#the way the rules change from being fairly run of the mill

[titanicfreija]

"Hey-hey, New Light!"

Freija dismissed the call, not recognizing the voice and not wanting to deal with anyone that could tell how young she was. It didn't help. The Hunter caught up to her and slapped her back with a clap of armor. "Hey, hey, hey, I saw the score, and I wanted you to know that I only did as good as I did because of you, okay?"

Freija blinked at the ground, eventually daring to lift her head when the Hunter didn't vanish.

"Are you new? Or returning after a long absence?" asked the Hunter, putting a hand on Freija's pauldron. "I'm Lin Po," he said then, and he took his helmet off to reveal a fair-skinned dark-haired human head. "Me and Delta over there are headed out for drinks, wanna come? We wanted to catch as many as we could on the way out, we've been in the same pool for a while now. Gives me a sense of camaraderie when we end up fighting with and against in the same runs, you know?"

Again, Freija blinked at him, not sure how to respond. Mostly she wanted to shower and ask Rise to remog all her armor so no one would recognize her on sight-- being reassured and invited out didn't feel real for some reason.

Lin Po saw someone behind Freija and she turned before he even moved. "Hey!"

"Oi," they replied, and Freija looked over to see a black-clad Hunter still in their Knucklehead. "Hey, it's you," they said to Freija, pointing. "How do you cap points like that? You came out on top every match, even when I was running with you."

"I died twice as often," Freija pointed out. "That's part of the trick," she sighed then and she buried her head under an arm. "I haven't recovered from the loss of an old piece of equipment. Shaxx said it was boring and unfair."

A sympathetic look crossed the bunch, and Freija felt much better about accepting the invitation.

"Hang on, I'll message the guys I was with," said the new Hunter.

~

The bar set a room aside for what they predicted would be a fairly big crowd, and the Guardians milled in to pay for a round each and hover around to discuss "business". Freija's misery led to an exchange of stories around rule changes, bans on devices and tools, and various other means by which Shaxx kept the Crucible from being unfair, and the fighters slowly learned names of their killers after recognizing the causes of death strapped to their back, and got to know them over discussions of the morning.

"You're the Warlock with that damn Igneous Hammer!"

"Getting shot really knocks your spatial awareness, I can't find the doors anymore."

"Wait, you're that Stasis Hunter with the void scout, aren't you? Green glowy Ghost?"

"Man, what happened? I felt kinda bad for shooting you that time."

"You! You're the one that ruined my twenty-streak!"

"Hell, I tried to tag along with you but you move like lightning! And I'm the Striker! You're... what, Void?"

"Yeah, you got me, but I got you back, tap for tap."

"Hey, you know you've got a gun, right? You kept trying to hit people instead of shooting them."

"Some dumbass kept storming the point by themselves, taking on like five of us at a time. Practically suicide. I wish Shaxx wouldn't do that to the Kinderguardians. Back in my day--"

"Back in our day, you spent a lot more time hungry and sober. Enjoy the luxury."

Freija enjoyed listening, even when someone was clearly talking shit about her or whining. Her comrades were pretty good about keeping talk about each other civil, and a few of them were stuck-up and proud of themselves (they were good but that didn't give them room to be assholes).

Except there'd been a Titan in blue circling the room, which was odd, until Freija spotted why he was circling-- Two other Titans following-- or chasing-- him.

Pretty obviously, he wanted to be here but couldn't find a way to escape the only reasons he apparently didn't want to be here. The other two Titans in matching steel armor followed and usually didn't directly interact, but he'd still get unsettled and move to the next group or next seat.

"Hey," she called to him as he passed. He let the helmet down out of manners, a purple Awoken with purple eyes and blue hair. She gestured at the seat next to her, so she'd be between him and his pursuers. "What's up?"

"Ah, nothin' much," he said airily, pretending nothing was wrong. If she hadn't just come from the crucible, she'd have missed his nervous glancing. "Had a big morning, this sounded like a nice, chill way to cool down. I don't recognize you, what's your guns?" He glanced at her hip at the Survivor's Epitaph. "Ah. I think I remember you."

She glanced over him and didn't recognize anything. "I'm running a hand cannon and grenade launcher right now, but I'm scooting kits. Name's Freija, I've been bottom of most of the scoreboards I'm on," she admitted.

The Titan flinched for her and laughed as he took the seat, turning it to face the room and keeping a nervous eye out. "I see. I spent a lot of time dead, pretty sure half the memories from this morning got blasted into Infinity's sands."

"That sounds a lot more poetic than it sounds," chuckled Freija. "We probably never ran together 'cos Shaxx was using us to weigh down our teams."

He reviewed a scoreboard projection on his datapad and frowned thoughtfully. "You're not bad-bad, though. You cap points. One time you got ten, that's nothing to slouch at." He smirked slightly and glanced up and relaxed. "Seemed directly inverse to your K/D, in fact," he added, scanning back through.

"I'll cap a point with my dying breath," Freija chuckled. "It's one of my favorite things to do, really, I'll sneak around back while everyone's fighting over B. Sometimes I just die, especially if they all die at once and come back around their point-- I'll get surrounded by five pissed off and freshly reloaded Guardians fast. But then that's leaving B and our point clear for those few seconds. And then if they don't, I have point C. Even if they claim it right back, they had to stop to do it." She grinned at the Titan and glanced around for the ones in gray, too, failing to find them. "You said you had a rough morning. How rough was it?"

The Titan slouched heavily and ran his hands through his hair to pretend he wasn't hiding his face. "I got a real zero."

Freija sucked air through her teeth and put a hand to her heart. "Ooof, ow. What'd happened that you got an ass-kicking like that?"

He didn't bother sitting up to gesture wildly with one arm. "It was just a bad game! First one of the morning, trying a new gun, called on the wrong grenade half the match 'cos I got into a habit in the field-- just a really bad match!"

"It happens," Freija laughed. She scraped at least three kills a match, today, but she would never forget her starting point.

"Ugh," he moaned in response, finally lifting his head. "I'm Tam. How long you been in the crucible?"

"A few years, off and on. Been on hiatus lately."

"That would be why you don't recognize this waste of Light," said a tenor behind Freija. She missed her helmet when she glanced at her "radar", and she turned to face the pair.

"What didn't he tell me?" she asked. They let their helmet down to reveal an Awoken with blue hair and green eyes that bore into Freija like bullets. He looked like he'd eaten something sour and was trying not to spit it out. The dark skinned blond human standing behind him seemed more easygoing but concerned nonetheless. Freija didn't pick up much hostility from the pair, not even from the grumpy one, but for some reason she still felt the urge to defend Tam. She wasn't sure she could, but she wanted to.

"He's been sabotaging matches for a week," the Awoken man stated, voice hard as steel.

"I'm changing my equipment," Tam objected under his breath.

"Yeah, actually," agreed the human casually. The Awoken shouldered between the human and the other Titans and he crossed his arms firmly, using his size to intimidate effectively.

"He's been sabotaging all week," he repeated, gaze on Freija.

Freija rose to her feet but it didn't help-- she might have stood as high as his chin. "Okay, so? If you know it's because he's trying something new, the fuck is your problem?" She set her feet and shoulders, but he had to be fifty pounds heavier-- it took effort to stand strong. No guns for sake of bystanders, plain old fist fighting was the rules, and Freija was embarrassingly bad at it.

"He sucks," the Titan declared.

Suddenly, Freija's capacity for fist fighting didn't matter-- Tam shot past her, fist raised and glowing with Arc Light sending sparks down his arm.

The other Titan caught his hand easily, twisted his arm until he bent off balance, then pulled and lifted so quickly that even Freija didn't see exactly how Tam hit the floor.

"So?" Freija asked, dismissing the mound of Titan writhing next to them.

"So he sucks," the Titan repeated. "I'm sick of it."

"Fuck you," griped Tam as he finally untangled himself from himself and got his feet under him.

Freija gave Tam a dry half-smile. "I won't say you deserved that. But you did ask for it."

Tam stopped brushing himself off and lunged at Freija, fist raised. "You shut up!"

Unlike the other guy, Freija wasn't good at this. Despite her lack of skill, Tam's armor was even clunkier than hers and while she couldn't block his punch, it didn't hurt much-- badly placed with poor form. Planting her heel and returning the blow to his chest sent him staggering into a table full of drinks.

"Hey!" shouted the tenders as the rest of the room turned to look.

"Fuck off, guy. We have to suck to get better," Freija told the new Titan. The human went to help clean up.

"I know." Tam got to his feet and tried to get away, but the big one grabbed the back of his armor to pick him an inch off the floor. "He's coming with me," the Titan rumbled. "Gonna get some practice. No more fucking up matches for himself and everyone else, he's gonna learn to shoot straight."

Tam, previously kicking and attempting to crush the forearm of his perceived attacker, stopped. "What...?"

The massive man lifted and twisted Tam in his grip to put them nose to nose "You. Me. Training grounds. Practice." He looked to Freija with the same hard scowl. "Coming? You need it, too."

"Go fuck yourself," Freija grumped, but she looked to the ceiling. "Sunny?"

@annieruok94

[camcorderrevival]

The shift between Fight Club and Project Mayhem is actually so important actually.

[kiribakuhappiness]

Some notes for a KiriBaku AU that I would love to write one day but probably won’t ever find the time to, so here’s the barebones outline for it at least because I thought it was a fun idea! :,D

Lady & the Tramp

Gentleman and the Tramp

- Eijirou has always lived a comfortable lifestyle. He’s always had food in his belly and a roof over his head and a fireplace to huddle around during cold bitter nights. His parents’ marriage was filled with love and their house was filled with warmth and, with a new baby sister on the way, things were looking pretty good for him.

- Katsuki hasn’t known such comfort since he was a young boy, when his mom was arrested for something he didn’t even know what cause he was too young to have coherent thoughts yet and his father cracked under the pressure of being a single parent to an explosively rebellious child. The streets weren’t ideal, but Katsuki grew up tougher than his old man and more intelligent than what was for his own good, and so he made the most of it.

- Eijirou’s close friends are Denki /a local artist/ and Sero /a general store clerk/ who regularly visit with him at his house.

- Katsuki would say that he doesn’t have friends but that doesn’t mean that he doesn’t begrudgingly accept the friendship of an overly zealous newspaper boy by the name of Deku, who mentions to him one day how the wealthy Kirishima family is expecting another child.

- Katsuki comments that he doesn’t see how that could possibly be news to anyone, until later that day when he overhears a rather disturbing conversation about how someone is planning on kidnapping the baby for ransom.

- “A yuppy family like that’ll no doubt pay extra-”

- “double,”

- “triple!”

- Intrigued by all the commotion, Katsuki visits the Kirishima Mansion, eyeing the picturesque Japanese gardens with some underlying prejudice and the perfectly manicured yards with barely contained disgust. A real run-of-the-mill, too fancy for their own good establishment; Katsuki’s finding it hard to gather any sort of sympathy for them.

- While observing the manor in all its glory, Katsuki overhears Eijirou speaking with Denki and Sero about the new baby and how excited they all are for its arrival. Unable to help himself from chiming in with his own opinion, Katsuki comments how bringing another child into the world when there are already so many on the streets that need homes could be seen as the utmost snobby act of privilege shown by the upper class. A real kick in the groin to those struggling to make ends meet out in the real world.

- Denki and Sero are immediately put off by Katsuki’s cynicism and tell him to slink back to the grimy part of the city where he came from, but something about his speech gave Eijirou pause. He’s never met a man as bold and bitter as Katsuki, and the abrupt change in perspective is baffling to him.

- Katsuki holds his chin up high following an ominous warning to “keep that spoiled little brat with the silver spoon you’ll shove in its mouth under close supervision” before he finally takes his leave.

- Eijirou soon forgets this strange encounter, as a few months later his new sister is born. Eijirou takes on a lot of the responsibility - feeding and changing and wholeheartedly enthusiastic to learn the ins-and-outs of parenting. He’s seen the amount of stress the pregnancy had on his mother, and he wants to help, so he offers that they go on a vacation and leave the baby with him.

- Unwilling to leave their infant with their teen son, the Kirishima’s hire a nanny service to help with the upkeep. Eijirou knows it’s rude not to like someone based on prejudice, but he’s got an uneasy feeling about Himiko Toga. He can’t pinpoint exactly what it is. She’s fairly sweet upon first introductions and seems capable enough, but Eijirou can’t really figure out that look in her eyes whenever she’s holding his sister, like she’s thinking about darting out the door and taking off with her or something just as silly.

- That dumb street boy must have really gotten in his head.

- Reluctant to leave his sister in the care of a stranger, but knowing that Eijirou has errands to run and that letting a random sitter take his parent’s credit cards probably wouldn’t be a very smart idea, he takes the plunge and sets off into town for the day to gather supplies and puts Himiko in charge.

- As he’s leaving the grocer, he stumbles across Katsuki again, who is being forcefully removed from a convenient shop down the street while a portly man reprimands him for stealing, barking out a stern “get a fucking job, street rat!” before slamming the door in his face. Katsuki flips the guy off and continues on his way with hardly a pause, and Eijirou knows that he’ll merely move onto the next place as his sharp red eyes are already searching for a new target.

- “Are you hungry?” Eijirou asks as he falls into step beside him. “I could get you something from the grocer!”

- “Don’t need your damn handouts, rich boy,” Katsuki is adamant to inform him that he doesn’t need any help.

- Eijirou is perplexed by this refusal. He’d just watched him get thrown out of a store and yet Katsuki’s confidence could have fooled the most common of men into believing he were the descent of some royal lineage.

- Still, Eijirou is just as stubborn as he is, maybe even more so. He can’t help but let it eat away at him; his family has lots of money to spare, he wouldn’t mind paying for some groceries, honest! But Katsuki is shrewd and proud... and yet oh-so very easily manipulated.

- Eijirou tells him that he’s looking a little on the skinny side, so he must not be very good at living on his own. Katsuki takes immediate offense to this statement and takes Eijirou around town as though to prove him wrong, showing him parts of the city that Eijirou has only heard about in books, taking him through the slums where a large portion of people greet Katsuki like family despite the cold shoulder he gives them in return.

- It’s clear that he’s done a lot for the community, in his own hot-headed ways. Teaching the young girls living in poverty how to properly defend themselves, sharing scarce food with whoever he comes across who looks like they haven’t gotten enough for themselves, standing up against the rich and the wretched who like to look their noses down on them for their misfortunes.

- Even with his hardened exterior, Eijirou is surprised to find just how warm a presence Katsuki can be. How freeing it is to wander the city and live without order or rules or a clock to keep track of time. It’s a liberating sensation to skinny-dip in the harbor despite all of the signs telling them that they weren’t allowed to, and to sneak into the junk yard to sit in an old muscle car listening to music, and to visit some wholesome family kitchens where they were treated to an array of new samples after it’s revealed that the owners knew Katsuki when he was just a baby - long before his mother was arrested and his father became the shell of the man he used to be - and they’ve always made it a priority to feed him whenever he happened to meander unknowingly into their neighborhood.

- Eijirou sees his beloved city through a brand new lens, and he likes what he sees. Musutafu has never looked more enticing and adventurous than it had been that night.

- Katsuki offers to walk Eijirou back to his ‘big ole mansion’ under the guise of added protection. “You’ll be fuckin’ mugged if you walk around lookin’ like that at this hour.”

- Eijirou thinks they might kiss once they reach the gate to his property, but he can sense the tension settling in Katsuki’s shoulders as they get closer to the abode, and a bitterness starts to grow on his face that chills the warmth they had begun to grow between them. Eijirou decides to ask him about what he meant when he said that they should keep a close eye on his sister after her birth, but Katsuki is evasive and avoids his gaze and doesn’t give him a straight answer.

- He’s hiding something, he knows more than he’s letting on.

- Eijirou tells him that there’s going to be a party at the Kirishima Mansion that weekend to celebrate the birth of his sister, and invites him to come for the food.

- Katsuki tells him not to hold his breath and leaves without another look back.

- Eijirou worries that he might have upset him somehow and goes back into town a few days later to try and find him, but even the family kitchen comments that they haven’t seen him around lately. He begins to think the worst until he meets Camie and Shouto, two teens from equally wealthy families who visit the Kirishima Mansion with their parents on the day of the party to meet the baby.

- As it turns out, both Camie and Shouto know Katsuki from school. Apparently, the Bakugous used to be pretty well-known and were fairly respected in the fashion industry before his mother’s very public meltdown and the destruction of the Bakugou legacy.

- Shouto explains how he used to attend lessons with Katsuki at the university, studying under their apprenticeship program, and how he has always had a raging temper, but that his dedication to his studies and resilience in his training were both very admirable traits. He’d dare even go as far to say that they were friends, at one point in time.

- Camie’s intel, on the other hand, is far more risqué and full of gossip.

- She tells Eijirou about how Katsuki was “a lone wolf who couldn’t tell you the definition of the word lonely,” hinting at a promiscuous past filled with midnight escapades of sneaking off campus to drink and roam around the city with whoever had fallen head-over-heels for his aloof charisma that month. She describes how he draws people in with the promise of mystery, and leaves them behind when his true aggressive nature is revealed after any amount of prolonged exposure.

- She should know, of course. She’s been there and done that before.

- ‘you can never tell when he’ll show up’ / ‘he gives you plenty of trouble’ / ‘I guess he’s just a no count pup’ / ‘but I wish that he were double’

- The overwhelming consensus is that Katsuki may have had a bright future at one point but, as Shouto comments, “Some are just luckier than others, and Bakugou’s luck ran out long ago.”

- Camie mentions Shouto’s older brother who went down a similar path, and Shouto’s only response to that is, “You can’t really save someone who doesn’t want to be saved...”

- As the party winds down and the guests start to leave, Eijirou can’t help but think about Katsuki. He’s a little put off to know that the day they had spent together in the city probably wasn’t the only round-trip adventure that Katsuki has gone on. He doesn’t even want to know how many others there have been, and he feels somewhat foolish for thinking that there was anything more between them than that.

- That night after all the guests are gone, Katsuki shows up in the back gardens.

- Eijirou doesn’t understand why he waited so long, and Katsuki explains how ‘those people’ wouldn’t want him there anyway and that it’s for the best. Eijirou is still a little jaded about everything he had learned from Shouto and Camie, and he tells Katsuki that he doesn’t have the time to be messing around with guys who don’t take him seriously and who don’t know how to take responsibility for themselves.

- Katsuki looks like he wants to say something, but instead he ends up leaving in a furious huff, and Eijirou believes that it’s the last time he’ll probably ever see him. He tries to remember Katsuki’s earlier words.

- It’s for the best.

- Even though it doesn’t really feel like it is.

- Unable to sleep in the middle of the night, Eijirou goes to check on his sister in her crib only to find that Himiko has invited two men over to the mansion; Dabi and Tomura. Eijirou catches them red-handed in the parlor as they’re attempting to steal valuable family heirlooms and making a plan to kidnap the baby for ransom later.

- Eijirou fights with everything he has in him to stop them, but it’s three against one and he never really stood a chance. Himiko disappears upstairs to grab the baby while Dabi and Tomura deal with Eijirou, brandishing knives without any intentions of holding back.

