silence which is now disturbed thanks to your friend.

"Joon can you please keep it down?" You scold as you quickly cover the guy's lips

"Y/N, you cant!" he quickly pulls your eyes down and hold them as he looks at you with stern eyes "I'm not allowing this."

"I'm not sleeping with him," you rush the words trying to calm him down

"Then why?" his eyes widen again "Do you like him? YOU LIKE JEON?" he raises his voice again receiving another unpleasant glare from those around you

"No, Oh My God Joon can you please let me explain," you sigh as his expression finally softens and he nods "I've been given a homework by Dr Kim, the clinic's Sports medicine specialist to work on his medication before the games. That’s it!"

Joon furrows his eyebrows trying to put the new information in the context

"That’s why I wanted to go to this seminar today," you explain pointing at the pile of papers in front of you "I thought it might help me understand his condition better."

"Are you sure that’s it?" He asks after a few moments of pause "Jeon is a good guy on the field," he continues "But from what I heard he's the type that bets on his tally counter of girls he fucks in a week," he hesitates as he reads your expression "he's not your type of guy Y/N."

"Joon," you smile, heart warming at his words of warning "I live on Hanguk's campus, I've heard about his reputation. You have nothing to worry about me."

"You don’t really get what I mean," he sighs as he leans with a worried smile "I'm not worried about you," he hesitates, chewing his words as he adds "I'm worried about him and his effect on you."

You gulp nervously, the words of concern hitting differently this time. If you were quite honest, you were also worried about the golden boy's effect on yourself . No matter how tough you were, it was only a while before you gave in to his games if he really wanted to repeat what he did yesterday.

"I'll be fine, he doesn’t even look at girls like me," you quickly form the words, trying to not worry your best friend with your abnormally long silence "really Joon, don’t worry."

“If you say so,” He nods, still unconvinced by your reassuring words before he mutters "by the way, You don’t think you paid me back with just a cake and coffee, did you?"

"What?" You ask in a confused tone "I thought we're even now!"

"Incorrect," he shakes his head "Now that I accompanied you to your nerdy morning, you need to do me a favor!”

"I should have known," you sigh, staring back at the guy "You sounded too enthusiastic this morning, you planned this all along."

"I'm a man of passion," he says in a proud tone "I do anything to get what I want, even if that means waking up and dozing off in the most boring seminar of my life."

"It wasn’t that bad," you pout as you gather your papers "Fine, what time and where?"

"That’s my best friend," he grins through his teeth "I'll text you the dets."

[imnotwolverine]

The Witcher way

Henry Cavill x OC Lisa - multi-chapter fic

Author’s note: Smutty smut, fluffy fluff and a few skipping heartbeats. Lisa and Henry get back to work, but life - as usual - offers them a challenge or two. 

Word count: 1.572

Disclaimer: fluff and smut

--

This is part 18 of the Tea for Two story.

You can find the Masterlist here. 

--

< Go back to part 17

‘Pizza!’

Henry cheered as we heard a faint knock on the door of the small cottage, the floorboards creaking under his weight as he sprinted down the hallway to open up. I chuckled softly and half-listened in on the conversation between the delivery boy - obviously a fan - and Henry as I moved to the small kitchen to get some paper towels and cutlery.

It was Sunday evening and tomorrow morning working life was starting again. The Witcher production was beginning its first month of pre-production in the Scottish highlands, which offered not only beautifully picturesque landscapes..but also a complete lack of supermarkets that were opened on Sundays.

A challenge, surely, but one that was easily overcome by Henry whom had taken it upon himself to figure out if we could order in. We could; Pizza... Pizza... And more pizza. 

And that was really all we needed right now, our bodies quite travel worn from the long trip from our - did I mention I officially moved in? - London home to this cute little cottage in the Scottish highlands.

The rural style kitchen of the cottage was simple at best. A small hob with an oven, an even smaller fridge, a porcelain sink and an old oak dinner table that stood below the paned window, an empty vase and some candles placed on top to spruce the room up ever so slightly.

I leaned on the rough wood of the table as I peeked out of the window, the delivery boy now climbing back on his scooter, while laughing at something Henry said, his hand revving the engine back to roaring life.  

Wandering back into the hallway I was met by a giddy-with-excitement Henry,  the boxes with pizzas and some drinks stacked carefully in his arms.

‘Smells good!’ I hummed, appreciatively sniffing in the savoury smells.

‘Sure does.’ He agreed, his eyes moving to the living room. ‘Couch?’

‘Yes pur-lease.’ I smiled, curtsying slightly as Henry offered me first entry to the living room.

As Henry started to investigate the pizzas I turned on the television, happily surprised to find it offered the functionality to log in to Netflix.

‘Netflix and chill?’ I purred, looking over at Henry who had already dug into one of the pizzas, his teeth biting into an oozing hot slice of pepperoni pizza. He nodded, slightly embarrassed by his manners and moved up a hand to hide the mess of cheese strings that were hanging from the corner of his mouth. I laughed, poking him in the arm and reached for the box to also take a slice, my other hand scrolling through the new additions.

Some cooking shows, some mildly interesting documentaries, some Netflix originals that did not look promising in the slightest..and then..the Witcher season 3.

‘Hey. Have you seen the new season yet?’ I quirked up an eyebrow, looking at Henry as he was once again mid bite. He shrugged and quickly swallowed his bite. ‘Only the first episode…Premiere nights you know.’ He winked. ‘Want to maybe..continue? Call it work research before we start shooting the next season?’ I tried, Henry already grabbing a new slice of the pizza. ‘Sure. I’ll try to not hate seeing myself.’ He said casually.

‘Bear!’ I sighed, giving him a exasperated yet comforting smile. ‘You know I don’t want you to feel that way. If you don’t like it, we’ll watch something else.’ I said before finally taking a bite, humming in satisfaction as the hot cheesy goodness oozed down my tongue. ‘So gooooood.’ I groaned, barely noticing Henry’s hand reaching for the remote, clicking on “ok”.

The episode started and we ate and ate, Henry occasionally making comments on scenes he had fond..or not so fond memories of. Especially nude scenes got him all quiet and awkward.  

I smiled, laying against his chest, enjoying the series without much of a thought. No thought other then; Holy fuck, Geralt is so hot. 

To realise that the very man was now being my personal pillow, was more then a little arousing.

I looked at him during a sex scene between Yennefer and Geralt, seeing him once more stare in utter silence.

Hmm… 

I Moved my hand to his chest and wrapped my leg over his lap, crawling on top of him just like Yennefer had gotten onto Geralt. Our eyes met, his blue orbs looking at me with confusion, before realising what I was onto, my lips slowly inching down to his mouth. He moved back a little, leaning into the soft pillows of the fluffy brown couch before letting out a pent up sigh, his eyes quickly darkening. ‘Don’t be shy now…Geralt.’ I said playfully, kissing him more entrancingly. His hunger was now fully awakened, a hunger that sparkled in his eyes as his lips curled up ever so slightly. ‘Hmmmpf.’ He growled.

Geralt is in the house.

In one fell swoop he pushed the pizza box behind me off the couch and pushed himself down onto me, my back now flat on the pillows. His jaw clenched as his nostrils flared - with annoyance or lust.. I did not know.

