#at least if they didn't they could still have plausible deniability

[fangirleaconmigo]

Geralt x Jaskier Geraskier First kiss, friends to lovers

Geraskier Dancing

When Geralt of Rivia was a child, he begged Vesemir to teach him the kind of dances they performed at court. The answer was always no, but he kept trying.

After the trials, when Vesemir seemed so affected by his eyes, Geralt would widen them and look up at his tutor, pleading.

After all, Geralt thought, what if he rescued a fair maiden, and she demanded that he accompany her to a party? Perhaps she would drag him, giggling and flushed, onto the dance floor. He would be her noble savior, and she would be his grateful maiden.

He didn’t tell Vesemir his reasoning of course. He said that it might be important for royal courts, with kings in them. Wouldn’t it be best if he could fit in? Fencing was similar to dance, so surely Vesemir could handle teaching it.

Vesemir sighed and gave him the same speech he always gave.

"Geralt. You are not training to be a knight. Put that out of your mind. You are a professional. A working man.

Further, you are a mutant now. You will not be greeted with gratitude. You will be lucky to be greeted with the cash that you are promised."

Geralt felt stubborn. Furious. But he knew when to drop the subject.

Vesemir would pat his shoulder and offer him a sweet bread. His eyes always held regret.

Geralt understood him now. After years of hard lessons, he understood. When he thought back on his youth, he felt like a dolt.

The women he saved were traumatized. He was meeting them during the most terrified, violent moments of their lives. They screamed, bled, and threw up. And they all ran. With his bloody sword and ashen skin, he looked little different from the monsters he fought.

At least to them.

And yet?

He still learned how to dance, despite having given up the dream.

It started with Jaskier of course, like most misadventures and novel undertakings. The young bard had just shown up in his life one day and sort of just...never left.

His enthusiasm, energy, and optimism infected Geralt's life, as did the handsome twinkle in his eyes.

One night, after several glasses of wine they shared their most ridiculous childhood dreams. Jaskier admitted that he wanted to publicly rub his success in his family's face, to make their rejection sting less. So Geralt admitted that he'd always stupidly wanted to woo a grateful damsel on a dance floor.

He thought they were just talking nonsense, so he was startled when suddenly, Jaskier was on his feet, woozy and holding out a hand.

"C'mon. Lesgo." Jaskier jerked his curly, disheveled head towards an empty spot on the tavern large enough maybe for one large man.

Geralt refused at first. It was silly. Besides, They were both men. Who would lead?

But Jaskier simply grabbed his hand. When they touched, Geralt found that all of his resistance dissipated like a magic spell. He found himself standing and allowing himself to be dragged. And after they moved a few tables, he found himself touching the small of Jaskier's back and swaying with him.

Why didn't it feel odd? It should have felt odd.

It probably felt fine because they were alone.

They always danced alone.

They would be in a bar that was emptying out, the last drunkards stumbling home. Jaskier would be inviting, leaning against him, words slightly slurring.

Geralt selfishly loved him like that, not because Jaskier would lose his inhibitions, but because Geralt would. Plausible deniability.

"No one is here, Geralt. You won't ruin your fearsome rep--rep--pox on it. People won't see you." Jaskier waved dismissively as he dragged him.

The bard's lips grew pinker when he drank, and his cheeks flushed when they danced.

So Geralt let himself be led into the middle of empty bars, dance halls, and sometimes even just under the stars near a campfire.

"Y'need this for" *hiccup* "d'plomacy." Jaskier tugged him this way and that.

Despite the slurring, Jaskier always moved gracefully, like a swan. He'd sing to himself, lost in the music, touching Geralt with surety, guiding him. His body would be warm and little puffs of his wine soaked breath would drift towards Geralt. The witcher would inhale and try to control the surge of something primal in him awakening from a terribly long slumber.

Jaskier always led.

"I thought you were teaching me to dance with ladies," Geralt complained playfully one night. Jaskier was leading him in a lazy circle under some street lanterns on an abandoned street. Trash and litter was everywhere, left over from the spring festival. Their feet crunched on discarded candy wrappers as they moved.

"I am," Jaskier huffed indignantly, eyes hazy. "You must charm these noble ladies. It's not easy, you know. You must practice."

Geralt bit the side of his mouth trying not to smile. He didn't want to ruin the moment. He was so close to Jaskier, the closest he ever got to stand. "But I'm not learning to lead."

"Oh, s'fine. You'll just," Jaskier gestured, twirling his hand in a circle, "turn it all round." Then it was a rolling motion. "Flip it. Change it backwards. You know what I mean. They'll love it."

It was quiet for a moment, Geralt turned his head and crept closer, so he could secretly smile to himself.

"You already complain they simper around me," he murmured near his friend's ear. "You want to make it worse?"

Jaskier snorted loudly. "They're just trying to get to me, Geralt, you know that. Price of fame!!"

Then he spun Geralt, and all the while, Geralt grumbled, purposely moving stubbornly. "I don't twirl, Jaskier."

Jaskier was wobbly and dismissive. "Y'doing great."

Geralt really did learn during those nights. But they never spoke of it in the morning. Those nights were sacred and untouchable lest they shattered in the light of day.

But one day, they finally, truly paid off.

Geralt wanted to run and tell Vesemir. He'd been right. He had needed to learn the skill after all.

Because one spring day he rescued a beautiful young woman, and she was grateful. She was lovely, truly. Her auburn hair cascaded down her back, caressing her delicate waist.

She had been menaced by a werewolf and run screaming into Geralt's arms, invitation to a ball at the ready. It was just like in his youthful dreams.

The werewolf wasn't such a bad guy to be honest. His name was Gil. And he wasn't so much menacing her as he was trying to say hello and simultaneously coughing. But it was an unpleasant sound to be sure. It was a hacking cough.

Geralt had intervened, having been sent there on an errand by Jaskier. The witcher took Gil aside to speak to him. The werewolf was moving on, anyway. He'd just come to see a picnic of beautiful women that Jaskier had told him about, thinking he would say hello.

Geralt wanted to shake Jaskier. Gently of course. To tell his friend that yes, he had needed help with dancing, but certainly did not need help with finding ladies to rescue. They were lying about everywhere there were monsters. Jaskier wasn't around though, he was nervously flitting around at fittings and lute tunings, preparing anxiously for the dance.

It was silly of course.

And to be honest, the young woman hadn't needed much rescuing. Gil's nose was still sore where she had hit him with her bag.

But nonetheless, when she'd seen Geralt she'd sighed and pretended to be quite helpless.

Geralt carried her to safety on Roach, and she had invited him to a dance that night. They were in Lettenhove, and the dance would be packed with nobles. It was the perfect setup.

Geralt got ready with trembling fingers. He laced on his best armor and slicked down his hair. His stomach was weak just to think of it.

When Geralt arrived, the maiden was there in a stunning gown. She arrived breathlessly, ready for her dance. She batted her eyes and curtseyed.

Geralt bowed slightly, and led her onto the dance floor. After a few moments, her raptured attention began to cool. She was well educated and polite, but Geralt caught her regretful glances towards the handsome young nobles in the corner.

He didn't blame her. He was not a small man, and he was stepping on her toes.

The bloom was very quickly off the rose for the young maiden.

"I'm sorry. My mistake." Geralt muttered at every wrong turn.

If you had asked Geralt as a child, whether the disappointment of a maiden would sting, he would have imagined so.

But it didn't. This was not what he had come for. This was not why his stomach had done somersaults as he had laced on his armor. It was because this party was not just packed with nobles, but very particular nobles from a very specific family.

Geralt glanced up to find him.

Jaskier stood off to the side, close by, clutching a glass of wine, and staring daggers at his cousin across the room. His cousin was a handsome man, if you went in for that kind of thing, though not as handsome as Jaskier. But he was holding court with several ladies.

Geralt excused himself with the relieved young lady who tried to look as though she were not fleeing.

Geralt came up behind Jaskier, and touched his back.

Jaskier did not jump or startle. He must have known Geralt's touch and scent by now. He simply turned and smiled.

"You're here!" Jaskier looked behind him. "And Juliet?"

Geralt shrugged. "I never actually learned to lead."

Jaskier's face fell. "I'm sorry, I-" he looked mortified, "-I don't actually know how to teach dance. I only know how to dance. I was just-"

Geralt cut him off by pulling him into his arms with an 'oof'.

Jaskier startled, leaning eagerly into the embrace. But then he remembered himself and looked around cautiously.

"I don't care if they see," Geralt whispered. "I want them to. Let the miserable bastards gossip until their throats are sore."

The widest, brightest grin he had ever seen blossomed on his handsome bard's face. "Well then." Jaskier straightened his shoulders and cleared a catch in his throat. Let me do this properly."

The bard gently detangled himself from Geralt's arms. Then he bowed at the waist and held out a hand. "Geralt of Rivia? May I have this dance?"

Geralt nodded and straightened his jacket. "You may, Viscount Julian of Lettenhove."

Jaskier held his hand with both of his, but he shook his head and whispered. "No. Viscount Julian is theirs. I am Jaskier. I am yours."

Geralt's heart melted. He did not know how to cope with that, so he just nodded.

The music fell silent, and a new song began.

The witcher and the bard were the first couple out on the floor. It may have started as a way to help Jaskier rub his success in his family's eyes. But almost instantly they forgot all about that. They lost themselves in the movement, the laughter, they only saw each other.

But Jaskier's family saw. His mother. His father. His envious cousins. They all saw that he was loved. That he was talented, famous, and loved.

Geralt didn't think a whole lot about Vesemir that night.

He simply danced. And when the last note on the last song died out, he touched Jaskier's chin. His love's eyes lit up with hope. Geralt didn't want to draw out the suspense, so he pulled him in for a kiss. It was tender and they were sweaty, their hearts beating in their chests.

It felt right. And not because they were alone. It was because they loved each other.

When Geralt visited Vesemir during the winter, he brought up his childhood dream. He would tell the old witcher that he understood now.

Love wasn't something you earned through daring acts. It wasn't something you extracted from terrified women as the price for their safety.

Love was a bard who tried his damndest to fulfill your dreams at the expense of his own.

Love was taking him in your arms and fulfilling his.

Well, Geralt tried to say all that. Perhaps it didn't come out the way he meant. Perhaps he stumbled over his words and grunted some.

But when he pulled Jaskier into the room to introduce him to Vesemir, the old witcher understood.

[misscammiedawn]

One little thing that always warms my jaded heart in the topic of kink communities is how responsibly we tend to play with pop culture.

One of my vivid memories within the hypnokink community was in 2014-2015 when Jessica Jones was being adapted for Netflix and David Tennant had been cast for Killgrave.

Communities began discussions in earnest with a tone of legitimate worry that we would start attracting a younger crowd of people who saw scenes from the comics adapted and seek hypnokink with the same misguided zeal that the BDSM community had seen years prior when 50 Shades came out.

It's easy to look at the show as it came out and think that was an overreaction but Superwholock was still very much a thing back then and though the show as released was good at depicting Killgrave's abilities as gross and an extreme violation Bagley's art in the comics was fairly...

Well:

So we didn't know what to expect and we opted to take the lessons learned from the 50 Shades influx in BDSM and apply it in advance. We created how to guides for beginners, educated on the lines between healthy expectations and danger and tried our hardest to ensure that anyone who came looking would find a wholesome and welcoming environment of people who enjoyed the fantasy of mind control and the very real allure of hypnosis.

