#from what i remember in the dome anyway

[dozyrogue]

The way tubbo is notorious for shutting down and his friends just don't realize makes me AAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH(#+$+2(%($($+31+";%(@

Like the way its happen so many times and none of his friends realize or if they do it to late. Like when fred was kidnapped and the 3 and one combo quackity/cellbit/roier made a joke. PHIL LAUGHED BUT IT WAS THE BABIES CHAY AND TALLULAH THAT WERE TRYNA PULL HIM BACK.

Like the only person i think about constantly who tried to get him to talk and push past his walls is bagi when she was like "we need to talk about fred" basically saying hes not ok and normal. But she did also think it was cuz he was only sad about fred. So close but took a left turn last minute

[opal-owl-flight]

I didnt expect to see Octavio in the Grandfest...and neither did 3, for that matter.

In my interp of the lore, Inkadia is aware of who he is. 3 and the platoon have been fighting for years with the Inkadian powers that be to recognize Octaria as a legitimate nation, for it to be held in equal regard.

That day finally came on the Grandfest. Or at least, the beginnings of it, anyway.

More on the two's convo below!

"Hm! |...Sir Octavio! Im...surprised to see you here.|"

"What. You think Octaria doesnt deserve to celebrate the biggest event in the continent alongside you squits?"

"|No! No! Im...|" they chuckle, a smile breaking across ther face. "|...glad to see that you made it!

But I dont remember arranging a pass for you...|"

"Aah. Well. Your old man pulled some strings. That, and the Inkadian and Splatlandian powers that be invited me themself."

Now 3s surprised. "|...Really?|"

"Mhm. I brought the dome-dwellers up here with me. Look around! Didnt you notice them in your matches?"

Are they dreaming?

They never noticed them at all. It wasnt even like there was much of a difference. For months there have been an increase of migrators and visitors. Allowed to turf. Allowed to stay. Allowed to...

Live in the sunshine.

They stagger, which made the Octarian king hold out a tentacle to steady them. "You alright, bucko?"

3 nods. "|A-a little overwhelmed, thats all.

All those patrols. All those deserters I helped to assimilate. All that struggle they had to go through to escape Octaria-

And now, its just...so...|"

"Easy?"

3 nods again, silently.

"Mmmm. I'll admit though, not everyone is keen on just letting people explore. Not everyone was keen on coming up here for this festival, either.

...too much, has happened for them to trust Inkadia again."

3 hangs their head low. He held their chin and made them look up again.

"...But you. You and your platoon of hooligans. Youve been changing that. You are Inkadians that went the extra mile in understanding us. Listening to us, respecting our decisions. Allowing us to rule our nation as we wished.

It means...a lot. More than you know.

To the point where even those who dont trust Inkadia are at least respecting it from a distance now."

The conversation is cut short by a couple of young Inkfish kids.

"Oaah...its the Octarian king!"

"Hes REAL!!!"

"Of course Im real, squirts! Who'dya think leads all the Octarians?"

"Yeah!!" squeaks another kid, who waddles closer. "Our king is so nice! He brought us up here to play!!"

"Woaah, really?"

"Mhm." He grunts. "Everyone deserves the sunshine."

The kids eyes all shine. Theyve had ex-Octarian friends who spoke much kinder words about the king. It was easy for them to accept the fact that hes just there, grinding wasabi peacefully. Talking to the Inkfish who wants merch. Having generally gruff but...daresay, gentle vibes.

Octavio grunts out a chuckle. "Are you enjoying the surface, little one?"

"VERY!! I made new friends!! The sun feels so warm, ah!! The music! The music!! Oh, so wonderful!!!"

3 smiles again...

"Oooh... wait, I can finally ask!!" squeaks one of the kids. "Mister king, sir! Did you really fight someone called Agent 3???"

3s smile becomes a nervous one. Octavio picks that up immediately.

"Why yes. Little hooligan, that one. Ack! Gave me a headache like nothing else!"

"Did they convince you? To be good now?"

"Mh. Its a little more complicated than that, kiddoes. But I..." he sighs. "...I guess, they did."

"Wooow!!"

"So cool...I wish I could meet them!!"

"Well..."

Octavio sees, from the corner of his eye, 3 making the subtlest movement of shaking their head.

"Its said...that theyre one of the top players in the leagues. If you look hard enough, youll find em."

The Octarian kid looks straight at 3, knowingly. The two other kids notice -- and look at the golden badge they hung around their neck.

"Oh! Oh! Youre a top player, right?"

"Do you think youve met them?"

Octavio is doing EVERYTHING he can to not laugh.

"|...Im not sure. Im not exactly sure what to look for.|"

"Ill help your search, all of you." Octavio grunts again. "What exactly to look for."

3 looks at him, eyebrow raised.

"Theyre ruthless on the field. Whether it be a real fight, or in the leagues. They think on their feet, move faster than most eyes can register.

But underneath that cold efficiency...

Is one of the gentlest, most understanding squids I know."

3s expression changed from nervous to...comfort? Theyre not sure what it is, but its warm.

"Watch for a player who goes out of their way to be nice to kids and beginners. One who's a good sport in the cutthroat top leagues. One who's willing to share their battle tech to anyone, something that most top players keep under wraps.

One who's motivated to help you become the best version of yourself.

No matter how long it takes."

Octavio sees 3s shoulders relax a bit. He smiles.

"Yeah, I may have fought them a lot, back in the day. But now, Id really rather think of them as a friend."

The kids start bickering about which player it could be. The Octarian kid already knew. Shes seen them before, after all. She points at them now.

"Hehee! Maybe you should try looking in a mirror, miss. That sounds a lot like you!"

The other kids stop bickering and take a closer look.

"Huh?? Them? Hmmm...now that you say it-"

"Shes right!!! Its right in front of us!! FOR3VRFRSH! Agent 3!!!"

Octavio grinds one of his wasabi sticks a little harsher on the table to get their attention. "Kids, kids! Remember what the legend says!"

That confirms it!! They shush each other, but are still sqealing quietly. They look up at 3 again, the new info putting the top player in a different light. They threw a glance at Octavio before squatting down to their level.

"Yes," they rasp. "Me and the king...were more friends now...than enemies. Time...passes. People...change.

Remember that, okay?"

"Yes miss! We'll remember!!"

They wink. "Good...now...Stay Forever Fresh!"

Octavio looks on, leaning slightly to whisper to the floating squid jerky next to him.

"You did good with this one, Cuttlefish."

He says nothing, like during this whole conversation. One thought was in his head.

He didnt do that. That...was all 3. They were better than he ever was. He only wished...

He didnt push them as hard as he did.

----------

HOO BOY THATS A DOOZY OF A READ. I didnt PLAN for the beginnings of the acceptance of Octaria to come this early but Nintendo gave me material!! A lot of this is still semi-rough so forgive me if the pacing is whack. I just had to make and write something!!

[unknownarmageddon]

      Killer watched Cross from where he was sat, slumped, legs up against his chest, pressed into a corner of the crumbling building they sought shelter in. He rest his head on the wall beside him. Cross was tending to the fire he had gotten going, and fiddling with his backpack, a handful of feet in front of Killer.

       The fire’s light and warmth barely reached Killer from where he was, and so he was cold and shrouded by shadow. He watched its flames dance, but really he was focused on Cross in the corner of his vision. Cross didn’t look at him. Maybe he glanced up at him, once, twice, but Killer acted like he didn’t notice. There was so much distance between them now, had been for a painfully long time. He felt it. It made him so tired. 

        Killer felt weighted down, heavy. Sluggish. Like he just wanted to sink into the concrete below him. Cross wasn’t there to pull him out now. 

          Eventually, he watched as Cross killed the fire. Darkness swelled to fill the building, and Killer could only barely see the vague outline of Cross’ body now. Killer shifted to a slightly more comfortable position, assuming this was Cross getting ready for bed.

     But then Cross didn’t move. Instead he pulled something white, about the size of his head, from his backpack. Killer couldn’t quite make out what it was, but he saw Cross mess with it. In the silence that came with the dark, the sound of plastic clicking came to him. 

      Cross was oddly gentle with it, Killer noticed, as he carefully, slowly, did what Killer could only assume was inserting batteries into it. 

    Batteries? Couldn’t be. Those were a precious resource now. Batteries meant electricity, and electricity was as valuable as life. People sought them like water in a desert. Especially since by now, they had all either corroded or been snatched up by other scavengers. Where in the hell did Cross get batteries. And how long had he been looking. 

      Killer sat up just a bit straighter, squinting at this object Cross held. What was it. 

       Cross stood. Killer heard the brushing of his clothes. He stepped over toward Killer, eyes not fully on him. He paused a hesitant couple feet away, and when Killer didn’t react, he sat down beside him. But not too close.

       Killer now saw that the white thing was a short cylinder with a navy blue dome protruding from the top. All of it sat on the bottom half of a cone that stuck out underneath. It was placed in front of Killer, then Cross pressed a button on its side.

     Stars erupted from the dome, spewing out from every side and scattering across the ceiling and the walls. They seemed to stretch on forever, reaching every corner light could. The skeletons were instantly illuminated by a soft blue-white light; Killer saw stars dancing and spinning on Cross’s face, and he became visible to him again. 

     Killer’s soul almost exploded. He felt it flare, spark, like a fresh wildfire. He was surprised his ribcage didn’t cave in. He wrapped his arms around his legs, stared with wide eyes, tracing the ceiling. He couldn’t fucking believe it.

     Stars. Almost proper stars, too, not the triangular ones in children’s star projectors. Maybe there were even real constellations in this thing. 

      It was beautiful. Christ, it was fucking beautiful. It felt unreal. And to think, all this was held in that little bit of plastic in front of him. 

      Killer could almost make himself believe it was the real thing. He could almost pretend the dark dusty concrete above him was the night sky, he could almost pretend these stars weren’t powered by just batteries. That the bomb-smog had finally settled and the stars had come back. It was damn close, anyway.

God, when was the last time he saw stars? It felt like he was a kid again, truly looking up at the sky at night for the first time, when everything was new and wonderful. 

“…I.. I remember you saying how much you missed the stars.“ Cross spoke up softly. “Figured this would be the next best thing.” 

     Killer felt his cheeks grow wet, and his vision was blurred by the dark tar now pouring from his sockets. He wiped at it, if only to keep seeing the specs of light. 

      This star projector was a promise. They both knew it the moment it turned on. It was a promise. A whisper. A promise of how Cross cared so much it almost hurt. A promise of their survival. Not just physical, literal, survival, but their survival. Together. A promise of them getting out of this pit, bridging the distance, refounding the proximity. A reiteration of all the nights they spent sharing warmth in the same sleeping bag. 

        Fuck holy matrimonies and rings, none of that mattered now in the end of the world. Not in the same way. But this projector….. Cross had seen Killer mourning the stars and given them back to him. Cross had fucking given him the stars. 

God, he had even found batteries. Batteries. 

   At some point Cross had moved closer. Killer didn’t care. He leaned on his shoulder, and his soul burst all over again from feeling his warmth on him after however long it’d been. It was a warmth that made him want to just melt into him and not ever think about the world. 

     Maybe things would be okay. It’d take some more time, but maybe it would end up okay. 

apocalyptic kross au belongs to me, @psycho-chair, and @denieatsart

[crepesuzette2023]

Hi, I would love recs for mclennon fics dripping in sexual tension, like six hours in August by stonedlennon. It doesn't need to have explicit sexual content. Thank you!

Thank you so, so much for this ask—this is a category of fiction I personally enjoy *a lot* (imagine Paul's "I slept with John..." pronunciation).

Here are some favorites that came to my mind. Some have sex on the page, others do not; I remember all of these as having excellent Tension™. I hope you find something you like here! Young J/P:

Streets of Your Town (@with-eyes-closed): Sensual. The upheaval in young Paul's mind as he falls in love with music and John, without putting a name to it. As of yet unfinished, but it's so good I rec it anyway, because it's...[read to find out, take a fan]

All I Know Since Yesterday (RedheadAmongWolves): Paul and John's first kiss at Paul's, after long, sweet hours of trembling fear/excitement. Paul POV.

The Way Things Sometimes Are (@paisanas): Young John is troubled and pining for Paul. Paul is mesmerizing through his eyes.

now and then (there's a fool such as I) (@stonedlennon): The Nerk Twins take the bus to Caversham and share a bed. You can smell the summer grass and the sweaty leathers...

(Ain't no cure for the) summertime blues (orphan_account): John and Paul alone on a hot summer day.

The Photograph (thinkpink20): John finds a Photograph Mike took of Paul and notices...things.

Hamburg:

ageless children, animal sweat (eyeball2eyeball): Read this story to spend time in John's throbbing, unhinged Hamburg mind. No sex on the page, and yet. It's *everywhere*. For such a short story, it takes up a lot of room in my brain. The Paul in this story is one of my favorite Pauls.

Sinful City (thinkpink20). Days and Nights in Hamburg. Paul needs John, and stops questioning things.

In Margaret Asher's music room:

Tell You Something (@louiselux). Lennon and McCartney write "I Want to Hold Your Hand." The tension rises.

In or near Paul's Geodesic Dome:

shotgunning (@pauls1967moustache): John and Paul languidly try something new...

Chrysalis (cloudy_blue): Tension in 1967. Hypnotic and stylish, I love it.

Stop all the Clocks (@javelinbk): After Brian's death, John and Paul retreat to Scotland. Grief and awakening ensue...slowly and sweetly.

Greece:

Way Up Top (@boshemians). Snapshots of J/P desire and spiraling doubts, contained in the Beatles' trip to Greece to buy an island.

Nineteen Sixty-Eight:

Outro (bakerstreetafternoon). From the Summary: 'Had it been this tension that had kept them together? Had it always?'

Bad Luck to Talk (7intheevening): Paul chats with JohnandYoko at a party and follows them home for a cup of tea. What hurts more exquisitly than pining? Unacknowledged pining.

John I'm Only Dancing (@skylikeaflame): Amidst the insanity of the Mad Day Out, desire erupts relentlessly.

The 70's as they should have been:

Down on the Farm (RosalindBeatrice): Incredibly hot and realistic (and funny in just right amounts!). John visits Paul in Nashville; Paul shows off Wings and the family, John stays the night. Dot dot dot.

I can only speak my mind (@paisanas): John's diaries are leaked to the press and printed; Paul reads them. What follows is the sexual awakening of James Paul McCartney as he reads of John's feelings for him. First rate pining, past and present.