‘That scent…’ He rumbled in Geralt’s low, raspy voice, roughly moving his hand through my hair. I bit my lip, expectantly, feeling him move his nose down my neck, sniffing me like a touch-deprived animal, his hands starting to tug at my pyjama pants. He looked down at me, embalming me with his wanton gaze, his arms moving to quickly take of his shirt.

‘What’s taking you so long?’ I said in Yennefer’s cocky voice, making him growl even lower, his large body quickly climbing back on top of me, rubbing himself against my groin. He was ..very..excited. 

His heavy erection already pressing eagerly through the fabric that separated us, making me shiver in anticipation. I forced myself to breath in deeply, closing my eyes as I felt his coarse fingers near the trim of my lacy underwear, the fabric being pulled away with ease before the silky skin of his erection pressed against my core.

I gasped at the sensation, my eyes shooting open at him as he pressed higher, my clit awakening in an instant. ‘Hmmm…you’re quite ready.’ He said gruffly,  before penetrating me in one smooth motion, making us both groan. Still half clothed, it felt ever as hasty and passionate as Geralt and Yennefer on screen, our bodies a tumble of passion.

The series already continued with some grave fight scene, but we didn’t care. We ravaged each other, our hair wild, our hands grasping at each other, searching for skin until we finally found our release, our bodies crashing back onto the couch.

His love making had been so rough I could only shiver and shake when he was done, my legs splayed out as he got up slightly, cupping my cheek, demanding me to look at him. ‘Hey..you okay?’ I looked at him, still shaking. ‘Wew…’ I panted. An exhausted, slightly pained smile played on my lips. 

‘Oh my..’ I continued, still panting and shivering. He pulled up his pants and pulled me onto his lap, kissing me sweetly on my temple. I snuggled away in his chest, still a bit shaky, but smiling.

I looked back at the screen. The episode had ended, credits rolling as a loomy soundtrack played.

‘Okay, roleplaying at own risk.’ I finally said, sniffling, then rolling up further in his arms, putting my head against his chest. My innards were on fire and electricity kept shooting through my nerves every few seconds or so. 

I guess this is what one would call “fucked out”.

He wrapped me more gently in his arms, like a babe, kissing my forehead, sighing. ‘I’m sorry.’ He whispered. I smiled and shook my head. ‘Superman..super sex.’ I shrugged, feeling another spike shoot through my body, making me stiffen. He kissed my head again, sniffling softly as he kept me snug against his chest. We sat there for a moment while my body slowly quieted down.

‘Oh..I’m leaking…’ I said a bit embarrassed, feeling it go through my panties.

Without question he stood up, keeping me snug in his arms as he walked through the small hallway to the quaint bathroom. I sniggered.

‘I CAN walk you know.’

‘Mhm.’ He smiled, hoisting me up further, placing a pillowy kiss on my lips. ‘I know.’ He said smugly, still not lowering me down.

He turned on the shower and walked us into it, our clothes quickly soaking in the hot water. He huddled over me, shielding me from direct water in my face, his lips caressing me with the sweetest of kisses.

‘A bit of romcom romance to wash off my sin.’ He whispered, cheekily grinning at me. I smiled, relaxing more into his strong arms as the hot water relaxed me to the point that I felt like putty in his arms. He kissed me one more time before lowering me down slowly.

Our clothes were now heavy with water, our hair falling like curtains around our faces.

‘Maybe that’s a roleplaying more to my liking.’ I said, biting his lip playfully. He laughed, then started to pull off his socks, pants and trunks. I in turn pulled off my panties and shirt. We giggled, throwing the soaked clothes in a corner of the shower, before giving each other another lingering kiss. ‘Hmm.’ He hummed, enveloping me once more in his arms as I soaped up his hair. ‘My sweet Geralt.’ I smiled.

—

The next morning I was the first to leave for work. But I didn’t feel all too well. Actually not well at all. I rushed to the toilet, throwing up, feeling my lower back all cramped as I clamped onto the toilet.

‘Mmmpff.’ I groaned, taking a few deep breaths. My stomach was pretty upset.

I could hear Kal’s nails ticking on the floor behind me, a wet nose pushing against me, asking me what I was up to. 

I sat up a bit, feeling nauseous from just breathing. Kal whined softly, pushing his face through my arm and licking my face.

‘Pfff.. I hope it wasn’t the pizza, or Henry will be next.’ I mumbled, giving him a stroke through his thick fur.

‘Hey boy.’

I forced myself to get up, feeling weak in the legs. This was not like me…I took a deep breath through my nose, keeping my mouth fell shut but immediately feeling another wave come over me. I crouched down again, throwing up once more. Though it mostly was dry heaving now. I flushed and groaned in dismay. NO. I can’t be sick on my first day back at work. Get it together girl. Rawr!

I spritzed my face with some cold water from the sink and saw Kal looking at me with a confused look. Had he ever seen a human vomit? I pulled myself back up and looked into the mirror. I looked normal, I guess. Not pale, or sweaty. I felt my cheeks. They were fine. Yea..maybe just some bad food. I washed my mouth, then opened the drawer and popped some pain killers in my mouth.

Kissing a sleeping Henry goodbye I went off to work.

—

Throughout the day I started feeling a bit better. It was quite calm at work with a few meetings and some prep work, leaving me with a lot of spare moments to give way to a certain nervousness. Was there some other reason I had felt sick this morning? Did I maybe not take my pill at the right times during our holiday?

I was sitting in the back of the set, waiting for others to move around some set pieces and looked around. Nobody was watching. Quietly I squeezed one of my breasts. Painful. Oh gods. Could it be…? I started rummaging through my bag, looking at my pill strip. I was only 3 quarters through. It was too early. I felt my breath quicken, my head a little light. ‘Okey..calm down girl. Let’s..Let’s not overreact.’

During my lunch break I borrowed a car from a colleague to buy some pregnancy tests, my heart beating wildly in my chest.

Should I tell him? Should I tell him?

Should I?

--

I came home, good smells coming from the kitchen. I plopped down my bag, was greeted by an overly excited Kal and walked into the kitchen.

A very sexy, domestic Henry was wearing a fitted t-shirt, jeans and apron. ‘Hey..what’s cooking good-lookin’?’ I quipped, giving him a quick peck on the cheek before looking over his shoulder at the cut vegetables on the wooden board.

‘Hello dear.’ He gave me a playful pat on the butt. ‘Something simple. Vegetarian pasta.’ He shrugged. ‘Well..it smells a-ma-zing.’ I said, smiling as his knife continued to cut up vegetables. ‘How was your day?’ He asked. I stole a bit of cheese from his cutting board and moved to the table, plopping down on one of the chairs.

‘Not great. Felt very ill this morning. Maybe I ate something bad..’ I frowned. ‘Did you have any stomach pains by any chance?’

He shook his head. ‘Not really.’

I touched my breast again, my lips forming a thin, unsure line. ‘I think we need to…check..if this is not something else..’ I said, hesitatingly. He looked up and over his shoulder, his face a bit confused, first looking at my face, then at the hand on my breast. His lips parted as his eyes darted back to mine.

‘Wh..’ He breathed, turning fully towards me, one of his arms ghosting over the stove to push a pan with some frying onions off the stove before they’d burn.