Every time I see drama in the community I remember that period of time and get a warm feeling.

Another thing that just delights me is the way we talk behind closed doors about pop culture figures who are likely into our kink based on the coded way they communicate, the things they reblog or the shirts they wear that can only be obtained from a specific website that is 100% Just For This Kink (plausible deniability says it could be ironic/aesthetic though).

We NEVER out them in public but we kind of chat in walled gardens about how We Know What You Are and it's pretty much official policy to never be a dick about it, especially as they could easily be among us at any given time (and if they are then it's none of our business but they're welcome and we're sorry we live in a society that prevents you from joining us in earnest).

Albeit if there is a shitty celebrity who makes us look bad we may disown them within our circles, whether they be a newspaper cartoonist with rancid political views who is open about his kink or a Hollywood sex pest who includes mind control tropes/themes in all his work.

I always wonder if other communities have that same culture. I have no desire to get involved in it or find out who is the "pop culture figures most likely to be Into This" lists because that's kind of gross and invasive. But it's a part of this whole kink life thing that I feel is just so normal that it must be true of other circles.

Anyway. This is merely a ramble to say I adore how communities tend to be fairly pleasant and welcoming spaces in most regards and we are fully aware that we are a parallel universe from polite society but the way polite society is reflects what exists within our circles and we do our best to have a polite and positive rapport with it.

It's such a bright and positive thing. At least in my opinion.

[zeldahime]

Highway to Pail Day 28

[Day 1] [Prev] [Next] @do-it-with-style-events

February 28: Shellfie.

Moving to the South Downs wasn't a permanent change—for beings as old as they were, nothing like this could be—but it went along with the real permanent change: that Aziraphale and Crowley could be together publicly, loudly, and nobody in Heaven or Hell could take it away from them or stop them. Aziraphale wouldn't Fall, neither of them would be tortured or punished or killed. They didn't have to duck around anymore, meeting in plausibly deniable ways. Crowley didn't have to leave the bookshop through the back in the dead of night so he could be seen emerging from his flat in the morning. Aziraphale didn't have to meticulously track every miracle he performed in the hopes of not exceeding his budget. They could hold hands.

Being allowed to touch, in public, was utterly intoxicating to them both.

And touch they did. Not just holding hands: Aziraphale was allowing his hair to grow, no longer required to keep it regulation-short, and Crowley fussed over it constantly, tying and untying and brushing and straightening and brushing flyaways into place; Aziraphale fixed Crowley's collar and cuffs, straightened his ties and scarves and pins. They walked arm-in-arm, like was once fashionable, or with arms around shoulders and waists, or hands resting on lower backs. When they talked they leaned in, hands on forearms, cheeks brushing.

They both smiled more, and more genuinely, truly and perfectly happy like neither of them had been since their creations; even more so, really, for all the years of experience behind them and for the pleasure of each other's love and company.

On a bright sunny spring day, Crowley suggested they go to down to the coast, and Aziraphale smiled and packed a picnic, and off they went.

The Bentley blasting You're My Best Friend on a loop the whole way (which irritated Aziraphale much more than Crowley, who was used to it), they headed straight down to Selsey to look out over the channel and get their toes wet. Aziraphale had changed into an old swimming costume, cream and powder blue alternating stripes ending at the elbows and knees, which he'd probably had since old Bertie had crowned at least; Crowley remained in his regular miracled suit, and intended to simply snap into a speedo if they went swimming.

Aziraphale's hand rested just above Crowley's knee the entire way, except when Crowley took sharp turns at a hundred miles per hour, when it did not rest so much as desperately cling for dear life.

The beach was deserted despite the sunshine, still too chilly to draw in human crowds. Aziraphale and Crowley walked along the coast hand-in-hand, looking out over the sea toward the Isle of Wight, the conversation meandering from the mechanics of plate tectonics (which neither of them understood) to a dinner party they once attended with Plato, from a confused discussion of Wales and whales to the plot of a Doctor Who episode Aziraphale had watched in 2007. This led Crowley to recount a blessing he'd done while stateside with the Dowlings, which reminded Aziraphale of a temptation he'd done in Czechoslovakia in 1983, which reminded Crowley of selfies. Crowley'd had a hand in selfies, tempting a young photographers to a bit of vanity, and it had succeeded beyond his wildest dreams.

His phone was in his hands before he could finish his thought. He interrupted Aziraphale recounting the svíčková he'd had at a bistro in Prague with a command to "Smile, angel!" This earned him a confused look, Aziraphale turning to ask him why, blurrily captured with the tap of a button and a recorded sound effect of a shutter click.

"Whatever are you doing, Crowley?" Aziraphale asked crossly, irritated at the interruption, and Crowley showed him the screen.

The blurry photograph was a nightmare of composition, but Aziraphale immediately loved it more than any in the world, save one. Crowley was smiling, his eyes crinkled at the edge of his sunglasses, one arm visibly extended to hold the phone and the other intertwined with Aziraphale's, Aziraphale clearly beginning to face him. The first photograph of them had been taken at a moment of temporary relief, taken by an enemy and intended to be used against them. The second was pure freedom, pure happiness, taken by Crowley himself, simply because he'd wanted to.

"Oh," Aziraphale said, voice shaky.

"Yeah," was Crowley's equally shaky reply.

"My dear Crowley, you must print this out when we return to the cottage."

"I—Angel, this isn't the only one this phone can take, we can have a better—"

"I certainly hope we will, my dear Crowley," Aziraphale said softly. "And I want to print this one."

They looked at the phone, and then at each other, and smiled.

"Yeah. We'll print it."

Aziraphale had it framed. It hung as a set with an old photograph from the Second World War in their library, above a yellow Georgian chaise that held a mismatched throw blanket and cushion, one in red-and-black tartan and the other patterned with cream and blue snakes.

--

Author's note: This is what came up when I googled "czech food" and HOLY MACARONI IT SOUNDS DELICIOUS. I will be looking for a Czech restaurant that serves svíčková in my area stat.

[captain-mj]

Mj I beg you I will sacrifice people for bones for a second part of the striper AU

Part 1

Made this way later than I meant but it's here!

Soap had to find evidence before accusing Ghost of being a stripper. It wasn't as simple as just admitting he went to a strip club. At no point did it occur to him that this may seem malicious.

Soap didn't want to cross the line of being creepy so he never did something like follow Ghost to his car or anything. He did watch him closely at work and asked a few of his students if they knew anything about him.

Mila, Graves's teaching assistant, hummed. "He's pretty cool. He's the English professor, super secretive."

"Nice ass." Someone shouted.

Mila nodded.

"Don't talk about a professor like that. At least not in front of me. I need plausible deniability."

She laughed. "Yeah. We think he's single, but he's always wearing gloves so we haven't been able to check for a ring."

"You guys keep watching?"

"Yeah, he's a big part of the rumor mill."

Fuck. So Soap couldn't ask around about strippers. Mila would connect the two in moments. He sighed.

Mila smiled. "Do he do the thing to you?"

"The thing?..." Soap blushed. Oh no. Did Ghost do this all the time? Toyed with his coworkers hearts?

"Where he freaks you out real bad? I don't think it's on purpose but he'll stare at people or just... in general do weird stuff. I think he's a nice guy, but he's apparently ex military as well. He's interesting."

Soap thought of Ghost grinding on him the night before, seducing Soap enough to be willing to throw it all away for the night. He shook his head. "Nah, he's done nothing."

"Why did you ask about him then?"

"Noticed him making tea this morning and was just wondering about him."

Mila nodded. "That's all I know. I'll keep my ear to the ground for anything you might find interesting."

Soap just nodded, deciding not to push on what she thinks he'd find interesting.

After a week of nothing, Soap went to the strip club again, this time alone. He brought plenty of cash, willing to trade any of it for Ghost's attention.

Ghost saw him but he was with another client. Soap had put together that Ghost had given him special treatment a while ago, but it was still exhilarating to see this guy not even be able to put his hands on Ghost's waist, knowing he had gotten to run his hands down his back. They had been so close Soap could feel his breath and this guy had to leave an inch between them for Jesus.

Pretty privilege strikes again.

Once the other guy had either ran out of money or interest, Ghost beelined towards Soap.

"Please don't be my Vargas. I don't think you make enough money for it."

Soap shrugged at him. "You don't know what kind of job I have. I could be a wealthy business man."

Ghost laughed and Soap was immediately a puddle. "Let me guess, hoping to get another private dance?"

"yes. And I'll have you know, I checked with a friend and they said 300 is really high, especially for this club." Soap was already handing over the 300 dollars.

Ghost smiled. "Yeah. It is." He tugged him along, fingers going through his belt loops. Just like before he started on the pole, but it seemed... less serious somehow. He went in circles but it was more fun and flaunting than the graceful flow of before.

Soap smiled to himself and just watched him, finding it endearing. "What do you do outside of this?"

"Didn't realize we were playing 20 questions."

"Just trying to get to know you a little."

Ghost stalked over. He put his foot next to Soap's head and leaned in, showing off just how much bigger he was. "Didn't someone warn you not to fall for strippers? There's hundreds of songs about it."

"Don't be so alluring and this wouldn't happen."

Ghost laughed and turned around, laying against him so his head was on Soap's shoulder and Soap could look down over his chest. He swallowed thickly and gently touched.

It felt sinful to trail his fingers over his skin. He went over each scar, able to feel now that they were likely from knife fights. They were too curved and messy, clearly from someone slashing.

Ghost went to move and Soap yanked him closer. Trying to hold on to him. To this identity that had found its way into his life in so many places. That didn't make sense. Two separate people who were clearly the same person, in both parts of his life.

How many times had he been dragged here and they passed each other? Or at work, how many times did they sit silently in the same break room, Soap making coffee and Ghost making tea, fated lovers passing like ships in the night?

Well, he didn't want to just pass again. To give up a chance to be happy with him.

But his tongue failed. It didn't put his thoughts into words that captured what he wanted.

"How much for a night?"

"Not a prostitute." Was all Ghost responded, looking at him through his lashes. Pretty, thick and blond, just like the man who had them. "I have a friend I can call if its the mask that does it for you."

"Nae. Not the mask. Think it's just you."

"Johnny..."

"I never told ya my name."

They both paused. "Your friend called you it dumbass. The one with the hat on."

Soap deflated, having hoped he'd catch Ghost so he could bring up the college. In reality, he had caught Ghost in a lie, Ghost did know his name from his other job, but he was quick with a reason.

Ghost looked at him and sighed. "You're cute. But I think it's best you don't keep sniffing around." He got up, his toned back flexing as he stretched his arms. "Think you're looking for love in the wrong places."

Soap grabbed his hips and kissed his back. It was impulse. Everything he had just been told not to do. Ghost shivered and let him kiss up his spine.

"Johnny. Come on. Don't be a sore loser. You got my attention."

"Want a whole lot more than your attention."

Ghost tsked and turned around. "If I give you a kiss, let you get it all out of your system, promise to fuck off?"

"Yes, sir." Soap said, knowing he was fronting.

Ghost lifted it and Soap paused, finally seeing the scary scarring he kept talking about. It was too bad, just some... burns? and a Glasgow smile.

"Keep staring and I change my mind and get you banned."