- Katsuki arrives after breaking in through the kitchen, having kept tabs on the growing rumors around the city that a group of assholes were planning on kidnapping the baby girl, and he helps Eijirou fight off Dabi and Tomura, who escape into the night with Himiko when it’s obvious that their attempt has failed.

- The police arrive on the scene shortly after, and it’s Katsuki who takes the hit in the fallout of everything, arrested for petty theft and breaking & entering despite Eijirou’s adamant arguing against it.

- The police aren’t interested in hearing his side of the story, though.

- One act of kindness doesn’t expunge a man of several years worth of crime.

- Katsuki is taken into custody and shipped off to the station, and Eijirou is left behind to clean up the mess and tend to his sister.

- When his parents fly back into the city the next morning following the news of the attempted kidnapping, Eijirou recounts the events of the past week to them, and shortly after their arrival from the airport they go to the station together to pay off Katsuki’s bail.

- Katsuki is resistant at first, unfamiliar with this type of treatment and reluctant to accept it, but Eijirou tells him how grateful he is that he had been there that night, and believes that everyone deserves a second chance, even someone as jagged and prickly as Katsuki.

- The Kirishimas make a few sizeable donations to the city and the family kitchen from before in Katsuki’s honor, boasting about his heroicism and how their family is indebted to him, and Katsuki finds himself back in their neighborhood more often than not to attend cookouts and charity events.

- He still feels out of place in their fancy home, and he’s not so great with Eijirou’s sister, but he tries to make an effort, he works hard to make the most of it, and Eijirou would never ask anything more from him than that.

[alrighty-anubis]

I would never be angry at you (Anakin & Obi-Wan)

2No Warnings Apply 

During a game of twenty questions Anakin finds out that his master isn't the perfect Jedi. This sparks his confession about the Tusken Raiders and his marriage to Padme.

(Mentioned Obi-Wan X Cody)

Find it on AO3

Obi-Wan entered their shared quarters and flopped onto his bunk, all the grace of a Jedi Master replaced with exhaustion.

“Bad day?” Anakin asked, words mumbled by his mouth stuffed full with sweets.

“Yes.”

This was an under-exaggeration, Anakin thought, if the man hadn’t told him off for talking with food in his mouth.

Obi-Wan pulled his outer-robes and boots off before reaching under his bed.

“What is that?”

“Wine.”

“That does not look like wine, Master-”

“It's from Bail. Old, strong and illegal in 12 systems.”

“Master,” Anakin drawled out, knowing his tolerance was nothing compared to the other’s and if Obi-Wan admitted it was strong…

Obi-Wan sighed and reached behind the drawers, retrieving another (Anakin-friendly) bottle.

“How did you know that was there?”

“I’m your Master, you can’t hide things from me.”

“Why didn’t you confiscate it, then?” Anakin asked, confused by his rule-following Master allowing Anakin to stash alcohol - he’d been using that space since he was 15.

“You’re an adult now, Anakin. And quite frankly I was just glad you had friends.”

“Hey-” _________

Anakin and Obi-Wan were leaning against each other on his bunk.

“I know,” Anakin smirked, “How about we play a game.”

“Oh?” Obi-Wan looked down at Anakin.

“Twenty questions.”

Obi-Wan let out a breath laugh of amusement. “Okay, then. When was the last time you tested Ahsoka on her cultural studies?”

Anakin scowled.

“Well, you’re lucky I’ve been taking over the theory instruction of our Padawan.”

“My Padawan.”

“When she’s misbehaving.”

“Hey! Anyway, I have a question. Would you rather kiss Windu or Plo Koon?”

“It's Master’s Windu and Koon” Obi-Wan corrected.

“So you don’t mind speculating about which one you’d kiss, but the lack of ‘Master’ is where you draw the line?”

“I would kiss Plo, he is a dear friend of mine and quite frankly not as scary.”

Anakin laughed, “You’re afraid of Windu?”

“Like you aren’t," Obi-Wan feigned thinking before planting a smirk on his face, "Okay, what is your Grievous tactic?”

“How do you know that?” Anakin burst out.

“I just have a second sense when it comes to your stupidity,”

“I swear if Rex told you-”

“Wrong trooper.”

“Wrong trooper! Which other ones have you been hanging out with? Wait. Are you stealing my men?”

Obi-Wan just smiled.

“Fine. Ahsoka sits on my shoulders and we wield four sabers like him.”

“By the force, Anakin -”

“We spin them manically and-”

“Wait. Where did you get the fourth lightsaber?” Obi-Wan interrupted

Anakin grew quiet, his voice reluctant, “Sometimes Cody doesn’t return it to you immediately, and we both know he’s weak to Ahsoka’s tooka eyes, like most of the men,” Anakin trailed off. Just as Obi-Wan was going to scald him he carried on, “What would you do if you weren’t a Jedi?”

Obi-Wan decided to let go of his line of questioning in hopes of avoiding going grey early. “I don’t know - I’d want to help people. I could say something rather Jedi-like, such as work the land. But I’m afraid I was put off that when I was sent to the Agricorps. Realistically, I’d probably still be a general as I am now - just without a lightsaber. As much as I hate war and the bloodshed that comes with it - I am rather good at it. As much as I try to be the perfect Jedi, my skills lay in an area which juxtaposes that. It is ironic, I suppose, that I was never meant to be a Jedi Knight, I become one anyway, and then my speciality recognised by the Council is the furthest thing from peace.”

“What?”

Obi-Wan’s eyes narrowed on his glass and his signature resonated with shame, “I had planned on never telling you that. But it just felt like you needed to know. I’m sorry if I’ve shattered your image of me.”

Anakin’s face lit up with relief, “You’re not perfect”, he breathed out.

“No,” Obi-Wan’s low chuckle was exasperated and self loathing, “No, Anakin, I’ve never been perfect.”

“Why didn’t you want to tell me?”

“Because I was ashamed of my past, still am. I was a run-of-the-mill youngling: too much anger and too much pride. No Masters wanted me and I was sent to the Agricorps.”

“What do you mean no Master wanted you? You and Qui-Gon were so close!”

Obi-Wan looked down and moved away from Anakin. “We weren’t as close as you think, these memories are from when you were young and naïve. We were too different, we fought and I always knew he didn’t want me. You saw how quickly he threw me away for you.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. You were the best thing to come from him,” Obi-Wan’s voice was steeped in a resentment that Anakin had never thought possible.

“You were angry. As a youngling”

“Very much so. Anger and attachment were always my biggest pitfalls. I’ve worked hard on them, but I’m afraid my issues with attachments have grown rather than disappeared.”

Anakin smiled at that, taking Obi-Wan’s hand, “You know, I never realised how much like me you were. Nearly as much as a disappointment to the Jedi.”

Obi-Wan laughed, body shaking as a smile replaced his reminiscent scowl, “Well, only one of us has left the order.”

“You’re joking”

“No, Melida/Daan. Qui-Gon wouldn’t stay to help the children in the war. I did.”

“Your experience being a General before this?”

“Yes.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes, comfortable in each other's presence. But as Anakin stewed in the other’s words his anxiety leaked into the force.

“This could have really helped me when I was a Padawan.”

“I know. I’m sorry. It was selfish to want to maintain the way you saw me - the perfect Jedi.”

“I always compared myself to you, looked up to you, I resented you for a bit because of it.”

“I know. And I knew at the time. I was not the Master you needed.”

“You were the best Master you could be,”

Obi-Wan laughed self-deprecatingly.

“No, Master, I mean it. You weren’t the problem. I was,” Anakin paused and wringed his hands as he considered his next words, “My anger was-is a problem. I have done things I regret and that you would hate me for.”

Obi-Wan’s shock at that statement had him sitting straight and placing a hand on Anakin’s cheek, “No, Anakin, I could never hate you, never, you’re my Padawan. I love you.”

Anakin recoiled from the touch, not believing he deserved his Master’s love at this moment. A man so ashamed of leaving the Jedi to save children in a way zone as a Padawan. Anakin had much worse things to be ashamed of. Things he didn’t think Obi-Wan could ever even imagine himself doing. Tears gathered in his eyes as he looked down at his lap through his lashes.

“I killed the Tusken Raiders. They hurt my mother - she’s dead - and I killed them all,” the tears began streaming down his cheeks.

“Oh, oh, Anakin, dearest” Obi-Wan whispered.

Anakin couldn’t stand that tone. He stood up and began passing. Eyes puffy and hands shaking, he began to shout, “I cut them down and felt nothing. The children - they screamed for their mothers - like I had - and I cut them down like animals. I hated them. And the dark, the dark it curled around me - it was like someone was choking me and cutting me off from my body and my emotions like I was a puppet killing them all.”

He grabbed his hair tightly in his hands and pulled, sinking down to the ground, “I killed them, I killed them,” it was as if the fog had cleared and Anakin was realising this for the first time.

“Hey,” Obi-Wan stepped forward and gently grasped his Padawan’s wrists, trying to untangle his hair from his unyielding grip, “Anakin, stop. You’re hurting yourself.”

“I hurt them.”

“Yes, you did. And you can’t change that,” Obi-Wan took a calming breath and repressed his shock and upset, his Padawan looked so small and this darkness wasn’t all his own.

“Anakin, what you did was wrong and entrenched in darkness. But you are light. This action hasn’t changed that. And I do not think it happened without influence. But Anakin, so many Jedi struggle with the dark. We have the power to enact our own judgement and no one can stop us. That is why we need to stop ourselves. And this time you didn’t. You can’t bring back the Tuskens, but you can let go of your anger and make sure this won't happen again.”

“I don’t know how to let it go.”

“Oh, Anakin-”

“It is so deep inside me, tangled with all the light,” Anakin let Obi-Wan take his hands away from his hair, staring far into his eyes, “Master, help.”

“I wish I had seen this sooner. Anakin, tomorrow morning we will start. We will meditate together and I can guide you.”

“Please, I’m sorry.”

“I know, dear one,” Obi-Wan collected Anakin into his arms.

“Will you tell the council?”

“No, at least not for now.”

“They will kick me out and then I’ll have to leave you and Ahsoka and Rex and-”

“Anakin, if they expelled you we would all follow.”

“Oh. Why won’t you tell them?”

“I don’t trust them to judge the situation fairly, there is something not quite right in the council. They’re stuck in ways from times which have long passed. And Quinlan and I may be doing some under the radar investigating that which is influencing and amplifying your darkness may help.”

“You’re both taking a mission they’ve denied.”

“They can’t deny that they don’t know about.”

Anakin smiled for a moment in the comfortable silence before sombering again. “I thought you’d be angry at me,” Anakin whispered.

“No,” sadness filled Obi-Wan as he gently took Anakin’s face into his hands and placed a kiss on his forehead, “No, my Padawan, I could never be angry at you.”

He pulled a blanket to him with the force and wrapped them in it, “I wish you had told me, but I wasn’t the most approachable Master. I put walls between us unintentionally, to protect myself I guess, and you. I didn’t want you to grow attached. I knew I was and wanted to spare you the judgement and the pain. I wasn’t a good role model so part of me felt better when you despised me in your late teens. I’m truly sorry I wasn’t a better Master, Anakin. But know now, you can tell me anything and I will always love you. I raised you, all parts of you.”

“I’m sorry.” Anakin’s eyes were dry, but red and puffy, he had run out of tears and exhaustion hit him. “I’m also married to Padme.”

“I know,”

“I broke the code again.”

“Yes, but that is the order’s code - not the Jedi's.”

Anakin looked at him in confusion.

“You know, I am in a relationship of sorts with Cody.”

Anakin burst out of the blanket in shock, suddenly very awake, “Cody!”

“I thought it was obvious, even the council knows, unofficially of course. Another reason they make life harder for our lineage.”

“I didn’t know.”

“-Because you were trying so hard to conceal your own relationship. I mean, you mentioned only earlier that he carried my lightsaber.”

“I didn’t think it meant anything.”

“Aren’t I always telling you that your lightsaber is your life?”

Over the shock of the new information, desperately trying not to think about Cody and his Master, Anakin asked: “How did you know about Padme and me?”

“Everyone knows, you’re not very subtle.”

Anakin huffed in annoyance.

“It's okay, Anakin. I forgive you for everything. I only ask that you forgive me for not making sure you understood the rule of attachment and for not teaching you my own interpretation.”

“What I have to forgive you for is nothing compared to what I did.”

“And yet I forgive you. I always will so long as you realise that you were wrong and want to do better. I think we forget that the Jedi code is not what we should or can be, but an ideal we should strive for, to be as close to as we can.”

“What do you think about not allowing love?”

“I think you mean not allowing attachment. Love and attachment are different. Love is selfless, attachment selfish - something that would lead you to do anything to keep those that are yours. Attachment is possessive, love is not.”

Anakin looked as if the origins of the universe had been revealed.

“Some Jedi believe we should not love, for love leads to attachment. But to be a Jedi is to live enveloped by the force, to welcome all aspects of it. Not to command it, like the dark, but to embrace it. The force is life, and loving is such a fundamental aspect of life that to ban it is to sensor a huge chunk of the force. Jedi are taught to be compassionate, and I believe it is only by loving truly, selflessly and in a way open to all life forms that we can truly be so to all.”

“How do you stop love becoming attachment?”

“I don’t know - it's never been my strong suit. If you were taken I would tear cities apart to find you, just as you would for Ahsoka - and I would too.”

“I would for you as well.”

“I’m not sure if I should say thank you or not. I know that I would not react in a very Jedi way. I have these attachments and they won't go, and I’m not willing to work on letting them go. But if you were ever to be killed, which I pray to the force doesn’t happen, I would have to accept it. It would kill me to do so, but I would - eventually. And I have in the past. I think, the law of attachment, is recognising that you are attached but building boundaries that you won't cross. I may be angry, but I would try my hardest not to let go and act on it. I would think about how you wouldn’t want me to fall. Although this is all easier said than done.”

“I can love Padme, you, Ahsoka, Rex, my men and my droids and do everything in my power to not let them get hurt so long as I don’t hurt others in the process.”

“Yes. We are not judges. Nor do we have any right to execute our will because of our emotions. But we do have a right to feel those emotions. For example, I would travel anywhere to save you, but not if it put the lives of all my men at risk. I am responsible for them, and my attachments aren’t theirs.”

Anakin nodded and tears welled in his eyes, “I want to be like that. Good. Like you. But I wasn’t. How do I know that I will be next time?”

“You know that you can talk to me, or at least I hope you do,” Obi-Wan stood up.

“Yes,” Anakin took the other’s hand and was pulled upright, they headed towards Anakin’s bunk where Obi-Wan unceremoniously plonked him, “When did you get so wise, Master?”

“I always have been,” Obi-Wan chuckled, “You’ve just never listened before.”

Obi-Wan returned to his own bunk and laid down, closing his eyes. Just as he began to drift off Anakin woke him, “Wait, all those nighttime council meetings that were too secret for me to attend, were you fucking Cody?”

“Anakin!” Obi-Wan scalded before a blush sprayed across his cheeks, “Yes, but unlike you and Padme I enjoy the illusion of discreteness.”

“Ugh, Master, I didn’t need to know that.”

“You asked,” Obi-Wan sounded all too amused at his Padawan’s disgust. “Now rest. I’m sure tomorrow will be exhausting.”

“And yet you always tell me meditating is restful.”

“Not when you’re complaining the whole way through.”

“I won’t, I promise. Not for this. Good night, Master.”

“Good night, Anakin.”

Words: 2600

Feel free to message requests

[con-fection]

ASHES TO ASHES | jim moriarty x reader | 6/13

word count: 3.4k 

It's strangely easy to get used to James Moriarty. Adapting to his needs is a necessity, and yet, you find that you barely have to change at all.

You slip into his routine fairly quickly. Despite your initial panic, and the feeling that the whole place was a prison, you're able to push that behind you. It's easy to become the person he demands of you, solely because that person is yourself.

There's no way for you to discern what this whole plan is leading up to, but for now, you've managed to gather a few pieces of the puzzle. They don't quite form a whole, unbroken image yet, but you can understand what they're going to comprise.

There is something that Moriarty has that he's very, very proud of. He's going to unveil it to the world, and you've been assured that every single major criminal is going to scramble to get their hands on it. This thing, whatever it may be, has a great deal of power, apparently.

Initially, you'd been inclined to believe that it was some sort of weapon of mass destruction. Moriarty had told you that it had the potential to be one, and you believed him. He was a great many things, and not many of them good, but you didn't think he was a liar. Not to you, anyway.

However, the more he talked about it, the more you began to suspect that this prized weapon over the masses was actually a farce. It was absolutely the kind of thing he would delight in, tricking everybody into competing for his attention. He never explicitly said it, but you did have an inkling that his 'weapon' was more of a party trick that would lead to destruction but not actually cause any on its own.

The second aspect that you were sure of was that something was going to happen to some kids. The thought of it alone churned your stomach, and his words about innocence remained emblazoned on the back of your eyelids, haunting you whenever you close your eyes. Thankfully, you had persuaded Moriarty not to kill them, but rather just to hurt them. Which would probably be very traumatising, and it did make you wince just thinking about it, but at least the kids would be sent to therapy rather than the morgue.

And somehow, despite all of this - the kidnapping, the being forced into his plans - there was a part of you that remained thankful to him.

Moriarty was a monster, there was no denying that. He liked to hurt others for his entertainment, and he ran a criminal enterprise, consulting with the worst offenders on the planet.

But, he had saved you. By now, Sherlock Holmes would have found you in your hotel room and you would be awaiting trial.

This wasn't freedom, but it was more than you'd ever had.

"Cinderella," You hear Moriarty's lilting irish voice call out, down the hallway from your bedroom. It's still early, you think, and unless you'd overslept, then he was coming to fetch you rather early.

You'd already been awake, though you were lounging around rather than actually doing anything, already dressed in some of the fine clothes from the wardrobe, just waiting for breakfast or a summons from the consulting criminal, which were usually delivered by one of his henchmen.

The door swings open - it doesn't even make a click, and you're left to speculate whether it had even been locked at all.

Moriarty saunters in, grinning. It's a habit of his, to dress impeccably - for today, he's donned a navy blue suit, probably Westwood, which you've discovered he's rather fond of. "Today, we're having an exercise in trust."

You look at him confusedly, not quite understanding. "Like... team bonding?"

"Oh, precisely. Since we're a team, and all."

"We're only a team because -"

Moriarty cuts you off jovially. "Because I kidnapped you and you joined me against your will. Yada yada yada. Yes, let's move passed that. 'S hardly relevant. C'mon, Cinderella. We have places to be."

"We're leaving the house?" You immediately perk up, jumping up and stalking towards him, simultaneously excited and predatory. You're willing to pounce on and devour any opportunity for freedom.

"Yes, yes we are. To get to know each other better."

---

Standing before your house, reduced to rubble, was not your idea of 'team bonding'. Even then, calling yourselves a team was probably an exaggeration. He had all of the power, and you just had to tag along for the ride.

You hadn't really ever anticipated seeing it again in person.

The entire place was blackened and crumbling. It's an overly nice day, the kind where the sky is blue and it's warm, but there's a gentle cool breeze that keeps you grounded. The entire street looks lovely, thriving in the warm weather, but this house, your home, was now a blight on the street, a dark contrast to how happy the rest of the world seemed. Verona's car had been removed, probably even destroyed by now, and there had been some minor clean up done in the garden, with lots of the loose, fallen tiles from the roof having been gathered up.