His eyes widened and within the blink of an eye he was kneeling before me, a hand cupping my cheek while the other folded around the hand on my lap. I looked down at our hands on my lap, my throat suddenly feeling dry as sandpaper. ‘I got some pregnancy tests on the way back home.’ I said softly, my breath hitching.

‘OH.’ He gasped, his mouth slightly agape as he pulled me in for a hug. I could almost feel the joy radiate from him. His long cherished dream. 

‘So…do you have to…pee?’ He looked at me, curiously. I sniffled. ‘I believe it’s best in the morning.. But I still have to read the wrapper.’ I sighed, laying my head against his shoulder. He nodded, then wrapped me more tightly in his arms. ‘Oh my.’ He sighed, finally letting out the breath he had been holding.

‘I’m scared.’ I said in hushed tone.

He cupped my cheek again, keeping his other arm safely wrapped around me as he searched for words.

‘I don’t know if I’m ready.’ I said, looking up into his eyes. They became a shade sadder.

‘Let’s…give it a moment. And…see what it is first?’ He said, raising his eyebrows in an expression mixed between joy and confusion, before deciding it was best to just fully wrap me in his arms, his fingers gently coaxing me to lean into him as he laid his head in my neck.

—

The next morning we both awoke anxiously. We did not even yawn or stretch, just ..straight to the bathroom. I peed on one of the sticks, while Henry petted Kal nervously, waiting on the door step with the door opened. Our eyes met, both our faces etched with tense nerves as I put the stick on the edge of the sink. I didn’t feel terribly sick this morning, but my stomach sure was turning. I finished peeing, flushed, and looked at the stick. No signs yet. ‘A few minutes,’ Henry whispered, eyeing the stick as it lay there balancing on the white porcelain.

I sighed, then walked up to Henry, hugging him. ‘Let’s…get breakfast.’ I said, hoping it would take our mind of the matter just long enough to calm our nerves. He nodded.

Well..we never munched down our breakfast so fast, quietly shoving it into our mouths.

Before re-entering the bathroom, he grasped my arm. ‘No matter what happens. We’re in it together. I support you and love you.’ He said, looking at me intensely before pressing a kiss on my lips. I nodded, then walked to the sink, my eyes immediately sinking down to the little stick as it lay there, forlorn.

Negative.

I released a breath I didn’t know I was holding, the spinning world suddenly coming to a halt.

I could feel Henry’s arms as they tentatively wrapped around me, his hands curling over my belly. He was quiet. His breath slow and warm in my neck. And I wasn’t sure what to do. After a long exhale I finally looked up, our eyes looking at one another through the mirror.

‘Gods.’ I breathed.

His face was a touch pained, his jaw clenching. A sight that made me hurt beyond words. I knew he was trying to keep it together, to be calm and supportive, to give me space. But what about him?

I turned around, looking at him directly, wrapping my arms around him. ‘How are you feeling?’ I asked gently.

He drew in a deep, sharp breath, his deep blue eyes meeting my green ones. ‘Okay.’ He nodded, slowly accepting the reality as it was. ‘..A bit of a rollercoaster of emotions.’ He sighed again, looking over my shoulder to see the negative result once more, burning the image of the offensive piece of plastic in his mind.

I pulled his face towards me, laying a most gentle kiss on his lips. ‘I love you bear. And please know, that it will come. Just…not yet. We know each other for a little over half a year. Besides parenthood still feels kind of daunting to me…pregnancy especially. I guess I need to get used to the idea first before we…’ I looked back in his eyes, losing my trail of thoughts. 

‘I know. And I understand.’ He was obviously a bit sad, his blue eyes blazing with emotions unspoken.

I smiled feebly. 

‘I love you I love you I love you.’ I whispered, squeezing him into the hardest, most snug hug I could manage. He hummed quietly, also pulling his arms more tightly around me. ‘I love you too my dearest.’

--

Part 19 > 

[davidmann95]

Superman’s 10 Best of the ‘10s

Good Miracle Monday, folks! The first third Monday of May of a new decade for that matter, and while that means that today in the DC Universe Superman just revealed his secret identity to the world on the latest anniversary of that time he defeated the devil, in ours it puts a capstone on a solid 10 years of his adventures now in the rear view mirror, ripe for reevaluation. And given there’s a nice solid ‘10′ right there I’ll go ahead with the obvious and list my own top ten for Superman comics of the past decade, with links in the titles to those I’ve spoken on in depth before - maybe you’ll find something you overlooked, or at least be reminded of good times.

A plethora of honorable mentions: I’m disqualifying team-ups or analogue character stories, but no list of the great Superman material of the last decade would be complete without bringing up Cave Carson Has A Cybernetic Eye #7, Avengers 34.1, Irredeemable, Sideways Annual #1, Supreme: Blue Rose, Justice League: Sixth Dimension, usage of him in Wonder Twins, (somewhat in spite of itself) Superior, from all I’ve heard New Super-Man, DCeased #5, and Batman: Super Friends. And while they couldn’t quite squeeze in, all due praise to the largely entertaining Superman: Unchained, the decades’ great Luthor epic in Superman: The Black Ring, a brilliant accompaniment to Scott Snyder’s work with Lex in Lex Luthor: Year of the Villain, the bonkers joy of the Superman/Luthor feature in Walmart’s Crisis On Infinite Earths tie-in comics, Geoff Johns and John Romita’s last-minute win in their Superman run with their final story 24 Hours, Tom Taylor’s quiet criticism of the very premise he was working with on Injustice and bitter reflection on the changing tides for the character in The Man of Yesterday, the decades’ most consistent Superman ongoing in Bryan Miller and company’s Smallville Season 11, and Superman: American Alien, which probably would have made the top ten but has been dropped like a hot potato by one and all for Reasons. In addition are several stories from Adventures of Superman, a book with enough winners to merit a class of its own: Rob Williams and Chris Weston’s thoughtful Savior, Kyle Killen and Pia Guerra’s haunting The Way These Things Begin, Marc Guggenheim and Joe Bennett’s heart-wrenching Tears For Krypton, Christos Gage and Eduardo Francisco’s melancholy Flowers For Bizarro, Josh Elder and Victor Ibanez’s deeply sappy but deeply effective Dear Superman, Ron Marz and Doc Shaner’s crowdpleasing Only Child, and Kelly Sue DeConnick and Valentine DeLandro’s super-sweet Mystery Box.

10. Greg Pak/Aaron Kuder’s Action Comics

Oh, what might’ve been. In spite of an all-timer creative team I can’t justify listing this run any higher given how profoundly and comprehensively compromised it is, from the status quo it was working with to the litany of ill-conceived crossovers to regular filler artists to its ignominious non-ending. But with the most visceral, dynamic, and truly humane take on Clark Kent perhaps of all time that still lives up to all Superman entails, and an indisputably iconic instant-classic moment to its name, I can’t justify excluding it either.

9. Action Comics #1000

Arguably the climax to the decade for the character as his original title became the first superhero comic to reach a 1000th issue. While any anthology of this sort is a crapshoot by nature, everyone involved here seemed to understand the enormity of the occasion and stepped up as best they could; while the lack of a Lois Lane story is indefensible, some are inevitably bland, and one or two are more than a bit bizarre, by and large this was a thoroughly charming tribute to the character and his history with a handful of legitimate all-timer short stories.