Soap quickly leaned in to get his kiss. Ghost grabbed him by his hips and yanked him closer, quickly getting control.

Johnny was whipped. If Ghost asked him to jump, he'd do it as high as he could and ask if he needed him to do it again. Jump off a bridge and he'd go flying. He followed Ghost's lips as he pulled away.

"It's late. My shift ended ten minutes ago. I'm leaving."

Soap nodded, coming down to Earth slowly. He stood outside for a while, just staring at the stars.

Ghost kissed him.

Ghost also told him to fuck off.

But... Simon and Ghost were separate people.

Soap waited in the breakroom for most of the day, any time he wasn't teaching, he was there.

Professor Riley came in, wearing a different soft jacket that covered his frankly ridiculous physique.

Soap slid up to him, standing in his personal space.

"Professor MacTavish. What are you doing?"

"Looking for love in the right places this time." Soap smiled cheekily.

Simon flushed so hard his neck went red. "Fucking hell. I was hoping you wouldn't catch on."

"You knew??"

"Course I did. You're not... Look, if you want money, I don't have any. We can have sex if that's what you wan-"

Soap cut him off. "Why would I want money?"

"You're going to blackmail me, right? It's what people normally do."

"No! I'm trying to date you!"

Simon tilted his head. "I'll think about it."

Soap watched him leave with his tea and almost fell to his knees.

He'd think about it????

[blaiddraws]

okay this one is! i drew the art really quickly as a companion to the rest of the stuff under the readmore. read the stuff.

Whumptober day 5: Alt prompt, Tears

Once, years before, Ingo had been witness to the Pearl Clan's funeral and burial customs for the first time. He remarked to someone that he felt as if the ones from where he had originated were quite different, in that one would bury the deceased under a small stone with their name carved on it, near families in a group burial site, albeit with their own individual graves. The striking image of rows of stones in a small field, varying in size and shape, had echoed through his mind for a moment.

It was all he could recall, a fleeting memory that he'd forgotten within moments, but it was still notably different from the Pearl Clan's own customs, with isolated burial sites marked by certain carved poles instead.

He didn't even remember mentioning it until just now.

It was an odd feeling. There was a strange warmth near where his heart would be, that someone cared enough to remember the offhand comment he had made at the time, cared enough to follow it to the best of their abilities.

But it was also incredibly strange to look at one's own grave. A certain brand of dread, of fear and horror. 

He shuffled his ghostly limbs slightly, stiffly curling onto the ground as he continued to stare at the stone and the falling snow slowly built up on his body. He brushed the fresh snow off of the stone.

Before, he had plausible deniability. Yes, he was undeniably ghost-like now. But he wouldn't couldn't remember the events that led up to this new form of his (other than an intense, desperate terror). Perhaps something strange and magical had happened to cause his dramatic shift in form. But here and now… 

Something told him there was certainly a body under that grave. One undeniably his own. 

He had well and truly died. 

He shuddered, curling his long, serpentine body in further.

He had died. He was dead, and death was not something one could recover from. (Not back to one's original state, at least.) 

He wasn't ready, but really, who Was? 

But he had died before he was ready, and nothing he could do could change that.

He still needed to know where he came from, who the faint figures in his memories were that filled him with such contradictory warmth and loneliness. His amnesia, his place of origin. 

A faint clicking filled the air, the sound of metal on metal, and he realized he was shaking hard enough for the ghostly steel on his new form to clatter together.

He curled up as tight as he could, attempting to suppress the shaking, but it did nothing to soothe the ache in his metaphorical heart.

Even if he did somehow find his home station, he would never be able to do the things he would have as a human ever again. 

He had no beating heart, no soft flesh, no warmth of his own; only the steel and the ghostly limbs of his new form. 

The faintest recollection of energetic, full-body hugs, where it felt like he was being crushed in the best way as the other swung him around in the air, clawed at his heart as he realized he would never feel that again. 

The very basis of human interaction, that need for physical contact and affection, was now completely lost to him forever.  

He let himself cry, then, as best as this form could even as there were no real tears (and how depressing was that? He would never be able to shed a single tear again, whether it be from happiness or sadness). 

A low, distinctly inorganic keening filled the air, the creaking of metal as it was stressed, screeching and wailing. Odd hissing metallic twangs interspersed throughout, as if imitating a human's sobs.

[marshmallowprotection]

Think of how much WORSE it would have been in saeyoungs route when he first runs into saeran if he didnt have that plausible deniabilty of saerans hair and eye color being different. Yikes

Oh, you are in the mood to make me cry, aren't you? Because, as we know, the first time the twins encounter each other face-to-face in Yoosung and Saeyoung’s Route after years of separation, we have no choice but to watch Saeyoung not recognize his brother right away.

Granted, part of the reason why he doesn't recognize his brother doesn't just have to do with the fact that his brother doesn't look the same as he once did, it's because the very last thing he expects to encounter in the organization that has been trying to destroy his Safe Haven— is his brother.

Why would Saeran be in Mint Eye?

Saeran was supposed to be safe somewhere thanks to Jihyun and Rika.

Not here.

Never here.

Yoosung's Route:

Saeyoung's Route:

There's a part of me that knows if he realized it was his brother right away, it would have sent him into a downward spiral that destroyed him emotionally. He always shuts down when he realizes what has been done to his brother. It's one thing when he's bouncing between deniability and actuality, but if there is nothing to deny, then he has to accept that he was lied to, and the only thing that happens when he has that realization is a breakdown. 

If he knew right away what happened to his brother, that would just burn all of us even more emotionally. That moment he has of “what if” is there to keep us from sobbing after we learn the truth. Because every playthrough after the truth is realized only hurts when you sit down and think about how Saeyoung didn't know his brother right away because of everything Saeran went through and how he lost himself in the name of revenge.

If he knew it was his brother without a shadow of a doubt at first glance, that makes it all the more painful for us to think about how he could never ever not know his brother in a crowd. If he could see his brother without a moment of hesitation, then he would be forced to look in the mirror and question everything he ever did wrong because his mirror reflection looking at him in contempt is only a reminder of how he sacrificed everything and it didn't even matter.

His sacrifice meant nothing. There is no moment to deny anything. There is no way to second-guess himself, that is his brother, and his brother suffered. At least when there is a bit of deniability, he can somehow work his way through the pain by trying to make himself believe that what happened wasn't because of him, but if he saw it from the very first second they met each other's eyes, then the pain would be unbelievable. 

The pain is already unbelievable, but there is something that is difficult to put into words when it comes to them seeing each other for the first time and there being no doubt about it. Saeyoung would blame himself 100% after seeing the pain in Saeran's eyes... the same red hair and golden eyes, just filled with contempt instead of relief and joy to be together again.

There is a kind of separation between them when they don't look exactly alike, but when they look the way they once did when they were children, it burns in a way that Saeyoung could never describe. It would be like the innocent memory of his brother shattered tenfold on impact because there was no attempt to erase his identity in the situation, his identity is front and center. 

Our Saeran bleaches his hair to disconnect himself from Saeyoung... but if that connection was still there... well, the thought is a heavy one. It's an interesting thought piece, not going to lie, but there is so much in it that makes me want to cry. That moment where he has a chance to deny what's happening delays the inevitable at the end of the day, but tainting the image of the red-haired baby Saeran in his mind is something that cuts like a knife. 

There's just... a brief disconnection when he has his white hair and I don't know how to describe it in words. I hope this is making sense but I've only made myself cry. 

[triflesandparsnips]

I've spent a couple days now trying to find the right words for this, and I still don't know if it's quite right, but-- well, fuck it. I need to tell it in three parts, because I'm not sure it breaks down more easily than that, so let's start with:

Stede knew.

...that is to say: The more I think about it, and in light of what we're seeing so far in season 2 (though hey, the new episode drops tonight, who knows, who knows, but--)

--but the more I think about it, the more sure I am that Stede has always known that he's attracted to men-- and he definitely knew, all along, that he was attracted to Ed in particular.

It's been a popular (and very entertaining) theory that maybe he didn't know. There was certainly a lot of static on the line whenever the topic came up in season 1. He seemed to need help identifying "love"; he didn't respond to Ed's flirting or half-attempted moonlight kiss; he didn't, in fact, try anything that wasn't obscured behind ten thousand layers of plausible deniability to the degree that it was reasonable to interpret him as naive or innocent or completely unaware of his own queerness.

But I think... I think that's what it was. Obfuscation. Hiding behind the relative safety of a presumed ignorance.

Because it all comes back, over and traumatically-over, to that queer need for the language of safety.

Listen: Stede Bonnet grew up keenly aware that being the kind of person he was-- being soft, being gay, being different, being queer-- was reason enough for the world to beat the shit out of him even when he was just a socially unacceptable level of queer (picking flowers as a boy, staying unmarried as a man). In Stede's time period, being any more obviously queer than that, and being subsequently found out, could lead to literal death.

So Stede would have been aware that that sort of attraction wasn't safe-- or, at least, that acting on it wasn't safe in any but the most plausibly deniable of ways... unless, and until, he could be absolutely sure.

And that's the thing, that right there, that's the next part of this:

Stede knew, but that doesn't mean he trusted himself-- or Ed.

It's like this:

When you're somebody who's been punished before (socially and physically) for just the appearance of queerness-- god forbid the acceptance or celebration of it-- then you're going to develop a whole lot of ways to protect yourself from anyone getting proof that you're as queer as they suspect.

So if you're caught looking-- no, no, you were just thinking about a book you wanted to read, silly Stede Bonnet, head in the clouds--

--and if your hand is caught lingering too long-- no, no, that can't be right, because you don't touch anyone at all, see? Oh that Stede Bonnet, awkward as anything, barely knows where his tea cup is--

--and no, absolutely not, you can't be fooled into believing a friend might be something more, no matter how flirtatious his body, no matter how much he seems to cherish your regard-- because either he's lying to you (and you learned that one well enough as a child, didn't you), or... or worse, that's just how some men feel friendship, and you're the one making it strange, making it queer, and he wouldn't be like that anymore if you just stopped bothering him quite so much, toddle on back to your wife, Stede Bonnet, and it'll all be fine again...

The tragedy of the first season might really be, out of all that happened, that a man could kiss Stede Bonnet on the mouth and say he made him happy and ask that they plan a life together--

And Stede still doubted that Ed really meant it.

Stede knew, and he doubted Ed... but he was on the road to trusting himself.

I think Stede went to sea to come out.

I think becoming a pirate was a deliberate queering of his previous life, the first step in him trying to actually allow himself an intentional queer identity in a world where the rules, boundaries, and kinds relationships that were expected and acceptable were broad enough for him to finally exist.

And he was right! Because, like-- jfc, of all the reasons the crew wanted to mutiny, it wasn't because Stede was kinda swish. Of all the reasons Spanish Jackie was going to de-nose him, it wasn't because he was swanning around camp af. Calico Jack did some damage, sure, but he dropped it once his overall aim was achieved-- making it less about social punishment and more another way to needle Stede into responding. Hell, even Izzy's initial interactions with him (regardless of what extra ammo he brought to bear later, which tbh may need separate examination entirely once we get more of season 2) were bound up in Stede interfering in his business and somehow succeeding rather than anything having to do with Stede's queerness.

And when you consider it from that angle... my god, the man was a one-man pride parade and his love of Edward Teach was the float at the front.