I still miss someone/ I know that I miss you, but I don't know where I stand/ close the door lightly when you go (RosalindBeatrice): John and Paul meet in 1976. There is a spark. Few and far between meetings follow.

The Other Eighties (John lives and experiences sexual tension with Paul):

and when broken bodies are washed ashore (who am i to ask for more) (wardo wedidit): John divorces Yoko and visits Paul in Scotland. Soul searching and relationship mending.

The Birthday Party (@merseydreams): John and Paul meet at Ringo's Birthday Party. There is only one bed.

Tension through the Years:

Smoke Gets in Your Eyes (@savageandwise). John is turned on by Paul smoking. 1958—1969.

[megamindsecretlair]

Qimir x reader 🥺

Ask and receive, anon! Have you been peeking at my drafts??

We Are the Night - Chapter 1

Masterlist Chapter 2

Pairing: Qimir x Jedi!Black!Fem!/ Plus Size reader

Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, You are in charge of your own reading experience. Intentional use of AAVE. Tame, nothing explicit. There's teasing though, if you squint. Possible dark elements, but always consensual. Corruption kink. I spit on Star Wars canon. I will borrow some of Osha's backstory, but some things will be changed.

Summary: You end up crash landing onto the planet that Qimir calls home. He rescues you, but you have no way of going home, no way of letting anyone know where you are. Qimir talks a good game, but can you trust him?

AO3 Link

Word Count: 3,406

A/N: Ahhhhhh, this show has rotted my brain and I'm not even an enemies to lovers girlie! But I need that man like a bad habit! Toss a coin to your bloggers by leaving a comment, reblog, or unhinged howling in my asks.

Taglist: @amethyst09 @ciaqui @we-outsiiiide @browngirldominion @iv0rysoap @thecookiebratz @harmshake @00aijia00 @judymfmoody @multiversefanfics @tvchi

Loud, obnoxious beeping roused you into consciousness. Your eyes were gritty, dry, seemingly glued shut. But you forced them open anyway. Light from overhead seared your retinas and you shut it with a groan. You licked your dry lips and tried to turn your head.

Stars, your head was killing you. Achy. Unsettling. The beeps and alarms weren’t going anywhere, however, and you were the only one in this tin can. You didn’t remember passing out. 

You wracked your brain trying to think of what happened. But the last thing you remembered was…talking to…setting coordinates for…fuck, it was on the tip of your tongue to say it but you couldn’t find the words. 

The alarms were starting to pulse in time with your headache. You took a few deep breaths, staring up at your ceiling, which was just a glass dome overlooking the galaxy. You were speeding somewhere and it couldn’t be anywhere good if the alarms had anything to say about it. 

Tears pricked your eyes but you didn’t have time for any of that. You grunted and groaned as you climbed off of your floor. Just sitting up knocked the breath out of you. Struggling to your feet took tremendous strength that you just didn’t have. 

Your hand clutched onto the vinyl pilot’s seat as you pulled yourself to standing. A sharp pain pierced your side. The ship lurched to the right and you stumbled, knocking your shoulder against the side of the cockpit. You cried out. Everything hurt!

You gritted your teeth and found the energy to look down, inspecting yourself. You still wore the same outfit, cargo pants, a black t-shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and your utility vest. A dark red stain spread across the expanse of your cargo pants. Your shirt soaked up much of the blood, too dark to distinguish between the two. 

You lifted the edges of your shirt to reveal a gushing wound in your side. The sight of your own blood nearly made you swoon. There was so much. You looked towards the floor where you had been laying. There was a generous pool there. Your heart sank. How long were you out?

The ship lurched again, metal ripping, gears shifting, and you stumbled forward. Your navigation panels were all over the place. Red buttons flashed, the alarm screeched, and the other screens blinked on and off. If nothing else, you were in deep fucking trouble. 

You cried out as you flopped into the pilot’s seat. The ship you were in was careening decidedly down, though you weren’t sure why. Out of the corner of your eye, there was movement. You looked to the right to see a bit of smoke. 

You leaned your face against the window, trying to look as far as you could at the gaping hole in the escape pod’s wing. Escape pod? The hell? 

The ship gave a decidedly crude groan and shutter that did not sound good at all. You flipped through your switches trying to turn the damn alarm off. You were woozy, feeling lightheaded and sick, but you needed to think. Now that you were awake, the pains and aches in your body started vying for your attention.

Your foot hurt like hell, your side was killing you, and there was a damn crick in your neck. Focus. Focus. 

You pressed the button to open a wide range channel. “H-Hello? Anyone out there? I’m in trouble,” you said. Your voice was strained, dry, and you coughed from disuse. You knew that you didn’t want to draw the attention of bad characters like pirates or opportunists. But anything was better than imminent death. 

“Please, I don’t know where I am,” you said into the comms. Nothing. No static. Tears gathered in your eyes once more. If you weren’t a failed Jedi, maybe you could figure out a way out of this. Maybe you could have used the Force, meditated and connected with someone, anyone, who could come rescue you. 

You hung your head. There’s no use crying when your life was in the balance. So you swiped at your tears, careful not to smear blood on your face, and refocused on the job at hand. One of these damn switches had to turn off the alarms. 

You grabbed hold of the steering wheel, pulling back on it. No such luck. The ship gave a shudder, a groan, a keening whine and then boom! The ship spun out of control. As the ship twisted and turned, more black smoke emanated from the right wing. Said wing was flung from the ship, spinning away from you faster and faster.

“Oh shit,” you whispered. It wasn’t necessarily needed to fly, but it kept your ship balanced and steady upon take off and arrival. How the hell were you going to land now? 

Shit, shit, shit! You strapped on the seatbelts on your seat and held on as the ship spun and spun. Spun so fast it was a dizzying array of stars overhead, making you sick, Making your stomach flip and flop and threatened to upchuck whatever your last meal was. Whenever that was. 

The ship stopped spinning as if it had been yanked by an invisible chain. Now, it just careened forward, plummeting as you felt the drop in your stomach. A blue planet loomed before you. The sun was on the far side of the planet, illuminating wondrous and endless blue. 

Shit. The last thing you needed was to land on an ocean planet. No land for miles in any direction, no navigational charts to pull you to safety, and no way to communicate that you were there. You didn’t want to die alone on a planet like that. Starved. Pathetic. 

You closed your eyes as the ship rushed towards that planet as if it were calling you there. A beacon. You had nothing but precious few seconds to think about your life’s choices and how you arrived here. At the forefront of it all, if you had just stayed with your mothers, would you have still ended up here? 

The front end of the ship began to burn up as your shields started to break down. The force and speed of your descent made the cabin burn up from entering the atmosphere. 

It was all in sickening high resolution. You watched your final moments like a holo-program, can’t watch but unable to look away. Metal plates began to break away from your ship. One flew into the windshield with a hard thud. The ship dropped down, so that you were nearly vertical staring at the expanse of water.

As you got closer, you realized that there was something worse than heading for a planet made of water. That same planet having jagged and rocky islands. You were too far away to scan for any signs of life. Equipment too badly damaged to run a digital scan. 

You prayed and prayed and hoped that the Force had mercy on you as you went crashing down. You missed a large island by yards, plunging into the murky, deep ocean. Your body snagged against the seatbelt, digging into your chest and sending fresh waves of pain down your body from the wound in your side. The inertia after the initial crash smacked you head first against the window to your left. 

Darkness filled your eyes as you blinked, watching as the ocean swallowed you whole. Alone. With no one to even know you were there.

When you awoke, you sucked in a deep breath of air as if you had been drowning. You settled back against the bed with a soft sigh, trying to recall such a horrid dream. As if you had been lost on a random planet, alone and afraid.

You flipped over in bed, side protesting in pain. You looked down at yourself. Your vest was gone and your shirt had been cut across the hem, giving you a midriff. You went to sit up, but a sudden rush of nausea made you lay back down and take deep breaths.

Your head swam with a headache that hurt enough to make you chew bricks. You rubbed your head, feeling your feverish wet skin. Your vision swam. It could be shock or it could be because you tried sitting up, but you closed your eyes and immediately fell back asleep.

When you woke up again, it was slower this time. A soft, rushing sound was off in the distance. You blinked your eyes a few times and let your vision settle naturally on the room around you.

You were in some kind of cave? Underground surely. Natural by the look of the jagged rocks surrounding you. You were lying on a bed. Not the most comfortable mattress in the world, but it beat even the Jedi temple in terms of stiffness. 

How did you get here? You had no memory of climbing into this place. Or finding a bed. Or stitching yourself up. Your hands floated over your side, feeling a faint scar as if you hadn’t had anything there at all. 

You remembered being in pain. You remembered being on the ship. It was all still so fuzzy, but you remembered that you were desperately trying to escape a different planet. You were on a ship with Sol.

Fear punched you in the throat and then dragged icy nails across your chest. Sol. Yord. Jecki. A sob caught in your throat as you thought about the horrible, awful cruelty of it all. The merchant who was not a merchant. 

You winced as you recalled your last few hours. Or was it days? You, Sol, and Jecki had barely gotten away. Your sister attacked you on the way back to the ship, fighting to get away from her master. 

Mae went on about her misconceptions about you. Spit had flown from her mouth with the absolute venom pouring off of her in waves. How she blamed you for everything. You for leaving. You for abandoning them. You for groveling like some dog before the Jedi. 

“Shut up!” You had yelled and you fought and fought. Mae was always better at using the Force. She had knocked you flat on your back. You had came to moments later, Mae nowhere in sight.

You ran for the shore as best as you were able, wound in your side preventing you from jogging faster. You had to get to Sol and Jecki before Mae did. 

You found Jecki’s body lying face down on the ground, three neat wounds in her chest still smoking. You covered your mouth with your hand, biting back tears and a scream. You were going to kill Mae, if it was the last thing you did. 

Escaping the planet was a blur. Sol hadn’t left yet. But Mae found you on the ship first. She beat you again, catching you unawares like a newborn baby. She pushed you into an escape pod, hit the eject button too quick for you to stop her. Next thing you knew, you were thrust off into space, banging on the window as if it would make a difference. Once more, you were looking up to Mae as she looked down on you. The pod went into hyperspace, off to who knew where. 

You curled in on yourself as you relived those moments. The fear, the anger, the betrayal. Mae was going to complete her goal. She was going to kill Sol and leave you with no one again.

“You’re awake,” a soft voice said.

You flinched, sitting up in bed nausea be damned. A man stood in the entrance to the cave-like room, wearing a white shirt and dark pants. His hair hung in tendrils in front of his face and he had short facial hair. 

He carried a bowl with steam rising from it. “Thought you might be up and brought you some soup,” he said.

“You,” you whispered.

How could it be? You had escaped. You were far from him. How was this murderer here? Walking freely when your friends were dead? 

“It’s not poison if that’s what you think. That’s no fun,” he said. His voice was deceptively calm and relaxed. One would almost call it lazy. 

He placed the bowl beside you and then backed away slowly, hands out, palm side up. He moved across the room until he sat down on a stump, picking up tools.

“Where am I?” 

“I could tell you…” he said, letting his words hang in the air.

“So?” You asked.

He looked back at you and smirked. “Wrong question,” he said.

“What?” You lowered the blanket from your chest, having covered yourself when Qimir entered the room. His back was towards you, there was nothing he was going to do for the moment. 

“Ask me what you really want to know,” he said. 

You ran your tongue over your canine as you looked at him in an all new light. How the hell did he know what you wanted to ask before you did? 

“How did you find me?” You asked.

“I felt you,” he said, looking up at you through his eyelashes. 

You slowly lifted the blanket back up to your chest, feeling his words rush over your skin. He was repulsive. A murderer. Evil. His words shouldn’t sound like…that or affect you like…that. 

“Not many can find this planet. It’s long forgotten on most star maps. Early this morning, I felt an approaching presence. I went outside and saw your ship, lit up like a star. Wasn’t hard to find the wreckage from there,” he said.

You wanted to call him a liar. That was what evil murderers did. But you felt nothing but the truth from him. “Thank you,” you said and looked away from him, hugging your middle.

He saluted you with two fingers from his temple and returned to whatever it was he was doing. You felt silly looking at his back. His wide back. You’ve gotten a few glances at a rough, razed scar on his back. You wondered about it but kept your mouth shut in case he was sensitive about it. 

You sighed and rolled your eyes. You were worried about his feelings? He was the one who had kidnapped you, brought you to this cave, and offered you poisonous soup. You didn’t trust him as far as you could throw him. 

“What is that?” You asked. Your curiosity would always get the better of you. That helmet scared the absolute taste of your mouth, but you were also deeply intrigued by it. The shape, the color. The teeth.

“Eat your soup and I’ll tell you,” he said. How the hell could he know you weren’t eating? His back was still turned towards you.

“You project your emotions,” he said. Your name slipped from his lips softly. You shook your head. 

“I do not,” you said.

Qimir chuckled and went back to fiddling with his helmet. You waited a few more moments, looking between his helmet and the bowl of soup. You didn’t want to risk sudden death, but you also really wanted to know about his helmet.

You kissed your teeth and grabbed the bowl of soup. It looked sort of appetizing, filled with soft fish and veggies. You grabbed the spoon, swirling the soup around and around the bowl. 

“You can do it,” he said. Your eyes flicked to him, and he was half turned in your direction. You scowled at him as he smirked at you. 

You narrowed your eyes at him, rising to his bait. You drank straight from the bowl, letting the herbs, spices, and flavor explode on your tongue. It wasn’t half bad for a planet with no land animals. 

Qimir smirked when you came up for air. He tapped the top of his helmet. “Cartosis. Handy against lightsabers,” he said.

“How do you have a lightsaber?” You asked. When you left the Order, you had to give yours up. You felt terrible. You had worked so hard on finding the right crystal, building your saber from the ground up. Designing it to fit perfectly in your hand. 

“You’re full of questions,” he said. 

“You’re full of non-answers,” you countered.

He tilted his head and conceded the point. “I used to be like you. Young, stars in my eyes, believing in the Order.”

“Is that how you got the scar?” You asked. Fine. You couldn’t help it. 

“I believed in someone I shouldn’t have,” he said. 

He grabbed his tools, gathered them in a box, and then stood up from his seat. “It’s like a sensory deprivation headpiece, like we used as Younglings. You should try it on,” he said. He smirked at you like he knew what your answer was going to be. 

“I’m not trying that thing on,” you said.

He smirked and you hated that look on his face. “What are you so afraid of? That you might look into the Force and have it stare right back?” 