8. Faster Than A Bullet

Much as Adventures of Superman was rightfully considered an oasis amidst the New 52′s worst excesses post-Morrison and in part pre-Pak, few stories from it seem well-remembered now, and even at the time this third issue inexplicably seemed to draw little attention. Regardless, Matt Kindt and Stephen Segovia’s depiction of an hour in the life of Superman as he saves four planets first thing in the morning without anyone noticing - while clumsy in its efforts at paralleling the main events with a literal subplot of a conversation between Lois and Lex - is one of the best takes I can recall on the scope on which he operates, and ultimately the purpose of Clark Kent.

7. Man and Superman

Seemingly geared on every front against me, built as it was on several ideas of how to handle Superman’s origin I legitimately hate, and by a writer whose work over the years has rarely been to my liking, Marv Wolfman and Claudio Castellini’s Man and Superman somehow came out of nowhere to be one of my favorite takes on Clark Kent’s early days. With a Metropolis and characters within it that feel not only alive but lived-in, it’s shocking that a story written and drawn over ten years before it was actually published prefigured so many future approaches to its subject, and felt so of-the-moment in its depiction of a 20-something scrambling to figure out how to squeeze into his niche in the world when it actually reached stores.

6. Brian Bendis’s run

Controversial in the extreme, and indeed heir to several of Brian Bendis’s longstanding weaknesses as a writer, his work on The Man of Steel, Superman, and Action Comics has nevertheless been defined at least as much by its ambition and intuitive grasp of its lead, as well as fistfuls of some of the best artistic accompaniment in the industry. At turns bombastic space action, disaster flick, spy-fi, oddball crime serial, and family drama, its assorted diversions and legitimate attempts at shaking up the formula - or driving it into new territory altogether, as in the latest, apparently more longterm-minded unmasking of Clark Kent in Truth - have remained anchored and made palatable by an understanding of Superman’s voice, insecurities, and convictions that go virtually unmatched.

5. Strange Visitor

The boldest, most out-of-left-field Superman comic of the past 10 years, Joe Keatinge took the logline of Adventures of Superman to do whatever creators wanted with the character and, rather than getting back to a classic take absent from the mainline titles at the time as most others did, used the opportunity for a wildly expansive exploration of the hero from his second year in action to his far-distant final adventure. Alongside a murderer’s row of artists, Keatinge pulled off one of the few comics purely about how great Superman is that rather than falling prey to hollow self-indulgence actually managed to capture the wonder of its subject.

4. Superman: Up In The Sky

And here’s the other big “Superman’s just the best” comic the decade had to offer that actually pulled it off. Sadly if reasonably best-known for its one true misfire of a chapter, with the increasing antipathy towards Tom King among fans in general likely not helping, what ended up overlooked is that this is a stone-cold classic on moment of arrival. Andy Kubert turns in work that stands alongside the best of his career, Tom King’s style is honed to its cleanest edge by the 12-pager format and subject matter, and the quest they set their lead out on ends up a perfect vehicle to explore Superman’s drive to save others from a multitude of angles. I don’t know what its reputation will end up being in the long-term - I was struck how prosaic and subdued the back cover description was when I got this in hardcover, without any of the fanfare or critic quotes you’d expect from the writer of Mister Miracle and Vision tackling Superman - but while its one big problem prevents me from ranking it higher, this is going to remain an all-timer for me.

3. Jeff Loveness’s stories Help and Glasses

Cheating shamelessly here, but Jeff Loveness’s Help with David Williams and Glasses with Tom Grummett are absolutely two halves of the same coin, a pair of theses on Superman’s enduring relevance as a figure of hope and the core of Lois and Clark’s relationship that end up covering both sides of Superman the icon and Superman the guy. While basically illustrated essays, any sense of detached lecturing is utterly forbidden by the raw emotion on display here that instantly made them some of the most acclaimed Superman stories of the last several years; they’re basically guaranteed to remain in ‘best-of’ collections from now until the end of time.

2. Superman Smashes The Klan

A bitter race for the top spot, but #2 is no shame here; while not quite my favorite Superman story of the past ten years, it’s probably the most perfectly executed. While I don’t think anyone could have quite expected just *how* relevant this would be at the top of the decade, Gene Yang and Gurihiru put together an adventure in the best tradition of the Fleischer shorts and the occasional bystander-centered episodes of Batman: The Animated Series to explore racism’s both overt and subtle infections of society’s norms and institutions, the immigrant experience, and both of its leads’ senses of alienation and justice. Exciting, stirring, and insightful, it’s debuted to largely universal acknowledgement as being the best Superman story in years, and hopefully it’ll be continued to be marketed as such long-term.

1. Grant Morrison’s Action Comics

When it came time to make the hard choice, it came in no small part down to that I don’t think we would have ever seen a major Golden Age Superman revival project like Smashes The Klan in the first place if not for this. Even hampering by that godawful Jim Lee armor, inconsistent (if still generally very good) art, and a fandom that largely misunderstood it on arrival can’t detract from that this is Grant Morrison’s run on a Superman ongoing, a journey through Superman’s development as a character reframed as a coherent arc that takes him from Metropolis’s most beaten-down neighborhoods to the edge of the fifth dimension and the monstrous outermost limits of ‘Superman’ as a concept. It launched discussions of Superman as a corporate icon and his place relative to authority structures that have never entirely vanished, introduced multiple all-time great new villains, and made ‘t-shirt Superman’ a distinct era and mode of operation for the character that I’m skeptical will ever entirely go away. No other work on the character this decade had the bombast, scope, complexity, or ambition of this run, with few able to match its charm or heart. And once again, it was, cannot stress this enough, Grant Morrison on an ongoing Superman book.

[shamelesslypoetic]

Demolition Lovers

Summary: Remus is honestly kinda scary, but also kinda cute. So in an attempt to defy all the toxic restrictions placed on him throughout his life, the ever anxious perpetually terrified Virgil strides right up to this real life Disney villian and gets his number.

Wordcount: 964

Pairings: Dukexiety

Warnings: Past child abuse (only one line), Virge is a bit spooked at first and there's referencing to the devil's tango plus a relationship that would be considered vaguely unhealthy by normal standards. But it's them and they're working on it.

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

A young man clad in black entered a coffee shop, hands shaking, the hoodie slung over his head keeping rain and eye contact alike away from him. Narrowing further in on a dark smudge across a wish-wash backdrop, the chinkling ring of a bell guided Virgil Subti into the nearest warm building as he managed to evade the downpour outside. Might as well have a cuppa coffee too. 

Finally safe, he allowed himself a sigh of relief, only for it to lodge back, strong enough it caused his lungs to spasm. Virgil had spent his whole life being afraid. So it was safe to say that when he met Remus’ eye across the crowded Starbucks that first time, jumping out of his skin waged itself a reasonable reaction against that murky stare. 

An undue overwhelming desire for his mother’s curry overtook him as he stepped further into the aromatics of coffee. He didn’t miss her, he didn’t miss wooden spoons on his face or an insistent screaming telling him who to be but he didn’t know what to do without her. Even after all these years. Anushka would tell him to look away, angle his eyes downwards, keep quiet and hide behind the long curtain of hair he’d long since gotten rid of. He couldn’t even call her ‘maan’ anymore. She wouldn’t have recognized him anyway and he was better for it. 