He used coded language with Ed in the first five minutes he was conscious enough to fuckin do so ("Do you fancy a fine fabric?" --christ, watch Stede's eyes before he asks that question, the way he clocks Ed turning away to test the cashmere, and when Ed gives a safe response that's when Stede shares more, just watch him)--

He took Ed's silk, touched Ed's chest, complimented his looks-- and even if you trust Stede's memory of it over Ed's, where there was no half-gasp, no aborted kiss-- Stede did all that, and Ed didn't punish him for it. My god, when they went their separate ways, Stede turned back to look-- and so did Ed--

He draped his lace cuffs over Ed's bare wrists as they stood together at tea. He let himself believe Ed was committing to a life together when they agreed to co-captaincy. When he thought Ed had left permanently with Calico Jack he was explicit with Lucius about what it meant ("I think it's over")--

Look: Stede has, in comparison and in opposition to his previous life, been a reckless bolt of rainbow glory almost the entire time we've see him in season 1. It just doesn't look like it from the outside because... he's really good at the language of safety.

So all this to say:

It makes sense, Stede having no concern for telling everybody in the entire pirate world apparently about his love for Ed.

It makes sense for Stede to say "I should have told him how I feel"-- because he knew, even then, he was just afraid he was wrong.

And so it would make sense, to me, if Stede, back in proximity with Ed and with definitive proof that Ed felt the same way as Stede (or had, at least, at one point), proceeds to get absolutely weird with how much gooey queer LOVE he throws at Ed from the moment they're both coherent enough to form words.

BECAUSE:

Stede couldn't trust the straight world to be safe? Well now he's dead there, time to be queer af

AND

Stede couldn't trust that Ed wanted him the same way? Well babe just went around making the world burn and then promptly died trying because he got his heart broken by Stede, so Stede is going to be 100% insufferable about showing this very special boy just how much he is absolutely adored.

And I cannot wait to see what bullshit he comes up now that he finally feels safe.

[princess-of-the-corner]

So glad you liked this https://princess-of-the-corner.tumblr.com/post/751753011437682688/also-sorry-last-ask-xd-but-remember-that-alt-3 :D Thanks, plus some fun facts:

1: In the original idea I tinkered with Lila being present as Volpina/Chameleon fighting Fu. She's still being exploited by the villains like Chloe but is either less aware of it or the method is slightly different.

2: I ended up going with the Lila-Kyubi-Chimera mostly because I recalled a neat post arguing S3's climax wasn't excited and should have had Chloe try to use all the Miraculous, do so, be a huge threat, then go comatose for the drama. Basically it felt more dramatic and clear cut as an ending, even if part of me liked the idea of expanding the villain team.

3: The other reason I went for it is because I think Season 3 can be arguably called Gabriel's true 'fall from grace'.

Like, even ignoring the later seasons, before season 3, Gabriel could at least make some wiggle room for himself to be "Not that bad" or "redeemable."

Sure, he unleashed monsters on Paris, but that was to get a wish that would undo that/be worth it. & he can argue they didn't do too much damage, that if he won he could use Miracle Cure, that he didn't make them try to murder his son's childhood friend out of spite, ETC.

He even considered dropping the whole thing when Adrien was endangered,.

Even the Lila situation could be argued as just keeping an eye on her to see if she's still angry at Ladybug and nothing else. Invasive but not permanently harmful as actively grooming her for it.

But in season 3, even if we ignore the time travel episodes... oh boy.

He actively endangers Adrien's life to see if he is Chat Noir.

He uses Lila as basically a child soldier/sleeper agent & even dangers her in the process with Oni-Chan.

He has said sleeper agent actively harass, undermine and threaten another teen for the express purpose of Akumatizes her & her class.

He also uses said agent, himself, his adult partner, and multiple monsters to actively threaten, manipulate, gaslight and traumatize another teen to sufficiently break her that she'd join his cause.

These are very much intending to cause trauma and groom children as tools to act as his soldiers. This is very much crossed the moral event horizon where deniability of being a bastard was plausible.

Thus any remaining 'redeeming' features he has are squashed beneath that weight. & while redemption is always possible, it becomes a helluva lot harder her than it was even a single season ago.

mm

Honestly I say that disregarding Chat Blanc that Gabe is only in the start of being in the 'oh no he needs his ass kicked' level. Because his purposeful endangerment of Adrien is controlled, and not much worse than the rest. And even Lila and arguably Chloé still fall into the category of all the other Akumas of 'hey they have problems might as well use it to my advantage'. Like it's a step up because he's being more directly involved in the situations, but it's not full horrible and he's just building on things that are already there.

I think the NY Special where he threatens WWIII is the definite 'oh you're FAR gone' line.

[shepherds-of-haven]

Do students have to pay to join/stay in the circle? Is it entirely self-sufficient or does it rely on things from the surrounding city?

Yes, students generally have to pay tuition to attend the Circle, though there are lots of exceptions. The Circle's many reserves of gold and the personal investments of Archmage Tevanti's family (who owned a lot of real estate in Capra) ensured that it received steady revenue throughout the years and could offer "scholarships" to worthy students who couldn't afford to attend on their own. I think fifth years and up were also allowed to take on part-time jobs in Capra if they wanted to, though both they and their chosen places of employment had to be vetted and cleared by multiple teachers first. Capra is a predominantly Mage city, so there are plenty of businesses and vendors who have known (or at least heavily suspected) what's up with Solhadur for multiple generations and will give the students a safe place to work without fear of discovery (though plausible deniability still has to be maintained). Like, there are definitely the equivalent of college bars that the students knew it was safe to go to on the weekends versus places that weren't so trustworthy. The Circle is largely self-sufficient when it comes to things like growing food or running its own repairs (having a community of advanced Mages has its perks), but it will still discretely buy supplies and equipment from said trusted vendors and businesses in the city when it needs to; so long as no one is seen delivering large shipments up to "the old abandoned castle up on the hill" and the vendors didn't ask exactly where all these supplies were going (which merchants who do a lot of business rarely do), they got by without raising too many eyebrows!

[thecarnivorousmuffinmeta]

What if in "Breaking dawn", after Jacob told Charlie that Bella is at the Cullens' house, Jasper kills Jacob then and there for telling too much and bringing Charlie?

How does Bella and the rest of the Cullens react after seeing Jasper killed Jacob in cold blood?

Charlie hasn't arrived yet to the Cullens' house, but what do they with him?

Does Bella and the rest of the Cullens forgive Jasper for what he did?

Caveat

I mean, I'm sorry anon, if Jasper's killing anyone then it's Charlie.

Charlie's the loose end, the human that knows the secret, and the thing that would get the Cullens killed for breaking the law. Killing Jacob is messy in that it'd be breaking the treaty/having the wolves all at their throats.

Remember that the van incident was about the Cullens killing Bella for the misfortune of having witnessed something she shouldn't: not because Bella herself had done anything remotely wrong.

Didn't matter that Bella was a seventeen-year-old girl who'd almost been smashed by a van: she was going to die. If Jasper's murdering tonight: it's Charlie Swan.

Now, he might kill Jacob too, as Jacob clearly purposefully put them all in this situation but with the treaty he probably wouldn't want to risk that.

As it is, that he didn't kill Charlie is likely a mixture of Bella and the treaty where there's now dozens of wolves vs. the van incident where there were presumed 0 wolves and no consequences for casually murdering the denizens of Forks.

"I would never kill your father, Bella, never," - words Jasper didn't even have to say because Bella never realized that was a very real possibility.

But Alright, Fine, He Kills Jacob, How Does the Family Take It?

"Oh no, it's terrible, Jacob jumped off a cliff and died" -Jasper. I imagine Jasper's not up front about what happened. Bella has way too much emotional investment in Jacob, Edward's getting weird too, and while it's going to be obvious what happened it's better for Bella if she gets a little white lie and plausible deniability in front of the wolves.

They then have to leave town immediately as the wolves will suspect them (rightly) of murder and I imagine the Cullens are generally very side-eye about it. Nobody likes it, exactly, but on the other hand Jacob did nark to a human, Bella's father, who nearly got eaten by Bella because of it, so that he could hang out with a baby that he's imprinted on.

That was a lot of not good right there.

So, they default to their usual Cullen behavior. Rosalie probably approves and was likely considering doing the same thing herself, Alice is just focused on making sure Bella never finds out because she'd never forgive Jasper/the entire family for it, Jasper is utterly unrepentant, Emmett once again thinks he's in a family of lunatics but well them's the breaks, Esme genuinely thinks Jacob jumped off a cliff and died and it's very sad, and Carlisle would make Jasper attend Jacob's funeral except they have to leave town now so he's mostly just lowkey pissed (but also still ruminating on that imprint thing because what the actual fuck).

The one who's livid beyond reason is Edward. Edward actually comes to really like Jacob and would be extremely upset that Jasper just killed him when all Jacob wanted was to be with his soulmate imprint uh baby friend. Jacob couldn't help the imprint even if he wanted to, he only went to such an extreme because the family was leaving, and now Bella's being forced to leave her father who had done fairly well with the reveal, Jacob has been murdered in cold blood, and Edward's daughter is down one protector and will be alone forever.

He's never been more pissed at Jasper in his life. (Jasper just eclipsed Rosalie's spot as Edward's least favorite person in the family with ease).

Worse, Edward has to hide this from Bella who is emotionally devastated by all of this and completely falling apart as a person as her pillar of emotional support, Jacob, is dead and she now has to leave Forks and her family.

What Happens to Charlie

If Jasper's gone this far, he's killing Charlie, as discussed above. He might, maybe, probably not get talked out of it if a) Carlisle says "fuck it I'll turn him" to tie up the loose end or b) ... Nope, he's doing it.

Charlie dies.

Bella is not told.

Does Anyone Forgive Jasper

Bella never realizes Jasper did it, it wouldn't occur to her to doubt him or the other Cullens at this point (remember this is not And Then There Were None by me and @therealvinelle where before the incident it was revealed that there was a large rift between the Cullens and Jacob that Bella hadn't been aware existed). Bella falls into a deep New Moon style depression.

Edward does not forgive Jasper but it's much the same as he never forgives Rosalie. He doesn't do anything about it (as that would only make things worse) but he makes sure they know he'll never forgive them.

The rest of the family... they weren't that upset or surprised to begin with. This is the sort of thing Jasper's threatened to do in the past, would absolutely go through with, and isn't exactly shocking.

I imagine the blame mostly falls on Jacob, who if he'd just kept his mouth shut, wouldn't have made this all happen.

[pocketramblr]

For the five ask game, if that's still going on, how about an iideku au where OFA ships them?

Torn between thinking this means the vestiges ship them, or that it means the quirk itself is a very excitable puppy dog that wants Tenya around as much as possible...

1- Tenya did not make a great first impression on 5/7.5 vestiges. Kudo and Bruce were like 'let 👏 him 👏 speak 👏' because they do, you know, kinda think Izuku's annoying but they sorta all did a 180° turn about him after the exam when Tenya apologized and praised Izuku's choice. Most of them like him. Bruce and Kudo are wondering how this kid keeps getting people to decide to like him after all.

2- OfA reacts differently under Izuku's hands, but he never realizes it because he assumes it's his own emotions and projecting. Yeah, his quirk feels jumpy and volatile around Kacchan like he could set it off and blow up his arm too easily, and fun and bubbly around Uraraka who's sure he'll figure out how to use it soon, and ok Izuku isn't sure why OfA races up to his skin faster around Iida, pushy, but maybe it's because he feels competitive with his friend.