There's obnoxiously yellow crime scene tape everywhere, cordoning off the house and some of the surrounding areas.

It was just the shell of what it had once been.

It was different, seeing it in person. On the TV, it hadn't even seemed real - it was just another thing for you to celebrate. The last time you were here, it was burning. This ashen, blackened, warped skeleton of your childhood home is a potent reminder of how far you've come, of what you've sacrificed for a freedom you're struggling to obtain.

Moriarty nudges you. There's some of his men on the street, standing tall and stoic - ever silent and ever watching, their presence is likely to prevent you from attempting an escape. He's since put on some sunglasses and keeps pivoting his head slightly to look between you and the charred remains of your childhood home.

"Well...?" He asks, questioningly.

"I really, really don't see how this is meant to build trust." You say, rather numbly. It had felt a lot better when the place was still ablaze. Now that the Archer family were dead and their presence removed from the house, it almost feels like a shame that it had to burn at all.

Almost. But not quite.

It's still a monument to your power, to your ability to maim and destroy. You don't feel half as distant when you remember their suffering, the way that the girls had bled out like pigs when you slit their throats and nearly hacked their heads off.

"Mmh, maybe not yet. I just wanted to see what you had done." Moriarty admits with a shrug. "Look at all you've accomplished, and think how much we could do together."

"I don't want to burn the whole world." You tell him, for the first time looking away from the ashes of the house and up at him. "I want to rule it."

Moriarty grins wildly. "That's the spirit, Cinderella. I can give you the world, you know. All the freedom you want. You just have to stand at my side."

"Isn't that what I'm doing right now?"

"Well yes, it is."

The birds are still singing, chirping happily to one another and diving in the air, flapping their wings. It's rather comforting to know that it hasn't changed - that the parts you like have remained intact, even as you'd rained hellfire down upon this place. There wasn't such birdsong in London, and you had missed it.

"Why me?" You have to ask - you've asked so many times and you can never be satisfied with the answer.

"Sherlock was interested in you. At first, you were in my way. And now?" He raises an eyebrow at you. "Now you're the way forward, Cinderella."

It feels like you've come to some sort of pivotal moment. Here, under the sun and staring at the house you had burnt down, Moriarty doesn't feel so much like a captor. Rather, you're beginning to feel that comradery, that stirring of companionship. The two of you weren't exactly alike, no. But you didn't have to be.

"I'm not sorry I did it." You say, staring at the rubble that you had reduced your childhood home to.

"No, I know." He shrugs. "It'd be awfully boring if you were. Remorse is a bit ordinary, don't you think?"

You don't bother answering his questions. Rather, you close your eyes, and let yourself listen to the soft chirps, hoots and calls from the songbirds darting through the trees. When you're not looking at how damaged the house is, it's easy for you to imagine the hazy days of your youth - watching the birds with your mother, running around the garden whilst your father chased you.

"I'd missed the music, though." You admit. "London doesn't have such pretty songbirds. I always enjoyed waking up to them."

Silently, Jim absorbs the information. He's content to look between you, basking gloriously in the sun, bathed in light, and the destruction you had inflicted on those who sought to subdue you. Both were beautiful sights.

You didn't want to be a mirror image of James Moriarty, and you never would. That wasn't what he wanted, either.

Despite the armed guards behind you, you do, for the first time, feel free.

This isn't a scrap of impure, tainted freedom like back at the hotel. This is the real thing - this is feeling weightless, untethered.

There had been a great many variations of Cinderella written. You had admired them all. Perhaps in this version, Cinderella wasn't the only twisted one. Maybe she burns the house down, but she finds kinship in the prince anyway. Perhaps Prince Charming throws his ball to find victims, rather than wives.

That would be a happily ever after that you could enjoy. There could be no need for lies when you were capable of understanding each other completely. Depravity was a universal craving, and one you knew well, whether it was driven by desperation or not.

---

Today is a very important day, or so you have been told.

This is the day when these fragments of plots come to fruition. Moriarty's men mill about the mansion faster than usual, talking to each other in hushed, rapid voices when they would normally be silent. It very much sets you on edge.

When you enter Moriarty's study that morning, he's sat at his desk and he's not dressed the way he normally is. There's no striking blue Westwood suit or something similar. He's dressed casually - he's even wearing a hat.

You can't quite mask your confusion.

"Launch day, Cinderella." He clicks his tongue at you chidingly, like he's disappointed, or as if you even had the opportunity to forget.

"Yeah, I know." You bite out, annoyed that he would presume it could slip your mind. "Just... what are you wearing?"

You much prefer his pretentious luxury suits to this - a boring, beige blazer and a black cap. It just doesn't look like him. It doesn't look like Moriarty. It looks like a random civilian man that would probably ask you for directions around London. It peturbs you that he doesn't look quite like himself.

Then, you're subsequently even more distressed by your own distress.

You've rather established that you've come to view Moriarty as more of a partner or mentor figure than as a captor. Here is the most free you've ever felt, and you owe your freedom to him. Naively, you hadn't planned post-murder, and by now, you would have been caught.

Moriarty has become almost familiar, and you don't like seeing that familiarity vanish.

"I'm a tourist!" He proclaims, gesturing to his outfit. "Aw, don't you like it?"

"Well, no." You say, rather flatly. "It doesn't look like you."

Moriarty creeps up from behind his desk, stalking over to tower over you and look down at you, his dark eyes staring at you intensely. "It's not forever, Cinderella. Just for one night."

"And you're presenting the thing to the world like this?" You ask dubiously, once more running your eyes over him and trying not to wince. It just doesn't sit right seeing him dressed as something he's not - seeing him downplay himself and disguise as a regular person.

"I'll be wearing a crown when they catch me, don't you worry."

Involuntarily, your eyes widen and you're suddenly grasping at his shirt and looking up into his eyes beseechingly, desperate for answers. "You're going to get caught?" You sound aghast, disbelieving and you feel like you've been wronged - like this is a betrayal.

Moriarty scoffs, but he doesn't pry you from his body. Rather, he simply lets you cling to him. "Not for long. Today, I'm going to get caught stealing the crown jewels."

Your jaw drops open and you fist your hands into his shirt even tighter, pulling so hard you're practically chest-to-chest with each other - with Moriarty staring down at you and you gazing up at him. "The crown jewels."

"Then Pentonville Prison, and the Bank of England, too." He says, grinning.

Really, Moriarty's power and influence shouldn't shock you. He's got loads of people here on strings, following his orders and doing his bidding. They scurry about the mansion in a frenzy, completely obedient to him.

"And you're... going to get caught?"

Moriarty brings one of his hands up to stroke just the top of your head, playing with your hair comfortingly. "Not for long. I'll be out of there before you know it. In the meantime, you'll have jobs to do. Is that okay, Cinderella? You'll play along, won't you?" He croons softly.

"I will." You don't feel half as reluctant as you should.

"Good." Moriarty says, proudly. "That's what matters. You're more than welcome to visit me in jail, though I doubt I'll be there for very long."

There's a knock at the door, and that's when you realise just how close you and he are. Your hands are still fisted in his shirt, he's stroking your hair - and he's so devastatingly close, and there's a pang in your stomach but it's not pain, it's pure feeling.

The loud knocking persists, and reluctantly, you step away, dropping your hands from his body and missing the feel of his hand tangled in your hair.

"Come in, then." Moriarty calls out, looking darkly at the nameless employee of his that enters the study.

"Sir, it's time to go."

Moriarty casts you one last look, his dark eyes roaming over your body, seemingly trying to memorise you - like this moment is something he doesn't want to forget.

You've slotted into his life so well - you're a somewhat unwilling and ungrateful accomplice, but he still very much appreciates you despite that. He finds that, knowing he will be absent for potentially days at a time, he wants to emblazon the very image of you onto the back of his eyelids, so that you're always waiting for him in the darkness.

"Well, Cinderella. Until we meet again." He says, softly.

In the next instant, he's walking out, swiftly followed by his men, and you're left alone in his study, with more questions than answers.

---

There were a great, great many rooms in this mansion. Your time was often divided between your bedroom and Moriarty's study. But today, you were lounging around on some expensive white couch, watching TV intently.

You would constantly be changing news channels, waiting for the story to break. You had seen bits and pieces of dreary, repetitive soap operas, listened to fragments of sports shows, and even made your way through half a nature documentary before anything happened.

You would bite at your lip nervously, fiddle with your hands and pull on your hair. You were nervous, frighteningly so. Naturally, there were a few expected concerns flitting around your mind, like what happens to you if Moriarty actually does go to prison, or what would happen if something goes wrong, or what if he turns you in.

But, there are a few that you hadn't anticipated. There's a twisting, nauseating feeling in your stomach. It's like there's some terrible beast writhing around in your gut, eviscerating any organs it comes into contact with and leaving you a whimpering, anxious mess.

You are worried for him.  

And you're not just worried about what may happen to you - you're actually concerned for him. As much as Moriarty may be a murderer and a criminal, you're those things too, and he's the only person that you have to depend on.

There is nobody else in your life. Nobody but him.

Your parents are long since dead and buried, and the three members of your step-family slain by your own hands. You had come to London alone, friendless and without a plan. He had been the one to secure your freedom, to give you this.

And then, the news channels all practically explode.

" - there has been a break in at the Bank of England. Reportedly, the vault has opened, though how much, or if anything has been stolen remains unknown to us at this time."  

Hastily, you turn the channel over, constantly darting between news sources, hoping for any new information. All of their voices are blaring, and blurring together, but they're not saying what you want them to.

"We can officially report that prisoners at the Pentonville Prison have been - "

And most importantly,

"Following a series of break-ins that include places such as the Bank of England and Pentonville Prison, it has been reported that the Tower of London has been breached, and the Crown Jewels were removed. A suspect has been taken into custody."

"...all broken into by the same man! James Moriarty."

There it is. The news lady finishes her spiel, and the screen flashes up a video. You can't tell whether it's live or not, but it's Moriarty, and he's being arrested, thrown into the back of a police vehicle with his hands cuffed behind his back.

"Oh my god," You breathe, and you have to remind yourself that this is all part of the plan. Moriarty always intended for this to happen.

It does, however, feel awfully perturbing to see him like that. It's like he's tumbled from his pedestal, and been stripped of everything that made him unique. It's pitiful, seeing him cuffed and arrested like he's some common criminal. There is absolutely nothing common about Moriarty, and you doubt there ever has been.

So, this was his weapon. The ability to enter the Bank of England, Pentonville Prison, the Tower of London and who knows where else. If these places were vulnerable to his influence, then surely anywhere was. And that was probably the point. He was showing off - it didn't matter to him whether he was arrested or not.

There was probably a contingency plan for that, too.

This was all meant to happen - this was all part of his design, and you just had to trust in it.

Trust. Wasn't that a funny thing. You frown as you mull it over - trusting in him was probably a dangerous move, but he was the only person you have to trust in, and he had saved you from a fate much worse than this. You would have to believe in him - that everything would work out just fine.

Never in recent years had you been in a position where you had to depend on another person. You had always been the one flitting about, clearing up the mess, taking the abuse and festering in your own anger.

You should be the one in handcuffs - you would have been by now. But you're not, you're here, and Moriarty is the one imprisoned. Perhaps it is time to fight tooth and nail for the freedom of somebody other than yourself.

He would get out. One way or another, Jim Moriarty would make sure that he got free. After all, the game hadn't ended yet, and there were still plans to be fulfilled.

His absence was tangible in the house. There wasn't really anybody else around for you to interact with - his men certainly didn't care to, and you were rather awkward when it came to the realm of social interaction.

All that was left to do was wait, and trust.

[danco110]

If you ever start thinking “Hey, maybe I have too many Commander decks,” let me tell you: you don’t. I do:

WARNING!!! EXTREMELY long post below, describing each deck and a brief summary of its strategy in overly abbreviated and nerdy Commander lingo. I mean, I’m talking a real wall of text, here. I mean it! Read more at your own risk!

——

——

THE A-TEAM: These decks have all been around for a while, and have all seen their fair share of wins.

-Jhoira, Weatherlight Captain. Artifact storm, and probably the closest I’ll ever come to cedh. WARNING: my Mana Crypt is in here!

Gisela, Blade of Goldnight. OHKO tribal. Seeks to blast people wide open with either Embercleave, Kaya’s Onslaught, or Uncaged Fury.

-Bruna, Light of Alabaster. Voltron that can either play nice and fetch Eldrazi Conscription, or not, and grab Spectra Ward.

-Sigarda, Heron’s Grace. Human tokens tribal, and the rightful recipient of my only Doubling Season.

-Admiral Beckett Brass. Pirate tribal. Taking commanders and wincons is fun. WARNING: somewhat unfun to play against!

-Gishath, Sun’s Avatar. Dino tribal.

-Hallar, the Firefletcher. Kicker tribal.

-Syr Gwyn of Ashvale. Knights and equipments and equip 0 Colossal Hammers.

-Nikya of the Old Ways. A creatures-only deck that probably has more interaction than most of my other decks!

-Atemsis, All Seeing. Azor’s Gateway / Twiddlestorm / Untap shenanigans. WARNING: somewhat unfun to play against!

-Gnostro, Voice of the Crags. Flicker tribal with a non-Narset commander so as to not draw too much heat.

-Imoti, Celebrant of Bounty. Cascade / big spells / Simic is broken change my mind / tribal

-Aragon, Roar of the World. Cat tribal, and my first-ever Commander deck!

——

THE B-TEAM: My decks with fairly good performance across their games, independent of wins and losses

-Halana, Kessig Trapper and Alena, Kessig Ranger (Partner). Big bodies / EtB tribal.

-Khorvath Brightflame and Sylvia Brightspear (Partner). Knights and dragons tribal.

-Virtus, the Veiled and Gorm, the Great (Partner). Quietus Spike / force block shenanigans. WARNING: somewhat unfun to play against!

-Linvala, Shield of Sea Gate. Azorius party aggro.

-Zagras, Thief of Heartbeats. Phantom Rakdos party control.

-Tazri, Beacon of Unity. 5C party +1/+1 counters.

-Kazarov, Senior Pureblood. “I can’t play against Krenko anymore today” Pyroclasm tribal.

-Liesa, Shroud of Dusk. Angel and demon tribal (NOTE: no synergy there, I just wanted to stick to the flavor of “alliance with a demon lord”)

-Orah, Skyclave Hierophant. Clerics tribal that always tries for an Angel of Destiny win before it (always) defers back to aristocrats.

-Bruna, the Fading Light. Angel tribal that tries to meld Brisela every game.

-Anafenza, the Foremost. +1/+1 counters tribal, and the deck that made me realize Outlast really should’ve been instant-speed.

-Samut, Voice of Dissent. Exert tribal with vigilance, untap, and extra combats.

-Juri, Master of the Revue. Sacrifice tribal, with a burn subtheme.

-Kalemne, Disciple of Iroas. Big tribal, and the deck that made me realize Experience counters were busted. Run Suncleanser, people!

-Quintorius, Field Historian. Reanimate and blow up your graveyard. Also, Purify the Grave is hilarious!

-Vaevictis Asmadi, the Dire. Chaos warp tribal, and a Primal Surge deck that doesn’t have Primal Surge because that card is extremely boring.

-Ishkanah, Grafwidow. Spider tribal that seeks to make opponents forget about Ishkanah’s activated ability until it’s too late.

-Omnath, Locus of the Roil. Landfall and elementals.

-Savra, Queen of the Golgari. Grave Pact tribal. WARNING: somewhat unfun to play against!

-Feather, the Redeemed. Haha, combat tricks go brrrrrr!

-Adeliz, the Cinder Wind. Wizards spellslinger aggro. Also one of the few decks of mine that actually uses cantrips!

-Aryel, Knight of Windgrace. Knights tribal with a removal/control subtheme.

-Aurelia, Exemplar of Justice. Mentor + Double Strike tribal. I only built this deck because I pulled a borderless Outlaws’ Merriment, ok?

-Araumi of the Dead Tide. Self mill encore, and the deck that made me appreciate the singleton rule in Commander.

-Kaza, Roil Chaser. Big spells. BIG! I mean, Electrodominance for 10, into a Karn’s Temporal Sundering, big!

——

THE C-TEAM: My decks that just don’t cut it at a lot of pods, sometimes even against those at appropriate power levels. That being said, however, these tend to be my more storied decks, that I still enjoy playing.

-Syr Alin, the Lion’s Claw. Mono-White go wide, with commons and uncommons only. Part of my cycle of Eldraine uncommon legendary knight decks, 1/5.

-Syr Elenora, the Discerning. Mono-Blue Voltron + draw power, with commons and uncommons only, 2/5.

-Syr Konrad, the Grim. Mono-Black aristocrats...kind of...? It’s complicated, but with commons and uncommons only, 3/5.

-Syr Carah, the Bold. Mono-Red storm, with rares and mythics for Underworld Breach and Past in Flames, because I feel like storm needs those, 4/5.

-Syr Faren, the Hengehammer. Mono-Green infect, with rares and mythics for Phyrexian Swarmlord, because I really wanted a deck that could run that, 5/5.

-Jodah, Archmage Eternal. Avengers Assemble! legendary tribal. I had a lot of bulk legends at the time, and wanted to make something of them!

-Abomination of Llanowar. Literal elf ball. Built in response to my irritation at someone’s Lathril, Blade of the Elves deck.

-Licia, Sanguine Tribute. Lifegain is good, I swear, built in response to my disbelief at the $200 price tag on a store-built Licia deck. Mine costs maybe $100, if you count the sleeves and box?

-Thalisse, Reverent Medium. Tokens tribal that breaks Anointed Procession even further, which made me wonder why green gets all the token doublers *cough*adrixandnev*cough*

-Hamza, Guardian of Arashin. +1/+1 counters, with commons and uncommons only, built because someone at my store wanted to play commons and uncommons only with an uncommon Commander. Thanks for getting me into Artisan Commander, Will!

-Siona, Captain of the Pyleas. Enchantress, with a tokens subtheme. Built because I and a friend both commented that she looked like Wonder Woman.

-Mina and Denn, Wildborn (NOT Partner). Landfall aggro, with all the creatures that pump on landfall.

-Ghired, Conclave Exile. Populate and tokens. Built because I was bored one Saturday and saw I had an extra set of sleeves.

-Obuun, Mul Daya Ancestor. Landfall tribal, (again? Sheesh!) built the same lazy Saturday as Ghired, above.

-Armix, Filigree Familiar and Eligeth, Crossroads Augur (YES Partner). Artifact tribal, with a super janky 4-piece Marionette Master loop wincon! Built because Eligeth turns Preordain into “Draw 2 cards, then draw a card.”

-Akiri, Fearless Voyager. Equipment tribal, with an asymmetrical boardwipe subtheme. Built because I pulled an Akiri from a pack, and someone said “ooh, sorry,” from over my shoulder.

-Exava, Rakdos Blood Witch. Unleash counters tribal. Built because I found a Chaos Imps in my bulk!

——

THE MEME-TEAM: These decks...are. Yeah, they are. Not necessarily good or bad. Just...are.