“Is that what it’s for?” You asked. You didn’t need to get into the gritty details of your connection to the Force or lack thereof. It was about mental discipline. It all but faded from your fingertips the moment you stepped out of the temple for good.

“If you’re that curious, take a look,” he said. He smirked one final time, heading off to wherever he came from. 

“How long are you going to keep me here?” You asked.

He stopped at the entrance to the room and looked sideways at you. “That depends on you,” he said.

He left the room, leaving you to stew in your thoughts. You finished off the rest of the soup. If it was poison, at least it tasted good on the way down. Left to your own devices, there was nothing to do but either go back to sleep or stare at the helmet.

You looked at its crude design. Designed to incite fear and command respect. You recalled how fluidly he moved. How precise he was in his maddening dance of ruthlessness. How sure of himself he was.

You’d never been sure of anything in your life. You always felt like an outcast. An outsider. You floated between groups of people, never belonging to any of them. Strangely, way deep down inside, you felt a certain…pull here. A deep settling in your bones.

You shook your head, fighting off that wayward thought. You had to focus on getting out of here. Of finding his ship and escaping before he grew tired of you and killed you. 

Your eyes flitted to the helmet once more. As if it were silently calling you. Taunting you. If you strained to listen, you could just make out a voice. 

Screw it. What was the worst that could happen?

You placed the bowl on the chair in front of you and crossed the rocky floor towards Qimir’s workbench. You grabbed the helmet and sat down, staring at it. Slowly, you brought it over your head. It was larger than you thought it would be, but somehow so small you started to hyperventilate. 

All you could hear was the sound of your rapidly increasing breaths. You couldn’t see anything out of the helmet. Only feel. Hear. Your hands clutched the side of the helmet, feeling like it was crushing your skull with every breath that you took.

You felt a lazy eye open somewhere. Like you were staring at some great beast, who’s body spanned the universe. And it turned that eye on you. In a panic, you screeched and tore off the helmet, tossing it onto the desk and backed away from it. You nearly fell off of the ledge trying to get away.

You stared at the visage. The harsh smile gleaming silver. It was turned on its side, face plate towards you. Mocking you. 

You turned your back from it and leaned against a stony wall. Jagged pieces of rock bit into your palm but you welcomed the pain. Welcomed the reminder that you were alive, by the grace of Qimir, but alive. And you still had your wits about you. You were not going to let him corrupt you.

You believed in right from wrong. You believed in the side of the Jedi. If nothing else, you knew that you would never, ever side with the likes of Qimir.

Masterlist | Chapter 2

[ovaryacted]

PAIRING: Jackson! Joel Miller x f! reader || WC: 1.0k CW: NSFW/18+ content below. Oral sex (f! receiving). Premature ejaculation. Kinda touch deprived & sub! Joel Miller.

I haven’t been able to work on my WIPs because I’ve been stressed about life and stuff. So take this little drabble of some thoughts about that old man Joel Miller adjusting to living in Jackson that I wanted to share earlier. This can also be interpreted as a little character analysis but yeah. [Note: not proofread, I wrote this off the top of my dome.]

So I know a lot of people like making Joel Miller as this #realfucker and #realeater that knows how to fuck and I love that shit! LUV IT! CAUSE PEEPAW LIKES TO FUCK! But I also like to imagine the alternative: Joel Miller in Jackson not knowing what to do when it comes to doing the nasty, so he has to re-learn everything.

Now, do not get me wrong, I don’t not think Joel Miller is a smart and cunning man, and usually I characterize him as such cause I just think that’s part of his natural personality. But when you think about it, a man as closed off as him who’s been through so much and lost so much after the apocalypse probably doesn’t know what to do with himself when he reaches a point in his extended life where he can actually take a breath.

I like to think that while he was in the Boston QZ!, there is no doubt that he didn’t do much outside of smuggling and kill people. He didn’t have the time to mess around, didn’t know how to appreciate fucking or even miss it, and I also imagine that while he did have Sarah pre-outbreak, he was too busy working to date anyway so having sex was out of the question.

But when he meets Tess and builds that partnership, they probably got frisky a couple of times, because what else are you going to do when the world has gone to shit? However, when they both did this, it’s a mutual agreement that it’s more of a physical release than anything else. That was his only partner for so long that the moment he reaches Jackson with Ellie and actually tries to live again, he doesn’t know how to.

He’s relatively closed off, sticks to his own for the most part and relearns how to be a functioning member of society. He does his part during the patrols, hunts with Tommy when needed, does his little carpentry projects, plays his guitar, takes in the simple pleasures of what he thinks can be a good life if he sticks to it.

But relationships and sex? That’s so far gone from his mind that he doesn’t think much about people approaching him, trying to pursue him even for companionship. Here is this old man with hands capable of killing anyone who comes within a foot distance of him, not knowing what to do or how to respond when someone flirts with him.

Joel Miller isn’t an idiot, far from it, but he’s sort of aloof and hardheaded. He can read people and situations proficiently, and yet when he manages to allow someone to get close enough to touch him, he doesn’t know what to fucking do with himself.

Doesn’t remember how to kiss, where to put his hands, what to even do with his dick. He’s touch deprived and a mess, though he knows what he can do because it comes back like it’s muscle memory, he doesn’t comprehend that now he doesn’t have to rush through it. He can enjoy the experience, he can want and need things freely without having to constantly look over his shoulder every couple of seconds.

You’d have to gently coax him into things to stop him from overthinking and just let him act based off of what he feels. Hold his cheek and jaw as you kiss him slowly, telling him it’s okay to touch you, to let his hands roam and grip wherever he wants. Holding his head against your neck as he kisses and nips at your skin, grinding his hips into you and feeling the burning arousal settling in his lower belly.

When Joel finally manages to strip you of your clothes and get in between your legs, he can’t help himself and silently admires your pussy, not even daring to touch you yet until his mind has taken a perfect screenshot of your body, head resting against your thigh.

Gently, you wrap your fingers around his thick wrist, guiding his digits to your wet heat and letting him probe and touch you just the way you like. He gets more bold, more curious, absentmindedly kisses your sensitive clit and begins to learn what makes you tick.

Moderate rocks of your hips against the crooked bridge of his nose, encouraging tugs on his graying curls, and your nails digging into the nape of his neck are all the signs he's looking for to know that he’s doing something right, that he’s still got it in him to bring somebody pleasure. But what sends Joel into overdrive is what you say as you praise him.

“Right there baby, doing so good for me.”

“Add another finger in, I can take it.”

“Yeah, just curl your fingers, just like that.”

“Fuck…you feel so damn good Joel.”

Joel. Joel. Joel.

Hearing his name on your lips when you hit your climax is what propels him into his own, body shaking as he groans loudly against your cunt. The material of his denim jeans are stained with an obvious wet spot now, hazel eyes glancing at you in a slight daze as you bring his head up away from your body. He’s a little embarrassed when he looks at you, blushed cheeks and plump lips glistening with your slick as he offers you a bashful smile.

You drag him back down to kiss him passionately, chasing the taste of your release on his tongue and caressing it with your own. He pants against you, rough hands gripping on to your bare hips for grounding. When you pull away from him, you’re damn near sure that you heard Joel whimper from the sudden distance.

“Don’t worry, I’ll give you whatever you want. Whatever you need.”

Life in Jackson isn't so bad after all.

©️ ovaryacted 2024. Please don’t repost, copy, translate, or feed into any AI. Support your fellow creators by reblogging, commenting, and liking!

[letters-unsending]

No. 45

////

Hero meets Villain in a dream.

////

“How’d you get in here?”

“Through the door?” Hero gestured behind him and then paused. A corridor stretched out past his fingers, meandering into darkness.

“You’re in my mind.” Villain waved down at Hero’s feet. “Treading your dirty footprints all over my thoughts.”

“In your mind? Certainly not.” Hero looked around. The hall had widened into a room with slate-gray walls and oval windows that seemed to slip downward every time he blinked. One window was on the floor. The glass encased a squirming, oily blackness.

“You need to get out.” As Villain stomped over the floor-window, the tiles shuddered, spilling into mounds of white sand. The roof yawned open to a soft, purple twilight. “I was trying to spell you out of my head and I’ve made a mess of everything. You’re sleeping right now, aren’t you? Your soul has a habit of wandering.”

“I do remember going to bed before this.” Hero glanced down. His feet were bare and the wind slipped past his ankles and the wide hem of his pajama pants. Frantically, he reached for his face. Chilled metal met his fingers—his mask was still on.

“Your soul will hide what wants to be hidden. You don’t have to worry about that.” Villain groaned and stomped again, but the scene remained the same. The white sand dissolved into a silvery sea. Though a breezed curled across the beach, the water was still, an infinite mirror reflecting the bruise-blue horizon, and Hero considered it, wondering what would happen if he disturbed its surface. “You’ll go once you wake up anyways.”

“I’ve been here before, haven’t I?” He stepped forward. The sand was too soft and whispered against his heel like silk.

“You shouldn’t remember that.” Villain whirled around.

“I don’t,” Hero murmured, walking toward the water, “it’s just a feeling, you know.”

Villain sighed and followed him. Together, they marched, but the sea never grew closer. “You tried this the last time as well,” Villain explained, “and you never make it far.”

“So, I’ve been in your mind before.” Hero turned, following the shoreline instead. Waves crashed and gulls called faintly, though nothing moved, and the sky was bare. “Why haven’t you attacked me? I’m sure you can expel me from your mind. You feel powerful.”

“The soul will not do what it does not wish to.”

“You want me here?”

“The company is nice. I haven’t seen anybody in a while.” The sand grew sharp underfoot, furling into blades of grass, and pines sprouted up between thick, gauzes of mist. Fog hung on the air and perspired over Hero’s skin.

“You being here, it shouldn’t be possible.” Villain gestured toward the haze and the barest silhouettes of mountains beyond. “Of course, there is always the chance that you could be a figment of my mind, but I have little skill with conjuring sentient things. I can only hope that it’s you and that I’m not alone.”

“You’re trapped.”

“Astute observation.” Rain fell softly as Villain stopped, canting his head toward the sky. “It usually takes you far longer to realize that.”

“How many times have I been here?” Hero stared past Villain, at the pines, whose limbs ruffled like great, dark feathers. From their gnarled roots, the trees twisted upwards. Their crowns pierced the fog.

“You forget.” Villain held his face with his hands. The trees braided, expanded, and domed over where they stood, till everything was emerald and reeked of mulched earth and spruce. “It doesn’t matter. Everything I tell you, you always forget, but you always come back. You never remember me and I’m tired of meeting you, for the first time, every time.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You wouldn’t be, if you remembered me.” The green turned black, into roiling nothingness. “We knew each other in the waking world, but it seems you’ve forgotten me there as well.”

Hero strode through the abyss and wrenched Villain’s hands from his face. He had a nose, cheeks, lips, jaw; he had everything that should compose a face and yet Hero couldn’t arrange it, couldn’t piece it together. His eyes were the only thing that didn’t swim and when Hero looked into them, he tumbled forward, onto the cold tile of the grey room.

He staggered to his feet. The windows were gone, but a door replaced them. It was simple, white, and had a shining brass handle, but Hero never reached for it.

Turning back, he called out a name.

“[Villain]?”

[skekilla]

my brain is rotting out of my s kull boys

anyway heres from my au, pomni and ragatha talking about just trying to tell caine life in the circus sucks and they all want things to change sdfdfs

ANYWAY I BLACKED OUT AND ENDED UP WRITING A THREE PAGE SHORT FANFIC ABOUT THIS SCENE SO.... here goes ugh

Everything was quiet out there, in the big room scattered with blocks and suspended domes of darkened skyboxes. Pomni stood on the balcony. She stared up, along the spirals and ledges, into the Circus’ simulation of nighttime. She didn’t know what made her leave her room and come out there, but she did know she didn’t care for more nightmares like the ones last night brought. Then again, after everything that day—the funeral—she did doubt the likelihood of anything similar to that coming true. She hoped it wouldn’t, anyway.

“Can’t sleep?”

Pomni startled at the sound, whirled around. “Ragatha! Ah… w-why? Should we not… be out here at night?”

Ragatha chuckled, coming closer. “Oh, no, you’re good! Don’t worry about that.” She came to a stop beside Pomni, a few feet away. Her one vaguely humanoid eye glanced up into the night sky. “I just heard your door—I have trouble sleeping too, even after all this time, so I was awake—and I thought you might want someone to talk to. Only if you want, of course!”

“Oh. Okay.”

An awkward pause stretched between them. “Do you… want to talk, or…? I know you had a big day, with that NPC and whatnot, so…”

The shapes of the Circus floor sparkled like a deathly burst of confetti in Pomni’s mind for just a second. She squeezed her eyes shut. “No. No thanks. I just…”

Ragatha’s hands rose to try to comfort Pomni, but hesitated before they actually got close enough. Instead, she clasped them together in front of her. “That’s okay. It’s not easy to get used to. I can go.”

“No, it’s fine. I just—” It was rare that Pomni ever felt choked up. At least, she felt in her subconscious that it was—not that she remembered anything about life before… this. For some reason, though, everything was washing over her right then. Maybe it was Ragatha trying to get her to talk that was drawing it out of her, or maybe it had just finally all caught up to her. Either way, her gloved hands clenched into fists and she held her breath. She wasn’t sure if she even could cry, but she didn’t want to. Not to someone who was basically still a stranger. Albeit a nice one.

It had been a long time since Ragatha had seen anyone but Gangle on the brink of tears. She almost didn’t know what to do—almost. She sat down on the checkered floor, patted the ground by Pomni’s feet. She smiled up at her. Pomni stood still for a moment, unsure, before she finally sank down.

“Don’t worry about talking, if you don’t want to!” Ragatha said.

But words were already tumbling out of Pomni’s mouth, strangled against her tense vocal chords. “I just don’t understand why,” she said. “Why am I here? Why are any of us here? What could any of us have done to deserve being- trapped? Controlled? Why…” She shook her head, eyes towards the ceiling and skies again. She let her back meet the floor. “Why?”

Ragatha started to say something, but stopped herself and thought it over. Trying to act like there was any answer to that wasn’t helpful. She knew that by then. After a second, she laid down too. “I don’t know,” she said. “I’m sorry, Pomni. It’s just the way things are—how Caine runs them. There’s nothing any of us can do.”

“Why not?!” Pomni’s voice broke a little. She took a breath, calmed herself. “There has to be something. It can’t… it can’t be impossible to leave. It can’t!”