3- The vestiges are actually in agreement for once when Izuku looks at Tenya at the train station. That Kid Is Going To Try To Commit Murder (and probably die in the attempt). "Is that what I looked like the last time you saw me alive?" Kudo asks Bruce. "No. But it's what I looked like to Shinomori." They want to help him. They want Izuku to help him. Izuku wants to help him. But they can't do anything except try to bend the power into something Izuku can actually use, and hope it's enough when the kid jumps off the train to find Tenya.

4- Nana, romantic she is, keeps getting excited when it seems they might lean in closer, might take each other's hands. Kudo asks if she and her husband were high school sweethearts to have such optimistic expectation of such a relationship, but Banjo says that dang it, Izuku at least deserves boyfriend even if they split after school, and Yoichi who has little concept of school and had a max relationship length of two months just wants them to confess already. Tenya's admiration is clear to everyone in Izuku's head except Izuku, and they can feel the boy's heartbeat in return. But sadly, they can't do anything while Izuku can't hear them... But, once he can...

5- "Good job training today, you'll master Float as soon as it comes to you at this rate!" Nana cheers Izuku in his dreams. He blushes, still unable to talk in the fog, but they figured out how to have him write in a notebook while he's there. "Hey, you know, White Day is coming up. Any plans? I can help you make something." Izuku raises his eyebrows because he's been warned Nana is a bit of a lethal chef, and also he's already made plans to make chocolate in return for his classmates, and more than triple the chocolate covered apple slices Eri was so excited to present him with a month ago. "I mean, other than Eri and the courtesy chocolate. Any confession plans?" Izuku starts waving his hands because he didn't get any confession chocolate and haha, why would he need to give any now, and En just sighs and breaks in with a "they need a third day for gay chocolate, bet Iida-kun would have made something for you then."

Izuku is eventually cajoled into making some orange chocolate treats for Tenya, only because he'd have plausible deniability that he just wanted to gift to his friends, but then Tenya presents him with All Might shaped chocolates and admits that maybe they are not purely platonic but that he still highly values Midoriya's friendship and would never mention the feelings again if he didn't want them and completely understands rejection and truly he- wait he didn't get rejected? Wait, it's the same for Midoriya? Both of them are very red, but happy. They don't really change much, neither is one for pda and calling each other their boyfriend feels like A Lot, but they do share food more often and move to calling each other by their given name in a manner that is adorably both shy and excited. But ah, we're halfway through March, and at the end of the month...

A couple weeks later, Izuku tapes letters to the doors of his classmates, then packs a bag to go, not planning on returning to the dorms again. He picks up the little bag of All Might chocolates that he'd slowly been going through. There's only two left. He slips them into the side pocket of his bag, then slips himself out of his window and down the building to leave campus, the vestiges silent around him and his quirk burning to go back when he can't.

[hankwritten]

Plausible Deniability and All That

2k, mild sexual humor Long time visitor of RED base, Spy has mastered the art of slipping in and out with no one there the wiser. If only that could be said for certain other interested parties...

Oh the bittersweet regret of slipping back on your clothes when there is yet still a warm bed waiting for you. To re-dress in view of a lover, who does not rouse, does not see, and the loneliness of that makes it all the harder to bear. If he were awake now, they could at least exchange a few ‘just a couple more minutes’ and ‘a little longer won't hurt nobody’, wringing out their time together before Spy was forced to make the adult decision and slink away into his own base. That itself was its own sort of misery, but at least they could wallow in it together.

But no, Engineer needed his sleep. If it hadn't already been an indisputable fact in Spy's mind, then it was proven again as he sat on the edge of the bed and the Engineer didn't even stir, despite the ancient mattress sagging so dramatically his body dipped. Spy brushed his fingers along his lover's face, “jusqu'au matin, mon amour.”

Engineer only breathed out, hot and dry, and mumbled something in his sleep. Day in and day out with this one, always something to look at, always something to be distracted with. Spy wasn’t above pulling every dirty trick in the book to get his love to come to bed, especially since he was convinced that the RED would simply work right through the night if Spy weren’t here.

Spy placed one last farewell kiss against Engineer’s temple, and took his leave.

The long hours since he’d had his last reprieve of nicotine made his hands shake slightly as he closed the workshop’s door. It must have been nearly three in the morning, and they quaked as they often did when he went a full night without a break. This was probably a good thing. If not for his body corralling him to its schedule, he might not wake when it was time to make himself scarce. 

He had no fear of fishing for a cigarette as he stepped into the base. He’d walked these halls many times before, and knew the way from the Defense Wing to the sewers was guaranteed to be clear by this time of night; the Demoman went to bed dearly and the Heavy was nearly impossible to wake, so he brazenly did not even cloak as he strolled along and brought the lighter to his lips.

Which is how a normally so cautious man managed to crash headfirst into the Soldier likewise stepping into the hall.

Spy fell back, clattering gracelessly into the wall and cringing so much at the noise that it took him several precious seconds to even realize it was his Soldier he had just bumped into.

“Oh, hello Spy!” the BLU Soldier greeted warmly.

“Soldier? Where-? How-?” Spy stammered, his unlit cigarette hopelessly forgotten. “How did you get in here? And what in God’s name were you doing in the RED Demoman’s room?”

Soldier shrugged. “Probably the same thing you were doing in Engie’s.”

Spy sputtered, and almost swallowed his cigarette.

“…A rousing game of cards to keep the mind sharp!” Soldier belatedly concluded his statement. “Nothing like cards and beer with an old war buddy.”

“Yes. Cards,” Spy said, increasingly aware of the volume of his conversation with Soldier. “Of course I would love to discuss...cards, but we really must begin to move from-”

“-And of course can’t have cards and beer without some stories from the good old days,” Soldier went on, apparently still not done with his original thought. “And war stories lead to gabbing like a couple of hens, and gabbing leads to bearing your innermost fears and insecurities, and soul-bearing leads to finding comfort in the one man who’s been with you all these years, and the embrace of one’s truest friend leads to exploring each other’s bodies, and all that crap leads intense and life changing prostate stimulation. You know. The usual.”

This time, Spy did swallow his cigarette.

During the extended hacking period where Soldier valiantly tried to help by slapping Spy so hard on the back it felt like his vertebra were going to pop out his front, the pair became aware of the sound of someone rousing further in the base. Or more likely multiple someones.

“Merde ,” Spy hissed when he could finally breathe. “I do not want to know…any of that. We need to move. Now.”

Spy gave no more heed to Soldier’s shit, grabbing him by the sleeve and putting them both on a tear to the base’s one escape route. Unfortunately, when they reached the entrance to the 2Fort sewers, the door into the deep was firmly shut.

“What?” Spy demanded, jimmying the handle to no avail. “This is never closed.”

“Oh yeah, I closed it on my way in. Wouldn’t want anything sneaking up behind us.”

The fine strand holding Spy’s sanity frayed and snapped, but before he could lay into the Soldier another rumble of various REDs conversing with each other prompted him to reach for his lockpicks instead. He was barely thirty seconds in before Soldier piped up again.

“Everyone in this damn base sure is fussy,” he mused. “Don’t they know we have a battle on tomorrow?” His normal speaking volume echoed dangerously down the barreled hallway.

“Shut up, Soldier,” Spy said.

The pick snapped off in the lock.

“What even is this crap?” Soldier barked. “Back in my day we would have simply kicked the door down! Preferably with a bazooka! Those things are for filing ladies nails, not sending doors back to the God that made them.”

A rising murmur of voices paused at the top of the stairs as though listening, then was replaced by the clatter of feet going down grated steps.

There was no time to try again. If they pressed themselves against the curve in the concrete maybe they could avoid the flashlight beams but Soldier was still talking-

“And all this new age hippie crap about cleaning under them. If the dirt wants to be there then by Abraham Lincoln it has self determined to be there and no one should-”

“Soldier.”

“-We never ask an eagle why there’s rabbit viscera under his talons so why should we-”

“Enough.”

In retrospect, Spy may have put too much force behind slamming his hand over Soldier’s mouth. If he had been a bit more delicate, Soldier wouldn’t have backed up in surprise, wouldn’t have gotten their legs tangled up together, and wouldn’t have sent them both wheeling—inevitably—over the rail.

Spy was just pushing himself out of the water, having landed in an incredibly unfortunate position across Soldier’s body, when a flashlight swung down upon him and alighted them with its accusing gaze. A raised hand—instinctual, like a roach scuttling from a bulb—blocked just enough of the beam that he could make out the detestable figure of the RED Medic peering down at them.

“Eugh,” Medic said, his whole face wrinkling as though he had seen said roach walking across his toothbrush. “BLUs.”

A muffled call of inquiry called from higher on the steps.

“I said there are BLUs in our base. And they appear to be…” Medic cast another derisive look down the few feet into the ante-sewer. “…Fornicating.”

Spy barely had time to groan internally before his second least favorite RED joined the peanut gallery.

Sniper made a similar face to Medic. “Gah, nasty is what that is. Don’t you two have your own sewer to shag in?”

“Wait? There’s screwing going on down there? Tell me this isn’t like the time you made me go all the way across the base because you wanted to tell me two possums were doin’ it underneath the porch.”

The unholy whine of Scout floated into the vault. In what felt like an impossibly scant amount of seconds, the entire RED team had crammed themselves into the hall, enjoying the sport of gawking at the pair of BLUs in their humiliating situation. So busy were they quipping at each other, they did not notice Engineer stepping nervously from foot to foot at the back or the party. Nor did they notice, as Spy did with a bit of venom, the Demoman, who was completely unsubtly trying to pull his turtleneck over a slew of hickies.

“So what do we do with ‘em?” Sniper asked eventually.

“Gotta be honest, don’t like the idea of a couple of BLU pervs getting all frisky in our sewer. I mean, c’mon man. It’s our sewer.”

“Little Scout has point. Only REDs should make love in RED sewer.”

There was a chorus of agreement.

As if this weren’t bad enough already, Soldier, outraged, spoke up, “we were not the ones getting frisky, we-”

Spy completed the much-delayed action of slapping his hand over Soldier’s mouth. “What he means to say is that it is frankly none of your business what we do or do not get up to.”

“It does when you do it at our base!” Scout said. “I pee down here.”

“I don’t,” Sniper said sagely.

“I think,” Engineer, mercifully, spoke up, “that these BLUs have learned their lesson. Why don’t we send ‘em back to their base, and trust that if they don’t want to end up like this again, they won’t come back. Sound fair?”

“I think that’s a great idea!” Demo said, very quickly and very loudly.

“Mmrr-huddada.”

As several barrels pointed over the edge (no mercenary worth their salt went to bed without at least one sidearm tucked in the bed frame) Spy managed to shoot Soldier one last glare before they were sent through respawn. It was unlikely that it actually found its mark.

***

“Good morning Spy!” Soldier greeted as he retrieved his mug of coffee.

Spy did not lift his head off the table.

This bothered Soldier not the slightest. He cheerfully took his mug, poured it into his helmet, and began drinking from that as he went outside to do his morning drills. The BLU Sniper, also seated at the table, watched him go with a raised eyebrow.

Once Soldier was safely out of earshot, he turned to Spy. “So. Gotta ask.”