For once without thinking, Virgil strode right towards the lip-pierced, tattooed, skull-shirted mass of dark skin and even darker eyes behind the counter, line of sight falling to an abandoned coffee cup. “Is this someone’s order?”

Remus, as his name tag had supplied, gave a slow lazy grin like the Cheshire cat’s. Virgil could swear he saw hints of blood on those pointed teeth, glinting in the shop’s lights, promising threats. “Not if you’re the one who’s asking, emocake. I can whip another one right up.”

Get up get up get up get up!

Virgil ignored the mantra in his brain even as it sang on.

Run away run away run away!

As he busied himself with fixing a new coffee, Remus’ voice held the air with a rasp, high-pitched and grating to hear. “Come here often?”

“I haven’t decided yet,” Virgil paused for effect, taking a sip of bitterly cold brew as he crossed his legs on the rolling chair. “That depends on if you come here often.”

Remus cackled and it resounded in Virgil’s ribs, loud and unabashed, something oddly fascinating in the way it resembled a Disney villain’s laugh. Virgil smiled, another knot in his shoulders loosening.  

“I myself just recently moved from home.” He attempted a laugh in return, with great emphasis on his attempt. The wheezed whistle gurgling out of his chest bore no resemblance to that carefree sound. Then again, Virgil had never been carefree. “Long way away so you’ll be seeing me around plenty.”

“Where’s home?” 

Maybe with Remus, though, he could be. Though his words themselves were light they felt predatory, the way his voice muffled everything else to muted whispers demanding an answer where a refusal wasn’t permitted. Virgil wanted to give freely, make his own choice in this, no matter how bad it may be. No matter how much Anushka would disapprove. And so he did. “India, south of Raipur.”

That grin froze on Remus’ broad features. The narrow mysterious eyes, pointed nose and the faint stubble shadowing over the curling lips that resembled less a smile and more a snarl. Beautiful, in an odd sort of way. 

“Remus Martinez,” he drawled, extending his hand. A muted, inky red covered his nails and as Virgil reached out, he met paper dry skin, calloused enough to cut into his. 

“Virgil,” he said in a daze, blinking slowly at the light bronze pressed against his deep sepia, at how perfectly they fit. “Virgil Subti.”

Virgil left with a number sprawled across the palm of his hand in permanent ink that day, a messy chicken scratch script that dug with reckless abandon into his skin. A brand he would cherish for weeks to come. 

Remus gave Virgil everything he wanted. Whether nights spent drowning his pain in skin, in knife-sharp hips, teeth at his throat and nails digging across his back, or cuddles infused with sweet nothings whispered late into the night, sometimes harsh truths, other times pretty lies. All there, laid out before him in a maddening juxtaposition against everything Remus acted like to the outside world. Rude, blunt and abrasive, sincere and open only for Virgil in a way he’d only ever dreamed of. A carnage of common sense. 

Virgil knew this wasn’t well, entirely healthy. His dependence on the other gave him hours sick to his stomach and heart, eyes burning, head pounding, but they still pushed on. Together. Because, in his addled state of mind after their sweat had cooled, Virgil reminded himself of the striking resemblance between them, the understanding no one else could make sense of. The comfort two castaway souls found in each other’s company. 

Remus’ core, rotten and defective through and through, reeked a bit worse each day that passed. To everyone else, at least. Virgil always found him beautiful, beautiful like silvery scars and glimmering glass shards. 

Remus’ voice rang through their apartment every night long after what would be considered acceptable by anyone else’s standards. You could never shut him up. Virgil never wanted him to, but he still occasionally pulled that ever-babbling mouth to his mid sentence, if only to taste that sharp grin, if only to have Remus lick the coppery tang away from his boyfriend’s lip the moment after he bit into it. 

Maybe between the two of them and even in the face of society’s rejection, they could work something out. 

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

A/N: The last episode was amazing but I was missing my two babies and this fic has been sitting in my docs for a while so I buckled up and did the remaining work on it. Hope you like it! And I hope the words are treating you well whether you're reading or writing. Also don't forget to drink water! <3

Tag list (ask to be added/removed): @drown-in-lava-choke-on-rubies @ymmm-someone @seouqi

[snakeboistan]

Cinnamon roll!Nagisa will always be my favourite Nagisa but I do love me some bloodlust!Nagisa as well so I thought that I’d try writing about my boy and his incredible ability to put the fear of god into anyone he wants to  (◠‿◠)

“You E-Class nobodies should know better than to show your face around here,” Seo Tomoya sneered, looking down at the other teenagers with contempt written all over his face.

“Ha, please,” Araki scoffed with a smirk as Nakamura, Okano and Maehara gritted their teeth and rolled their eyes with obvious annoyance, “they’re in E-Class, Seo. As if they have the mental capacity to make good decisions.”

‘Oh great, here we go again,’ Nagisa thought as he watched the scene with caution. All he wanted was to study with his friends in the comfort of the main campus’ air-conditioned third year library. Isogai, being the responsible, caring class representative he is booked weeks beforehand so that about half of the class could spend their break studying for the mock assessments that Koro-Sensei had prepared for the following week and whilst Karma decided to skip (like usual) Hazama had managed to drag the rest of the Terasaka Gang along. They entered quietly, ignored the glares from the other students and huddled around two large tables near the back so really they were doing absolutely nothing to disrupt the peace. However, the Five (currently Four as their leader, Asano, wasn’t present) Virtuosos seemed to have some sort of receptors when it came to them because the moment they entered the room, their eyes narrowed and they strode up to them with the air of courtiers who thought they were the king’s best friend. ‘Why is it that every time we try to do something nice, these guys show up?’  

Maehara narrowed his eyes and smirked as he crossed his arms, “we might not be as smart as you but at least we’re not sour losers.”

“Yeah,” Nakamura added with a smug grin, “don’t tell us that you guys are still upset that us ‘E-Class nobodies’ completely demolished you in lacrosse and softball last week because honestly, it was only too easy.”

“Guys, please,” Isogai said uneasily to the two blondes, noting how everyone else in the library was observing them like they were the newest K-Drama episode. He turned to the four standing teenagers, “listen, I booked these two tables weeks in advance. We are nowhere near the seats that you told us were yours and we have not disturbed anyone since we came here so can you please leave us alone and let us study?”

Nagisa smiled, ‘Isogai’s brilliant when it comes to being tactful. No wonder he’s our leader. He’s  definitely a good role model and I do aspire to be like him.’

Araki glared at the Ikeman and Koyama scorned, “it’s just like you losers to start bragging at the slightest hint of victory. And start ordering us around like you’re better than us and the whole world revolves around you imbeciles. As if the rest of us care about what you lot do. Your entire class could go die in a ditch and not a single one of us would shed a tear. We could kill you right now and everyone here would be grateful that they would never have to see you again.”

Most of those who were members of 3-E glared at him whilst some gave him looks of disbelief. Terasaka looked like he was about to stand up and cause a fight when - 

“What was that?”