“I’m sorry,” Ragatha said again. “Believe me, if any real ‘exit’ existed, we’d probably have found it by now. The only way to change anything here is through Caine, and… well…”

Pomni inhaled. “Well what?”

“Well… letting us go isn’t in his program. Making us ‘happy’ is. That’s it. There’s no changing him.”

Pomni’s hands rose to her face. For a moment, she just stayed like that. Then something came to her. “But he’s not making us happy.”

“Yeah…”

Pomni’s head rose. “Does he know that?”

Something between surprise and confusion filled Ragatha’s face. “I… don’t know. He keeps trying the same stuff again and again, so… probably no.”

Things began to click into place in Pomni’s mind. “Then… then maybe we could tell him! Get him to change things! Let us have more say and… and maybe, eventually, leave. If he is made to make us happy, then he’ll listen if we all say we really, sincerely aren’t. Right?”

Ragatha thought about her words. “I mean,” she began, “I don’t remember anyone really trying anything like that in the time I’ve been here—not like what you’re saying, anyway. Maybe… maybe.”

“Then we have to. We have to try.”

Ragatha looked over at Pomni. The desperation she heard in her voice made her nervous, but the hope that came with it was swaying her. “Well… it could be worth a shot!” Pomni looked back at her, the simulated moonlight flickering in her red and blue eyes. The hope in them was growing stronger. It lifted Ragatha in a way she hadn’t been lifted in a long time and crushed her all at once; a wave of guilt came with the joy. Pomni would be disappointed, and Ragatha knew it. Trying to mitigate her optimism, she added, “I mean… it’s not like things can get much worse.”

Pomni’s eyes flicked back upwards. Disappointment, to a smaller degree, had already pricked her with just those doubtful words. “Right.”

Even more guilt filled Ragatha. “I can help bring it up to everyone else tomorrow,” she offered. “I really do think it’s something to try. I’ll stand by you on it!”

Pomni took a deep breath. Her voice was stable again, her breathing steadied by the hands she rested on her stomach. It was worth trying. Anything was worth trying at that point. Like Ragatha said, what could get worse? She shoved the doubts away, to the back of her mind—still very much there, but hidden behind determination. “Okay. Tomorrow.”

Ragatha smiled a little. Pomni didn’t. She just stared up. Silence hung between them again, though it wasn’t awkward anymore; it was tense, filled with fragile hopes, fluffy clouds drifting and evaporating in the sky. Yet, somehow, they both felt a kind of security in it. Security in chance.

“I really, really hope this works,” Pomni said.

“It… probably won’t, if I’m being honest,” Ragatha couldn’t help but say, a nervous chuckle punctuating her words.

“I-I know. Still.”

Something twinged in Ragatha’s chest that made her smile all the more sincerely. Some kind of familiarity maybe, or care, or… maybe a bit of her own hope, awoken after so long. “Well… that’s sure a breath of fresh air around here.” She closed her eye. “I like that about you, Pomni.”

Pomni glanced at Ragatha for a second, but she heard right. Maybe she did have a friend in the Circus after all. Maybe what she guessed after the funeral earlier was right. Maybe, even if whatever happened tomorrow didn’t go as planned, everything would be okay. Somehow.

[pricegouge]

Fatted Rabbit, Part Thirteen on AO3

Content

Bearshifter!Price x reader | explicit

"No bones, either. Like a man stripped naked, then got absolutely atomized not ten feet away. Poor bastard, huh? Weirdest part was the way the tracks died. They shouldn't've, you know? Too muddy. So I poked around some more. Found the guy's wallet. Wanna take another guess whose it was?" There's a pit in your stomach but you're not sure why. You know who he's gonna say; know John didn't get eaten by a bear. But you don't know what he's getting at, what he thinks he saw. Distantly, you remember how he talks to himself when he thinks you can't hear. "Was it John's?" Finger gun, pointer finger flush against your temple. "Bingo."

A/N Well I did it. Someone gets eaten this chapter so sayonara if that's not for you. I don't think it's gratuitous, but also I'm a gore hound and my standards aren't normal so proceed with caution if you must. As a heads up, this is the beginning of the end, folks. I think there'll only be two, maybe three chapters after this :(

Simon's resolve finally breaks when John takes a winding corner in the foothills of the bighorns too quick and they nearly roll over the guardrail. His grip on the holy shit handle, white knuckled and muscle bunching as it had been for hours, yanks down hard enough to break it and even he can't play that off casually, although he's sorely tempted to try when he realizes Price is too focused on the road to have noticed. Simon sighs and throws the handle out the window before telling Price to pull over. He's ignored, so he snaps his fingers obnoxiously in John's face and nearly gets them bit off in the process.

"Fuck off, Riley," John growls, shoving the other man's hand away, but Simon persists, shoving right back.

"Pull over now , Price."

"Nearly there," John mutters, accelerator never wavering.

"Roight, but the plan is to get there, yeah?"

John risks taking his eyes off the road for exactly two seconds in order to glare at his passenger. Simon, of course, glares right back, hopefully managing to make it look apathetic despite the fact he'd recently torn a piece of Price's car off. 

"Pull over, cap. I'll drive."

"And what'll I do?"

"Not kill us for a start," Simon grumbles and John snarls but complies anyway. It's a quick exchange, and soon Price is simmering in the passenger seat while Simon tears through the countryside at a slightly less lethal pace. It's bad for him, probably; leaves his mind free to wander and envision worse and worse scenarios. Simon hopes it fuels the fire, leaves the general din of anxiety in his gut roiling. He's been beside himself since he'd heard Graves come through that door, sitting up stiff as a board as he yelled through his earpiece for the bird to wake up. It's not good, but it's useful. Himself, he remains as quiet as ever, content to let John simmer, and by the time they make it to the motel where the bird's phone last pinged from, he's damn near frothing at the bit.

Simon pulls up alongside the Wrangler and John is jumping out before the Suburban is even fully parked. The driver's side door hangs slightly open, battery evidently dead after keeping the dome light on half the night. Simon studies the ground around it while John inspects the car thoroughly. He finds a set of keys not far off, crouches to get them and pops back up in the passenger window, watches as his longtime friend sniffs the driver's seat like a bloodhound. He briefly wonders how well a joke would go over right then, thinks better of it when John snarls something at him that sounds maybe a little like 'What?'

Simon just shakes his head minutely, weighing options he knows Price is too wound up to consider. If the Jeep is left here, someone will eventually come to tow it. And then someone will need to be billed, and cops will get involved. But John's found blood on the door, and Simon very much doubts they'll want cops sniffing around by the end of this.

"Jump it," Simon instructs, dangling the keys at John. I'm gonna go see what the clerk knows."

"I'll come with -."

"You won't. You're too distracted, and I'm scarier. Jump it." He lobs the keys over the roof of the Jeep and Price grumbles but complies, returns to stewing.

The reception area is dim, mildewy, the carpet so thin and threadbare the concrete dust of the subflooring puffs around each of Simon's quiet, careful bootfalls. There's no one at the desk so Simon takes it upon himself to slide behind it and knock the mouse of the computer just to see if it's locked. It is, of course, because nothing can go right anymore, so he thumps the help bell hard enough to break it and sits to await the clerk, for all appearances just as patient as ever.

Simon can hear the clerk muttering to himself about customers as he rounds the door of the office in the back, voice thin and high. He half expects Anthony Perkins, gets frumpy old James Stewart with a hell of a black eye instead. The man stops dead when he spots Simon, takes a half a step back before thinking better of it and trying to square his shoulders up. "You're not s'pposed to be back here," he gripes, thick American accent adding to the vague washed up aura of him.

Simon ignores him. "Where'd you tha' shiner?"

The man falters a bit, squeezes an old-looking ice pack in his fist absently. They both track the movement, and when Simon looks up again, the man - Les, by his nametag - has a grim, resigned look about him. "What d'you want?"

"Wanna know who you lost a fight against, first. Then I wanna see some security footage."

"I can't disclose that to anyone but -."

"No, but you will."

"And why would I do that, now?"

"We'll get there," Simon grumbles, leaning forward in the seat until it creaks ominously under his weight. "Who gave you the beat down, Les?"

The man sighs, gives up pretending he's not in pain and plasters the ice pack back to his face. "Didn't give a name."

"I'd imagine not, but you can do better than that."

"I don't know, man, Jesus. Blond fella. Sharp nose."

Simon leaves a beat of silence where another person would hum contemplatively. "And what did you give 'im?"

Under all the swelling, Les pales. "Nothin'."

It's hard giving a man an unimpressed glare, when you make it a point to look unimpressed every moment of your life. Still, Simon must manage it because the clerk visibly wilts, shuffles. "You a cop?"

Simon nearly laughs. "Do I look like a cop?"

"He wanted a key," Les sighs, "to a tenant's room. I swear I didn't give it to him, just her room number. Figured he'd make a hell of a commotion trying to get in and she'd have time to scram, or call for for help or somethin'. But then he hopped the desk and nabbed it. Shoulda seen that comin'," Les huffs, no humor. "I'm sorry if she's your girl, I just didn't know how to stop him."

"And you didn't think to call the authorities when you 'eard 'im peeling out and saw the Wrangler was left ajar?"

"Didn't notice -." He cuts himself off when Simon raises his eyebrows sharply. "We don't… like cops comin' 'round here, 'specially at night. Figured I'd wait 'til she missed check out and call then."

"Gave 'im a hell of a head start," Simon observes, patience growing thin.

Les shrugs dejectedly. "I panicked, man. Had shit goin' on here last night. It was either she goes missin' or a whole mess of people wind up in jail."

Simon lets him flounder a moment, stands to his full height and watches the effect it has on the clerk. "'ere's what we're gonna do. You're gonna show me that security footage like I asked -" Les attempts to interrupt but Simon carries on right over him, "- because if you don't, I will beat you within an inch of your life, call the authorities and tell them all about what you did - or didn't do -, and I'm gonna get to see the footage anyway when I tell them about my friend. And when they ask about your state, I'm going to blame it on that sharp-nosed fucker, yeah?"

Another nervous squeeze of the ice pack. Les looks around for help, finds none. "And if I let you see it, this all goes away?"

"We'll even take the Wrangler."

Les nods. "Hang on. Gotta find the password, should be in the boss's office." He turns and ducks through the door, closely followed by Simon who does not want to lose him out a back window or something.

"You're not the owner?"

"Night manager," Les grumbles, shuffling through a spiral bound notebook so old and thumbed through, the binding resembles an abused slinky. He briefly compares himself to this sorry old man, wondering if that'll be him some day, second in command of a rapidly sinking ship and makes a note to check on Price's finances. Nothing wrong with being thorough.

"Should be it," Les mutters to himself,  moving past Simon into the lobby again.

Simon watches Price through the bay window while the old man works, grumbling to himself all the while about technology he can barely understand. It takes him a bit, but Simon doesn't mind - just keeps watching as his mate grows more and more irritable. It's a gamble, probably, but Price has always had a short, effective fuse. All he needs to do is find a direction to aim the man and soon they'll all be home in time for dinner.

If Price is still hungry, that is.

He texts Gaz to make sure the man can help him if he gets a plate number, frowns at the emojis he receives in response. A thumbs up and a saluting serious face. Probably an affirmative.

"Here it is," Les finally announces, and turns the screen toward Simon. Must not want the big man coming back behind the desk again, smart lad. He does it anyway, just to be an arse.

"Is that a bloody Escalade?" Simon prides himself on keeping most emotions out of his tone, but he can't help the sneer of disgust the gaudy SUV incites.

Wes nods sympathetically. "A champagne one too, looks like."

"Christ," Simon mutters, watching as Graves drags a concerningly limp bird into the back seat. "Get me a decent shot of the tags." Wes does, eager to please now that he knows his intrusive guest will be clearing out soon. Simon copies the number over to Gaz and asks for a print out of the shot for good measure. He claps his hand on Wes's shoulder when the man produces, squeezes threateningly to gain his attention.

"Wes, you wanna hear my favorite Norman Bates joke?"

"Uh, s-sure," the man agrees, hackles raised.

"It goes like this: if I ever find out you stood idly by while another girl gets abducted, I'll come back here and taxidermy you, yeah?"

"Y-yes, sir." He has the decency to sound shamed, at least.

"Roight. That wasn't very funny, was it?" Simon hums as if in thought, pats Wes on the back too hard again as he straightens out and walks back around the desk. "Tell you what, I ever come back, I'll take another stab at it." Wes doesn't laugh, the tasteless git. Simon nods at him in paying and shuts the door unsettlingly quietly behind himself.

He's halfway across the parking lot when Gaz calls him. 

"You sure that's the right car?" The younger man greets him when Simon answers.

"Quite sure. Saw Graves pull the girl in and everything."

"Strange. It's registered to a Hershel Von Shepherd… the third."

"Two wasn't enough?"

"Apparently not. This guy's like, the real deal, bruv."

Approaching Price now, Simon puts Garrick on speaker. "What d'you mean?"

"Some high ranking general, looks like."

Simon and Price exchange a look. "She said she thought Graves knew someone high up there," Price supplies, and Gaz takes a minute to think it over.

"That shell company we found Graves works for… how likely is it looking that's some paramilitary thing?"

Simon chews that for only a second. "Very."

"Should we -?"

"'M'not worried about it." 

There's very little room for argument in Price's voice, but Gaz tries anyway. "I am. What's the plan when you pull up on a compound, eh? You lot got some Rambo shit going on I don't know about?"

"Are we headed for a compound?" Simon interjects before Price can get too heated. Best to steer clear of discussing the plan, considering the best he thinks they've got is 'sic a werebear or whatever on him and hope for the best,' and he's quite certain Price doesn't want Gaz knowing about that.

Kyle huffs. "No," he allows after a moment. "Shepherd's got a cabin down near Denver, looks like. If Graves is looking to return his buddy's car, my bets on that."

"Send the address," Price barks, already climbing up into the Wrangler. He forgot to slide the seat back first, looks bloody ridiculous, all spitting mad and folded like a paperclip.

"Cap," Garrick hedges, but Price isn't listening so Simon assures Gaz he'll talk to the boss before signing off. "Don't get yourselves killed," Gaz mutters, but hangs up all the same. 

"We need to talk," Simon announces, Captain Morgan-ing his boot into the door jamb so Price can't close it after figuring out the seat.

"Christ, Simon, I am sitting on blood splatter, now really isn't the time," Price seethes, but Simon doesn't so much as flinch.