Spy groaned. He had expected the ‘rumor’ to come out eventually, but to have reached BLU base already? The only explanation was that there was yet another illicit RED/BLU pairing in the works, and it showed exactly how Done he was that he didn’t care the slightest to find out who. He wanted to do nothing except go back to work, find Engineer at some point during the day to explain himself, and wait for this all to blow over.

“What, bushman?” he asked to the tablecloth.

“The RED sewer? Why? We got a perfectly good sewer over here on our side.”

Spy groaned again. This was going to be a long week.

[worst-siblings-tournament]

Round 3, Match 6

Cleopatra VII and Ptolemy XIII (Egyptian history) vs Andrew and Ashley Graves (The Coffin of Andy and Leyley)

Propaganda under break

Cleopatra VII and Ptolemy XIII

You know

Poll Runner's Note: I sure do, and now I'm going to tell everyone about it! Ptolemy XII, their father, had five children: Berenice, Cleopatra, Arsinoë, Ptolemy XIII, and Ptolemy XIV. Berenice had usurped Ptolemy XII's rule and was executed when he regained power, making Cleopatra his eldest living child. In his will, he declared that when he died Cleopatra and Ptolemy XIII should get married and reign as co-rulers of Egypt.

Ptolemy XII died when Cleopatra was about 18 and Ptolemy XIII was 11, and right from the start she was not interested in this co-ruler business. She started leaving his name off documents, leaving his face off the coins, and generally acting like she's the only ruler in Egypt. Unfortunately for her, Ptolemy's guardians weren't keen on being demoted from "power behind the throne" to "glorified babysitter", and they deposed Cleopatra and forced her to flee to Syria, where she raised an army and started a war against her brother. It didn't go well for her, and things were looking bad for her until Julius Caesar showed up with his army.

Caesar was 1) Already mad at Ptolemy's advisors for killing Pompey who he'd wanted to spare and 2) famously a huge slut so Cleopatra was pretty easily able to convince him to restore her to power.

It's at this point Arsinoë shows up with her army. She joins forces with Ptolemy XIII, declares herself Queen Arsinoë IV, and beseiges Cleopatra and Caesar in the palace complex. For five brutal months, they battled through the city. The fires are said to be how the Library of Alexandria was lost, which is probably a legend but it was still devastating. Ceasar himself almost drowned while fleeing Arsinoë's forces at the Battle of Pharos Island.

Finally Caesar's allies show up with their armies, and Ptolemy drowned trying to flee across the Nile while Arsinoë was taken prisoner. She was brought back to Rome as part of Caesar's triumph, but her life was spared and she lived out the rest of her days at the Temple of Artemis in Ephesus. This was about five years because Cleopatra later persuaded Mark Antony to have her murdered right there in the temple.

Cleopatra married her youngest brother Ptolemy XIV, before finally poisoning him so she could make her son Caesarion the new Pharaoh.

Cleopatra was at least partially responsible for the deaths of all her siblings except the one her father killed, and the struggles between them were devastating for Egypt and caused a lot of suffering. These are some legitimately awful siblings.

Andrew and Ashley Graves

Ashley - overall a horrible person, implied undiagnosed sociopath who threatened her brother's girlfriend, emotionally manipulates and actively provokes her brother, recently began murdering people she doesn't like, cannibalizes people she murders.

Andrew - enables his sister's worse habits (when he thinks it doesn't involve him), uses plausible deniability by blaming his sister for his actions (despite the fact that he had the freedom to ignore her ideas in many cases), also a cannibal.

Both ate their parents after breaking into their new home. Also there's some demon summoning they did, literally selling their victim's souls to the demon they made a deal with. Notable quote from Ashley: "We offer you that guy's soul!"

[ionlymadethissoicouldleaveanask]

"Why did you order your Spartans to jump from the Pelican?" the interviewer demanded once again.

Her face was shrouded in darkness. A lamp was pointed directly in his eyes. Fred smirked. Did they really think that conventional interrogation tactics from centuries-old cop procedurals were going to make a Spartan sweat?

"It was the best tactical option." He shook his head once. "No. It was the only tactical option."

The interviewer scoffed loudly and crossed her arms over her chest. She kept doing that. As though she had any idea what it was like to be in the field. Maybe she did. But she didn't know what it was to be a Spartan.

"Don't you feel responsibility for what happened to your team?" she asked harshly.

Externally, Fred remained emotionless. Passive. He was the very picture of the robot super-soldier that the UNSC rank-and-file believed the Spartans to be. Internally, he recoiled.

Did he feel responsible?

He felt nothing else. He saw each of their faces - every Spartan that had died under his command. Malcolm. Joshua. Grace. Anton. Vinh. Isaac. The list went on. It filed through his mind on an endless loop, whenever he had a spare moment to think.

Then there were the others. Gray Team... wherever they were. Omega Team, too. Randall, who'd been lost years ago. Cal, Arthur, Solomon, and Daisy along with him. Kelly.

He wished she were here. She would've been able to put his head back on straight.

Of course, with his track record lately, he could very well have lost her on the Unyielding Hierophant. Maybe it was better that Halsey had absconded with her. He could at least believe that she was still out there. Force himself to believe it. He wouldn't make it much further if he didn't.

"I asked you a question, Spartan One Zero Four." The interviewer's voice was full of venom. She practically spit the words. She was trying to intimidate him.

That must have been a joke.

Fred rose from his seat. Even out of his armor, he towered over everyone in the sealed interrogation room. He reached out with one hand and very deliberately turned the lamp out of his eyes - a challenge to the interviewer. Go ahead and make me sit back down, he thought.

"I made the best decision. Unlike many in this facility, I care deeply about the soldiers under my command and I refused to waste their lives." He didn't say the words so much as growl them. His right hand clenched into a fist so tight that his knuckles turned paper-white.

The interviewer stared up at him. She was trying to put on a tough face, to keep control of the situation. To her credit, she was doing a good job. She almost managed to hide the vein pulsing in her forehead. The ever-so-slight widening of her eyes. The almost imperceptible tremor in her voice when she barked, "Are you implying that HIGHCOM wasted Spartan lives?"

The Spartan managed to choke down the biting laughter that threatened to escape him. Thirty Spartans combined for RED FLAG. For a suicide mission. But here they were, trying to pass the buck for their deaths onto him.

Fred smirked again. "No, Ma'am," he answered, forcing himself to slacken his fist. He looked her dead in the eye. She had blue eyes. Almost as light in color as Kelly's. "To imply would leave some ambiguity. What I am doing is inferring."

The woman's face coiled in disgust. But it was only skin-deep. She didn't have the clearance to know what he was talking about... she was just here to be ONI's voice. To provide them with plausible deniability for the public eye.

She opened her mouth to answer. Then the door burst open to reveal Fleet Admiral Lord Terrence Hood himself. The Admiral's face was red. He was shouting. The interviewer was escorted out by MPs. Fred watched it all from the sidelines.

Kelly would have found the whole situation hilarious.

Then Hood turned to him. "Suit up, Senior Chief. We're sending Blue downstairs - you ready to get back to work?"

Fred nodded, standing at stiff attention. Then he smiled. "Eager, sir."

[pisupsala]

One for The History Books [Chapter 8] [Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw]

[Summary] You are an archivist at the Pentagon, sent on assignment to TOPGUN to catalog and report on a top secret mission. In the days under the Californian sun, a certain naval aviator puts your once orderly life in a tailspin that you might never recover from.

[Pairing] Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x fem!reader / Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x fem!oc

[Warnings] Mature content: swearing, (explicit) smut. 18+ only.

[Words]4.6k

[Index] All Chapters | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13 | Chapter 14 | Chapter 15 | Chapter 16 | Chapter 17 | Chapter 18 | Chapter 19 | Chapter 20 | Chapter 21 | Epilogue

[Library]

One for The History Books - Chapter 8: Surface Tension

You settle back into your old life quite easily, you think at least. You go to work, do your work, take extra time to help out the interns by proofreading papers, giving feedback on projects, taking extra files home with you to work through, volunteering to help out sorting the old files and photo backlog in the subbasement, you are absolutely not drowning yourself with work so you: a) don't have to think about how much you are actually hurting because you are not hurting, that's ridiculous; b) to have plausible deniability for why you are not turning in a research proposal about the mission. You're just so busy. You just keep forgetting to write that research proposal. Completely normal. It's not because you don't want to think about anything or anyone related to the mission, or because it would be unethical to write about a mission that you were hardly an impartial spectator of. And it's definitely because this breach of ethics could mean the end of your career if this ever got out, and you were still actively working on the mission report. Nope. Busy. It's about a month after you've gotten back from California, you're in a meeting with Riks and your boss, Birch. He's a stocky former marine colonel in his early sixties, still rocking a high and tight and a perpetually annoyed expression. He's leadership style is... efficient, that's the kindest word for it. Not taking any shit is probably more apt. He's currently sitting behind is desk, tearing into the research proposal Riks gave him. He's in his element, setting out his argument in a brusque voice with barely any breathing space, let alone back-talk. Behind you, one several interns are furiously taking notes of the feedback, hoping to pick up pointers on how to improve their own work. Riks is trying his hardest to look impassive, but you can tell he is annoyed. He doesn't like getting told he's wrong, and he likes it even less when it in front of subordinates. Birch concludes his droning monologue, casually sliding the folder over the table back to Riks. “Do better, corporal.” He concludes without ceremony. You know better than to react by cracking a smile. You keep your eyes trained on the desk before you. “Miss Williams...” Birch sits back in his chair. “I'd tell you to do better, but you didn't even try.” You purse your lips. “Why didn't you turn in a research proposal on the TOPGUN mission? I didn't send you to California to get a tan.” You swallow. Choose your words carefully. “I have decided I don't want to proceed with researching this mission. My time -” “Don't.” Birch cuts you off harshly. “Don't give me the spiel about how your time is better spent. That's for me to decide. I want an explanation about what you mean that you don't want to.” You shrug lightly. “I suppose I just don't like planes that much. I can't see myself spending the coming six months writing about an aviation mission.” In the corner of your eye, you see Riks go so wide-eyed his eyeballs are about to pop from his skull. Birch narrows his eyes at you. The back of your neck is prickling. You are getting nervous. Keep it together. Don't give them an inch. Birch can't make you do anything.