-Kenrith, the Returned King. The game plan is “Get to Trostani’s Summoner, and either flicker it or make a bajillion copies of it.” One day, I found a card named Trostani’s Summoner, and it was love at first sight! My Demonic Tutor went in here!

-Phylath, World Sculptor. Landfall tribal...with 99 basic land cards.

-Rograkh, Son of Rogahh and Keleth, Sunmane Familiar. (Partner) Kill one guy and die tribal.

-Etrata the Silencer. The “I wanted a non-Koma Mirror Gallery deck” deck. Also with a guest appearance from flicker!

-Lazav, Dimir Mastermind. Literally just “Oops! All Control!” Draw, counter, and remove. WARNING: don’t play against this.

-Ravos, Soultender and Livio, Oathsworn Sentinel. (Partner) War of attrition, etb and control. WARNING: don’t play against this. It has like 15 boardwipes!

-Valki, God of Lies / Tibalt, Cosmic Imposter. (NOT Partner) “I want to piss off the table” tribal. It mills your opponents, it plays their stuff, and it removes the stuff it doesn’t play. WARNING: don’t play against this. It runs Jokulhaups, Obliterate, and Decree of Annihilation!

-Svella, Ice Shaper. Colossal Dreadmaw tribal, as in, anything that’s roughly 6/6 makes the cut! It’s actually won games!

-Brion Stoutarm. Hijack and fling tribal. “You know, I’ve never had an Eldrazi titan before. Can I borrow it? Well, see, I wasn’t exactly...asking...?”

-Grumgully, the Generous. Non-human “uno mas” tribal. Tries to run all the counters cards like Renata and the Rhythm of the Wild.

-Subira, Tuzuldi Caravaneer. Small tribal. Just think “mono-r blitz in Commander,” and you’ll get the gist.

-Neheb, the Worthy. Minotaurs and discard tribal. Not as oppressive as Tinybones, or as explosive as Nath, and that’s a good thing. Trust me.

——

THE ALL-RAVNICAN REJECTS: These decks are... *sniff* no longer with us. They were broken down for pieces, for sleeves, or because I slept through each time I played them.

-Najeela, the Blade Blossom. Boring warriors extra combat steps. Broken because I wanted her tri-lands, and I wanted some of her warriors for my party decks.

-Golos, Tireless Pilgrim. Maze’s End lands. Golos is broken and we all know it. Broken for sleeves, and because my first land tutor was always Field of the Dead because of the incoming hate, and not Maze’s End, and I wasn’t happy with that.

-Arcades, the Strategist. Walls. As it turns out, not a lot of decks can contest 3-mana 8/8’s. And against those that could, the deck was put in the ground extremely quickly. Broken because it just wasn’t fun to play.

——

THE DRAWING BOARD: These decks are in the works. Will they see the light of day, and the protection of sleeves? Well, we’ll see, will we not?

-Borborygmos. Go wide and SMASH! My first attempt at a pile of cards; I’m trying for a goblins/saproling hybrid tribal, because both make lots of tokens, but we’ll see how well that translates into actual play.

-Jor Kadeen, the Prevailer. Thopters and artificers and myr, oh my! All joking aside, I just wanted a deck that wants to run cards with Fabricate, because I thought it was a really cool mechanic!

-Garna, the Bloodflame. Reanimator/sacrifice, AKA corpse carousel. It’s a revolving door between the graveyard and the battlefield, yknow, and most of my store’s meta does not run graveyard hate.

I tried to warn ‘ya!

[morwensteelsheen]

WIP wednesday thoughts:

willow cabin is utterly fucked because i changed my intended ~moral~ halfway through and now im stuck trying to integrate this shitty political intrigue plot into what should’ve been a more interesting story about éowyn adapting to life in gondor. hugely fucking annoyed by it and just totally unsure how to proceed. i could significantly increase the chapter count, but im worried that because the initial framing device was this bandits shit that closing out that plot and then still going for ages afterwards would be really shitty? i honestly don’t know, it’s so difficult. really i just need someone to read my outline and tell me if im being a dumb twat about it lol

meanwhile I know exactly where I want to go with AFTA but for some unaccountable reason im stressed that my ass is gonna get roasted for the direction i want to take it in. it’s all based in both tolkien’s personal politics and (some) historical precedent, but im worried people are gonna see it as a marysue-ification? but also im hoping to do sthg of a sequel to afta to practice the political intrigue writing so i don’t make the same mistakes i did in wc, and to do that it would require this specific set up in AFTA. im gonna put my AFTA thing under the cut so don’t click read more unless you’re gucci with potential AFTA spoilers!!

this royal affair au is definitely gonna get published at some point but im trying to decide if i want to do ~tasteful~ smut that drives a longer narrative or if im really just gonna do a whole 3,000 word build up to some run of the mill, old fashioned PWP lmao

okay so i have spent a Lot of time thinking about what impact i think éowyn and faramir would have on each other in a pre-ring war setting, and the honest to god conclusion ive come to is that they would somewhat inadvertently egg on each other’s (wildly divergent) idealism.

faramir’s an idealist politically in ways that, as Big D rightly points out, are not super productive in a wartime scenario. but so far as im concerned, the war doesn’t feel as warlike until they have to blow the bridge at osgiliath. until that point, there’s not really anything to say that faramir’s whole throwback optimism isn’t a perfectly justifiable position to have.

but what that idealism is and how it manifests are two really important considerations. the crux of his idealistic politics is that he looks at númenor and sees something valuable in it, and looks at gondor and sees a lot that he thinks is fucked up. outside of articulating a general angst towards the glory hunting, it’s not like he’s spending time talking about his specific policy prescriptions. however, we do know a few things that can guide us to a more coherent reconstruction of his politics:

he’s pretty rigidly hierarchical (when it’s convenient for him). as seen in: him basically telling sam to fuck off and stay in his lane in WOTW, and in how and when he chooses to refer to his father as ‘father’ vs ‘my lord’ or ‘lord of the city’ in the aftermath of the osgiliath retreat and then before he gets his ass sent back there. i don’t want to go into too much detail here but if i go with this i’ll definitely justify it more thoroughly in the footnotes.

so we’ve got faramir’s emphasis on hierarchy and his occasional (when convenient) belief that the upper echelons of a hierarchy are there because they’re intellectually and/or morally better. or, maybe to remove the causation from that instance, because they are in those upper echelons, they have an obligation to be more morally/intellectually upstanding, and the people in the structure below them have an obligation to show deference. unless you’re faramir and you’re dealing with denethor in which case that all goes out the window. classic.

we know there is some sort of nascent pseudo-democratic tradition of popular sovereignty in gondor. we know this because faramir asks the masses at aragorn’s coronation if they’ll accept him as king. faramir is a lot of things, but he is certainly not a progressive political radical, and i cannot imagine any situation in which he cooked up that rigmarole himself. that then implies to me that it’s building on some sort of political/cultural expectation in gondor. so: some sort of relationship to popular legitimacy. the people of gondor are subjects, but perhaps not as totally passive and unconsidered in the power structure as we might assume given the comparability to feudal europe/asia.

given those two things, i want to use AFTA to argue:

that faramir, in looking to assign blame for the faults he sees in gondor, would not directly assign blame to the lower classes, but rather to the aristocracy, because he will have seen them as failing in their moral obligations to the people they rule over. this is not to say that he isn’t fucked off about The People™ valorising war, but i think he’d take the position that they couldn’t possibly be expected to form those values and opinions of their own volition, and the fault lies in their rules. faramir: not gramscian.

faramir lacks any power that is non-military, and even that is of questionable worth because the rangers seem to be fairly distinct to the general structure of the army, and are not exactly a huge force.

faramir lacking any political power isn’t necessarily a huge concern for him (as in, he’s not actively trying to change that), because he knows he’s not going to lead a moral revolution and isn’t interested in taking up the responsibilities having political capital would engender because he’s stuck dealing with this war, that he fucking hates btw has he mentioned that he hates it?

however, given that he is apparently eminently versed in lore and scholarship, he is probably keenly aware that there is this incipient notion of popular legitimacy somewhere in gondor’s culture. it’s not, for most of his life, knowledge that actually does anything for him, but it is there.

éowyn, meanwhile, doesn’t really have many strong political convictions (yet). not because she’s a dumbass or whatever, but because she looks at court politics as kind of a farce, and doesn’t believe that power legitimately emanates from anywhere that isn’t a Big Fucking Army. and why, strictly speaking, would she not think that? the event that brought about the creation of her kingdom was not careful, soft spoken negotiation, it was her ancestors being in the right place at the right time with a Big Fucking Army.

and the internal politics of the Riddermark actually seem to be fairly stable, all things considered. i sincerely doubt that Théoden or Théodred are having to negotiate complex politicking in the way Denethor and Boromir are. so where, then, would éowyn see that kind of political behaviour outside gondor? with gríma.

éowyn, then, will see the immediate contrast between gríma (backroom dealer, manipulator extraordinaire) and théoden (owner of Big Fucking Army). and gríma goes and fucking wins that fight. that forces éowyn to confront the fact that, jesus christ, maybe there are different types of power.

at the same time, she’s going to be in minas tirith and needing to cover for théoden letting his shit get wrecked. not just because she’s prideful, which of course she is, but because if denethor/gondor think that théoden is too weak to hold up his end of the bargain, why would they ever go help the Mark? éowyn, seeing that théoden’s f-f-fucked, knows that there’s a very very good chance the Mark will need help.

against her feelings about courtly politics, she starts to accept that she’s going to need to do something to get power in gondor. not anything substantial, it’s not like she’s trying to overthrow anybody, but enough that when push comes to shove she can force denethor to help out the Mark (if he doesn’t do so willingly).

but, as ive sort of already shown in AFTA, she’s a bit of a dogshit diplomat. good for a little big-brawny-enforcer stuff, but not exactly brimming with cultural sensitivity. by the time she realises théoden + the Mark are fucked, she’ll have burnt quite a few bridges with the gondorrim nobles, and it’s not like she’s the sort of person to go running cap-in-hand begging for mercy.

so: she has to look elsewhere. and wow! a chance for faramir to do his favourite thing — talk about his opinions! and by god, his weird idealistic politics are… actually kind of helpful? because he’s like, look, you’re never gonna be a diplomat, but there are other ways of consolidating power. and one of those ways is by appealing to The People™. so why not work that angle?

and actually, we know that this is a viable route for éowyn because hama, in arguing for her to take up the mantle of théoden’s heir when théoden and éomer fuck off to helm’s deep, basically says that The People™ love her and would have willingly chosen her to lead them.

we also know, based on faramir’s middle men speech, that the people of gondor and the mark have grown alike in nature. not totally unreasonable to then think that the people of gondor would take to her like the people of the mark did.

éowyn, then, in various ways begins to try to win over the people of minas tirith. i need to do a little more research on this bc what ive got on the practicalities of that so far are a bit, uhhh, sketchy, but the least jargony way to describe this is to point to when natalie dormer’s character in GOT gets out of the carriage to go hug and kiss some babies. (marc bloch, eat your heart out)

this would later segue into a potential sequel where, while trying to secure the way for aragorn’s coronation, éowyn actually plays an interesting role because she’s fallen into this incidental Diana, People’s Princess™ role and so is better positioned than almost anyone to go advocate on his behalf. wow! cool! éowyn getting to be politically useful in more ways than just getting hitched!

so yeah. that’s how i am thinking it might play out. this would obviously have a rolling impact on the remainder of AFTA and how certain (🔥) events pan out later, but i think that building up part has to begin pretty much now, narratively. also this lets me get in a reference to “and then her heart changed, or else at last she understood it” and have it not be almost entirely about wanting to shag faramir, but actually about her gradual evolution from valorising war above all else to being like, hmm, maybe there are other ways of being powerful. which i think still largely captures the “no longer I will vie with the great riders” stuff, but more subtly and without feeling quite so… deferential, I guess? Like it’s not that she’s swapping one form of power (violence) for nothing (gardening?? healing?? tolkien accidental articulation of necropolitics??) but swapping violence for a different type of more sustainable power.

yeah. that’s the take, basically. who fucking knows.

[dontbeunraisonable]

Shielding The Other With Their Body - Tatsuma Ryuko | Ryukyu x OC!Remus Narukami

Requested by: @ajanisapprentice

This is prompt #8 from my 100 follower special!! Thank you so much my dear for sharing your oc with me! I really really enjoyed reading this all and I'm excited to talk more about them! There is a short summary of them here so those interested can take a little peek :D

Word Count: ~1.9k

Warnings: none?, i can't write combat scenes i guess :)

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

Remus can be a little intimidating at times, especially to those he is not very familiar with. So all the little interns and support workers at the Ryukyu agency tended to be extra polite with him and clear room for him wherever he goes. Careful to avoid his intense yellow eyes.

But this is far from his intention, especially for the younger interns, still students, who are confused and scared of everything. He takes care to give them the gentlest of smiles when passing (children that are already in this line of work need all the support they can get) and point them in the right direction if they are lost. Some of them use this small interaction for bragging rights.

“That nice, blue-haired man smiled at me. I’m taking this as a sign from above not to quit.”

“Same here, he pointed me to HR man so I didn’t look stupid in front of that one sidekick I always manage to make a fool of myself in front of.”

Remus only worked part-time at the Ryukyu agency, as most of his work was moving around different agencies. He worked internationally, being called in for his expertise by agencies. While there he did a little poking around, on his relative’s behalf: investigating how they treat their employees, sticking his snout into things that were wanted secret. Keeping an eye on things he was warned of.

The Ryukyu agency was not at all an entity worthy of investigation. The namesake was a wonderful hero that hadn’t a bad bone in her body, and she made sure all her employees were treated fairly. She did the best she could at everything, and even made sure to seek out female hero students and support members that were often overlooked.

No, the reason Remus was visiting the agency so often was that he enjoyed the company of Ryukyu herself. They had been friends at Yuuei together, and he had helped her found the agency. And now he had developed stronger feelings for her.

It is universally advised for coworkers not to have romantic relationships with each other. It can distract from work, and things can be made awkward if the couple splits or if one has a higher rank in the corporate hierarchy. It’s just generally not advised.

This is especially true for Pro Heroes. The rumor mills can be ruthless, and public support (if not adoration, at least not contempt) is a necessary factor of hero work. Also, Pro Heroes are not people with loads of free time necessary to develop a relationship. And with different schedules, the odds of time together are even smaller. It’s best to not pursue a relationship that is assumed to be doomed at the start.

But logic is usually not the decider of romantic attraction. And Remus couldn’t control how his heart would skip whenever she touched him, accidental or purposeful, or how he felt refreshed after time with her. How he sometimes spoke so highly about her during their conversations that a little pink would dust her cheeks and she would make some comment about “flattery”.

He was sure that she wrote it off as him being blunt with her, not him getting flustered and blurting out his feelings for her.

He wouldn’t ever tell her of his romantic attraction to her. He didn’t want to put her in an awkward situation or risk ruining their friendship, something he valued so highly. Just spending time with her was enough for him. Hearing her voice, seeing her smile. That was enough.

Earlier that morning, Ryukyu texted him and asked him to come of her office.

“Remus,” she said, adjusting her hairpiece, her usual calm smile on her lips, “would you please join me on patrol today? The sidekick scheduled to patrol with me today sprained her ankle, and I would appreciate your company.”

He had, of course, agreed to accompany her. It was now almost noon, and they were walking side by side through the city. It was remarkably quiet, the only disturbance being a dispute between two shop vendors which was quickly resolved when they saw two Pro Heroes walking past. Neither party wanted involvement.

Due to the peacefulness, the two fell to chatting quietly. The usual topics: how her sidekicks and interns were faring, their health, the health and activities of their relatives, etc.

“Oh,” she said, “I told you about my friend’s daughter who liked her co-worker, right?”

His stomach dropped but didn’t change his expression. “Yes, you did. And she wanted your advice on it.”

“Mm. They’re dating now.”

“Really? What did you tell her?”

“I told her to be careful about it, and make sure to be clear with them if they start dating about staying professional at work and, if possible, transfer to another division.”

“And?”

“She’s working in another department, two floors apart. But from what I’ve heard they haven’t had any trouble.”

“Do their other co-workers know?”

“No, they decided it to be best if no one at the company knew. There aren’t specific rules banning relationships between employees, but it is advised not to.”

He tried to ignore the awkward feeling. He couldn’t help but wonder if there was another reason for her bringing this up. “How do you feel about it?”

“I think it will work out for them.” She had that pretty smile on her face again. “I think people who are wise with relationships and communicate well can manage relationships. They know whether or not it will work out between them, and whether it is worth the risk of something going wrong. She thinks the other person is worth it, and they are mature enough to know how to behave. I think they will work out very well. Perhaps you can be my plus one to their future wedding.”

Remus laughed at this. “Oh, you do have quite a bit of faith in them. Let me know when you get that invitation.”

“You’ll be the first one I tell.”

This little phrase made Remus’s heart buzz. He really was quite far gone.

He opened his mouth to say something but snapped it shut when they shielded their heads at the sound of a loud crash. Squealing of brakes and metallic crunch filled the formerly peaceful street.

He gave her a quick glance to make sure she was okay before they were running in the direction of the commotion.

“Please make way!” she shouted, and people backed up to let the pair pass. There were four, maybe five cars all crunched up together.

“I’m calling an ambulance!” shouted a nearby pedestrian, and three others shouted they were, too.

Remus immediately went to the nearest car and helped the woman open the door. She looked a little dazed from the airbags, but otherwise only a little banged up. He brought her to the side of the road, and an older woman sat down with her.

“Are you alright?” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ryukyu was joined by another young Pro Hero and they were getting the people in the outer cars out. All the commotion was centered around the large truck in the center.

“Yes,” she said, quietly, tears welling up. “That truck came right down the middle of the intersection. They must be crazy.”

“An ambulance is on its way ma’am. They’re going to check you out and make sure you’re okay.”

“I’m going to get you some water, sweetheart,” said the old lady kindly. “Can I bring her inside this store?”

“Yes,” said Remus, “just make sure she stays around for the police report. You’ll need to tell them what happened for insurance purposes.”

A loud shriek from the surrounding crowd startled Remus. He turned to the commotion and saw that a giant man was now emerging from the truck.

“Everyone, go!” Remus shouted, and he lunged towards Ryukyu and the new heroes’ sides. This was not some crazy or distracted driver: this was intentional. People screamed and ran in every direction, some in the wrong ones.

The large man glanced over at the trio and a sickening grin pulled at his lips. He looked excited about a fight. He reached for a nearby car, one that had held a now fleeing family, and chucked it at them.

The younger Pro ran to the side, and Remus felt a large whoosh of air throw him aside as Ryukyu grew into a large dragon. Her body shielded Remus from the car, and her large claws crunched the truck nearly flat.

The large man looked notably less confident and now ran towards Remus, maybe hoping the large dragon wouldn’t notice him running past her tail. She obviously did, and one claw went to block him from reaching Remus, and the other grabbed him.

Remus hurried to direct everyone out of the way to allow emergency vehicles to pass, and Ryukyu held the very disgruntled would-be villain in her claws until the police had arrived.

The man was kicking and swearing that he wasn’t to be messed with and Ryukyu only glanced at him with disappointment.