Everyone stopped at the whispered words and turned towards the person that had spoken them, only to find Nagisa standing up with his palms flat on the polished table, either side of his English Language exercise book. The silence was deafening as all eyes were on the petite bluenette that stood directly opposite the A-Class students. His head was down, his light blue bangs covering his eyes and only the tiniest curve of his mouth could be seen. Slowly, he lifted his head so that his fringe shadowed his eyes and hard gaze was concentrated right on the Biology Club president, azure eyes gleaming.

“Kill us?” he spoke softly yet his words seemed to resonate within the library, shaking every occupant to their very core. A small smile played on his lips, oh so innocent-looking but oozing with threat, “really, is that so? Well, come on then. I’d love to see you attempt to take my life. It’d make my day.”

A mushroom cloud of fear exploded in the room, every single student felt the atmosphere grow heavier with the bloodlust that was coming off of the small boy in waves - it was like they were choking, suffocating on the blood-curdling aura that surrounded him. They were paralysed, goosebumps ran down their arms and every hair on their body was erect. The Four Virtuosos were shaking under his unblinking stare, under the blue eyes that burned ten times brighter than the roaring flame of a Bunsen Burner and held a hundred times the danger. Never before had any of them felt such raw fear before, as if they were standing in front of death itself. Koyama felt trapped, like somehow a black mamba had swiftly slithered up his body and was facing him about to pounce, eye’s glinting, mouth open and fangs as sharp as diamond. He could feel the scales wrapped around his throat, constricting with every shuddered breath he took, he could see the murderous eyes of a serpent glinting in the glowing irises of this schoolboy turned gorgon. He wanted to look away, to turn around and run as far as possible so no one could see him cry but the fright that invaded every cell in his body kept him standing in his spot. 

‘What the hell is this?’ he wailed in his head, ‘I’ve never felt such fear before in my life.’

Nagisa’s own classmates were no better, eyes were filled with a form of horror that could rival that of a soldier’s as they watched the sweet, innocent boy that patched them up and made them laugh and cared for them get replaced by this.. this… bringer of death. Their breaths were caught in their throat and they could hear their heartbeats in their ears. None of them knew who this was and what he did to their Nagisa but they wanted him back, pronto. Nagisa, himself, had absolutely no idea of the effect he had on everyone else. All he knew was that the moment the word ‘kill’ had left the black-haired boy’s mouth, everything had stopped and a switch had been flipped in his brain. His surroundings blurred as he focused his attention on Koyama and the rest of Asano’s entourage, the word ‘kill’ playing over and over again in his head like a broken record, a mantra that seemed to release something inside him that he never knew existed. It was like a python was coiling around in his unconscious, chained and caged in the very depths of his soul, and that one word was the key that let it loose and allowed it to glide into the front of his mind, hissing with delight.

For a moment, nobody moved, nobody uttered a syllable until Sugino, who was sitting beside the bluenette. desperately grabbed at his waistcoat and began tugging and whispering, “Na-nag-nagisa.”

And just like that, the spell was broken and the aura of bloodlust popped like a bubble as Nagisa turned to face Sugino with his usual soft smile, “yeah, Sugino? Is everything okay?”

Around him, everyone released the breaths they were holding yet their hands couldn’t stop shaking and hearts couldn't stop pounding. A few students fainted at the sudden lack of viscosity in the air while the others felt as if they would never be the same again.

“Yeah, everything’s fine,” Sugino answered, glad that his best friend was back to his usual self.

“We-we better g-ge-get going,” Ren told his friends.

“Ye-yeah,” Seo agreed, “Com-come on, Akari, Koyama.”

The four of them ran off, leaving the room with only one thought: Holy S*it.

“What’s going on?” Nagisa asked, looking around with wide eyes before tilting his head adorably, “why’s everyone looking at me like that.”

“Probably because you managed to scare off the A Class douchebags,” Maehara laughed, only a teensy bit uneasy.

“Who is that?” Kasai Toyo from 3-B whispered to the classmate beside her.

“I don’t know,” he answered, “but remind me to never get on his bad side.”

She nodded.

[imma-lil-teapot]

TMNT 2003/2K3 Headcanon: Crying - (Raphael)

Feel free to scroll past this first part if you’re not interested in my silly rambling and nonsense. I won’t mind. Promise. ;)

Alrighty then, lockdown has officially started here. :/ *Unenthusiastic streamers fly* Oh well, look what we have all the time in the world for: WRITING! *Enthusiastic streamers fly* Not too much extra to add in this regard since the last headcanon (thanks a bunch for the likes btw, guys :D ), so I guess we’ll just get right into it. :)

Please bear in mind that I’m SUPER rusty! Haven’t written in ages so there are bound to be typos and all matter of general errors scattered throughout the post. Don’t pet them! They bite!  

Anyhoo~ Despite attempting to create and share with the goal in mind to uplift spirits, I decided to start on a rather upsetting subject (PLEASE DON’T LEAVE! They end on happy notes ;) ) because, Imma just come and say it, I enjoy seeing my favourite characters shed tears (not for just any old reason -their personality plays a huge role in this- and CERTAINLY not for sadistic reasons, land sakes no! But… well, you’ll see~ ;) ) It makes me all gooey and fuzzy inside to see them display such raw emotion and I just wanna leap into the TV screen to hug and console them. I dunno why. Maybe I’m nuts like that. (Remembers Raph crying at the farm when Leo was badly injured and wishes she could just hug them all and take away the pain) Oh well, if you enjoy visualizing the same, then *High Fives*. :)

So yeah, if you read the title, you’ll know this is based on the 2003/2k3 series (my favs). Hope you all enjoy~ :D Grab tissues cause sad turts ahead! :’(

Jibber jabber stops here~

TURTLES~

LEONARDO

RAPHAEL - You are here

DONATELLO - Coming soon

MICHELANGELO - Coming soon

WARNING(S): Because of the subject, Angst and Hurt/Comfort will be present.

RATING: G (General)

WORD COUNT: Uhhh... *Shrugs shoulders*

ANYTHING ELSE TO ADD:

Well, you’re just gonna have to scroll down to find him, Master Splinter. ;) I really didn’t know what to add so... *Shrugs* And look at da squishy Turtle Tots, dey so cuuuuute!!! <3 

TO THE HEADCANONS~~~~

~RAPHAEL~

– With his infamous hotheadedness and quick capacity for battle, it’s of course natural at first for one to expect Big Bad Raphie-Boy to be completely opposed to the very thought of crying. He is the resident ‘tough guy’ after all.  

– However, this notion couldn’t be farther from the truth: sure, he can be brash, quick to temper and lash out at those that give him enough incentive to, but underneath that rockhard exterior beats the heart of a real softie, and when something truly upsets that tender muscle, you can bet Mr. Hothead’s not going to try too hard to keep the tears at bay. 

– He’s as passionate as he is headstrong, and reining in such powerful emotions proves to be difficult at most times for him, so out of the four of them, and given the right circumstances, Raph can be surprisingly easy to get the tears flowing.

-- He’s no crybaby by a long shot, mind you, but he also knows that holding back on the waterworks is pointless and makes one just feel worse in the long run. If you’re going to cry, just cry. Simple as that. 

-- Like all of his brothers, Red can’t handle the thought of losing any of his family and close friends. It tears him apart inside and he’ll desperately attempt to protect and prevent anything terrible from happening to them, but when it does, he’s an emotional wreck and doesn’t always know how to handle his distress.  