"Think it's the perfect time, cap. Gotta have a plan." Price rolls his eyes because he's a petulant child, starts the Jeep and shoves at Simon's leg. He's mildly surprised when the old man succeeds in dislodging him but he covers it fine, steps into the way of the door. "Graves knows about you," he announces and finally, Price stills.

"Knows what?" The man growls, and Simon just keeps staring up at him blankly.

Price takes a moment to eye him over, assessing. "And what is it you think you know, Riley?" 

"Know your current plan amounts to 'go all berserker and eat 'im up in one big gulp,' but I'm telling you, if this whole paramilitary shit is true, 'e's gonna 'ave lot worse than some backwoods hunting rifle waiting for you."

There's a tic in Price's jaw as he tries to decide how much of his hand he's willing to show. Simon remains unflinching, letting the other man see exactly how unaffected he is by the truth. He's known for years anyway, plenty of time to grow used to it.

"'e thinks we're both…" Simon waves his hand demonstratively, "furries -."

"- Shifters," Price corrects, long suffering.

"Whatever. Us and Johnny. 'e's an idiot, 'course, but 'e's expecting three bears to show up, if anyone -."

"But he's not expecting anyone. That's what the mace was for." Simon raises an eyebrow in question, and John huffs in frustration. "Can't smell her. I could've tracked her by scent alone if that fucker hadn't sprayed me. I can only assume that's why he wasted time with me before going after her. Thinks he's safe."

"Still leaves me and Johnny."

"Then bluff, Simon. Pretend you got a hell of a trick up your sleeve if you have to."

Simon nods, backs up half a step but holds the door open as another thought occurs. "How'd he know to do that? Get you where it hurts?"

"Because he knows even one singular factoid about bears, I assume?"

"You don't think it's odd how quickly he accepted your fur -."

"-Shifter abilities?" Price eyes Simon over, mustache like to crawl off his face, he's so irritated by this point. "Think it's odd how quick you accepted it."

People usually shrug here, but Simon schools himself into stillness. "Unflappable, me."

"'Course. We're not done talking about this, but I haven't eaten properly since everything started tasting like mucous, and I got big dinner plans." Price plants his boot on Simon's hip and pushes him away, slams the door behind him.

"And what am I supposed to do?" Simon calls through the window glass. There's a speck of blood by the side view mirror which he tries not to think too much about.

"Well, you brought your backwoods hunting rifle, right?"

***

The cabin is nice. Suspiciously nice. Like, 'Has the man you've been committed to for the last several years been secretly married to some successful plastic surgeon this whole time?' kind of nice. But the few pictures that adorn the mantle feature an older, sterner man and his younger, conservative looking wife. No kids from what you can tell, corroborated by the lack of warmth within the walls. It's decorated well enough alright, but in that sterile kind of design you think Joanna Gaines should be brought to the Hague for. You fashion yourself a crutch from a dining chair. It's bulky and awkward, and Phil yells at you whenever you use it while he's inside, but it allows you to take stock of your surroundings, puzzle out places you can hide if need be, or items that could make a decent makeshift weapon. Unfortunately, 'rustic minimalism' leaves you with few options. Less still for a good splint. After close inspection, you'd been relieved to find the break was above your ankle, and probably only restricted to your tibia. You'd found a clothes drying rack the first night at the cabin, broke it apart while Phil slept and used the rods to brace your leg, fashioning it all in place with corded saran wrap. It wasn't great; the plastic itched where it met your skin and it slipped down your leg if you moved too much, but it was better than nothing so you made do despite Phil's mocking laughter when saw it.

Phil's ear oozes blood and pus, marks up all the starched dish towels. He doesn't eat anymore. Well, he might, but you've yet to see it. You'd drifted in and out of wakefulness on the trip down to the cabin and it was easy to assume you'd missed it, or maybe that he'd been running so full tilt that he hadn't stopped at all. It had left you starving, but it wasn't like you were about to ask him to make a special stop for you. It doesn't get better when he stops running. He goes outside a lot, says he's sick of looking at you. Through the window you can see him talking animatedly on a phone he keeps hidden on his person at all times. When he pockets it, the hem of his shirt rides up enough you can see the pistol he keeps in his waistband. You sneak uncooked pasta from the pantry while he's distracted, stay out of his way when he's not. 

He hasn't been terrible, all things considered. He likes to grab his gun through his shirt threateningly, but hasn't pulled it on you yet. You keep your head down, watch him in your periphery. He cleans his ear obsessively, mutters about old werewolf movies when he thinks you're not listening. You worry about this new Phil, this man who seems to be courting madness, and sprinkle powdered bleach on the clean rags when he's not looking, listen to him groan in pain every time he goes to clean his ear. 

The second night in the cabin finds you laid out on the bed next to him, over the blankets. The threat of him makes you physically ill, but he doesn't touch you, just stares at you malevolently in the wan light that filters in through the rough woven curtains. His ear is a pool of tar in the darkness, oily and slick. It stinks, compiling with the lingering nausea of your head wound and the general sickness his presence brings you to have you turning your nose into the pillow. It smells like straight Borax because the lady of the house probably thinks modern cleaning agents will turn her ovaries queer or something, but you breathe deep anyway, which prompts a cruel laugh from Phil.

"Don't like it, darlin'? Me neither. Got your man to thank for that, you know." It's his fighting voice - the one that warns you there is no response that could appease him. You're so tired. 

"Said he bit it off," you chomp illustratively, huff as if it's funny. You hang your finger over his wound suggestively, but your muscles are lax to show him you're no threat. " Holey field indeed."

He snarls, slaps your hand away anyway. "Think it's funny, do you?"

"A little," you admit, brace yourself for a strike that doesn't come. When you can meet his eyes again, Phil looks almost impressed. "What are we doing here, Phil?"

"Hiding out for a bit. Don't know how much you told your man."

"Why?"

"Rather not get mauled in the -."

"No, why are we here? You hate me, Phil. Why not just move on?"

Phil sighs, heavily, plants his open palm on your cheek a little too aggressively and shakes you by your jaw. "So soft, darlin'. So pretty. Simple." He flicks your temple and you flinch, head throbbing, drawing another cruel laugh. When he speaks again, his voice is low and flat. Dark. "I don't share my toys."

You try to drop it, turn back to his ear. "You still got glass in there." He doesn't, it's the bleach drying his flesh out so bad it's turning the cartilage brittle, but he can't see it properly to call you a liar so you'll take your bargaining chips where you can get them. "I'll debride it for you if you get me a splint."

He scoffs. "Glass… ain't worried about the glass, despite your best efforts."

"Human mouths are gross," you agree. "We could both go -."

"Ain't worried about the human part, neither." He sits up with an irritated sound and you keep your lips zipped, the strange stalemate you'd found yourselves in bleeding away and taking your gall with it. "That man of your's… sure know how to pick 'em, don't ya?"

You might tell him he'd left John with little choice, but you know better. Phil continues, "That bear you were friendly with. Never struck you as odd?"

It's hard to speak past the knot that builds in your throat when you realize just how closely Phil must have followed you. You don't remember seeing an Escalade around, which means he followed on foot in some places, skulked through underbrush. It's a miracle (a curse) he himself never got a bit 'friendly' with the animal. You shake your head.

"Not very bright, you. Thought about calling that thing in a few times. It's a damn freak, you know? Huge, too. Woulda made a damn fine trophy. I traced its tracks one time out of curiosity. Wanted to see where something like that kept itself hidden. You know what I found?" At your continued silence, Phil prompts you to guess. "I could give you all fuckin' night and you'd never get it, but I wanna hear you try anyway."

Well, ain't that just like him? You sigh. "I don't know, Phil. Bear shit?"

"Cute. But bears shit in the woods. Got a whole thing about it. Your buddy bear, though, he came from out by the town - manifested in a birch grove far as I could tell. Found a pile of clothes there, blood splatter a few yards off. Thought that was strange."

You do too, unable to keep the confused scowl from your face. What the fuck is he on about?

"No bones, either. Like a man stripped naked, then got absolutely atomized not ten feet away. Poor bastard, huh? Weirdest part was the way the tracks died. They shouldn't've, you know? Too muddy. So I poked around some more. Found the guy's wallet. Wanna take another guess whose it was?"

There's a pit in your stomach but you're not sure why. You know who he's gonna say; know John didn't get eaten by a bear. But you don't know what he's getting at, what he thinks he saw. Distantly, you remember how he talks to himself when he thinks you can't hear. "Was it John's?"

Finger gun, pointer finger flush against your temple. "Bingo. I thought, 'what luck!' Bastard went and took care of himself. Stood there debating whether or not I should call it in, but must've waited too long. Damn bear came back. Remembered they sometimes bury fresh kills so I sat around and watched cause nothing would've pleased me more'n to see your man all tore up. Even started filming for posterity's sake. Didn't quite get that, though," he chuckles darkly. "You wanna see something? Wasn't gonna show you cause I know how you are about gorey movies -," if he was withholding information, it wasn't to spare you. He was probably just trying to keep the upper hand. "- but I can tell already you won't believe me if I don't, so maybe this is best."

Phil digs into his pocket, procures his phone. You sit in apprehensive silence as he flips through it. "Hold my hand if you get scared, darlin'," he drawls, turning the screen towards you and pressing play. 

There's no denying it's your bear, at least. Tall and broad as a shed, strange shaggy quality of his collar that makes him look bearded. He lumbers into frame with his head lowered, snuffles around the pile of clothes Phil had mentioned. His ears pin back at whatever he finds and peers around for a bit, nose held high. But whatever he finds can't be too concerning because he settles back after a moment, shakes his great hairy body. And keeps shaking. 

It sloughs off him in one great pelt, leaving spare few patches to dot the sinewy, thin-skinned freak which stands on its hind legs and stumbles away from its own flesh. You watch in horror as it groans in pain, oddly jointed arms reaching blindly to keep tree limbs from scraping its tender flesh. It looks like raw chicken until it doesn't, flesh bubbling as if being cooked, growing darker and tougher as it reshapes itself. It pants in exhaustion when it finally stops, familiar weathered hand stroking down a broad, inviting chest as if to take inventory of itself.

John pats his hips in satisfaction, points at his discarded clothes as if he'd lost track of them for a second. He dresses himself efficiently and does one more pat down to be sure he hasn't forgotten anything and then walks off, calm as can be. 

You can feel Phil's eyes on you, but it's hard to school your expression into anything other than abject terror. He's smiling when he pulls the phone away from you, your reaction all he needed to know you hadn't been bluffing, that you honestly had no idea what John was capable of.

"Just when you think you know a guy, huh?"

***

Phil brings you outside with him after coffee. You try to demure, hoping to snag some more dry pasta, but he says the sun will do your head some good. You doubt it, even just the threat of it peaking through the tops of the pines enough to lance pain down your optic nerve, but it's not like you can very well fight him on it, so you let him guide you onto the porch and watch while he goes about setting up wood to chop. You wonder if it's a threat tactic and stifle a laugh when his diminished arms struggle with the maul after only a few logs. You tune out after that, unwilling to be caught so much as grinning at his expense, and think about your conversation the night before.

It makes sense, is the biggest problem you're having with the whole thing. 

You' laid awake all night thinking through every interaction you'd ever had with either John or the bear - with him , you suppose, in both cases. It's shocking to say the least, but in a strange way, you're almost relieved. All the fears he'd been keeping tabs on you, all the convenient excuses you'd had to craft to explain them away; all your worries, tied away with one extremely unlikely ribbon. You'd still need to have a talk with him about using his other form to keep tabs on people if you ever got a chance to speak to him again, but somehow it's less malicious this way. It's not his fault you'd decided to use a wild animal as a therapist, after all.

Mostly you're mad he didn't tell you, though you can't really fault him for playing that close to the chest. More than that, you're mad at Phil for taking it upon himself to spread the information around. You watch him as he works, eyeing his ear suspiciously. He'd told you before turning in that he was worried he'd wind up like John. You were worried too. John made for a sweet bear, if a little intimidating. Something tells you Phil would not have the same temperament. 

"Had a dream you were a fox," you call to him after the silence grows too long.

Phil frowns up at you. "A fox?"

"Yeah. Right before you… revealed yourself, back at the motel. Was dreaming about the bear trying to wake me up. And then it was a fox. Looked kinda like you. And then it was you."

He chuckles, hefts the maul a little closer to himself. "A fox, huh? That how it works, you think? What's that make you, big boy? Damn mountain lion?"

You frown in confusion, follow his line of sight off to your right. "Simon!" you gasp, leaping to your feet. You forgot about your leg in your excitement, however, and stumble down the porch steps with a yelp.

"Careful, darlin'. Gonna get yourself hurt," Phil laughs, siddling closer to you. He yanks you to your feet and places you between himself and Simon. It takes you a moment to understand why, eyes taking in the rifle he's got aimed at Phil belatedly.

Simon is silent as he stalks out from behind the cabin, heavy boots never so much as snapping a twig. You wonder how Phil even noticed him, and then wonder if he let himself be noticed. "Olright, pet?" he calls softly, and you nod, eyes scanning the treeline.

Phil brings the business end of the maul to your throat. It's not terribly sharp, but it wouldn't take too much effort to throw you across the steps and split your head open and the threat is clear. You swallow your panic and hang on to his forearm for support. 

"Where're your buddies?" Phil's voice is high with nervous tension. You think your's would be the same if asked to speak.

"'Round," Simon drawls, kicks a rock over when Phil's anxious circling nearly turns you both around.

It works. Phil twists back toward the sound and Simon carries on, nonchalant, making more noise. Your breath comes rapidly, in through your nose, out through your mouth. You think you can smell something musky on the breeze, and your grip slides down your captor's arms, toward his hands.

"Hold still," Phil warns, and Simon draws to a halt. A soft shuffling noise continues despite his stillness and Phil spins to meet it. Your bad leg takes most of your weight and you stumble to the ground. 

A deafening crack echoes in the small clearing and Phil slumps over you, his shoulder a mangled mess. You're still trying to process what happened when an ear splitting roar shakes the very ground and you look up to find the bear thundering at you from the treeline. Phil sees him too, and the two of you scramble for the maul. He kicks you in the shin cause he's a bastard, so you use his leverage to help you push the sledge against his shoulder. He grunts in pain and you wrench it from his grasp, start to roll out of his reach when a lethal click stops you dead.

It's not you he's aiming at, though. 

Two quick, successive shots. You turn in time to see the bear falter, the hump of its back shaking with impact. It doesn't stop for long. A few more steps and the bear's on him. It - John - sinks his teeth into the meat between Phil's scapulas, tries to stop on a dime, can't, goes tumbling over with Phil still clamped in his jaws. Phil gets slammed into the ground with a sickening crunch that turns his screams into silent wheezes. John settles his weight on top of Phil's prone body and holds his head down with a massive paw so he can pull against it, tearing muscle as easily as the thin cotton of his shirt when he shakes his head like a dog.