He suddenly slams his hand on the desk. “Everyone out!” He barks. Behind you, the interns are scrambling and Riks quickly gathers his papers. You start getting up from your seat slowly, maybe... “Sit your ass down, Williams.” Shit. You sink back into the chair. You didn't expect to get out of this easily, but you kind of hoped just not writing a proposal and doing whatever shit job Birch would punish you with would be the end of it. You expect to be put on public desk duty for a few weeks, answering emails and phone calls. Or some menial work like cleaning up the storage. But Birch clearly wants to grill you some more before meting out punishment. Birch has gotten up from his desk and is pinching the bridge of his nose, and he walks towards you. He sits down on his desk in front of you and looks are you wearily. “Look, Darcy...” His voice is suddenly a lot softer. “Staying on base and in barracks between sailors and marines cannot always be easy for a woman.” You blanch. Birch has never called you by first name, ever. “There's alcohol, unfamiliar surroundings—if anything... untoward happened during your stay at Miramar...” His voice sounds pained. “Nothing—nothing happened.” You choke out. Oh god, your face is burning at the implication. Have you been acting so off that Birch thinks you've been assaulted in some way? “I just... really don't want to work on this anymore.” You say empathetically. “You haven't been yourself since you came back.” He continues, undeterred. “Every report coming out of California is clearly your work. Good work, detailed work. And now...” You open your mouth to protest, but Birch just hold up his hand. “And now you go out of your way to avoid it, refuse to discuss it, bury yourself in anything but this mission.” You bite your lip. You knew you were being obvious in your avoidance, but you never thought Birch would care enough to call you out on it like this. “You don't even make an effort to one up Riks with a proposal, and that's not the Williams I know.” You sigh. It was never meant to go this far—you didn't want anyone to worry about you. You'll get through this by yourself, in due time. “Thank you for being so concerned about me, I really appreciate it.” You smile softly. “I have been... struggling with a few personal things lately, but it's unrelated to work.” It's not strictly speaking true, nor a complete lie. Just vague enough to be believable. Birch looks at you sympathetically. You didn't even know he knew that emotion, but you appreciate it nonetheless. “You have to tell me why you won't work on this project, Darcy.” He implores. “I don't need details, but I need to know if something happened-” “I just don't like planes.” You cut Birch off rather flatly. Or rather pilots, you think bitterly. “So I'm choosing to work on something else.” Birch's sympathy melts like snow in the sun. Oops. “If you are sticking to that bullshit explanation, Williams, you bet I have something else for you to work on.” He bites out. “The storage is due it's annual cleaning.” He gets up from the desk and turns to walk back to his chair. It's a sign you have been dismissed. You get up and start making your way to the door. Your heart is almost beating out of your chest—did you actually get through this? Is it over for real? “Miss Williams?” You turn around, schooling your features. Birch is looking up from his desk. “You are on my team, so you are my responsibility. My door is always open.” You nod with a polite smile. “Thanks boss. Have a good day.” ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Hey! Darce! Wait up - Darcy!” You're not really in the mood to chat with Leanne, one of the interns, after the dressing down you just got from Birch. But you also know she will be fishing for gossip. Archivists are naturally curious people—they have to be—and that usually extends to other facets of their life. Gossip in the archives, and the Pentagon at large, is like a sport. Everyone participates, even if they are only a spectator.

Some people gather gossip to find out weaknesses and get on over on others - Riks in one of those people. Others bathe themselves in every type of gossip just for the fun of it. Leanne would be a prime example of that. She's pretty and easy going, moreover she is one of the few people that actually likes working the front desk. She says because she enjoys talking to people, but in reality it's the best spot for gossip, because everyone and everything has to go through her there. “Hi Lee” You reply lightly. “What can I help you with?” You don't break your stride, needing to get to your office. Leanne speed walks up to you, with a look of concern on her face, but eyes full of curiosity. “What did Birch want? We were all so concerned!” She fires off. “He looked scary as he yelled at us to get out.” You chuckle lightly. “Don't worry about it. It's not the first time we've gone head-to-head.” “What did he say to you?” Too transparent, Leanne, too transparent. “That's classified.” You smile at her, as you stop at your office door, swiping your key card to unlock it. Leanne's face fall a bit. “Was it really bad?” She questions. “Leanne. It's classified.” You cut her off with a smile. It might not be classified by the DoD, but as far as you are concerned, no one here cleared to pry into your conversations with your boss or your private life. You might be friendly, but you are still a senior staff member, and your business is no one's but your own. “Let me get you a coffee—and I'll -” Leanne starts. “I think I hear the phone at the front desk ringing.” You interrupt her, not harshly, but firmly. “Bye Leanne!” You call over your shoulder as you swing your office door shut behind you. That girl does not know when to give up. She'll make a fine researcher, but you'd rather she not research you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When it rains, it pours. You've been relegated to cleaning the storage, leaving you only a few hours a day to do your actual work—funny, also, how few interns are suddenly assigned to work in the storage. You spend most of your days alone in the subbasement sweeping, dusting, checking folders and putting boxes back in place. You don't mind that much actually, especially in the first few weeks. It gives you time to think, and finally try to rationalize yourself out of your mental mess. You're having mixed success, because having extricated yourself from anything to do with the mission, you still have to get your personal life back on track. Unfortunately, that means getting tested for STDs. You had unprotected sex with Bradshaw, which in hindsight, was so fucking dumb you can now barely believe you actually did that. What kind of spell did that man put you under that you would not only put your job in jeopardy, but also your health? For now, it's easier just to put the blame on him anyway—he's not here after all—instead of examining what led you to upend your whole life in a few weeks for a man you barely know. It would be an act of kindness to yourself to file this entire affair away with other deeply embarrassing stories (which are mostly from college and involve alcohol) and never tell another soul about it. You are thankful that you are by yourself in the subbasement when you receive the call from the clinic—it's a clean bill of health, which you consider a blessing at this point. This will have no more consequences for you if you don't let it. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Birch seems to be hellbent to have you clean up the entire storage by yourself. It's been almost a month now, but he hasn't let up. At all. He gives you small tasks putting together reports for incoming information requests, but nothing spectacular—certainly nothing of the caliber you were assigned before. He sends interns your way to help them with their assignments, but at no point tells you are dismissed from the storage. He just expects you to find a way to get it done, which is as well, but shit.

Birch must be angrier with you than he lets on, because at this rate you'll be stuck cleaning that storage to the end of the year.

It's high summer and hot as hell. While the storage is climate controlled, it's a small respite when dragging around big boxes full of paper. Every day, you go home sweaty and sticky, to the point you've just started to keep a change of fresh clothes in your criminally underused office.

Today is one of the days you actually join your team for lunch—no use to keep yourself cloistered away all the time. Your appetite has been shot for a while now, and the current heat wave is certainly not helping.

And Corporal Cunt sitting across from you doesn't help with anything. Ever.

You are somewhat listlessly digging through your chicken salad with a fork, taking a bite here and there because you know you need the energy, rather than actually wanting to eat. You'll probably have a candy bar of some kind later, as sickly sweet confections seem to be the only thing you can consistently stomach.

“Darcy, what do you think?”

You blink as you completely zoned out from the conversation at the table. Eric, another intern, is looking at you expectantly.

“I'm sorry-” You smile. “What was the question?”

Riks snorts and mumbles something under his breath. Eric, on the other hand, is undeterred, and thrusts a file into your hands.  He excitedly starts talking about discrepancies between files and reports from a mission and how many different versions he has of one event.

“How do I know which one is the most accurate?”

“You don't.” You shrug. “At least not really. In this job, we only know what the files tell us, and we can infer how to fill in the gaps, but that doesn't make it the truth.”

“How do we even get so many different versions of one event?” Leanne cuts in. “I'm not talking about small discrepancies, but like- a whole different story?” She amends.

You thumb through the file idly, happy to be occupied with something but your salad.

“People commonly misremember in hindsight.” You pause. “And sometimes they just lie.”

“Why?” Eric has abandoned his lunch in favor of the discussion completely.

“Yeah, why, Williams?” Riks cuts in. “Since you are the resident expert...” He trails off on purpose. Your cheeks burn, but you refuse to look at Riks.

“To protect themselves or to protect someone else... sometimes because they can, and it's convenient.”  You grind out, done with this whole conversation now. Handing the file back, you start getting up from the table.

“If you'll excuse me...”

“Don't go yet, Williams.” Riks says grinning. You throw him a guarded look. “I wanted to ask how your new diet is going.”

You stare at him, daring him to continue.

“Seems quite extreme, no?” He says, gesturing at your half-eaten salad. You continue staring him down, half out of your seat already. Voice low, he continues: “So Bradshaw likes them skinny, then?”

It feels like someone just dropped an anvil on your stomach. You seriously consider tipping your lunch tray over Riks and his own too for good measure. Possibly beat him with the tray too. Your mouth sets in a hard line.

“Corporal, you are out of line.” You keep your voice even, not betraying how badly that comment got to you. The chatter at the table has stopped, and you are acutely aware you are being watched. Riks is still grinning.

“I will not have my professionalism and personal life questioned over a chicken salad.” Your tone is clipped. “Certainly not by you.”

Steadying yourself with your hand on the table, you lean over to him.

“If you had any proof of misconduct on my account, you would have taken it to Birch weeks ago.” You throw Riks a smile. You both know he has no proof of anything. Because there isn't any. He stares back at you, unfazed.

“You always take things so seriously, Williams.” Riks shrugs. Nice deflection, asshole. “It's almost as if...”

“Have a good day, everyone.” You cut him off mid-sentence, not wanting to be in his vicinity another second longer. Not looking around, you grab your tray and make your way to the cafeteria exit, absolutely seething.

You had actually been doing better. You actually managed not to think about Bradshaw so much anymore. Now your stomach is in knots and your legs feel like they have been filled with lead. You hate how much Bradshaw still affects you, and you hate even more how much Riks' comment got to you. It hurts to think Bradshaw probably never thought of you as attractive, but just as there. Convenient. Available. Willing.

Yeah, why would a guy like that go for a girl like you anyway?

You sigh deeply as you return to the subbasement. You haven't cried over Bradshaw since you got home two months ago, and you are not about to start now. Best to just get on with work. Time will heal all wounds.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When it rains, it pours.

It's early fall and still uncharacteristically warm for the season, and when you get out of bed that morning, you have a strange sense of foreboding. You dreamed of Bradshaw, which makes you realize you hadn't actually thought about him in a good couple of weeks. Nothing about the dream sticks with you in the minutes after waking, except for the fact that he was in it.

It's been three months and then some since you got back. The memory of him still puts a pit in your stomach, but it's smaller each time. You've filed away every memory and feeling of Bradshaw in a box in your head, tied it with a string, and pushed it into a dark corner. Sometimes feelings leak out, but they are no more than short, intrusive thoughts. This whole affair has taken more of your time, attention and sanity than it probably deserved, and you're done with paying it any more attention.

Still, the strange feeling you've woken up to makes you consider calling in sick. But Eric and Leanne need the feedback that you wrote for them, so they can finish their class assignments. Your sense of duty wins out as you roll yourself out of bed to get ready for another day in the storage.

Within the hour, you are convinced that there is a higher power that is trying to stop you from actually going to work today. First, your car's battery seems to have died. The bitch won't even sputter as you try to start it. Honestly, you cannot bring up the energy or care to pop the hood and try to figure out what is wrong. Not that it would be of that much use, you're not particularly mechanically inclined.

You suppose you could wait for one of your neighbors to help you jump start your car, but it's early enough you could take a bus too. You'll just deal with the car later. It's Thursday, so you're two days away from the weekend, and taking the bus you'll have some time to read at least. Keep a positive attitude. Just power through it.

As you a pulling your bag from the car, you see the bus pass by your stop down the street. Crap, that means you have to wait for thirty minutes for the next one. But hey, that also means you can stop by the little coffee shop on the way and get a nice cold brew to go. Or a latte. Maybe a croissant.

You'll make your own luck today.

Sure, you end up arriving at work later than you planned, but you also realize it doesn't really matter. You don't have any deadlines currently anyway. You join the line of people at the metal detectors to get into the Pentagon. You make small talk with the guards as they run your bag through the X-ray. Many people just walk through without as much as an acknowledgement, but you see these people every day. A little politeness goes a long way. 