The man was quickly locked up in a van and transported off. Due to the wonders of modern car safety, most of the people in the accident were okay. There was one instance of a broken arm, but all the rest were only a little dazed and bruised.

Ryukyu returned to human form once the man was locked up, and Remus hurried over to make sure she was okay.

“I’m fine,” she said, brushing his concern aside, “just a little tired.”

Remus looked relieved and unthinkingly brushed a lock of her hair behind her ear again. “That’s good to hear.” He only noticed his proximity to her when he noticed the faint blush on her cheeks, on top of the flushing from exertion. He took a step back and mumbled something like an apology.

“Don’t be.”

The uncomfortable silence between them was now overwhelming. He scolded himself for not restraining himself. “Should we get you something to eat?” he said awkwardly, looking anywhere but at her.

“Yes, that would be good.”

The two of them ordered from street vendors and sat down on a park bench to rest and eat. There was a calculated distance between them, and they ate with notably less conversation.

“Remus?”

“Yes?”

“You were about to say something before that big accident.”

“I was? Oh, I was. I don’t remember what it was. Probably not very important.”

The conversation once again fell flat. Remus cursed himself. They continued to eat, and he searched for something, anything to talk about.

“Do you think,” she began in a quiet voice, “do you think we’re mature?”

“What do you mean?” A rush of emotions came over him. Was this about what she said about how mature people can maintain a relationship with difficult circumstances? “Mature enough to… have…” His voice trailed off.

“A relationship.”

Their eyes locked. After a moment he spoke up again.

“Yes. I think so.”

She smiled and looked away, towards the pond before them. Little kids were looking with lots of interest at the residents of the pond and taking turns carefully poking their fingers into the mossy water.

“I do, too.”

Posted 2021 June 23

[soulquirk]

I feel very soft tonight, so can I request 8 with Izuku, because soft boy with soft manners, please? 💓

i love soft izu so much u//w//u

pairing: izuku midoriya x reader

warnings: none, this is super fluffy

word count: 1.2k

prompt: from here

8.) laying a gentle kiss to the back of the other’s hand. (bless you for letting me make this a royal au)

The soft silk of the dress caressed your skin as you walked into the hall. Emerald green and dotted with tiny jeweled sequins, it was fitting for a ball such as this one. 

Music from the nine-person orchestra floated up and over your head, into the vaulted, ornate ceiling. You recognized the song as a Tchaikovsky piece, having learned it on your cello recently. A waltz. No doubt by the time you reached your table, there would be no time to sit down before someone asked you to dance. 

When you got the invitation to attend the Midoriya family’s charity ball, you were pleased. Relations between your two nations weren’t tense, but an honest show of diplomacy could never hurt. Your family had been longtime friends, especially after you and Prince Izuku were born. And besides, they had just lost their king a year before, and Queen Inko was dedicating the ball to his memory. She was also donating its proceeds to educational efforts in her kingdom. 

The guards behind you monitored your movements without hovering too closely. Being a princess from a neighboring kingdom, it was more than commonplace to have some type of protection with you wherever you went. Especially because you were still unmarried. Courtship was another thing you expected to happen sometime during the evening. 

You made a point to be fashionably late, and it pleased you to see that most of everyone was already dancing. Good, you thought, I might be able to stay off of these ghastly heels for a moment. 

Those who weren’t on the dance floor were milling about or at tables, and most acknowledged your entrance with a curtsy or bow. Several of them you recognized as Midoriya nobility. They had the reputation of running their lands fairly and being kind to their peoples. 

You finally made your way up to the front of the room to greet Queen Inko. She was a kind-hearted queen, and you admired her way of ruling. A fair woman of slightly older years, she was wearing a champagne-mauve gown and a crown of flowers. Nothing about her screamed royalty; she was more like a mother to the entire kingdom, especially after her husband, King Hizashi, had passed. 

The herald announced you to her, and you curtsied gracefully. “Good evening, your Highness. The hall looks as fine as ever. As does the queen.”

Queen Inko smiled warmly. “Oh darling, thank you. It’s so lovely to see you.” She rose from her throne and held out her arms. “Come.”

You smiled, glad to see that her lack of formality towards you hadn’t changed after all these years. Giving her a quick but meaningful hug, you asked, “Where is Prince Izuku?”

Inko sighed. “He’s around here somewhere. You know the boy doesn’t like these big parties.” She leaned closer to you. “He’s a bit sad as well. The ball is, as you know, dedicated to his father.” 

You nodded somberly. King Hizashi, while being away a lot for diplomatic missions, played a huge role in the Prince’s life. Izuku joined his father for many of his trips in preparation for when he would eventually take the throne. “I’m sure he is a bit troubled. I’ll find him for you.”

The queen’s homely smile returned. “I would appreciate that. He has a speech to give some time this evening and I hope he doesn’t miss it. Though,” she paused, giving you a knowing look, “I’m sure you won’t have any trouble finding him.”

Giggling, you curtsied again before turning away. You dismissed your guards, reassuring them of your safety, and encouraging them to have a good time at the ball as well. You knew that their duties prevented them from doing too much socializing without your presence, but what your mother and father didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them. 

Inko was right; you didn’t have any trouble finding Izuku. From the time you were little, he had trusted you with a secret spot in the castle, a small balcony off of a hallway that overlooked the botanical gardens. He was there, resting his forearms on the stone railing and looking up at the moon. He looked almost ethereal, from his jade hair shining in the lesser light to his clothing casting shadows across the balcony. 

“Prince Izuku?”

He jumped, turning towards you with a startled look and a hand going instinctively to the sheathed sword at his hip. He relaxed when he recognized who was standing before him. “Princess Y/n!” His face lit up and he rushed over to hug you. 

Accepting his embrace, you took a moment to admire how tall he had gotten. It had been a few years since you had last visited this castle, and Izuku seemed to shoot up like the beanstalk he was. You stepped back, smiling. “It’s so good to see you, Izu.” 

His emerald eyes glistened in the moonlight with pinpricks of tears. “I’ve missed you so much! H-how have you been? Why have you been gone for so long? Did you not get any of my letters?”

You were used to the onslaught of questions, used to Izuku being extremely inquisitive. “I’m well. I’ve had a lot of my time taken up by training and whatnot. And your letters must’ve been lost, I didn’t receive any of them. I thought you’d forgotten me.” You teased, playfully slugging his shoulder. 

He shook his head. “Never. I could never forget you.”

You found yourself blushing at his statement. “Good,” you began, a bit flustered, “I’m not easily forgettable.”

Izuku laughed and brought you in for another hug. “So, did my mom send you after me?”

Pulling back, but keeping hold of his arms, you admitted, “Unfortunately for you, yes. I don’t think anyone else would’ve been able to find you.” 

“I think you’re probably right.” He ran a white-gloved hand through his hair. “I’ve got this speech she wants me to do in honor of my dad, but-” his voice broke, and you reached a hand up to swipe at the tears you knew were coming. Izuku was always an emotional person, and while some of his critics would call him weak or spineless, you thought he took after his mother with the passion he could barely contain with words alone. 

“I know. I’m sure it isn’t easy for you.” You rested a hand on his cheek for a moment.

He leaned his head into your touch. At that moment, something changed. 

He went from a childhood friend to someone you could see spending the rest of your life with in less than a second. How on earth had he managed that? 

No, it couldn’t be. 

You started to withdraw your hand, but he caught it in his own. “I-I really have missed you, Princess.”

You hoped the light of the moon wasn’t enough to reveal the fierce blush that had taken over your cheeks, but seeing as it did nothing to hide his, you figured you weren’t exempt. “You too, Izu.”

In one swift motion, he turned his palm and pressed a kiss into the back of your hand. “When my speech is over, dance with me?”

“I would love to, my Prince.”

[stella-monstrum]

“Autopsy of Jane Doe”[ IFC MIDNIGHT, 2016] [Rated R]

(Review & My Parallel Film Theory)

(NSFW CONTENT AND POTENTIAL SPOILERS)

(Written by Stella, edited by Jacob J.)

No matter the genre, the independent film industry holds many hidden gems within it. Studio IFC has been in the game for close to twenty years now, but it wasn’t until 2010 that it unveiled its plans for their “Midnight” collection and genre.

“Many of our most successful VOD titles are those that might fall under the Midnight label – not just films that are straight up horror, erotic arthouse, or genre films, but also ones that shock audiences, push boundaries, and stir up controversy – so officially creating IFC Midnight was the logical next step,” President of IFC Entertainment Jonathan Sehring in a statement. (SOURCE: indiewire.com // HERE)

But the focus in this article will be solely on the horror genre, specifically the 2016 supernatural/horror/thriller standout The Autopsy of Jane Doe. My review, thoughts, and analysis will include some changes I would have made to change the story itself.  Now, full disclaimer, my changes and reimagining will not affect my rating on the film overall, per se.

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

[REVIEW]

One thing that was honestly a surprise (albeit a pleasant one) was how small the cast actually was. Whilst there are ten actors and actresses listed on the IMDb page, the film focuses on only five of them, eventually whittling the action down to three. My honest thought? “With such a small amount of people only being focused on, this will get boring quickly.” But boy, I was 100% wrong in that assumption. If ANYTHING, it only intensified every moment on, Add in dramatic references, film scoring, and film aesthetics? It was just icing on the creep cake.

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

Let’s begin with the cast and breakdown of the story:

Brian Cox and Emile Hersch as father-son coroner duo Tommy and Austin Tilden

Ophelia Lovibond as Emma, Austin’s girlfriend

Olwen Kelly as Jane Doe

Michael McElhatton as Sheriff Burke (an albeit brief focus)

Left to right: Austin, Emma and Tommy (Screencap, Autopsy of Jane Doe, 2016)

~~~~~~

From the beginning of the film, you are immediately immersed within a brutal crime scene. It seems fairly straightforward in what appears to be a triple homicide. I was taken by (delighted) surprise that it kicked off at such a fast pace, so much so that I physically felt that I’d lost my footing (while sitting). But as the police and forensic team further search the home for evidence, they wind up finding a pristinely preserved and very nude corpse, one only partially covered in dirt down in the basement. This new revelation doesn’t fit what they’ve pinned down to be a homicide.

Enter a quieter and uneventful small town setting. Here we are introduced to Austin and Tommy Tilden, running a very small coroner business out of the basement of their home (blasting rock and roll from the radio whilst they do their job—a very cool touch.) Austin comes off as a young adult who doesn’t want to be stuck in this small town, let alone in this profession. He feels bad since father Tommy is otherwise alone and widowed. 

The Tilden home/business (Screencap, Autopsy of Jane Doe, 2016)

~~~~

Austin’s girlfriend Emma comes in to pick him up after his shift for a date they had planned. (This part plays into my reimagining later.) Emma sneaks up to scare Austin, then begs and pleads with him to let her see a dead body and what they do for a living. Austin flat out refuses, but then his dad allows Emma to pick one to view. Tommy also explains that they keep bells around the ankles of some corpses (a practice with origins in an old wives’ tale: if the person isn’t dead, the bell will jingle). Austin gets back at Emma by ringing the bell on one of the bodies to scare her, and she threatens that he “won’t be getting laid.” (Emma comes off as a very strong type—and not in a flattering chemistry way)

Just as they’re about to leave for their date, Sheriff Burke comes in with an urgent request: they have 24hrs to perform the autopsy of the Jane Doe found in the opening scene. Austin decides that, with the urgency and his guilt, to stay behind and assist, asking Emma to come back later.

As they perform what they thought would be just another autopsy to find clues as to how or why Jane Doe met her end, things get very eerie and strange. These events elicit goosebumps: from a shift in music to a creepily upbeat version of the McGuire Sisters’ 1954 song “Let the Sunshine In,” to an awful storm coming in seemingly out of nowhere, knocking a tree into the cellar exit, trapping the Tildens inside. The family cat gets killed. The bodies in the morgue awaken. The power goes out. These usually run-of-the-mill supernatural tropes are 100 times more dramatic with the focus only on the two men.

While they examine Jane layer by layer, her fingerprints are nowhere to be found in their system, and her trauma and, injuries in total, do not seem to match up with the crime.

Peat soil from “up northeast” found under her fingernails

No outward visible signs of marking or bruising

Broken wrists and ankles

Ripped out tongue

Mutilated genitalia

Missing tooth (which was force fed to her in a cloth with a ritualistic sigil in it)

Flower with paralyzing properties (and not native to the area) in her stomach

Horribly burned lungs and internal organs covered in scar tissue. 

A very much active brain

Roman numerals and symbols carved into her skin

Markings on the cloth alluding to Leviticus 20:27 (which condemns witches) and the year 1693 (a reference to the Salem Witch Trials)

Austin and Tommy do not come out of this unscathed—or alive, for that matter. While trying to escape in the elevator when being chased by one of the belled-up corpses, Tommy hacks away at it in the dark. But, once the power comes back on, it is revealed to be Emma. Tommy gets attacked by unseen forces (since he is the one primarily performing the exam). They finally reveal that Jane Doe was likely thought to be a witch during the Trials, but the people who performed the ritual were horribly wrong—and ended up turning her into the very thing they sought to destroy. Tommy pleads with the witch to take him as long as she leaves Austin alone, and all of her horrific injuries get transferred to the elder Tilden, leaving Austin to put his father out of misery. Austin, however, gets spooked by a hallucination (provided by Jane) of his dead father on the stairs leading up to the exit. He falls and snaps his neck.

The next day, Jane Doe is in pristine form on the exam table. The Sheriff cannot understand what could have happened since he’d known the Tilden’s for so long, and decides to send Jane off to the next county. The ending features Jane being transferred into the van, a creepily upbeat song playing once again.

All in all, if I were nitpicking, the only real complaint I’d have is that some of the suspenseful moments were drawn out a few seconds too long. On top of that, they shouldn’t have killed off the family cat, Stanley. That said, if you’re into supernatural thrillers or just looking for a film for date night, this would certainly be one to consider. 

(7/10 stabs)  🔪 🔪 🔪 🔪 🔪 🔪 🔪

(Reimagining AHEAD)

▬▬ι══════════════ι▬▬

Now after watching the film, I got to thinking. This is my reimagining of sorts, and a theory that they could have used to cash in on a continuation:

Let us rewind a little bit. Remember Emma? Think back to this scene specifically: 

(I do NOT own the rights to this clip, simply sharing for viewing to set the scene)

༺═──────────────═༻

In this parallel theory there are a few points of change that come to mind initially:

1. Tommy has a more stubborn personality, absolutely and flat out refusing to let Emma see the cadavers

As he (Tommy) shoos Emma out, that is when the Sheriff urgently brings in Jane Doe. Austin convinces his father to let Emma stick around. Tommy then has the attitude of, “If she wants to see a dead body we’ll let her see the entire process.”

Jane’s body gets taken into the Tilden’s business. (Screencap, Autopsy of Jane Doe, 2016)

Whilst the Tilden’s are performing the examination, Emma begins to get bored (before shit gets weird and they essentially awaken Jane’s warnings)

2. When things slowly proceed to get horrific, the further that they get into things, Emma touches the ritual cloth that was used to force-feed Jane her molar, then Austin scolds her for touching evidence.

Progressively after touching the ritual cloth, Emma begins to get very sick. This not only adds an anxiety-inducing level of conflict on top of having to deal with Jane Doe’s unfolding evil, but also provides a deeper layer to the film.

Austin and Tommy examine the ritual cloth. (Screencap, Autopsy of Jane Doe, 2016)

The more that they poke, prod, and try to fight Jane, the worse Emma’s condition gets. Austin has to drag her along whilst also trying to protect his father from the witch’s attacks.

3. You get to the point of looming dread when it becomes clear that Austin cannot save his father, and seemingly Emma as well. (Also fuck it that the cat stays alive and alerts Austin of danger, cause why not?)

After Tommy begs Austin to kill him once all of Jane’s injuries transfer to the elder Tilden (VIEW HERE); Emma’s eyes become clouded like Jane’s.

While Austin tries everything that he can to keep Emma comfortable, he tries to perform a ritual himself to destroy the evil brought in. 

4. For Austin’s final attempt, he burns Jane in the incinerator. 

Jane Doe is far from done causing harm and suffering. When she is burned, Emma takes her place. Seemingly, her magic makes the sheriff believe that Emma was the one that was brought in.

Tommy’s death is made look like a suicide.

Since the Tildens only had 24 hours to solve this case, the Sheriff understands that Austin couldn’t get the job done due to the loss of his father. But rules are rules, and he’s forced to transfer Jane Doe’s (now Emma’s) cadaver to the next county. 

While she’s being taken out and Austin is being asked protocol police questions, the eerie song plays on the radio.

5. Austin knows that he has to hunt Emma’s cursed body into the next county. (And takes the cat with him, because the cat didn’t need to die.)

■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■

Who would LOVE to see a sequel like this?!

[mordigen]

Wicca is a Sex Cult - you won’t change my mind. Pt 2

And so we decided to join.....

We made our arrangements with our parents, each one of us “spending the night” with another so as to cover our tracks for our midnight outing. We were led in a fairly run-o-the-mill initiation rite with a group of other new members. They cast a circle, we were in white linen robes and donned with flower crowns. We all had a specific role in ‘calling’ the towers as to be one with the ritual we were involved in - they lit a bonfire. We all had candles, they lit one by one as they spouted out prayers and incantations. We were anointed and saged. When it came our time, we would speak our part  - some generically worded ‘dedication’ to the Goddess. We tossed our crowns into the fire, along with a lock of our hair. As we were officially initiated, the lead would come around and extinguish our candles as she closed the circle. It was nice enough, but ....anticlimactic. I’ll be honest, I don’t know what I was expecting, but whatever it was - the reality fell flat. BUT, I walked away thinking - well that’s not bad at all! What was I ever worried about? It seemed to galvanize my faith, and my denial. And since I was still under the belief that this was just a modern interpretation of a very olde faith, I thought then, perhaps, all those things we read about were simply from the “olde ways”, and this modern faith was nothing to worry about. 

But, it all changed once we had been initiated. There were now suddenly heavy expectations of new members. You HAD to attend so many meetings, or you’d be kicked out. You HAD to contribute so much work, or you’d be kicked out. You HAD to follow the High Priestesses rules - whatever that may be within each meeting - or you’d be kicked out. You HAD to pay tithings, or you’d be kicked out. And, of course - once you were initiated. Well....that’s when all the rituals became “skyclad”....and you HAD to participate....or else you’d be kicked out. 

Well. Spoiler alert - I was kicked out. I wasn’t the only one, but there were a couple of our friends who stayed. And I was once again seething in envy. They came back with stories that were shocking, honestly, with some of the things they had to do --- but they also came back with fantastic stories about all these new things they were learning and doing, and I just couldn’t stand it. There was one skyclad meditation class my friend was a part of where she was partnered with an 60 something year old man, where there was touching. Nothing scandalous - but still, contact. And whilst I absolutely did NOT want to get naked in front of a 60 year olde man, and I absolutely did NOT want to see a naked 60 year olde man - and did not want to have to touch palms with him, whilst both of us are horribly uncomfortably naked - I couldn’t get past everything she was taking away from it. She constantly touted how natural it was, how uninhibited you felt and how nothing dirty or sexual every happened and how it was supposed to force you beyond the realms of your body, where you didn’t even notice that you or anyone else was naked. Months passed, and the ones who stayed had nothing but positive things to say - and they had seemingly accomplished so much. Comparisons between nude beaches and nudist colonies abound, and the tut-tutting of how Americans are just a bunch of prudes because of Puritans. It’s a hard argument to dispute. The grooming was successful. They had won them all over. And truth be told, they were winning me over as well. I had started to reevaluate all my misgivings. I was just a prude. I was a slave to Puritan thought and tradition. 