Phil's screaming again. John doesn't seem inclined to stop it until the breath you hadn't realized you'd been holding whistles out of your chest raggedly. The bear asses you for a moment, chewing contentedly on the scrap of flesh between his teeth like a cow with cud. Your eyes dart from John to the dying man below him rapidly, unsure what you're asking for.

John grumbles, but wraps his maw around the column of Phil's throat and bites down hard enough that Phil's screams turn to gurgles, give way to a sickening crunch. When he pulls away, a fat tongue licks the geyser of blood and finally, your stomach roils.

"Let's get you inside, pet." You wipe your mouth, turn to find Simon crouched next to you. "No need to see this." 

"He's hurt." Simon looks at you like you might be simple so you clarify, "John."

You both glance at the man - bear? - in question, tearing at a scrap of viscera that sounds upsettingly like jerky. He glares at Simon ominously, as if daring him to touch you in any way that could cause offense. There's blood matting the fur of his back and shoulder but he pays it no mind. 

"Think 'e'll be olright." 

You hold a hand out, expecting to have him help you up, but the big man tucks his arms under you instead, lifts you with little more than a huff. 

"Seriously, what are they putting in the water over there?" You mutter. He'd laugh, but he's being careful of your leg. Some jostling is inevitable, though, and he hums deep in his chest in sympathy when you grimace.

He carries you back to the cabin and you watch over his shoulder as the bear turns Phil over onto his back, pawing at clothes to expose his belly.

"Scrawny bastard can't be very tasty," you quip, and here Simon does laugh. 

"You ever listen to someone eat a Slim Jim?"

"Oh god," you grumble, stomach audibly gurgling. This time Simon's laugh is a cruel thing.

He sets you up on the couch with a pillow propping up your leg. He goes back outside and you hear him yelling something about a phone. The bear lowers at him, but the wet squelching of Phil's vulnerable underbelly stops for a moment and soon after comes a dull thunk. When Simon returns, he's got Phil's phone in one hand and a thumb in the other. 

You lip curls, "Is that necessary?"

Simon doesn't even spare you a glance. "Just gotta figure out who he's told what."

"About you and John?"

"Oh, I'm not a furry." It's stupid and unexpected enough to startle a laugh out of you. Simon carries on as if there's nothing wrong with what he's said. "But yes, that. And gotta figure out if anyone's gonna come looking for 'im."

"There's a video in there," you offer, "Of John… changing. Don't know if it's backed up to anything."

"Good bird, I'll check." His eyes meet yours for a moment. "'e showed you then, I'm assuming?"

You nod. "Suppose it was for the best in the end. Would've shit myself if I saw that thing running at me without knowing what was going on." Simon nods exactly once. You take it for agreeance. "How long have you known?"

"Years. But don't tell Price that."

"He didn't tell you?"

"No. Didn't even know I knew until yesterday."

"Well then how'd you find out?"

Simon turns his big apathetic eyes on you. "'e doesn't 'ave a house in Phoenix. Telling you now, in case you're still holding out for the snowbird lifestyle."

This time when you laugh, you think you spot a slight crinkling of Simon's eyes as well.

***

An hour passes mostly in silence. You ask Simon to check on John occasionally, but he only ever says things are unchanged out there so you take that to mean John hasn't died of blood loss. You try to come to terms with everything you just witnessed, but it's still too fresh, your adrenaline too high. Instead, your thoughts circle back to John repeatedly, your fingers itching to inspect his wounds. That's probably not a normal reaction, but nothing about this situation is normal so you give yourself a break.

When John does stumble in, he's naked. Simon squawks, which would be funny to you if John wasn't also covered in blood. You try to climb to your feet to meet him, but he's on you quicker than you can even process, kneeling beside the couch and running sticky hands all over your face.

"Are you okay?" you both ask at the same time, and you nod feverishly, subject yourself to the desperate kiss he plants on you in response.

The taste of him is heavy, seems to coat your tongue. You can't help the full body shudder it elicits and John retracts, brushes wet, whiskery kisses up to your temple instead. He stays there for a moment, just breathing you in. You use it as an opportunity to peer over his shoulder, inspect his back. He's leaning away again before you can make sense of what you see back there.

John holds your face between his massive palms. He looks you over, eyes desperate and wild. You give him a reassuring smile, hold onto his forearms while he tries to wipe some of the blood off you. Smears it, if the way he frowns at his dirty hand is any indication.

"That your blood?"

"I wish," he growls, and uses the hem of your shirt to try wiping it off. 

"You wish?"

"You already smell enough like him." You finch when he presses against your head too hard and his scowl deepens.

"Here." A towel lands over John's head, another on the floor next to him. You grimace at Simon apologetically and try to get John covered while he completely ignores your attempts, focused entirely on cleaning the blood off you, hands much gentler this time. 

"John, I'm fine."

"Not fine, bunny," he seethes. You blink at him, but give him a pass when you realize he's mad at your state. "What happened?"

"How about we get cleaned up first, eh?"

"We have to get you to a hospital."

"Me?" you scoff. "You got shot!"

He shakes his head. "Don't worry about me. Simon, go get the car, yeah? We gotta -."

"Okay everybody hang on. You are naked and covered in a dead guy's blood. Let's deal with that first."

"Bunny -."

"And then I think we should get our story together before we waltz our hot fresh gunshot wound slash old broken leg combo into a hospital." The words are out before you've even thought them through - what it means for you, that you'll be an accomplice to your own ex's… murder? It's not murder if a wild animal kills and eats you. John isn't a wild animal, but it's not like he was all there mentally at the time either. 

You hope.

Well, maybe it would be okay if he knew what he was doing, but you're gonna delicately avoid saying that outloud.

John's mustache twitches irritably, but Simon looks about as supportive of your idea as you think he's capable of appearing. Nodding, John stands and tucks his towel around his waist. His belly is so full it's nearly distended and you try not to think about it too hard. You're not surprised when he picks you up. Simon tactfully turns away in case there's a wardrobe malfunction, but the towel stays firmly in place as John carries you down the hall. You know where he's headed and you point the way to the master bath.

What does surprise you is the way he strips you too, unwinds your makeshift splint so achingly carefully. His palms are impossibly light when they smoothe over the indents the saran wrap has left in your skin and you both frown at the bruising which has pooled under your skin.

"That's gotten worse," you comment, and John presses a kiss to the inside of your knee, breathing in the sweat there deeply.

The shower is blessedly huge. John gets the water to a comfortable temperature before helping to lower you to the tiled floor. He doesn't even bother to wash any blood off before he's plastering himself to your side and burying his face in the crook of your shoulder. Red runoff slips over both of you, swirls in the drain. Your hands are on his scalp, his neck, his shoulders. They trace the rivulets of water down his back and he grunts when you find the first open sore.

"You know they call the police for gunshot wounds."

John shakes his head. It jiggles your tit a bit when he does it, enmeshed as he is with you. "Clean through."

"What?" Pushing him away, you drag a palm over his chest in search of the other wound but he just holds your hand in place over his pec. 

"Through my shoulder hump, sweetheart. In my other form. I'll be fine in a few days."

Confused and unbelieving, you push at him until he turns to show you: a gnarly hole over his lower ribs which bleeds profusely, and a smaller, far less concerning mark up over his scapula which somehow looks already knotted over. It doesn't make sense here, but you suppose if you twisted and contorted his body enough you could draw a straight line between the two. Still, you drag your thumb gingerly under the cleaner of the two wounds, watch the tender skin jump. 

"How is this nearly closed over?"

John shrugs. "Quick healer."

You suppose it makes sense, after the horror you watched his own body inflict upon itself in Phil's video. All that skin remaking itself. "Of course."

"Told you it's you I'm more worried about." He leans back against the wall, cradles your entire face in his palm. 

"I'm good now," you try to convince him, but suddenly your voice is anything but and John crumples.

"Do I scare you?"

Your lip wobbles, unauthorized. You shake your head before you can really think it through, and then sob in relief when he wraps you in an all-consuming hug and you realize it's the truth. He should scare you. He really should. But for better or worse, the only thing you feel wrapped up in his strong arms like this is safe.

It's hard to stop the tears once they start but John holds you all the while, occasionally pulling away just enough to inspect your face and kiss your eyelids, your nose. You hold him back as best you can, but the angle is awkward so you mostly just end up stroking his hairy chest and you both know you've cried yourself out when your fingers get picky, start combing icky bits out of his pelt.

John lets you groom him, scrub away every last trace of Phil. He cleans you too, careful to filter water through his hands when he sees you flinch as the hard water pressure beats against your bruised scalp. You make him rinse his mouth, pick something that looks like bone from his chops and surprise yourself with how well you handle it, watching apathetically as the suds push it along toward the drain. It's possible Phil didn't quite deserve this fate, but you decide it's not your job to determine that; you're just glad to be free of him.

"Gonna remember the way you crushed his throat until the day I die, I think," you murmur, inspecting his nails and hairy knuckles.

John goes still. "I'm sorry you saw that, bun -." 

"Not a bad thing, John." When you risk meeting his eye, you're met with an intense, desperate gaze. 

"Don't leave me again, bunny." 

You feel like an idiot, throwing yet another item onto the pile of forgiven things that would have sent you running even just a few weeks ago. But it's not a threat when John says it; just a raw, honest plea. This man's tracked you across multiple states, revealed his deepest secret for you. Killed for you. And still, he doesn't demand you return with him or hold all these things he's elected to do of his own accord over your head. Just begs you to stay. 

He still tastes like blood when you kiss him, but it's just more fuel for the pyre of forgiven, ignored warnings.

A/N Want you guys to know that I figured out the choreography of this bear attack by wrestling with my infinitely patient dogs, so if you ever need a good pick me up, just imagine looking out your window one day and seeing your fat neighbor putting their 70lb dog through a death roll and pretending to rip its throat out, snarling all the while as if they've gone fucking rabid.

Next>>

[starberry-cupcake]

We are done with book 1, folks!!!

previously, in gideon the ninth

this happened

also, I was proven right about dulcinea (kind of)

just pointing that out again

final update of this book, it's gonna be a bit of a long one, folks (gideon, from inside my mind, where she is now living rent-free: "that's what she said!"):

we left off in the fight against not!dulcinea

yandere simulator twin w/inner chad was being used as a battery pad

regina george twin is at an unknown location

la gideon and my qp wife are fighting

harrowcita passed out

so basically not!dulcinea unlocks the big magnus archives entity monster harrowbean had previously locked

harrow wakes up to make a bone dome

for scale, this is the dome and mickey is gideon, but she's inside the thing

magnus archives junji ito monster keeps beating the dome from outside to crack it open like an egg

harrowbean starts to disintegrate from the inside because it's hard to make a bone spaceship earth and keep it up

camilla is accepting fate at this point, my poor beloved qp wife

but la gideon is not gonna give up

she's never gonna give you up

never gonna let you down

never gonna...

so harrow starts making a goodbye speech

reminding gideon to take care of the ninth and the barbie in the freezer

for the barbie reference, please go to this recap

but gideon is determined to come up with a plan

*very niche reference but "bien warrior" by miss bolivia plays in the background*

we all know this is a terrible idea because gideon's plans are always "punch really hard" and, in this case, that's a wild thing to do

but she does that

a metal version of that

she decides to, if I understand correctly (because description is scarce for various acceptable reasons) impale herself on the iron spikes inside the dome, to force Harrow to slurp her soul

so this is the situation

absolutely heartbreaking stuff

she's sort of ghost-placing herself behind Harrow to guide her using the sword

like this

and being all silly and gideon-esque and harrow is heartbroken and sad and it's all very very heartbreaking and I'm suffering

I'm ANGRY, OK????

IT'S NOT FAIR

I didn't even like gideon at the start

I complained about her for like a good first chunk of this book

I got mad at her for being dense and not following through with things

I got angry at her way of approaching situations and trusting people I didn't trust

I didn't totally vibe with her vibe most times

and then she made me like her and grow attached and NOW I HAVE TO SUFFER???

what's the point????? you make me like you and then you SACRIFICE YOURSELF?????

WHY??????

footage of me

anyway, it's fine, we're fine, everything's FINE

harrow and force-ghost gideon defeat not!dulcinea by aiming at the "issue" palmolive started

( @lady-harrowhark "paramedics" is actually a much better nickname, why didn't I think of that)

not!dulcinea crosses the veil, hopefully forever, good riddance bitch, you really did fuck everything up for petty reasons

harrow passes out

afterwards, harrow wakes up in like a sort of hospital situation or something like that

the space version of that

there's a man reading stuff in a tablet and a paper

a "flimsy", which I didn't know was something before this book (again, not a native English speaker, doing my best here)

the man has very specific eyes which I imagined in a way that I'm not sure is what it's supposed to be, but I'm gonna keep my version for now

this is the man of the hour, the emperor, many other titles I can't remember, the reason we all got together in the first place

harrow is upset, I'm upset, we're all upset

emperor sama over here can't do shit about it

according to him

which, what are you, the wizard of oz?

he's also like "forgive not!dulcinea, it was my bad" I WILL FORGIVE NOTHING

he says he can't bring gideon back without risking harrowbean as well

very limited for a man who claims to be god

who seems to have beef with a barbie in an ice cube

idk about this guy

so he tells harrow that he's gonna protect the ninth if she becomes lyctor because the universe is going to shit and he can't handle everything on his own anymore

you know what could have helped, my man? COMMUNICATION

WE DON'T KNOW WHAT THE FUCK IS HAPPENING AT ANY GIVEN POINT

anyway, harrow is, at this point, tired and sad and grieving for everything so she says ok

according to this guy, the only other survivor is yandere simulator twin w/inner chad who is missing an arm

very convenient for him, who needs lyctors

an didn't, at any point, explain anything

but they "haven't been able" to find the bodies of: la gideon, my wife and regina george twin

everyone else was, at least, partially recovered, as far as I remember he said

they're probably gathering pieces of palmolive from every carpet and piece of wallpaper

I am reluctantly gonna miss that guy

so there is hope that I'm not a qp widow yet and that la gideon might come back in some capacity, which I MEAN, COME ON

also, I don't know if people would be making such a fuss about her arms if her body wasn't of consequence anymore

because I don't know much about these books but I did know that coming in, that and skull make up were my two clues

and we still don't know where she came from and if she's a demigod

and why her hair and eyes are that color

I don't know, I'm unsure about this

I hold hope

keeeeeeep hoooooolding ooooooon ♪

I am sure regina george twin will be back because people have been cryptic about her in replies to my updates

and I hope camilla comes back because right now I'm like a victorian wife, standing at a lighthouse, waiting for her sailor to come back from the depths of the sea, throwing messages in bottles

final extra notes:

THERE WAS A GLOSSARY ALL ALONG

I COULD HAVE BEEN LOOKING AT IT

maybe it was better this way, though, but WHY DIDN'T I LOOK PROPERLY

PALMOLIVE WOULD KILL ME FOR THIS OVERSIGHT

now I know what thanergy is, what thalergy is, what bone magic and flesh magic differ in, can you believe???