Scanning your personnel pass to open the gates, you walk into the building to the elevators. Riks has been giving you a wide berth since your last confrontation in the cafeteria, but you are not particularly in the mood to run into Birch right now. You're clearly still on his shit list, and you don't want to give him more reason to keep you there any longer. Although you suppose you're the most overpaid storage attendant in the DoD right now.

You almost forget about the weird feeling you had earlier that morning as you get to work. You're working up a sweat heaving boxes that have been cleaned and sorted back onto the shelves. You are on your tiptoes pushing a box back with sweaty hands that you realize you should have really grabbed a ladder for this.

Straining, you put as much power as you can behind it, but the cardboard file box end up slipping down. You push back, trying to catch the box before it hits the ground—the momentum knocks you back on your ass and the edge of the box catches the bridge of your nose. For a second, you sit on the ground, stunned. You barely register that the box is a bit banged up, but intact, when your nose starts to gush blood. You yelp, using the sleeve of your sweater to try to stop the bleeding and for the love of god not get any blood on the files.

With shakey legs you get up, sleeve still pressed up to your face. Your breath is coming out in short bursts and your eyes are watering.

Bathroom. You need to get to the bathroom.

Mercifully, the hallways are empty—most people have gone to lunch. You slip into the nearest ladies' room and survey the damage. The thin light gray knitted sweater you were wearing is pretty much ruined. The right sleeve is covered with blood. It was old, which is why you were wearing it, but you still liked it.

Your nose seems to be okay too—it's sore, but definitely not broken. God, you hope you don't get a bruise from this. You don't think you're concussed, either. You could go to Birch, explain what happened, and take the rest of the day off to go get checked out. Or not. You're fine.

Splashing some water on your face, you use paper towels to clean up your hands and face. You consider getting changed—you have a clean shirt in your office, but then you'd have two sweaty tops and a bus ride home ahead of you.

In the end, you decide to just roll up your sleeves, hoping the stain won't be so obvious. Between your car pooping out that morning and this, you really hope it's the end of the bullshit for today.

You try to take it easy for the rest of the afternoon, working on lighter boxes and not attempting to put anything away on higher shelves. The bridge of your nose is sore, but nothing that you can't handle. You are over today, though. The faster it's over the better, so you can go home, take a shower and crack open a cold beer or something.

It's going on 4:30 PM when you gather up a pile of files that needs sorting and start heading up to your office. On the way, you refill your mug with hot coffee, needing a final boost for the last leg of the day and the journey home.

Walking past the front desk, you notice Leanne isn't there, but you think nothing of it. There's a pile of mail behind the counter. Balancing your mug on the files in your arm, you quickly rifle through it, making a note to ask Leanne to sort the mail as soon as she gets it. You pick out the envelopes addressed to you and add them to the pile in your arms. Your office is not far, and you hope you can slip into it unnoticed and get changed before anyone catches you. You are really not in the mood to explain the blood, and you're not just really in the mood to talk with someone at length when you are sweaty and sticky like this. Your hair is pulled up with what you are sure is a messy as hell ponytail by now, and your hairline is itching from the sweat. Not to mention, you're probably covered in dust. Home, shower, cold drink. In that order. When you reach your office door, you realize you have probably taken on a bit too much. Using your free hand to dig in your pocket for your personnel card to unlock your door, you end up pulling out your phone and some pens first—adding them to the precarious pile of stuff you are holding. Finally unlocking the door, you push it open with your shoulder. You freeze in the doorway. In the next second, you lose grip on the files you're holding, scattering them on the ground. Your mug shatters on the tile floor at your feet, spewing droplets of hot coffee at your ankles and over the papers. Your phone hits the ground with a resounding bang, but you barely register any of this happening. It's like time has stopped around you while your brain is desperately trying to parse the image your eyes are seeing. Rationally, you must have a concussion, because you are clearly hallucinating. Because why else would he be here?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[note] I've gotten so many amazing comments on the last chapter, and I cannot describe how happy it made me people are still enjoying the story! Thank you so so much for the kindness and support everyone <3

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[tarisilmarwen]

Rebels Rewatch: "A Princess On Lothal"

Mini Leia is here to lift everyone's spirits, and provide some much-needed hardware to the Rebellion.

Right, so going to have to be careful about the new photo limit, but just one quick cap from the beginning here because awwww the Loth-cat was comforting Ezra!

Oooh the deep glockenspiel adds some interesting texture to this music cue here.

And cue the Hammerhead corvettes. Good thing Leia dropped by when most of the blockade was still sweeping up on Garel.

(They'll be back soon, Lothal and Garel are practically galactic neighbors.)

Lol Lyste sighing in aggravation about "Another delegation from Alderaan." I'm certain Bail and Breha have cultivated quite the bleeding heart reputation as cover for their covert Rebel activities.

I don't think the voice actress they chose is that great. She sounds... way older than 15/16 and I can tell she's trying for the cadence of Carrie Fisher's snark but... I dunno it just lands weird for me. I think they could have gotten away with having her voice sound younger and it would have been okay.

Chopper sticking by Ezra's side. :((((

A slow, mournful version of Ezra's theme. Fitting, as he's going to be grieving the whole episode. Which is a nice bit of continuity. I love it when shows allow time for characters to grieve and adjust to losses they've sustained.

Subtle animation appreciation moment: The way Ezra idly thumps the cadet helmet to the side of his head. Just a nice little gesture that adds character and flavor.

Oh shit, that was definitely a Dies Irae in the score there.

(A refresher for those of you just joining this rewatch: The Dies Irae is an old Latin musical sequence that has been used basically since the Gregorian chant days to denote the specter of death in a work of music. Composers from ages past up to the present have referenced it in their compositions. Think of it as like the world's oldest music meme.)

Lot of OT score references in this part, no surprise.

Ezra is noticeably more surly and pissy than usual this episode, at least until his pep talk from Leia. Also no surprise, the boy hides behind his sarcasm and snark like no one's business.

"I don't get to give orders!" Just wait, Ezra, lol. You'll get your turn.

Leia playing Lyste like a damn fiddle lolol.

Mini Leia is really pretty. They did a great job with her design.

Alderaan sits pretty in the "plausible deniability" section. I'm sure the Empire suspected the planet of harboring secret Rebel sympathies but they were never able to have concrete proof of it. Bail, like Mon, probably held out hope that he could stem some of the Empire's tyranny from within, and so that's why he didn't want to lose his seat of government power, not as long as there was a chance he could effect some kind of change, which meant Alderaan had to avoid being directly tied to the Rebellion.

There's some commentary there about the need to work within the system in order to fix it, versus when it's time to break off and burn it down, but I'm not going to go into that right now.

Hngh, Ryder's resignation when the Stormtrooper mentions "termination".

"Hera's here." Hhhnkgjhn that's the happiest we've heard Ezra sound this episode Imma cry.

Luke's theme used per the standard as a bold Big Damn Heroes leitmotif with the Ghost's appearance.

"I'll warn Sabine." Lol how does Ezra know Sabine's the one who's going to be paying attention?

Zeb enjoyed this entirely too much lololol.

Ha ha those two Stormtroopers who are like, "They take prisoners now???"

This man has zero shame lol.

RIGHT, SO THIS IS ONE OF MY FAVORITE UNDERRATED SABEZRA MOMENTS RIGHT HERE AND I HAVE BEEN A VERY GOOD GIRL WITH THE PHOTO LIMIT WHICH MEANS I GET TO CAP THE SCENE IN FULL.

That soft hand on his arm. The way her eyes linger on him as he turns away.

*sobs*

I love it so muuuuuuuuch!

Leia being, well, Leia, immediately discerns that something's really bugging Ezra. I love that the Kenobi show leaned into the inner sixth sense she displays here, that she can pick out a person's thoughts and feelings with the Force just by looking at them.

Kanan discerning that Leia might be able to comment and help Ezra, aww.

Friiiiiiiiick his face.

Leia's theme follows right on the heels of Ezra's theme here, in the score.

"I feel like because I can fight, I have to, for those who cannot." Boy is that isn't the quintessential Jedi and Rebel Alliance motivation right there...

I do like the dynamic between Ezra and Leia. It's very sweet. They bond based on their shared Hero Complex motivations, their mutual desire to fight on behalf of the helpless. Ezra shows off a little bit for her, later, in the way he usually does around girls he likes (the boy has A Type, let's be honest), but it never quite reaches the overtness of his crush on Sabine, so it hits even more quasi-platonic.

I think Leia thought he was cute tho.

Back to the plot, Leia's embarrassing Lyste all over the place here lol.

Ah, wow, the Rebel Alliance theme, haven't heard that in a while.

There is quite a bit of tension in how slowly the Hammerheads take off. The show plays that tension for all it's worth.

Oh you know I gotta comment about this part right here where Ezra goes feral.

For a moment we had all forgotten about the fact that he was clearly grieving, and this outburst caught us off guard. The way this is staged it's framed as concerning, with an edge of danger, Ezra leaping onto the Stormtrooper and clashing beats sounding along with his punches in the score, Kanan reaching towards him with an almost hesitant body posture.

But! Ezra lets out his anger and then contains himself, standing up and just putting his helmet back on. He breathes, regains his composure, and returns to neutral.

*weeps* He's such a good Jedi.

Kanan whipping out his lightsaber to be awesome against the AT-ATs aaaaaah!

(And that implied to be the reason Ryder stayed on Lothal and started up a new Rebel cell there, ONCE AGAIN CATCH ME CRYING ABOUT HOW THE JEDI REPRESENT HOPE TO A HOPELESS GALAXY.)

HHmmmmmmgggh I wanna say this is a recurring leitmotif but I don't know, I love it either way, it's beautiful.

Swish swish and return to first position, aaaah lightsaber choreography is so cool sometimes.

This whole sequence is just... *chef kiss*. The orchestration, the tension, the rapid shot choice...

Lolol Lyste getting thoroughly embarrassed by Leia.

Fun fact: One of the Hammerheads they gathered here in this episode would later go on to be the one that landed THE decisive blow to one of the Star Destroyers guarding the shield gate at Scarif.

PIECE BY PIECE, REBELS SHOWS THE MINUTIA OF SACRIFICES NEEDED TO PUT EVERY ELEMENT INTO PLACE FOR THEIR ULTIMATE VICTORY.

Ryder enters with Ezra, did Ezra have any kind of hand in convincing him to fight for Lothal?

HE LOOKS DIRECTLY AT EZRA I THINK THERE'S A CASE TO BE MADE HERE.

The Force Theme soaring into prominence here as we close out.

This episode is just the kind of break we need to process the events of the previous episode. Leia is almost flawless, willy deflecting suspicion off herself while playing the Imperials all for fools, compassionate and empathetic when she senses someone in pain and turmoil.

Ezra is allowed to grieve throughout the episode, and displays a myriad of conflicted and complex emotions from scene to scene. Kanan almost takes a bit of a backseat to comforting him, letting all the others express sympathy in turn, giving him the space he needs and offering up the distraction of the mission. He handles Ezra really well, all things considered.

It helps that Ezra, unlike Anakin, chooses to deal with and channel his grief in a productive way, rather than destructive. (I have the tag "#ezra is the anti-anakin" for a reason.)

This is a fun episode. Lighter than the previous one, lower stakes, but needed to let the characters breathe and process through the revelations of the plot. I really like it.

We're about to hit the Golden Streak, so stay tuned, I will have more to say later.