It was less than a month hereafter, my friend was selected to participate in the Great Rite. I will not state how olde she was at the time, but her ‘partner’ was well into his 40s. I know nothing of the details beyond how utterly excited and eager she was, and how she apparently was able to achieve astral projection and make it to the Akashic Library.

Supposedly all her workings she ever did were wild successes - she got everything she ever wanted, and seemed to have just an infinite amount of knowledge about anything. She soared in confidence, personality, popularity, experimentation, intellect, and owned her blooming sexuality. I was unbelievably jealous. 

I made moves to join another coven myself. I wanted what she had. I wanted to become this enlightened, powerful, greater version of myself I ever could be. I wanted to be that fucking cool. So, I did some digging, and met some people. But, as I had come to find out - it was extremely hard to find one open to younger members. Specifically because of the sexual content. I eventually found one open to younger members. In retrospect, I did absolutely no due diligence whatsoever - I joined the first one that was open to minors as I was just desperate to join one, and start my journey to become as awesome as my friend. Only, this one was run by a Priest, not Priestess, and forced skyclad from the get go - it was part of their “trials” as to whether or not you were serious in your journey, as, according to them, that was the -only- way to perform rituals. If you were uncomfortable doing so, then you were not “ready”. 

So I performed. I hated every minute of it. I was unbelievably uncomfortable in front of all these complete strangers. But I forced myself through it, still holding fast to the idea that I just needed to shed all of my puritanical preconceptions and become comfortable in my own skin. The older men gravitated to the younger members - which was encouraged by the women as a rite of passage, for the sake of “mentoring”, that they all had gone through it themselves in their time. In more than one of my sessions, they were notably aroused. The older members brushed it off as just being a natural effect of the human nature, and not to take offense to it. So I pushed through, and tried to ignore it. I never had any of the overwhelming, enlightening experiences my friends claimed to have experienced - just horridly uncomfortable encounters with sexually aroused older men gawking at me. I was turned away from this coven for not being a “right fit” and not being “ready” for my journey. I was devastated. Though, when I look back on it today, I can only think that they could see/feel my discomfort and believed I would either not engage with them at all, in which case what’s the point? Or, if I did, I would have caved and told someone about the encounters - which would be a lot of problems for them.

But, I was young, and I was an idiot, and I was effectively brainwashed. So I set out to find another one, and was determined to not let my insecurities ruin my chances of being able to learn and grow in a legitimate Coven. It took a while, but I eventually found another one open to minors. They had legitimate application forms. I applied. I went to a few meetings and what could only be described as interviews. I had to take several tests. I found this encouraging - they really took the educational/intellectual side seriously. They swooned over the knowledge I had already gained - especially for it being all on my own. I was delighted. I was blind to the fact that so many of their tests were centered around doctrine - one of which being the secrecy aspect, yet again. Apparently, I had all the right answers. I was selected for initiation. I was ecstatic. But then they informed me that initiation was performed through the Great Rite, with either the High Priest or Priestess, and though wouldn’t be open to the entire Coven, would be confirmed/witnessed by the other Priest and several of the high-ranking officials. I immediately grew anxious - but I was determined. So I agreed....

(...continued)

[justforbooks]

Kirk Douglas, acclaimed actor, dead at 103

His only Oscar was an honorary award but Kirk Douglas became a Hollywood icon, with a film career spanning seven decades.

He prided himself on playing the tough guys, the sort of characters he once described as "sons of bitches".

He threw himself into his many roles with relish, acting with an intensity that often spilled over into his private life.

And he had a fine contempt for the Hollywood studio establishment, something that may well have made his career less successful than it was.

Kirk Douglas was born Issur Danielovitch Demsky to penniless Jewish immigrants in the city of Amsterdam, New York state, in 1916. His father had fled Russia to escape conscription into the Tsar's army.

One of seven children, he sold snacks to local mill workers to earn enough money to buy food and in his autobiography claims to have had more than 40 jobs.

It was when he began acting in school plays that he decided a theatrical career was for him. "The one thing in my life that I always knew, that was always constant, was that I wanted to be an actor."

Already an inter-collegiate wrestling champion, he paid his way through drama college by fighting professionally, ushering and working as a car park attendant and bellhop.

He attended the American Academy of Dramatic Arts where among his classmates were Betty Joan Perske, later to be known as Lauren Bacall, and the Bermudian actress Diana Dill.

He began using the name Kirk Douglas while acting during the college break and made his first Broadway appearance under his new name in a small part in a musical.

In 1941 he enlisted in the US Navy but was invalided out two years later because of injury and, in November 1943, he married his former classmate Diana Dill.

The marriage lasted eight years and produced two children, Michael, who would follow in his father's footsteps as an actor, and Joel, who became a film producer.

Douglas had initially planned to become a stage actor but Lauren Bacall recommended him to producer Hal B Wallis who was casting The Strange Love of Martha Ivers.

Douglas successfully tested for the lead role, playing opposite Barbara Stanwyck, already an established star.

He first made his name as a washed-up boxer, Midge Kelly, in Champion in 1949, which earned him the first of three Oscar nominations.

Although he never won the coveted award, Douglas was honoured in the 1996 Academy Awards for 50 years as a creative and moral force in the movie industry.

One critic claimed the Kelly role epitomised his persona on and off screen as "a ruthless, selfish, fiercely driven upstart".

His ambition was rooted in his humble Russian origins. He was determined to defy privilege and anti-Semitism.

Several of his most famous roles were as villains, such as the ruthless journalist in Ace In The Hole in 1951, who refuses to let sentiment or morality get in the way of a good story.

He won critical acclaim for his portrayal of Vincent van Gogh in Lust for Life in 1956, but his own lust for power earned him many enemies.

One of his more notable roles of this period was as Colonel Dax, the commander of a French regiment on the Western Front in the Stanley Kubrick film, Paths of Glory

Based on a real-life incident, Douglas is called upon to defend three soldiers charged with mutiny, who are eventually shot. Douglas resisted attempts by Kubrick to change the ending and reprieve the men.

In 1957 Douglas set up his own production company Byrna, named after his mother, in a bid to escape the grip of the big studios, which hired and fired at whim.

He also defied the anti-communist witch-hunts of the McCarthy era by openly hiring a blacklisted writer, Dalton Trumbo, to script Spartacus.

The movie, about a slave who rebelled against the Roman Empire, was seen by many as a metaphor for his own defiance of Tinseltown's power brokers.

Despite being riddled with historical inaccuracies, the film went on to win four Oscars.

Douglas faded from the big screen in the 1970s but in his later years made a fairly successful comeback in films such as Tough Guys with Burt Lancaster and Greedy with Michael J Fox.

His energy did not flag as he grew older. He became a director, producer and novelist.

Douglas served four US presidents in the role of special ambassador, and in 1981 received the Presidential Medal of Freedom.

He also created a charitable foundation and donated more than $1m to the Motion Picture and Television Fund.

His autobiography, The Ragman's Son, made the New York Times best-seller list.

Douglas also wrote two novels, Dance with the Devil and The Secret.

As well as Michael and Joel, the children from his first marriage, he had two more sons, who also followed him into the world of movies.

Eric became an actor and Peter became a producer but only his eldest child, Michael, came close to equalling his father's fame.

Eric died in 2004 after an overdose of alcohol and prescription drugs, in what authorities in New York ruled was an accidental death.

Douglas, who was given a lifetime achievement award from the American Film Institute in 1991, suffered a stroke in March 1996 which paralysed one side of his face.

But despite the stroke affecting his ability to speak, he was able to give the acceptance speech at the 1996 Academy Awards when he received a special award for "50 years as a moral and creative force in the motion picture community".

In the same year he played Chester J Lampwick in an episode of the hit animated series The Simpsons.

He continued to work, and appeared in films including Diamonds, in which he appeared with his old friend, Lauren Bacall, and It Runs in the Family in 2003, which co-starred his son Michael, grandson Cameron and ex-wife Diana.

Kirk Douglas was one of the last great Hollywood stars who began their climb to fame at the end of World War Two and certainly one of the most defiant.

"I don't need a critic to tell me I'm an actor," he once said. " I make my own way. Nobody's my boss. Nobody's ever been my boss."

Daily inspiration. Discover more photos at http://justforbooks.tumblr.com

[ashiiewappa]

Rio 2016 Individual Women’s Rhythmic Gymnastics

Sport:

Rhythmic Gymnastics

Court Dimensions:

The standard performance area for both men and women is 12m x 12m. The border is 100cm minimum and where there is a delimitation strip between the performance area and the border, the strip is 5cm wide and included as part of the performance area.

Equipment:

Rope

Hoop

Ball

Clubs

Ribbon

Basic Skills:

Walking

Running

Leaping

Jumping

Hopping

Galloping

Sliding

Skipping

Bending

Swaying

Swinging

Turning

Twisting

Stretching

Rope:

Swings

Throws

Circles

Rotations

Figures of eight

Hoop:

Swings

Throws

Circles

Rotations

Figures of eight

Ball:

Throwing

Bouncing

Rolling

Clubs:

Mills

Small circles

Swings

Ribbon:

Swings

Circles

Serpants

Spirals

Technical and Tactical Skills:

The aim of technical preparation is to create and improve sports skills. Each sports skill has a given way of solving a motor task (contents of a sports skill) in accordance with the rules of a given sport, biomechanical rules and locomotive possibilities of the athlete which are referred to as technique. Specific individual adjustment of technique by an athlete is referred to as style.

understanding the technique as a unity of its internal and external features

step-by-step procedure of its acquiring

stabilizing the technique

comprehensive conception (contents organization)

conscious activity of both the athlete and coach

Tactical skills are understood as certain procedures or models of competition situations solutions acquired by training.

strategy is understood as a pre-prepared plan of actions in a specific competition

the plan is defined by key strategy points (points in competition when the athlete makes decisions according to given strategy in so-called conflicting situations)

tactics further analyzes and shows possible solutions of individual competition situations (conflicting situations)

focuses on practical implementation of these situations within given plan (strategy)

tactics (individual, group, team, offensive, defensive)

Implementing tactical actions is carried out on the following axis:

perception and analysis (situation occurence – situation recognition – situation analysis)

mental solution (solution proposal – soluction selection)

movement solution (solution execution, feedback)

Tactics is being solved within competition situations which are characterized by conditions.

We can differentiate between two types of conditions:

fixed (sports ground, sports area, equipment etc.)

changing (referee, audience, route, ball bounce etc.)

Rules of the Game:

Only female athletes compete in Levels 1–4. Levels A, B, C, and Group are mixed gender.

Athletes must compete on the same level in all chosen individual events. (Either A, B, C, 1, 2, 3 or 4.)

Athletes may specialize by competing in one or more events at their chosen level. Gymnasts who do all four events at a level are considered All-Around. (i.e., Specialist: Level I Hoop and Ball; All-Around: Level I Rope, Hoop, Ball, and Ribbon)

A gymnast may perform in one or two group routines in addition to individual routines, or perform just in group routines (no individual).

The video of the compulsory routines is the official version. If a difference exists between the video and the written text, the video must be followed. For group routines, the video is the only version of the choreography

Compulsory routines may be reversed in their entirety (mirror image).

Olympic order for rhythmic gymnastics is rope, hoop, ball, clubs, ribbon.

Unified Sports Rhythmic Gymnastics Events

All rules and regulations apply equally to athletes and partners.

Unified competition is allowed in both Pairs and Group events.

In Unified Pairs events, the athlete and unified partner can either perform together as a duet or separately. One panel of judges will evaluate the athlete’s routine and one panel will evaluate the unified partner’s routine. The scores are added together for a unified team score.

In the Group events, there must be an equal number of athletes and partners in each group. Modifications

Visually Impaired Athletes – Coaches must notify the meet director and judges of the athlete’s visual impairment before the competition and prior to each routine. In order to aid the athletes, the following types of assistance are permissible for all levels of competition without deduction:

Audible cues, such as clapping, may be used in all routines.

Music may be played at any close point outside of the mat, or the coach may carry the music source around the perimeter of the mat.

Hearing Impaired Athletes – Coaches must notify the meet director and judges of the athlete’s hearing impairment before the competition and prior to each routine.

The athlete may receive a visual aid from the coach to begin her routine as the music starts. Awarding of Medals

Medals (or ribbons) are awarded for each event and for All-Around.

Gymnasts may receive a maximum of seven awards: one for each of the four events, one for All Around and two for group.

Gymnasts who compete Group only may receive a maximum of two awards: one for each group routine

Rope specifications

Material: The rope may be of hemp or synthetic material, provided that it possesses the identical qualities of lightness and suppleness as rope made of hemp.

Length: The length should be proportionate to the size of the gymnast.

Ends: Handles of any kind are not allowed, but one or two knots are permitted at each end. At the ends (to the exclusion of all other parts of the rope), a maximum of 10 centimeters may be covered by an anti-slip material, either colored or neutral.

Shape: The rope may be either of a uniform diameter or be progressively thicker in the center, provided that this thickness is of the same material as the rope.

Color: The rope may be any color or combinations of colors.

Hoop specifications

Material: The hoop may be of wood or plastic, provided that the latter retains its shape during movement. Foreign particles should be removed from inside the hoop before use.

Diameter: The interior diameter of the hoop should be from 60-90 centimeters.

Weight: A minimum of 150-300 grams and up.

Shape: The cross-section of the hoop may be in several different shapes: circular, square, rectangular, oval, etc. The hoop may be smooth or ridged.

Color: The hoop may be any color or combination of colors. The hoop may be partially or fully covered with tape to add colors.

Ball specifications

Material: The ball may be made of rubber or synthetic material (pliable plastic), provided that the latter possesses the same elasticity as rubber.

Diameter: 14-20 centimeters.

Color: The ball may be of any color.

Clubs specifications

Material: the clubs may be made of wood or synthetic material.

Length: 25-50 centimeters from one end to the other.

Shape: A shape similar to that of a bottle. The wider part is called the body. The narrow part, the neck, ends in a small sphere, the head.

Color: The clubs may be of a neutral color or may be colored (all or partially) with one or several colors. 

Ribbon specifications

  Stick

Material: wood, bamboo, plastic, fiberglass.

Diameter: a maximum of 1 centimeter at its widest part.

Shape: cylindrical or conical, or a combination of the two shapes.

Length: 45-60 centimeters, including the ring, which permits the fastening of the ribbon to the stick. The bottom end of the stick may be covered by an adhesive, anti-slip tape or may have a rubber handle a maximum length of 10 centimeters at the level of the grip. The top of the stick where the ribbon will be attached may consist of:

A supple strap (string or nylon) held in place by a nylon thread wound around the stick for a maximum of 5 centimeters.

A metal ring fixed directly onto the stick.

A metal ring (vertical, horizontal or oblique) fixed to the stick by two metal pins held in place

by nylon or metallic thread wound around the stick for a maximum of 5 centimeters.

A metal ring (fixed, mobile or pivoting) or a supple strap fixed to a metal tip of no more than 3 centimeters.

A metal ring fixed by two metal pins held by a metal tip of 3 centimeters long, which is lengthened by nylon or metallic thread wound around the stick, adding up to a maximum length of 5 centimeters.

Color: any choice. Ribbon

Material: satin or similar non-starched material.

Color: any choice of a single color, two colors or multicolored. Width: 4-6 centimeters.

Length: From one end to the other, the finished length of the ribbon should be a minimum of 1 meter to a maximum of 6 meters (for Levels A, B), a minimum of 2 meters to a maximum of 6 meters (for Level C) and a minimum of 3 meters to a maximum of 6 meters (for Levels 1-4). This part must be in one piece.

The end which is attached to the stick is doubled for a maximum length of 1 meter. This is stitched down both sides. At the top, a very thin reinforcement or rows of machine stitching for a maximum of 5 centimeters is authorized. This extremity may end in a strap, or have an eyelet (a small hole, edged with buttonhole stitch or metal circle), to permit attaching the ribbon.

  Attachment of the ribbon to the stick

The ribbon is fixed to the stick by means of a supple attachment, such as thread, nylon cord, or a series of articulated rings.

The length of this attachment is a maximum of 7 centimeters (not counting the strap or metal ring at the end of the stick where it will be fastened).

Floor

13 meters by 13 meters with a security zone of 1 meter around. A carpeted area may be used or a floor that is neither too tacky nor slippery.

The ceiling height does not need to be 8 meters (26’ 3”), but should be fairly high.

How to Officiate the Sport:

Coaches - gives instructions to athletes, makes sure that they are on a good condition, give support and constructive criticism to the athletes.

Referee - assess penalties, explain and enforces the rules

Head Judge - does the final decision

Line Judges - positioned at opposite corners of the competition floor to record out-of-bounds violations

Timers - records and monitors the time of the performance

Analysis:

Hoop Gymnasts

Russia - She really displayed some great exhibitions with her hoops, she exudes overflowing confidence. Her leaps and turns are very precise and controlled, she moves with grace yet defined actions.

Azerbaijan - Displayed new and unique stunts and tricks, she moves one with her hoops. A little mistake during the start but quickly composes herself and displayed a great performance. Her music really suited her movements and very timing with the beats.

Russia - Amazing display of spot on flexibility, she uses her hoop very well. Her performance could really move the audience. You could hardly tell that the hoop is separate from her body as it slows so smoothly together like it is one.

Belarus - Her costume is very chic and stylish, her moves are very smooth. She handles the hoop as if it is a part of her body. However I can’t tell that her moves were unique or apart from the other performers.

France - The costume is really eye catching and cute, I could tell she is not as flexible like the others. There were some mishandling of the hoop, she did however perform with grace. She finished great and really showed exquisite leaps.

Belarus - Her costume is very colorful and chic, her turning leaps are very spot on. She displays amazing flexibility, however there are small lapses in her performance. Her music somewhat made it hard for her to connect her movements with the beats.

Espanya - Her music is appropriately displayed through her performance, there are also lapses in her performance. She displayed turns and loops that are uniquely exhibited with the use of her hoops.

Korea - Her costume is very attractive and dashing, her movements are very smooth and graceful. She uses her hoop well, and her leaps are spot on. She displays her flexibility in a different way.

Ukraine - She displayed great control and precision. She is very flexible and handles her hoop smoothly. Her leaps are very powerful and energetic, her use of lively music was very great.

Bulgaria - Her hoop handling is very precise and graceful at the same time. She is very flexible, displays powerful movements. You couldn’t see a hint of hesitation, she ended her performance amazingly.

Ball Gymnasts

Russia - Her ball handling is amazing and without fail. She handles the ball with grace and elegance. Her flexibility is great, she finished her performance strong.

Azerbaijan - Her performance shows speed yet the way she handles the ball is very smooth. Her tricks are very amazing, committed minor mistakes in the middle. Nevertheless a great performer.