– His initial reaction is to be by their sides before becoming outraged, and depending on the different situations, it’s not uncommon for him to also nag and pass remarks at the injured brother(s). It’s the only real way of expressing his fear of losing them before dampness starts forming in his eyes.

– Despite his tough guy front, he’s not against crying in front of his family and friends at all. He knows his place and doubts a few tears will have them seeing  him in a different light, particularly his father/master and brothers for they’ve seen the worst in him on many occasions. 

– It’s only when a particularly harsh meltdown wishes to happen does Raph choose to spare them the sideshow; he knows it’s not a pretty sight, so before the sniffling begins, he leaves the Lair and heads topside for some much needed air.

– He chooses the nearby rooftops as his destination; the ideal location to let go of the ever building waves of raw emotion that continue to grip at his chest, and by the time he makes it up the fire escape ladder, he spares little time letting out a rough growl in frustration, kicking an air vent a couple of times for good measure.

 -- With some rage and frustration now out of his system, he heads on over to the brick wall and turns his back to it, roughly sliding down into a sitting position and exhales a dismal sigh. As he subconsciously replays the earlier events through his mind, he finally allows the next phase of his sorrow to surface unbridled. 

-- He dolefully holds his head in one hand and balances it on a single knee pad as the tears now begin to flow freely.

– They instantly soak into his mask, and he grits his teeth as he feels the surges of emotion wrack his entire body. He doesn’t characteristically whimper or sob when crying, but he coughs a lot, and his nostrils leak like a faucet, forcing him to frequently sniff and snort just in order to breathe. This is the very reason why he refuses to really break down in front of the the others; not because of his tenacity, but because he simply finds the whole affair gross. His family certainly didn’t need to hear him constantly hacking up a lung and sounding like an untuned trumpet every time he blew his nose.

– The episode doesn’t last too long, though, much to his delight, and after some more thorough nasal clearing, Raph then wipes at his still somewhat wet eyes and mask before drawing out another -now exhausted- sigh. 

-- He’d begin gradually twirling a single sai around whilst he collected his thoughts. It felt more natural to keep his hands busy than have them being static when he was feeling this way. As his demeanor altered, so did the actions he performed with it.  

– He wouldn’t return to his family just yet for there was still some brooding left to be done... At least that was what he’d convinced himself he was doing. He wanted a clear head when he returned so for now, he’d remain in place on the rooftop in the crisp air with the city bursting with life just below him. 

-- He had to admit, it was certainly the best place for him to be with his thoughts. Comforting in fact. A true New Yorker at heart.

BONUS EXTRA~

– Aside from having everyone special to him perish, one of Raph’s greatest fears is his inability to fully control his own temper. On more than one occasion has it gotten out of hand and thus resulted in him injuring his own brothers, and it had shaken him to the core each time. 

– He’s come to the realization that he is his own worst enemy when it comes to reigning in his own inner rage, and it uneases him immensely that it could happen again and he’s fully aware that the probability is higher than he cares to admit. The more he concerns himself with it, the more it upsets him and thus, the tears of frustration start. 

– Fortunately, his bros are there for him and can tell when he’s feeling low about it. They know the best course of action is to have a light-hearted conversation about it with him and offer their reassurances... With Mikey of course adding his own two cents on the matter in his unique Mikey style, which usually involves poking fun at his brother in red and causing Raph to go from broody to enraged in record breaking time. Just how it should be.

– Not only is Raph A-okay with crying himself, but he’s often first on the emotional support committee to offer the shoulder of comfort to his friends, amazingly enough, and he’s actually pretty decent at it too. Though, not for absolutely everyone; he has his limitations when he knows someone’s really just blubbering for attention.

– He wasn’t always so accepting of shedding tears, though: as a very young Turtle Tot, he often thought of it as being too ‘babyish’ for him to do and thus despised it whenever something happened to cause him to tear up. 

– It took Master Splinter a rather surprisingly lengthy amount of time to change his perception of crying. No amount of explanations on how it was a perfectly natural expression of emotion would sway his son. 

– It got so out of hand that Raph would be in utter denial about crying right in front of his father, even while the latter would be staring at his tear-stained face directly in front of him. “M‘not cryin’,” the little Turtle would sniff. “Cryin’s fah sissies.” 

-- Splinter could only sigh and shake his head as he knelt down to embrace his son. When could he feel that Raphael would not fight the closeness, he’d give him the same lecture again, and Raph would finally succumb to his emotions and sob into his father’s robe whilst Splinter comfortingly rubbed his shell.

-- He could only guess that his words finally got through to his son for ever since that day, Raph’s entire attitude had altered for the better on the subject.

BONUS EXTRA EXTRA FEMALE READER OR S/O EDITION~ (Can also use an OC/FC insert if you wish, up to you)

From the moment you entered the Lair, you could clearly see something was up; Mikey was nursing an obvious wrist injury with a bag of frozen peas and hovering around Donny’s work area, complaining about the swelling to the purple-banded Turtle, who appeared to be paying little attention towards his ‘younger’ sibling as his back was turned.

"Hi, (Y/N).” 

You visibly jumped at the voice behind you and briskly turned, only to meet Leonardo’s placid form, and he swiftly apologized for the start. 

After the formal greeting, you gestured with a thumb in confusion at the former scene with an added, “Do I want to know?”

The leader’s facial features altered to a more serious aspect. “The end result of testing Raph’s patience,” he offered, which instantly had you more than a little concerned. Sure, Mikey could come off as being annoying, but to go so far as to physically harm him? 

“Are you sure it’s not worse than ‘just a sprain’?” You overheard the injured brother asking Donny, whose focus remained on a contraption of sorts you couldn’t quite make out on his desk.

“Yes, Mikey, you’ll live,” he responded with just a hint of weariness. “But no swinging your nunchucks around for a coupla days,” which was met with a typical whine in response from his patient. 

“It’s really not as bad as he makes it out to be,” Leo then added, turning your attention back towards him. Though you didn’t express it, you were grateful to hear the good news.

"Where is he now?” 

“Topside most likely.” Of course. It didn’t surprise you in the least that Raph had chosen to head there and you quickly set a course for the surface. “Need an escort?” The leader in blue offered, to which you politely declined. You knew he needed no further explanation. 

As you pushed back the manhole cover and made your way towards the nearest fire escape ladder, you were unable to put aside the various speculations as to why your special Turtle would hurt his own brother... Well, you would be kidding yourself to say you didn’t have at least one very plausible theory in mind, but as you neared the top of the ladder, the guesswork was instantly dropped and replaced with trepidation for you knew how Raph felt about injuring family. 

To put it simply, you were going to be dealing with a very dejected Turtle, and true to form, as you peered over the top of the building, the iconic emerald green hide and red mask tails met your sight. 

This was Raph’s favorite spot to gather his thoughts after all, so it was a no-brainer decision to begin the search there, and it was clear as day that it was exactly what he was doing for he made no effort to acknowledge your presence as he remained seated against the wall in a slouching position and gaze locked out front. 

As expected, he appeared to be moping. “Hey, Raphie,” you greeted, clambering over the wall. 

You were unable to tell if he had been aware you were nearby for he made no prior indication but instead merely replied with a gloomy, “’Sup, Kiddo?” No movement whatsoever. 