I can summon my own construct and everything

it's the only way to make friends as an adult, after all

there is a guide for the names and I have been pronouncing more things right than I thought because many of these are based in Latin and I'm a Spanish speaker so maybe if I had just pronounced them as they sounded to me I could have remembered more names

there is also a list of salseo/tea from judith

I kept making comments while reading them

she was acting like camilla was of no consequence from the start

ALSO PROTOZOA HAD KIDS?????? WHAT????

man, poor dude, rip this guy we never really knew

she did read chad for filth, which is correct

but they were off about absolutely everything else

important ending commentary of the book:

as an ending side note

I'm going to just point this out, with kindness and utmost respect

like, much love and respect and warm regards

don't kill me for this

as an editor

I am enraged with the tagline they have in the cover of this book, now that I've finished it

the quote that's in the cover about lesbian necromancers in a victorian mansion in space and whatnot

it sells the book incredibly short and also tells you things you shouldn't be told because a) they aren't as clear cut as they make them out to be and b) you should be told none of that entering this book

best experience is to know absolutely nothing

like gideon

and since I have an ebook, I see that quote more prominently than any blurb

it reads like the short summary of a fic and it doesn't do it justice one bit

now that I've finished the book, I think this post was about it and I didn't know at the time, because that's fair

this book is very difficult to categorize because it seems to be using a lot of different references and mixing them together in a very personal and unique way to the author

but, because of that, it's a very unique take on different things

I think it stands very aligned with both core classics and more contemporary foundations, at the same time

and the narrative point of view is a bit at-odds with the complexity of the lore, which makes it a very brave first part of a bigger thing for an author to throw out there

and it works, as it is

it actually works well like that

however, as difficult as it can be to explain it, that tagline really flattens it to something that I don't think favors how much more of that it is???

I don't know, that's just my personal & professional opinion, but anyway

I need to go find the next one

you haven't seen the last of me!!!!!

[exo-raskreia]

what do you have to say about when ichigo was fighting grimmjow and was getting beaten up but he won bc of orihime pleas and cries? im not saying ichiruki is bad bc it is true you could say they have more time together (and emotions, feelings) but i think you can't deny either that ichigo won against grimmjow bc of orihime that time

Uh, what? You mean when she was scared of him & little Nel had to give her a push to cheer him on? 😒

Meanwhile, Rukia was never scared of him, never doubted him, & would've given him an encouraging speech right before he even started 😌.

I considered not answering this ask cuz it just sounds so... dumb.

But, I guess I can entertain this a bit...

Yeah, Ori contributed so much that Ichigo forgot to thank her, but he did thank little Nel.

Also, notice how he gave Nel AND Ori the same look 🫢

🤣

He's given the same look to his sisters too. Meanwhile, the way he looked at Rukia was so vastly different... 😩 Check out this post for example.

The funniest part is that the reason Ichigo fought Grimmjow in HM (and one of his main motivations to even go there—Ori getting kidnapped was the excuse he needed) was because he had a personal vendetta against him for hurting Rukia. But, Ichigo was in denial & claimed he only came to save Inoue until Grimmjow called him out on it.

It's basically like:

Whoa, what? 👀

You're onto something...

Hmm...

Ah, so it's true! 👀

This screenshot with the bonus databook info from this amazing post, though 👀:

I also think it's funny how he asked her to heal him before the fight. He didn't face her directly & basically came off as: "Just heal me already." 🤭

Ori simply did the bare minimum in cheering for a friend risking their life. Anyone else in her place doing the same would have given some encouragement to Ichigo (I remember being so annoyed at her for fearing him while he was fighting the enemy. When she finally snapped out of it, I was like, "About time." 🙄).

(Btw, there is an interesting interpretation of Ichigo's reaction to Ori's words here. What she said may not have been the words Ichigo needed nor wanted to hear...)

You might think after this, Ori would have finally started to develop; if Kub0 had wanted, IH could have started to get somewhere... but what happened later at the dome & then the Fullbring arc told us otherwise (what happened at the dome should've solidified for everyone that IH do NOT work together & bring out the WORST in each other 🤷‍♀️). Ori did not learn a single thing... she even got worse in TYBW...

(This post pokes fun at this part 🤪)

You think this is what Ichigo needed to hear at such a crucial moment?! Rukia would've never said such a thing! 😤

There's an interesting IR post here about Ichigo's potential love language being Words of Affirmation. And Rukia was the perfect person to fill his little love tank; her words always meant so much to him 💞.

Also, canonically, Ichigo spent more time around Ori's vicinity than Rukia's, & yet they couldn't develop any special bond. Ichigo spent 17 months without Rukia, but him & Ori still. didn't. get. anywhere. Ori had no development from her experience in HM & was still pathetically simping over Ichigo while he was none the wiser (and couldn't care less) 🙄.

Anyway, even if Ori had contributed greatly to the Grimmjow fight, wasn't it nice of her to help Ichigo avenge another girl? 😊

[l5byrinth]

the great war

“my hand was the one you reached for, all throughout the great war.”

pairing: peeta mellark x reader

summary: in which you are hijacked by the capitol and peeta will do anything in his power to get you back

requested !

warnings/contains: hijacking, chocking, angst?? lmk if i should add more

a/n: i had this idea for a very very long time and this request convinced me to finish it!!! i’m so sorry this sucks and there will definitely be a part two 😝

The giggles leaving your lips as Peeta follows you were like music to his ears. With his hand in yours he wished he could capture this moment and remember it forever. He loved everything about you, every single part of you. But what he loved the most was your smile.

Your smile reminded him of the sunset, something he could stare at for hours and never get bored of. You quickened your pace, your laughter never dying down. Peeta chuckled, and quickly followed after you, not wanting to lose his grip on your hand.

But as you kept moving faster and faster, his hand came closer to slipping from yours. Your laughter died down and your surroundings started to change. Slowly, but surely, Peeta was back in the arena. The arena he knew all too well. You threw your head over your shoulder in fear, yelling at Peeta to run faster. Peeta’s mind was completely clouded, he had no clue about what was going on. But his feet carried him anyway, as if they had a mind of their own.

Peeta tried to reach out for your hand, wanting some comfort during these events. But just when your fingertips touched his, an arrow flew towards the sky, hitting the dome right when the lighting was about to strike. Peeta watched as you were blown away from him and screamed your name.

He woke up screaming, sweat beads dripping from his face. “It’s okay, Peeta. You had that one bad dream again.” Haymitch muttered. He was seated on a chair beside Peeta’s bed, his gaze fixated on his hands.

Peeta turned his head to look at him, his breaths heavy as he tried to process the nightmare he has had for the millionth time this week. Haymitch shook his head, knowing who Peeta was searching for as he scanned the room, “The capitol has her, remember?”

Peeta let that sink in like he did every single time he had woken up the past week.

Haymitch got up from his seat, walking towards the exit of the room, “You should get dressed, kid, lunch is in five.” He threw a sympathetic look Peeta’s way, because he too was upset that the capitol had taken you. Haymitch opened his mouth to tell Peeta something, but left the room, leaving Peeta in misery at the thought of you.

The moment he lost you haunted him day and night. He remembered when he had woken up in a plane, right after the dome had blown up. Peeta remembered hearing voices, talking about how they couldn’t find you when they saved everyone. He fell back to sleep right at that moment, and dreamed of you until he woke up the day after. Peeta could remember how furious he had gotten when he had heard about how they had forgotten you. Everyone tried to calm him down and eventually, after a very long time, he did. But that didn’t mean he was just okay with it.

Quite the opposite actually.

Peeta got up from his bed, not a single bone in him wanting to continue this any longer. But he had to. He hadn’t seen or heard from you in a week and he had to admit, even a minute without you was like his world wasn’t real. While changing his clothes, he wished, just like everyday, that he was the one who was taken by the capitol, not you. You were supposed to be the one being saved. Not him.

Haymitch had promised him.

His train of thoughts continued as he made his way down the stairs. They continued as he walked into the dining hall, his stare on the ground. Peeta got in line for the food, absentmindedly grabbing something to eat. He despised himself for not knowing where you were. It was eating him alive, and he wanted nothing more than to be with you right now. Suddenly, the screens in the cafetaria turned on, catching every single person’s attention. Including Peeta’s. He walked towards the table Katniss was sitting at, while his eyes were fixated on the screens.

The chatter died down when a message started to play on the screens. “Everyone’s wondering; what happened during the third quarter quell?” Flickerman’s voice made everyone, who wasn’t already looking, look up.

“And whatever it is you’re doing right now, stop doing it….” Peeta’s eyebrows screwed together, confusion hitting him. He locked gazes with Katniss, and he noticed that she was just as confused as he was. Flickerman spoke up once again, “Because you’re gonna want to witness this.”

“To help us answer the question I had stated earlier - a question all of us have been asking ourselves and others - please, welcome-“

The moment you appeared on screen, Peeta’s heart dropped. He sat in a state of absolute shock, however, when he had finally processed that it was in fact you, he got up to walk over. He mumbled your name and if his heart wasn’t already aching for you, it definitely was now. You looked different, almost fragile as you looked at Flickerman. “So, talk us through what happened that night. The night everyone has been talking about non-stop.”

You blinked rapidly, trying your best not to look at the camera and to come up with an answer Snow will be pleased with. “Being in the games, well, it costs a lot. It costs lives. And what happened that night was something that… cost a lot more.”

Peeta didn’t listen from there on, his main focus being on how you looked and acted. He knew that wasn’t the real you, everything you said, the way you said it. It wasn’t you. It was a programmed, entirely different you.

You discussed with Flickerman, standing up for both Peeta and Katniss, since he had something to say about them. When the discussion ended, your turned your head towards the camera, saying what the woman told you to earlier, word for word.

“All of this violence, all of this killing. Why do we do this?” Peeta was so fixated on you, that he didn’t even notice the effect your words had on the people in the cafetaria. You continued, “Killing. Killing’s not the answer and never will be. Everyone should lay down their weapons immediately.”

After Flickerman asked you a final question, to which you answered to with a plead, the screens turned off. The entire room started shouting nonsense, but all Peeta could think about was that you were alive. He had to get you out of there before they would do worse things to you.

From that day on, Peeta and the others stuck in district thirteen did everything in the power to get you back. And every single week there was an interview of you and Flickerman on the screens. The only sign you were still alive. And in every following interview the life in you seemed to lessen.

It took a long while of prepping and practicing, but finally, Peeta was going to have you back. It was a difficult plan to execute and they weren’t even sure it would work, but Peeta held the hope. And thanks to Katniss and Finnick, he wasn’t alone in this.

Thankfully, the plan worked and Peeta couldn’t have been more happier than he was in that moment. He counted the seconds until you were in his arms again.

He was in his room when Haymitch came to bring him the good news that you were back. Peeta couldn’t contain his excitement and he jumped up to follow Haymitch to you.

When he entered the room you were in, Peeta’s heart stopped beating. He was met with your back as the people around you were investigating you and your heartbeat. He whispered your name, almost terrified this wasn’t real.

You lifted your head the sound of your name, the voice making you fill with rage. When you turned your head to look at him, Peeta couldn’t bear to see the sight before him. You looked completely beaten up and vulnerable.

The look on your face as you looked on him went past him while he observed you. He couldn’t believe his eyes, at last you were here with him. Away from the people who had hurt you whole he wasn’t with you.

You let out a yell of rage before jumping straight at him, everything Snow had told you about Peeta ringing in your thoughts.

Peeta couldn’t form a single coherent thought as your hands were wrapped around his neck, choking him mercilessly. You pushed away everyone in the way as they ran at you, your only mission to kill the man laying beneath you.

But before Peeta’s eyes closed in defeat, someone hit your head with a chair.

You fell on top of Peeta, who had been knocked out by the lack of air.

[stayandot8]

Touches

Genre: fluff

Relationship type: established boyfriend/girlfriend

Important Contents: mentions of anxiety

asked and answered. Hopefully you like it, anon. I hope you feel better. And remember, there's always a place for you here. ♥️

WC: 1.1k

masterlist

Anxiety is a bitch. 

Everytime my leg started shaking or my fingers were looking for something to pick at, I knew I was in trouble. It wasn’t even a conscious decision most times. I wouldn’t even notice it until my mother would put her hand on my knee and squeeze, giving me a look that said ‘please for the love of god, stop’ and those were never fun to be on the other side of. When I would catch myself doing it, I would try to stop, but it would take some unknown edge off of whatever emotion I was feeling a little too much of. Just letting it out was the only way it wouldn’t explode out in some destructive manner. Letting something else be stimulated was better than any other alternative. Or something like that. That was how it felt anyway. And those fidget toys didn’t really help either. They were fun for a bit, but when I needed them, I wouldn’t be able to find one.

When I started dating Chris, it didn’t stop per say, I would just catch myself doing it less. I would be distracted with something we were doing or he would have enough of my attention that it wouldn’t be deemed necessary by my subconscious. But when it was quiet, when it was just us two, I would find myself doing it again. Sometimes I would feel the pads of my thumb, looking for something to pick at or my foot would be moving of its own accord and I would force myself to stop before he noticed. It never worked though. 

He was always subtle with it too, never bringing it to my outright attention. When he saw my feet tapping, he would start tapping too. His fingers would start tapping on my thigh like a drum, like he was going along with me to some silent song or beat that only we could hear. Or his feet would start to tap all on their own. Both instances he would start bobbing his head along with whichever it was whether he was in a conversation or not. He would say it wasn’t because of me, but sometimes he would start right after I stopped. Like we were in sync. 

We were waiting for someone in this large boardroom, sitting on different chairs next to each other. Chris didn’t tell me what we were doing in here, but all eight of them were talking joyously around me, all smiles and jokes. I assumed it wasn't anything serious if the atmosphere of the room was any indicator. I just didn’t know what I was doing here.