Russia - Her costume is very chic and eye catching. Her leg raises really show her flexibility and her ball handling is on point. She moves around the platform with grace and elegance and she finished her performance strong.

Belarus - Her costume is so stylish and snazzy, her music is upbeat which was shown through her performance. You could see speed yet smooth all handling. Her bends really show so much of her flexibility.

France - the color of her costume scream elegance, she used a dynamic music which is clearly displayed through her performance. She has great elevation with her throws, she also displays her amazing flexibility. Although there are also lapses in her performance.

Belarus - Her ball handling is precise, she also shows her flexibility through different stunts. Her confidence really shows all through out her performance.

Espanya - A stylish blue costume, a great display of flexibility. Her music choice is appropriate for her performance. Her dance could really move audience, She has great ball handling.

Korea - She exudes confidence, her leg raises are very precise. Her gracefulness is very evident as she moves with clarity. Her ball handling is great and displayed amazing stunts.

Ukraine - Her costume is a little off for me however her movements really synchronized with her movements. Her ball handling is very smooth and clean, she displays great flexibility. She performed difficult pivots yet didn’t make a single mistake.

Bulgaria - She performs with speed in line with the beat of her music. Her stunts are unique and very precise. A little trouble in handling the ball, but continues performing greatly and ending it with power.

Club Gymnasts

Russia - Her music is too fast for her movements. I don’t see the synchronization of her movement with her music. She did however exude confidence, and has great club handling but a slight problem with her control.

Azerbaijan - Her costume is chic, she displays great control. She displays her flexibility  amazingly and handles her clubs with rhythm.

Russia - Her flexibility is shown in accordance with her body control. Her music choice is somewhat off with her movements. She shows mastery in handling her clubs and she ended strong.

Belarus - Her movements are unique and graceful. Her flexibility is on point and she displays great mastery in handling her clubs. Her chosen music is very solemn and is appropriate with her movements.

France - Her performance doesn’t coincide with her music. She mistakenly dropped her clubs and was a little hesitant with her movements after. She did however ended amazingly.

Belarus - She has great club handling, she uses her platform well. Had trouble in handling her clubs, her performance was not the best I’ve seen so far as she had too many errors.

Espanya - Her music is very lively coinciding with her actions. She shows speed all through out her performance. Has great synchronization and displays amazing stunts. Her flexibility is very amazing and was displayed well.

Korea - Her costume is very stylish and beautiful, she somehow made errors in handling her clubs. Her performance had lapses and lacks effort to me. She did however ended amazingly.

Ukraine - Her club handling is on point, her music coincide with her performance. She displayed speed all throughout without losing focus and grace. Her flexibility was amazing and she ended her performance astonishingly.

Bulgaria - Her costume is very bright and attractive. She shows mastery in handling her clubs, there was no visible hesitation during her stunts. Her music is somewhat off from her performance but nevertheless a great over all performance.

Ribbon Gymnasts

Russia - Clean movements but I am not very fascinated with her ribbon handling. She did however displayed her flexibility well. She also has great control and balance. An over all great performance.

Azerbaijan - A very festive and stylish costume at the same time. She displays great elevation during her leaps. Her ribbon handling is very fascinating to watch and it’s as if the ribbon is floating and moving on its own. Her speed is incredible which really highlighted the movements of the ribbon. Her finishing performance was splendid.

Russia - Her ribbon handling is great, it really grabs an audience’s attention. I could however say there us a lack of speed in the ribbon movements. But over all a performance that’s shows elegance.

Belarus - She performs with speed especially in handling the ribbon. She displays great control and her performance was very fascinating especially with how the ribbons move. She used the space very well to her advantage.

France - Her ribbon handling is great but not the best I’ve seen so far. She did display however unique stunts and moves. Committed some errors along the way but managed to end her performance well.

Belarus - Her costume is so attractive and festive, Her ribbon handling is amazing especially with her speed. She had minor mistakes but she was able to display a great performance. She didn’t disappoint as her performance was over all splendid.

Espanya - Her flexibility mixed with her ribbon handling was superb. Her music choice was amazing and really fitted well with her performance. She did however used too much time in performing and ended a little badly.

Korea - Her costume is stylish and very bright, she shows mastery in handling her ribbon. Her speed is also enough to display the ribbon amazingly. Her flexibility matched well with how she handles her ribbons. Her execution of the moves are spot on.

Ukraine - Her costume is unique, and her ribbon handling really shows great mastery. Her speed in handling the ribbon is exceptional. Shows great precision and clearly enjoys her own performance. And she ended amazingly with overflowing confidence.

Bulgaria - Her costume is not the only thing festive but it also greatly matches her chosen music. Her choreography is amazing especially with her ribbon handling that shows speed. Her energy not faltering even for a second and really ended her performance well.

[imlaxdris71]

OUAT Shadowhunters AU

Okay so this is a bit of a beast and I’m so sorry for how long it is. But this is the basic outlines of each character I thought of, although I may not include all of them in the story. I’m also still tweaking some ideas, but here’s how I kinda sorted everyone out. I want to work on a snippet, but it is very late so this is what I have! I hope you guys enjoy my late night rambling. @teamhook @kmomof4 @ultraluckycatnd @stahlop @therealstartraveller776

Shadowhunters

Killian Jones: Fae/Shadowhunter (26)

Killian is the second son of Alycia of the Fae Court and Brennan Jones, making him a Fae/Shadowhunter hybrid. He is extremely skilled with seraph blades and throwing daggers. His two most prominent runes are Calm Anger and Courage in Combat. Killian’s fae heritage means that he is seen as less than other Shadowhunters and has had to work twice as hard as other Shadowhunters to prove his worth. However, he is disturbed by the discrimination that downworlders face and often finds himself among downworld company. His best friend was David Nolan, but when they were nineteen, David was bitten by a werewolf and exiled from Misthaven. Killian was dating the werewolf Milah, but she was killed in a raid a few years previously and Killian has been investigating her death ever since.

Liam Jones: Fae/Shadowhunter (30)

Liam is the oldest of the Jones brothers and also a hybrid like his brother. Liam’s choice of weapon is a seraph blade, but he is also quite skilled with the stave, making him deadly at both range and up-close. His most prominent rune is the Angelic Power rune because, unlike his brother, Liam cleaves closer to his angelic heritage than his fae heritage. He works hard to make himself the perfect Shadowhunter so that the Clave doesn’t doubt his loyalty. He worries incessantly after his younger brothers and is slow to believe Killian’s theory that there is something rotten in the Clave. He is not overly fond of Emma at first, but is very interested in her young Warlock friend, Elsa.

William “Lee” Jones (Liam 2.0) (20)

Lee is the youngest of the Jones brothers and the result of his father’s second marriage Anne Whitlock. He is a full Shadowhunter, but still very much aware of the shadow that hangs over his older brothers. Lee is very talented with the crossbow and prefers to be able to analyze a fight before getting involved. However, he is as hot-headed as his brothers and his most prominent rune is Accuracy. He works alongside his brothers to stop whatever Gold is planning.

Will Scarlet (25)

Will is a good friend of the Jones brothers and parabatai to Robin Locksley. He prefers seraph daggers and his most prominent rune is Stealth. Will enjoys hanging around downworld bars and his quickly falling head over heels for the head of the vampire coven, Belle French.

Robin Locksley (30)

Robin and Liam are best friends, but Robin chose to form a parabatai bond with the young Will Scarlet because for all Will’s recklessness, he’s a good, passionate fighter and he needs someone with Robin’s head to watch out for him. Robin prefers the bow and his most prominent rune is Flexibility. Robin is in love with fellow Shadowhunter Regina, but Cora doesn’t think Robin has the right background to marry her daughter. 

Regina Mills (28)

Regina is a particularly talented Shadowhunter that prefers the electrum whip and her most prominent rune is her Angelic Power rune. She believes that she is superior, mostly because of the way Cora raised her. Born to one of the “original” families, Regina doesn’t think much of the discrimination that downworlders face, but agrees to investigate what is happening in the hopes that her mother will allow her to marry Robin. 

Robert Gold (52)

Gold is the Inquisitor and is known for doling out harsh punishments to downworlders and Shadowhunter sympathizers. He has been attempting to ruin Killian for years and sees downworlders as scum to be eliminated. Gold has teamed up with Cora Mills and Peter Pan to destroy the downworld and raise a new, pure order from the ashes. Gold orchestrates many of the murders and tries to pass laws that would place stricter regulations on downworlders. They would also forbid the Jones brothers from being Shadowhunters. His most prominent rune is the Power rune.

Cora Mills (50)

Cora is a skilled Shadowhunter that specializes in the electrum whip like her daughter. However, she also has impressive rune work with her most prominent rune being her Voyance rune. Cora believes downworlders to be a scourge and is working to eradicate them along with Gold and Pan. Cora had a daughter at 18 when she slept with a demon for fun. She cast Zelena aside and instead married into the high-class Mills family through Henry Mills. She has raised Regina to follow in her footsteps and does not approve of the lowly Robin.

Warlocks

Emma Swan (200+)

Emma is the High Warlock of Misthaven and takes great pride in protecting her downworld community from threats, both from demons and from the Clave. She is extremely skilled in defensive magic and her warlock mark comes in the form of white, shining stripes and glowing eyes. Emma is the current ward for a young warlock Henry and they have a mother-son relationship, especially since they share the same demonic parent. Emma first comes across Killian in the club she owns that he frequent, but their first official meeting comes when a young warlock is murdered and Killian comes to ask her about him. From then on, the two of them work closely together to solve the murders and they begin to develop feelings for each other. 

Henry Swan (12)

A young Warlock who was taken in by Emma when his birth mother abandoned him, Henry and Emma share the same demonic parent. Henry has similar stripes to Emma, although his are red, and he has small fangs. Henry is an excitable kid that doesn’t quite understand the discrimination the downworld faces. Emma is extremely protective of him. 

Zelena West (32)

A young Warlock, Zelena is the illegitimate child of Cora Mills, who had an affair with a demon, but cast the child off. Zelena’s angelic heritage makes her particularly powerful, but her bitterness at Shadowhunters makes her a nasty opponent. She works with Pan and Arthur in the hopes that they will double-cross Gold and take over. Her warlock mark is her green skin and she specializes in potions.

Elsa and Anna Fross (182, 178)

Elsa and Anna Fross are sisters born to the same mother. Their mother was part of a brooding den that was broken up by Shadowhunters. They saw the horrible things their mother experienced and hold kinder feelings than most Warlocks towards Shadowhunters. Elsa has a particular talent for water and ice magic and her warlock mark is her white hair and two horns. Elsa has begun to fall in love with Liam Jones and worries about what that might mean. Anna has less magical talent than her sister, but can also manipulate water, although she uses it for healing mostly. Anna’s warlock mark is the same horns as her sister, but she also has a white tail instead of white hair.

Werewolves

Snow White (30)

Snow is the Alpha of the Misthaven pack, along with her mate, David. Snow is a born werewolf and her wolf form has white fur, which is what earned her her name. She is well-respected among the downworld community and rules with a fair and firm hand. Her acceptance of David was much contested at the time, but he quickly proved to be an asset. She and David have a son named Leo, who is still a little puppy. She and Emma are good friends.

David Nolan (26)

David was once a shadowhunter who was bitten by a rogue werewolf during a mission gone wrong. He was close with the Jones family and didn’t much mind their half-fae heritage, especially since he was mocked for being from a lower-class Shadowhunter family. David met Snow’s pack after he turned and fell in love with the Alpha. David still keeps in contact with Killian, but it is sometimes difficult as Killian is closely monitored. David’s wolf form is russet and sandy-brown. His most prominent rune was Fortitude.

Ruby and Granny Lucas (29, 80)

Ruby and Granny Lucas are both born werewolves that run in Snow’s pack. Ruby is Snow’s Beta and Granny often advises Snow on difficult political matters. They two women are incredibly loyal, but have a severe distrust of Shadowhunters, especially since Ruby’s mother was killed by Shadowhunters when they declared her rogue. Ruby is a dark brown and black wolf while Granny is silver. They are both trained fighters, although Granny usually runs the restaurant, Lupus Diner, which is a front for the werewolves. 

Graham Humbert (31)

Graham was a human cop who was bitten by a werewolf and joined Snow’s pack. He is mated to Ruby Lucas and still works as a police officer. He is in charge of investigating the human connections to the Shadow World murders. He doesn’t really trust Shadowhunters, but doesn’t have quite the same hate for them as others. He is a brown and gray wolf.

Milah Auro (33)

Milah was a werewolf in the Misthaven pack and dating Killian, although their relationship was kept secret for obvious reasons. However, she was murdered by Pan and it was made to look like a Shadowhunter attack on a rogue werewolf. Milah’s death prompts Killian to pull away from the Clave and begin investigating Gold. Milah was a pretty black wolf.

Vampires

Belle French (124)

Belle French is the leader of the Misthaven coven of vampires and an old friend of Emma’s. The two aren’t incredibly close, but they respect each other and will come to each other’s aid. Belle keeps her coven on a tight leash and does not wish to give Shadowhunters an inch when it comes to coven business. She has worked hard to change the vampiric image and the recent killings disturb her. Belle’s true love is her library, but the snarky Will Scarlet is beginning to turn her head, something that hasn’t happened in decades. She and Snow have a fairly amicable agreement between the vampires and werewolves.

Arthur Pendragon (600+)

Arthur is a very old vampire that remembers the times when downworlders weren’t beholden to the Accords and wishes to return to that time. He is working with Pan and Zelena to double-cross Gold and bring down the Clave, restoring downworlders to their place as predators. 

Victor Whale (107)

Whale is a vampire that was turned during World War II when he was serving as a doctor in Europe. Whale is in charge of getting blood shipments for Belle’s coven and mostly just wants to keep practicing medicine. He has found a few effective treatments for wounds dealt by Shadowhunter weapons or demon ichor.

Archie Hopper (300+)

An old vampire that often gives counsel to younger vampires and coven leaders. He is an oddly peaceful vampire who works as a therapist on the side. He is good friends with Emma and Belle.

Fair Folk

Tinkerbelle (Unknown)

A member of the Faerie Queen’s court, Tinkerbelle is a scout that often works with the Shadowhunters to bring murderers to justice. She is also the one who brings Pan’s plans to the attention of the Shadowhunters, but she doesn’t really trust them. She works mostly with Killian because Alycia was her friend and she trusts her sons. Tink is particularly deadly with a dagger.

Alycia (Unknown)

Alycia is a handmaiden to the Queen and a particularly trusted scout. She fell in love with Brennan and had two sons with him, but was forced to return to Court. She has little contact with her sons, but tries to let them know how much she loves them and how proud of them she is. Alycia has a son, Jefferson, from a previous relationship with a human.

Ashla, Aurora, and Philip (Unknown)

Fae knights that want to unite the Shadow World so they work with Jefferson and the Jones brothers.

Jefferson (73)

Jefferson is a relatively young Fae who chose to leave the human world behind and accept the immortality offered by the Fae Court. He serves as diplomat and knight to the Queen and wishes to get to know his younger brothers better. 

Peter Pan (Unknown)

Pan wants to rid the world of Shadowhunter influence and teams up with Gold to bring the Shadow World to the brink of war. He murders Milah and organizes the murder of both Shadowhunter and downworlder alike so that he can double-cross Gold and overthrow the Clave. 

So Gold wants to destroy all downworlders; he enlists the help of Peter Pan to sow discord in the downworld and Cora to spread hate rhetoric. He particularly targets the Jones brothers, and Killian because he has friends in the downworld, his supposed to be parabatai was turned, and he has a wolf lover. Pan kills Milah, but makes it look like a Shadowhunter attack. While investigating her death, Killian comes across several cases of what looks like shadowhunter-on-downworlder crime and downworlder-on-shadowhunter crime. Tensions are rising and the brothers are in the middle. They team up with the downworld and work to bring Gold’s horrible plans to light.

[themockingcrows]

Pieces In The Game Ch. 1

JohnDave This chapter is SFW cw: blood and violence This chapter available on my AO3!

Trapped in a gladiatorial combat game without control of his own body, Dave must rely on his player to control his movements and win his freedom. John, a bit of a prodigy with video games, is his player and recently has come to the realization of just how intense these games really are. Without knowing who is on either end of the controls, is it possible for one friend to win the other's freedom? Or will they all just wind up pawns in the end?

     It was a dangerous life, and if Dave had a choice he never would have gotten involved in it. Nobody with a shred of sanity would want this life. Most fighters didn’t live very long, relying solely on their controllers to translate their own abilities into motion, giving up their bodily control for the sake of overdrive. The only ways out were death, or to win and get to retire... But it all came down to how talented their controllers were in the heat of battle. The modern gladiatorial games were the cutting edge of science and gaming technology with a wildly successful gambling edge to it, the characters made of pixels replaced with flesh and blood, and the stakes made far higher. The newest and greatest in blood and gore, with a cult following the world over.

     While most of the competitors were criminals, Dave was not. He knew he’d been scammed into this, must have pissed off the wrong person with his outspoken distaste for the current regime in charge online, but he’d never gotten a chance to find out who or how for certain. Even now, during the downtime when he wasn’t fighting, he couldn’t find out. His access to his old social media accounts and bank accounts were blocked, but he was free to make fresh and indulge in online life as he pleased. ...Within limits of course. Some phrases couldn’t make it past the censors, as well as some topics, caught automatically by the system and rejected, left unposted or unsent. Everything else? Fair game.

     He’d learned to work with codes to try singling out other fighters, or people who currently had thoughts against the Condesce and her family, phrases and changed letters signifying freedom in new and different ways that the censors couldn’t keep up with. It was a small window, but a comforting one. He could leave messages this way, leave a trail, even if to the outside it looked like nothing. A legacy was left in his social media ramblings, waiting for someone to understand them who could enact change.

     This bit of freedom was why Dave was able to have some semblance of friends online, and got to learn more about them, as well as be able to play videogames of his own… though he was more picky about what he played, usually opting for things as far removed from his own reality as possible. Farming simulators and games dealing with run and fetch missions brought hours of entertainment to him compared to other prisoners who enjoyed playing games of warfare and battle. Another keen interest of his was games involving skill that he could break, going out of bounds or glitching the character in unimaginable ways. It gave him hope that someday, somehow, he’d figure out how to ‘glitch’ himself and leave the confines of his prison.

     It’s not like he was missing much by avoiding the war and fighting games. In here their own abilities didn’t really matter, it’s not like they could learn techniques from those games. The players? They could. But the pieces were just there to go to the limits of their bodies and hope they didn’t get assigned to a newbie. ...Or if they were assigned to a newbie, praying that the person in question, whoever they were, were absolutely baller at the game itself.

     With his emails answered, Dave worked on feeding his digital flock while checking in with his friends in the other window. Rose was talking about a new knitting project for her girlfriend, someone who was pretty attractive if Dave could say so based on pictures she’d shared in the past. Jade was going off about some kind of physics thing that Dave couldn’t track, but occasionally she’d stop and talk about game engines. Dave was pretty sure she designed new gaming technology, new virtual reality tools and force feedback things as opposed to the units that he dealt with every fight. Pretty sure she wasn’t the type of person to be that into things being embedded into human bodies, or at least he hoped. Not like he could give her feedback even if she did, thanks to the censors.