It amused you whenever he chose to refer to you by that nickname, especially since you were both the same age, but as you ambled on over towards him, you were left anything but amused as your former notion was set in stone when you caught the telltale signs of wet stains under his eyes. “You okay?”

“Peachy.”

It wasn’t the first time you had witnessed ‘ol Red crying, but it didn’t prevent your heart from breaking all the same. Something about seeing the bullheaded bad boy in tears left you in a real state of dismay, so without invitation, you seated yourself next him, affectionately leaning against his side, but before the consoling could begin, you had to gently ask, “You wanna tell me what happened?”

“Ugh, it was so stupid! Mikey wouldn’t quit goin’ on n’ on about beatin’ me in the Battle Nexus tournament and kept rubbin’ it in our faces about becomin’ the champ,” he exclaimed with shockingly little provocation, sniffing loudly. “I jus’ got so sick’ve it this time, an’ it’s not like we neva duked it out before or nothin’ but... I went too far this time, (Y/N), ya know?” 

He still refused to look at you as he began to wipe away some fresh tears that were forming in his eyes.

Your assumption had been correct all along; you acknowledged full well how Mikey’s triumphant achievement grated on Raph’s last nerve and how the orange-banded Turtle would seek out every opportunity to gloat about it in a bid to purposely provoke his ‘older’ brother. “Well, you know Mikey, Raph,” you said, not quite sympathizing with the actions he took, but rather offering some support. “He tries to get under your shell on purpose.”

"Yeah, I know, but... Dat’s no reason ta clobber the guy. Not like that, anyway” You noted how his voice gradually lowered grievously and you couldn’t stop yourself from placing your head on his shoulder. 

“No, it isn’t, but...” you knew you were grasping at straws by this point, but still offered, “They say it’s not as bad as he makes it out to be.”

He sighed dolefully. “I lost control again, (Y/N),” and you could feel the vibrations beginning to surge through him. “No matta what I do, I jus’... I jus’ can’t...” He trailed off, wracked with emotions as he covered his face with one hand and allowed the tears to fall, a cough slipping here and there.

You heart bled for this boy, and more than anything right then, you longed to relieve him of the pain, so you did the only thing you could think of: be right there by his side, comforting him through the breakdown. “Oh, Raph. It’ll be okay,” you calmly whispered, slinking an arm around his carapace and shoulders, bringing him closer and lightly squeezing his bicep with your free hand. “It’ll be okay.”

He leaned into the much needed support and continued to allow his misery to flow forth. You didn’t mind in the least for it was exactly what he required in order to heal, and you would be there for him every step of the way.

AND THAT’S A WRAP!

ALL THE FEELS!! I EMBARRASS!!

WOOT, that’s Turt number two completed! Sorry it took a little longer than expected; I still feel rusty with sentence structure and all and am not entirely pleased with the outcome, but I did feel an improved ‘flow’ from the first so maybe things are slowly coming back to me? Or maybe it was the scenario; it felt more natural o write than Leo’s... Maybe cause Bloo Boi’s my fav Turt and I felt added pressure with his?

Oh well, Donny Boy’s next~

Thank you all so much for the read and hope you enjoyed~ :D

~Drag0n Mistr3ss’ Random Fandoms*

[ya-ya-sestrahood]

YOU KNOW IT! top 5 sestra scenes! top 5 Rachel scenes/moments! top 10 ob scenes in general!

Oh boy, better open a Google doc.

TOP 5 SESTRA SCENES

1. Sarah delivers Helena’s twins! I remember a big question in the sestre fandom (all three of us) was if Sarah would be there for the birth, and then they gave us this? THIS?? The music! The flashbacks! The way they look at each other when it’s over! It’s almost too much, but it can’t be because it’s a sestre scene. Still a weepy mess over it.

2. Sniper scene! Sarah accepting Helena was all I ever wanted, so this one hit hard, especially after living through the months of Helena being dead. “Meathead” was an insult, suddenly it’s the best pet name. I mean, come on.

3. Convent scene! This one came along right when we needed it. They took our uncertainty about their relationship and put it all out on the table. Sarah is scared to let herself love Helena, but that’s okay. They’ll figure it out together. Also, they hold hands. Good.

4. Road trip! This should have been the entire show. Why wasn’t this the entire show?

5. Shower scene! Fifth best?? I know, I’m partial to the dumb happy fluff, I’m sorry. But it’s iconic, and there’s a hug so I still get that dopamine hit.

Honorable mentions to the scene in Maggie’s apartment, let’s have lunch, Sarah rescuing Helena from the cage, Sarah saving Helena’s life by GIVING HER HER BLOOD. There were a lot of good sestre scenes, but never enough good sestre scenes.

TOP 5 RACHEL SCENES

1. Rachel beats Sarah’s ass. Rachel stabs Sarah in the leg. Rachel presses on the knife with her cane. “You’re not immune to me, you cockroach.” “I’m the chosen daughter.” “This is mine. My time.” A fan fiction masterpiece, only it’s a real scene that happened.

2. Rachel gouges her eye out. Never have I cheered so hard while also wanting to crawl out of my own skin.

3. Rachel kidnaps Kira. Yeah, she got kidnapped every other episode, but no one did it quite like Rachel. No one snaps quite like Rachel.

4. Rachel does stuff with Paul. Is this scene gross or good? I say good. She makes him pour himself a glass of wine and then he doesn’t get to drink the wine. Fuck you, Paul. Take off your shirt.

5. Rachel puts a big needle in Cosima’s tummy. I’m still not totally sure what this scene is, but I like it?

10 OTHER GOOD SCENES IN NO PARTICULAR ORDER THAT I CAN’T NECESSARILY SAY ARE MY FAVORITES, JUST SCENES THAT SPRANG TO MIND

1. First episode, first scene. In a way, they never really topped this one, but can you really blame them? Other shows wish they could have an opening this good.

2. Krystal and Felix at the nail salon. We fell in love with this new character in like 5-10 minutes, and I think that’s pretty magical. She’s written kind of differently after this episode, but this is still the definitive Krystal to me.

3. Beth and MK at Beth’s apartment. THIS SCENE. “Please don’t leave me. I need you.” GOD.

4. CLONE DANCE PARTY

5. Sisters hanging out in Alison’s backyard. They’re all scared and they all make mistakes but THEY HAVE EACH OTHER. I just rewatched this scene and immediately teared up. It’s good. It’s good.

6. Paul blows himself up. It’s got Paul and Rudy and Coady, who gives a shit, right? I know. Somehow it’s still good.

7. Alison confronts Rachel. Rachel has never given her a second thought, and Alison manages to shake her to her core. I’m… very proud.

8. Sarah drunk on a bridge. This scene spawned two fics, so it has to be good. Seeing Sarah hit rock bottom sucks, but this is the kind of meaty character stuff the show needed more of. It feels like a glimpse at pre-canon Sarah.

9. Cosima and Evie and Kendall and the van. Oh yeah, the scene that led to Sarah drunk on a bridge is also good. Evie was a good villain, and she wasn’t even a clone.

10. Helena and Kira in the alley. More of a moment than a scene but: “What happened to you?” “I don’t know.” Helena’s not bad! She’s just scared and sad and alone, and you see it all right there in that moment and it’s heartbreaking. Best clone.