Chris was immersed in a conversation with Felix about something else to do with their homeland, paying me no mind. Which was fine, I didn’t expect his attention all the time. He had other things to think about. He was turned away from me, talking avidly. The spark had returned to his eye for the first time in a whale now that promotions were done, and it was the most relaxed I’d seen him in days. The preparations for their upcoming dome tour were causing him to come home and immediately crash with only enough energy to strip and koala himself around me. He rarely got sleep without me there, and I just plain didn’t sleep without his radiator for a body next to me. 

I was looking around the room for anything remotely interesting to look at. These JYP rooms were so boring. All white walls and tan long tables that added no extra color to the room. Not even any decorations on the walls to distract a person should they deem the meeting uninteresting. Maybe of of Hyunjin’s paintings could go up there. That’d be nice. Maybe some curtains over that window too…

A hand had reached for mine, brushing his thumb across my lip as he pulled mine away from my mouth. It pulled me from my daze, the familiar veiny hand knowingly taking mine. Without even glancing my way, he pulled my hand into his lap and started to use my nails to trace across the pads of his own, a comforting touch.

It was mindless. Subtle enough to anyone looking at us to only see that we couldn't stand not touching each other. But for me, it was a way to stimulate my hands without being too much of a distraction, one of my biggest discomforts. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to be seen, but to be noticed when the attention was on something else was not high on my to-do list. Ever. 

The grain against my nail was enough to pull me down to earth, Chris’s gentle press on them an invite to join in on their conversation. Silent communication was what we were good at. 

“These walls are so boring. They should put one of Hyunjin’s paintings up or have him draw something for them.” I interjected when there was a slight pause. 

“I was just saying that the last time we were here! Wasn’t I?” Felix looked to his elder, who smiled brightly at our conjoined hands. 

“You did, you did.” He chuckled at how excited Felix had become at the mention of his member’s hobbies. He was still running the pads of his fingers over my nails gently, just enough to tickle. 

“I think he could put one of the flowers over on that wall, really. It would liven up the place. Maybe someone would actually be excited to have a meeting. Hey hyung!” Felix turned away to tell his member, leaving Chris and I to stare at our hands together. 

“Why am I here? This doesn’t have to do with me, does it?” I whispered in his ear, a slight quiver giving me away as I nudged my shoulder into his. 

“No, baby, no. It has nothing to do with you. You just make these things so much easier. I can concentrate with you here, as weird as that sounds. You make my brain go quiet.” His eyes were shining at me and I couldn’t fight my grin if I wanted to. 

“You know what’s funny? You do the same for me.” He brought my hand up to his lips and kissed it gently. 

“Besides, there’s no confidential information in this one so I thought you could tag along to keep the boys in line while I talk.”

“I don’t remember adopting seven kids to keep in line?” I raised an eyebrow at him.

“You did when you said yes to dating me.” He kissed my hand again as the door opened, people filing in and taking their seats. I watched them come in and whispered back to him. 

“I want another look at those papers.” He turned back to me and shrugged.

“Not my fault you didn’t read the fine print.”

Bastard.

[thebonekingdom]

Part. 2: Some more infos based on Sarcean/Will's and other characters' memories and feelings about the old world. [not chronological]

[The first part — Compilation of Sarcean's memories from book 2, more or less chronologically]

1. Will/Sarcean

2. James/Anharion

3. Visander

4. The Collar

Will

• In the past, "Anharion's armour had been gold." but later, Sarcean had "dressed him in red [...] as the gashes that can never mar [his] skin."

• Contemplating a drawing of the Dark Palace, Will remembers watching "the corruscating domes of magic in the distance" that were "assailed by ravenous shadows" and would soon "flicker and go out".

• The white unicorn horn Will saw with Violet in the Hall, made him remember a battlefield where unicorns were "charging into an oncoming rush of black shadows", some with "armoured riders" and others using their horns like "deadly spears.". He knew they wouldn't survive but were "charging anyway, impossibly brave.".

• When he touched the Shadow Stone, he saw a vision showing the four thrones of the Hall, with "four resplendent figures sitting in them.". However the vision morphed into something different and three of the figures turned into "horrific shadow versions of themselves" with a figure "with a pale crown and eyes of black flame" rising above them all.

• At Bowhile, when the shadow kings raced towards them, Will felt the fact that "he was their master" and "maker" and he saw "that ancient battlefield under a red sky where an army of shadows stretched across the land.". His steed was "a giant scaled creature that winged across the sky" and the shadows were "his to command, on the cusp of victory.".

James

• James doesn't remember his dreams, but when he wakes up, he can't move "trapped in sleep, but awake". It's as if "there's a great power bending over [him]" that is whispering "—I will always—". He can't finish talking but Will's inner thought complete "Find you. Try to run.".

• When Sinclair (in Sloane's body), put the collar on James, he remembered what he said to Sarcean the day he arrested him, "Try to run [...] I will always find you.". He also saw a vision of Sarcean, "a man he'd fought, and hated, even as he'd given himself in aching surrender.". "He remembered the feeling of being taken" and the collar flooded him with a power that "wasn't his own" but "came from the collar" and "connected him to a power so immense it seemed endless.". "He hated how good it felt.".

However, to his surprise, he felt "no compulsion [...] nothing at all.", and to Sinclair's confusion James, now with his memories back, says the collar does control the betrayer, but that "the Dark King is its master". James realised "the stories were lies" and no matter "who put the collar around his neck [...] [it] had only one master".

• When James[with his memories] went to save Will and pushed his power into him, "James' magic connected to the vast reservoir of [Will's] own."

Visander

• When he returned, Visander remembered the "Queen's cold blue eyes on him" and "the sharp pain as she ran the sword through his chest" for him to return. Back then, he didn't have the time "to say goodbye" and "embrace Indeviel" for the last time, but he saw "her swords in his guts" when he looked down at himself. He closed his eyes and the next thing he knew, he was "opening them in —a coffin—".

• Indeviel was Visander's companion in the war. He was by his side when "the shadows [were] sweeping over the field at Garayan.". They fought together and he remembered, years after their first encounter, the "pale bodies of slain unicorns, torn apart by lion claws" which Indeviel had sworn vengeance against.

• When Visander finally came face to face with Will, he said to him that he is "the same age now as [he] was when [Sarcean/Will]⁴ killed his family" [⁴Visander says "you", he doesn't make a difference between Will and Sarcean.]

The Collar

• According to Gauthier's ancestors, the descendant of Anharion's executioner, the collar didn't open when he got killed and he had to "saw off the Betrayer's head to get it.".

• The collar doesn't work on people who aren't Anharion, even if "plenty [...] have tried to put it on others." but its power seemed to have "sucked [Gauthier] dry of anything but the desire to take and to hold." and "hollowed him out like a husk."

[I do think it works a little bit like the One Ring in lotr. People crave to use and have it, but those who aren't powerful enough to whithstand its power, are suffering from it. It only has one master after all.]

[I have not re-read the two books for this and only found those infos by researching words on the ebook version, so I probably missed some! Feel free to add them in the comments if you want <3]

[turtlesocksv2]

4 Minutes ep 4

lol oh we're just jumping right in to Win finding out Tonkla's a murderer??? Ok! i like it! But anyway Win, you better answer that phone when your murder twink is calling, you promised! I really need clarification on where in the timeline the cold opens are, i know they're in a separate timeline but WHERE in the separate timeline.

"let's go to the hospital! Where hopefully i can talk to Tyme and ask him What The Fuck?!" LMAO Great you cannot interrupt a surgery just because you want to ask your situationship What The Fuck?!

These flash backwards are getting more and more intense for Great. Yeah, i'm thinking the theory that he's actively dying on the table are true, because it's taking more and more to restart his heart each time.

"i don't have any more family, I feel lost" "You still have me" my GUY, please! he's known you for like a week or two at most! Win is down baaaaaad. Tonkla has him completely dickmatized AND pussywhipped.

Sammon really does love the "let's move in together to protect each other from the shady guys trying to stop us from Investigating Crime" and you know what? Good for her. I respect it.

Oh shit, here comes Korn. Explosion commencing in 5...4...

Win;s little pantsless shuffle is so funny. If I was Tonkla I would not be letting Korn's trifling ass in my house.

Korn, Tonkla is CLEARLY not feeling it. Read the room. At least when Tonkla manages to tell Korn what happened, Korn does immediately stop and go into Rich Guy I Can Fix This mode. The absolute LEAST he can do after ghosting his sugarbaby for weeks.

Aww, poor Win is so upset about Korn. he really is the nicest character on this show, like, as a person. everyone else is kind of awful in different ways. And I mean, he IS a cop so he's not immune but. He really is a decent human being!

He can also pick Tonkla up and fuck him against a wall which is What Tonkla Deserves. get that Hot Cop Dick, Tonkla.

Ooooooh, Tonkla's cat is dead and that's why he looked so Shook ep 1 when that black cat showed up. and I see why Tonkla's been pining for senpai, Korn is very sweet with him here in the flashback.

Korn broke his promise to go public with their relationship. so disappointing but not surprising.

Glad we're all being validated about the 4 minutes brain death thing.

the time honored tradition of getting your mark drunk to get him to spill his secrets. good job remembering to delete the evidence that you sent it to yourself, Great!

But of course Great goes by himself. sheltered little rich boy doesn't realize the danger.

Adrenaline High Great is very cute, but it makes me worried that his heart is like, gonna explode. the man is Fragile. Bible and characters with heart problems 2/3

I really don't know what's going to happen once Korn wakes up, hungover, and gets told that Great took Nan. Or once Daddy Sriwatsombat gets told. Like, Great was not thinking ahead.

Fuaiz and Bible are playing two very different kinds of Babygirl . Tonkla is Femme Fatale version and Great is Girl Next Door. if Next Door is a Gated Community.

Oooooo, I love the reveal of Dome being Tonkla's brother and there being 2 timelines. Like, we all assumed it, but the way they did it with the blur and the text on tonkla's shirt and the camera work, the shadow reveal of the memorial tablet...I loved it.

this show is so fucking good you guys.

[llovelyclouds]

notes on cassiopeia the first

here's all my notes on cassiopeia (my beloved) that i thought seemed relevant during my tlt reread!

(you can find the rest of my posts from this project here!)

CASSIOPEIA THE FIRST

titles:

Fourth saint to ascend, (??) gen, founded the sixth

notes from harrow the ninth:

Name origins, from the pronunciation guide at the end of htn: "NOTE: Cassiopeia's most famous namesake is the vain queen of Greek mythology who chained Andromeda to a rock, but this does Cassiopeia the First a disservice, as she was honestly just a universally beloved and clever human being who made beautiful meals with the occasional finger error. The evolutionary pressure of Lyctorhood has, alas, selected for jerks."

Came up with the magma metaphor for the river that John later uses (htn. pg. 94)

The only lyctor to last seven minutes in full physical submersion in the river (htn. pg. 97)

Died trying to lure an RB through the current of the river. It followed her, but the spirits killed her, and the RB emerged unscathed 20 mins later (htn. pg. 97)

Had a ceramics collection (htn. pg. 105)

Was able to perform necromancy her first time in the river (htn. pg. 156)

For some reason, the fact that Harrow was also capable of this was part of what gave John the idea that something was up with her birth… interesting!! What does this say about Cassiopeia?

Specialised in studying the river (htn. pg. 171)

Coined the term "periscoping" in regards to the RB's (htn. pg. 173)

Was great at cooking, but once cut off a finger that fell into the food and didn’t mention it until everyone had eaten it (htn. pg. 231)

was a lightweight lol (htn. pg. 268)

Died fighting the seventh RB, Varun (htn. pg. 333)

Brought the RB into the river alongside its brain (htn. pg. 337)

was the person to tell Mercy that blood wards can be bypassed with the genetic material of a close relative (htn. pg. 474)

notes from nona the ninth:

was originally brought on Johns team by oversight execs to handle contracts as their lawyer, but was "on their side before the first year was over" (ntn. pg. 13)

"C- was panicking because with the project over she was getting recalled to England and didn't want to go, she'd got N- and didn't want to leave her, refused to admit they were dating even though we all knew." - John 5:20 (ntn. pg. 73)

specifically worked in contract law (ntn. pg. 99)

when she found out about the cow wall they had to lock her in the kitchen so she could throw up in private for a while (ntn. pg. 192)

"C- kept saying, Pick one. Are we more invested in proving this new plan is bullshit, or in saving you? I was like, It's both, how can it not be both. C- was like, It can't be both. Pick one and stick to it. Decide what you give a fuck about." (ntn. pg. 280)

"'Does God know why the Sixth House left?' 'I'm assuming some grisly moral reason that you're about to impart,' said Ianthe, 'and I want to warn you against sounding like a tract.' [...] 'Cassiopeia the First left us instructions years ago,' said Camilla. 'We left for a lyctor.'" - Ianthe & Cam (ntn. pg. 335)

"Cassy played long games." - Pyrrha (ntn. pg. 336)

"C- had been saying, Can't we gin up an act of good wizardry? Any way to stabilize the North America glacier? Any way to trap the atmosphere over the Northern Territory, show them we can fix things here?" (ntn. pg. 397)

“C- admitting out of nowhere she’s dating N-. All of us like, What? We've known for a year? Go ahead and get married already, we've got a nun. N- was all, That’s not legal. C- of all people said, Who cares. That’s how bad it was. [...] C- and N- got married right over there, you can’t see it now ‘cause of the rubbish. I made flowers grow for them out of the garden, but they came out… weird. Some of the roses had teeth. C- and N- thought that was hilarious. [...] The dome meant we hadn’t had full sunlight in a while. It was beautiful anyway. I cried the whole service. I couldn't remember the last time I’d eaten food.” (ntn. pg. 400)

“At this point my people were like, John, what the fuck? What the fuck is happening? We were all yelling at each other. First time I’d ever seen C- angry.” (ntn. Pg. 401) 

 “C- said, John, your problem is that you care less about being a saviour than you do about meting out punishment. I said, C-, I was just your best man! C- said, You still are. That doesn’t change the fact that you can be quite the most appallingly vindictive person I have ever met.” (ntn. pg. 401)

“They’d shot C- first… and right in front of my eyes they shot N-. Bubble wrap. I don’t know what happened to them..” (ntn. Pg. 406)

“Cass and Mercy and I worked on cell thanergy- we need thanergy, fresh thanergy, to activate…” - Pyrrha (ntn. pg. 471)