     Then there was John, who despite being the most open of the group, was the least understood. He’d talk about this game or another, sometimes joining Dave and the others for a relaxing game where they could gather resources and build things together, other times just rambling about competitions. He seemed the type to collect cards too, based on how seriously he talked about it, and seemed the type to win at a decent rate. Yet as often as he talked about games, he talked very little about himself or his home life aside from the occasional ‘my mom’s calling I’ve got to go’.

     Dave wondered if he knew much about the piece games he was involved in, or knew how they worked. Not that he’d get recognized anywhere with the helmets everyone wore, but it was still a strange connection to think about. What if any of them knew he was in here? Would they treat him like a run of the mill prisoner, or someone bad? Or would they treat him like a victim of the system, forced to run in the wheels to stay alive in the machine?

     ...Dave lost his urge to play with his chickens, and once Belle and Henrietta and the others were fed, held, and put back in to avoid the next game day’s rain, he disconnected from online and got up to pace. Pacing helped. It helped to settle his racing thoughts, his worries, the stress. Pacing and working out, though he knew better than to do too much of that in the wrong way. Too much and he’d bulk up and be slower, too little and he wouldn’t be strong enough even with overdrive initiated, and any outside of his cell in the yard would just be a cause for infighting and more reason for people to try ganging up on him.

     Winning multiple times in a row tended to put a target on one’s back, and Dave knew his spine was painted with the red of his victories in a nice big bullseye for everyone’s focus to be drawn to, so he tended to keep his head down and not react when provoked. It was safer. It was easier. It was the only way to be ready to keep going forward if he wanted to keep winning with his player.

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

      John had been playing games competitively for years, but he’d never played a game quite like this before. The controls to the humans bodies unleashed that untapped potential in some amazing ways, but the character that he’d been assigned as the player of had a few quirks. For one, he was the fastest thing John had ever seen in his life, hard to keep track of as if he phased in and out of reality in a blur when really pressed. For another, his reaction times and response times were through the roof. It was like he’d been born to be a piece on the board.

     Every time he won, John received some prize money and accolades, though as the wins racked up, so did his curiosity. Who was behind that helmet? ...Did they like being a piece? Were they treated well when not on the board? Were they okay?

     He’d never bothered with such concerns before. Being his mother’s son, he’d developed a bit of a streak for nihilism to get by, and everyone’s losses were just another game to him. That is, till a recent win had sprayed blood back on the feedback receiver and the piece died a slow death instead of the quick one he’d been expecting as the ultimate loss. Sometimes they were just incapacitated and could come back for another try, but other times killing blows happened. His swordsman piece was intensely powerful and he wasn’t afraid to use him till that second.

     Now, John found himself second guessing the game entirely. They weren’t even able to scream when in pain, weren’t able to call it quits on their own. Broken bones or not, they could be pushed to the breaking point all over again at the hands of their controller, so long as their body could keep up under the strain. It looked like torture, he started to realize, not just some act. What kind of a life was that to live?

     He’d asked about buying the freedom of his piece before, knowing his mother would agree if he plied her just right, wore his best bow tie and smiled as brightly as he could after doing some bonding activity or another with her, but rules were rules and not even the son of the regime leader could bend them once in place. If one could be bought out, they all could, and where would the games be then? The pieces remained where they were.

     If he couldn’t get this person out illegally, then he decided he’d just need to win legally, and then see what they were like. Maybe plan for when he was older and more capable of fighting against his mother’s wishes to change the rules that were in place that no longer seemed fair.

     John spent a lot of his time playing war games, battle games, fighting games, anything with intense combos and a reward and punishment system for fuckups, trying to hone his own reaction times so he’d be more useful for his piece. It was stressful, though. So stressful now that he knew the true weight of what hung over him. That’s why there was always time to wind down with his friends and play low stress games, farming sims and cooperative fantasy games that were mostly hunt and fetch. Everyone seemed to be into that kind of game, but Dave seemed to like them the most. He was always the first to volunteer to play, or was already playing on his own.

     Sometimes John wondered what Dave got up to when he wasn’t online, it seemed like he was always there whenever John was. Oh.. maybe he didn’t have many friends? Aside from Rose and Jade and himself, who were all fairly busy people, maybe there wasn’t anyone else who could really play with him or talk with him or keep him company.

     John knew how that felt.

     Growing up as his mother’s son, he’d been lonesome in a lot of ways. People were either intimidated by him or pitied him, scared of the Crocker name and reputation that reached the world over. The Condesce was not to be trifled with, and her family was Perfect in ways that humans weren’t meant to be by sheer repetition and force. Perfection was expected, if not demanded, and John was… happy to comply.

     That sure was one way to put it.

     John diluted his stress through the games that took skill and timing to better deal with his home life, though now that he knew the truth about the piece game he played, the stress was rekindled in new ways. He didn’t have to be good enough for his mother anymore, he had to be good enough for her and good enough for the swordsman he controlled to keep him alive.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 

     There was a game set for today, and Dave’s number came up. He spent the morning getting ready, making his usual posts on social media, stretching, eating breakfast and taking the first dose of medication that would relax his muscles and further attune him to the implanted receiver that rested against his back that would be plugged into the suit. He said hi to his friends like it was any other normal day, though John wasn’t around. Lately that had been a pattern that kind of sucked: any time it was a game day for Dave, there was a 50-50 chance John wouldn’t be around. He couldn’t say goodbye to any of them, not really, without being able to explain his situation… but it was still comforting to be around them whenever he could. Missing one of them was like an ache in his stomach.

     No matter. There were bigger issues at hand.

     Dave showered and put the plug suit on in his prep room, form fitting and designed for minimal armor, and adjusted the neck till he felt the receiver and the main plug connect and slip into place. Wired up, Dave sat down to put on his boots, high to the knee and laced tight, and then checked on his sword.

     He hated the damned thing, but it’s what he was most attuned to already. It had been replaced a few times by now, sometimes breaking in the moment in older fights, or getting chips put into the metal from hitting the other players bone or armor or weapon head on. This new model was flawless, metal holding an iridescent sheen to it, weight good in his hands. His brother would probably love it, if he were still around.

     ...No. He’d probably hate it. Even with all the pimping out, his brother’s sword was still better, and he was still bitter about what they’d done to him. No amount of shine could polish that murder out of his mind.

     With a soft whoosh sound, Dave felt the first relays acting up, signaling it was time to get ready and reach the main area. The players were prepared. Slipping on his helmet and cinching it in place, Dave took up his sword and waited by the door for it to open, releasing him to the main waiting area with other pieces. Some had hammers, others had lances or bow staffs, different weapons here and there. It really was like being in a video game, the uncomfortable flux of reality and game being all the more overpowering here.

     They all reacted at the same time to the tone over a loudspeaker, the signal that the first connection burst was coming, stinging along their nerves like fire from head to toe till they almost dropped to the ground. The second burst was lighter, a relief to the body, freeing them from control. They didn’t have to think about their actions anymore. Everything was out off their hands at this point, left up to the unseen controller, the player in control of each piece guiding them forward in a procession to the arena and taking their pre-destined places. Dave’s was near the inner edge of the arena, closer to the middle that signaled the final battle to be won: if he got to go to the middle, and withstood the onslaught, he would be freed.

     He couldn’t recall the last person who’d made it out that way, but he wondered if they were doing okay with their freedom. With their new life.

     Dave found himself bouncing foot to foot soon enough, taking practice swings with his sword as his controller warmed up and prepared. Same controller, then. He did this every time before a fight, making sure the reaction times were up to snuff, making sure there were no latent issues before a match began. The red light above Dave turned yellow, and the bouncing of his body stopped, his stance lowering, one arm lifting like something out of an anime. ...What kind of a nerd was his controller, this was almost embarrassing.

     Green light, and Dave was running full force ahead, hunting the first target.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 

     John was hooked up and prepared, gloves on his hands, visor over his eyes, and controls ready to be activated by hand or foot. He could hear the commentator giving live descriptions, and tried to tune him out. Anything he was describing had already happened, was too late, was pointless to focus on. A distraction. All John needed was his shared sight with the piece, the weight of the glove on his hands, and a reminder of just how much drag the sword had.

     Combos were easier to execute with hands and feet, making the piece jump and slash, rebound, then spring towards another target almost faster than the commentator could track. Blood sprayed, reddening his vision, but it didn’t stop him. The only thing on John’s mind was combos, and avoiding being hit. Yeah, being hit wouldn’t stop him immediately… but it would slow his piece down considerably, and cause problems in general. Since coming to the realization that the pieces were living breathing people, since having the realization he was controlling a human’s life or death, John had become all the more ruthless.

     He couldn’t save everyone but damn it he could try to save one of them, and he’d do everything he could to do that.

     Breathing slowly, John counted down in his head as another target approached, swinging a large weapon wildly. One, zip close when the weapon was pulled back. Two, attack the torso. Three, attack the back before using it to spring free and away. Four, flee the area entirely, come back to finish them off later if needs be. They wouldn’t be much of an issue anymore either way. Cleanup was just for extra points and guarantees, but points didn’t matter in this game. Not really. The point were more there for the gamblers and the people trying to gauge odds at home. Staying alive was what mattered.

     Another enemy came from the left, fast enough that John had to jump back to avoid the lance. A spurt of speed however, and he was running up the weapon at an angle, slashing for the helmet and shoulder of the user, leaping off in a tuck and roll flip when they started to go down.

     John raced his piece around the center of the arena, sizing up a third target, taking the initiative this time. While they were busy with someone up front, he rushed up and stabbed through their middle from behind, blood pouring over his hands. The grip on the sword stayed true, however, cutting a deep angle into the body before withdrawing and slicking blood off down the blood groove thanks to a flick and some gravity. It left him face front with the piece the former had been fighting, who luckily hesitated before trying to do something complex.

     John stabbed the sword down to ground himself and turned, aiming a harsh kick at the twisting midair figure, then followed through by grabbing the sword and slicing with a full body’s worth of momentum as he turned. Off went the competitors arm, and down went John to one knee to recuperate for a moment.

     He’d pushed the piece’s body pretty hard, and knew all the blood was probably not great for their psyche, but what could he do! The best that could be done was to rest for a moment, let him catch his breath before going to pick over who was left till the number was low enough t-

     The green lights turned red, signaling the end of the round, and John blinked. 

     Oh. Well then. Guess he was more thorough than anticipated.

     Slowly, John got the piece back up to his feet and walked him to the waiting area where control would be disconnected. He kept the helmet on till last, wanting to catch a few more glimpses of his player character from the outside as he removed his gloves and finally the visor. Sound regained meaning to him again, as suddenly a microphone was placed in front of his mouth, the announcer wanting a few words from his victory.

     “John, you’ve just placed first again in an unprecedented victory! Do you have any words for the fans at home?” asked the smooth talking fellow, his clothes too flashy, too bright for what had just happened. He’d just ended people’s lives with his own hands, made someone else kill people with their hands, bathed someone in their blood, and this jackass wanted to know what he thought?

     Oh he thought plenty. ...But John knew his mother was watching, and if his mother was watching then he had to continue to be the good boy she knew and expected. He propped up a smile, bright and normal and perfectly balanced. Perfectly rehearsed.

     “Well, darn, it’s not like it’s hard to do this. Just need to remember the right combos and have a feel for your piece,” he chuckled, giving a little wave. 

     “You heard it here first, folks! In his fifth victory, all you need to do is know how to play the game and you’ll win. Wise words from an excellent player, and wise actions from the son of our very own Condesce,” the announcer tutted, amused by the boyish words.

     John remained on site for a while, answering questions and dealing with the bitter but good sportsmanlike handshakes from his competitors. They didn’t really seem to have the same worries John did. Their pieces had died, and the most they were upset about was losing, not that someone was dead. Not that multiple someones were dead. Not that more people would die the next week and the week after that, and the next time they came in to play they’d be involved in more bloodshed. None of it seemed to bother them, to touch them in the slightest.

     When he was free to go back to his home, back to his room, he took his nauseated self to the lavish bathroom and turned on the shower as hot as he could handle it. Dinner would be delivered to his quarters later, since he usually ate in his room after games, but he wasn’t sure how much of it he’d really eat. Enough to keep his mother off his back and others from asking questions, at least.

     Off went John’s clothes and his glasses in the steamy room before he entered the shower and sat down, letting the water run over him steadily. He watched his hands, flexed his fingers, and tried to remember the weight of the gloves. Tried to imagine how it would feel if he were the piece holding the sword instead of the controller. Tried to imagine what color his piece’s eyes were aside from the electric blue that signaled John’s control. 

     What did he look like? What was his name? How old was he? The helmet left so many questions, and though the armor gave pretty clear outlines to the body, it was hard to tell many details beyond general shape. His piece was slender and had lean muscle, was average height, and had long limbs and strong fingers. Controlling a sword felt natural with these controls. And then there was the strange speed… How could he even manage that? Even with the body modifications from the connection, even with the body being pushed to maximum, that speed was almost terrifying.

     John slicked his hair back and reached up for one of the expensive shampoos from the edge of the tub, scrubbing his hair while he sat to make the most of his sulking. He eventually stood up and washed the rest of himself, rinsing off and leaving when he couldn’t stand the heat anymore, flopping on his bed with his towel wrapped around his waist so he could drip dry. Flipping to his stomach, body steaming, he grabbed his laptop and logged on, seeing the usual group.

     Rose and Jade had been involved in a deep conversation about recreating musical tones digitally, wondering how to improve electric violins by going a step beyond, making it virtually possible to practice even without a violin in hand. Jade had experimented with a flute option but found it too difficult, while a bass option had worked well. Stringed instruments seemed to be heads above other types thus far, but she promised to iron the kinks out of it over time. Eventually an entire orchestra could be composed in virtual reality with accurate tones and intensity by a single person who would then be able to do the same with real instruments, or at least that was her plan.

      gG: really, its not going to be that hard. It all just comes down to input and human error, but if things work out it would be like a training course that could carry over into the real world!

     gG: remember those old games that taught you guitar while you played a game? same thing, but a ton of different instruments! :D

      Dave logged on by the time John’s dinner was delivered by a maid, posting a picture of himself fresh out of the shower, blonde hair wet and hanging over his red eyes, skin pink from the heat. He was smirking, as if knowing the disruption would stir people up, and he was right.

      gG: geeze, warn us first! :o

     tT: If he warned us I don’t think he’d be able to post with that smirk.

     eB: oh hey you just got out of the shower too.

      There was a pause before Dave typed next in the group chat.

      tG: well you cant just say that and leave the adoring public high and dry egbert

     tG: pics or it didnt happen

     gG: now were talking!!

     tT: Not there’s challenges to uphold, no less. Jade, do you suppose we should do the same when we shower later?

     gG: :( i already showered this morning though...

     tT: Pity. Next time, then. I’ll be sure to remind you.

     tG: that mean we get to see some lalonde action later or what

     tT: By Lalonde action do you mean seeing me in a towel? Because yes.

     gG: hubba hubba!! ;)

     tT: Jade, please.

      John blinked and scrolled back up to Dave’s picture, looking it over again while biting his lip. ...Shit. Okay, he was attractive when dry but seeing him wet just added another dimension to it. Hello future images for the guilty fap bank. He paused while saving the image with a slight frown, however, looking at his friend’s torso. There were bruises on him here and there, and the impression of what looked like a halter strap on his flushed torso. A shape that looked somewhat familiar against his flushed skin...

      tT: John are you going to leave your public thirsting, or are you just building up anticipation before slipping something into the chat?

     tG: hot

      Oh. Right. Coughing, John sat upright and tried to pose himself with his towel similarly to how Dave had posed, showing off a bit while still being demure. It turned out different, John being chubby compared to Dave’s slender form, but he assumed it looked good enough to send. 

      tG: i repeat

     tG: hot

     tG: goddamn egbert is this why you dont post selfies more often

      John bit his lip harder and groaned quietly. Someone who looked like that calling him hot? Shit, even if he was joking it went straight to his dick. The girls complimented him as well, and within an hour or two Rose had added a picture to the chat that they all showered with compliments, but it was Dave’s words and photo that haunted John as he went to sleep.

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

     It had taken a while to wash all the blood off from the day’ competition. Dave returned to his room exhausted and dazed, deciding to show off for fun. At the right angle, nobody could see the implant or signs of where he was, a simple white wall behind him the ultimate incognito space to work with. If he couldn’t flirt with his friends, who could he realistically flirt with? Random people, sure, but it didn’t matter in the slightest comparatively. At least these people cared about him, and he cared about their opinions.

     He’d already made up his mind: whenever, or if he ever got out of here, they’d be the first people he visited. Dave wanted to see Jade’s smile in person, and maybe kiss her. He wanted to hear Rose’s voice without the faint crackle of distance between them, and maybe kiss her too. And John… well. Shit. He’d kind of shown all his cards on that one this time, but who could blame him?

     He was getting closer and closer to either winning or losing, and there might not be much time left. There was nothing to lose anymore. If he died, at least his friends would know he cared about them in a lot of ways. Dave stayed up late into the night shooting the shit with everyone, and once John went to bed, continued talking with the girls till only Rose was left in his direct messages, the group chat quiet for the night.

      tT: Did you mean to spill homoeroticism all over the place earlier, or was it a slip that you just decided to own up to? It’s not the first time you’ve done it, but this is the first time you’ve been so blunt.

     tT: However, if it’s a joke, it’s a tactless one. I think John was really flattered.

      Dave sighed. 

      tG: it wasnt a joke

     tG: i dont feel like getting into it right now

      Not like he could really get into it, after all. The censors were ready and waiting for him to fuck up, and even if he tried, he wasn’t sure if Rose would understand the attempts at telling her about the game.

      tT: Understandable, though I do hope you’ll let me in on it at some point.

     tG: you feel like going on about why you were hitting on jade so much tonight

     tT: She’s hot, who wouldn’t hit on her.

     tG: touche

      Maybe he could try, though.

      tG: if i tried to explain something do you think youd be able to pick up what im putting down

     tT: One way to find out, isn’t there. Am I masculine enough to pick up what you’ve placed down, or is this a request for a bend and snap.

     tG: focus

     tT: Yes, yes, focusing.

      Dave licked his lips.

      tG: i play a very intense thing

     tT: An intense chicken hoarding game?

     tG: im living an intense life in a place not my home

     tG: and i might be famous without being famous

     tT: Hm. Are you an internet celebrity? I admit I’m not on many social media sites, and the ones I’m on I more pay attention to my circles than anyone outside of them.

     tG: nobody knows who i am

     tT: Ah, the price of fame.

     tG: i dont want to be famous

     tT: I’ve heard the limelight isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, yes.

      Dave groaned and rubbed his face, frustrated, and hurriedly typed and sent a reply.

      ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR

     ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR

     tG: for fucks sake im a living piece in a game board and i dont want to die and id give anything to tell you all about this shit but theres a piece of shit watching me that wont let me

     ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR

     ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR

      Cussing, Dave shoved his laptop away as the post was strangled and his connection was dropped for the night. Unable to distract himself, he slept restlessly on his cot, arms crossed and red eyes repeatedly looking towards the night sky from his barred window. Somewhere out there was all of his friends, and damn it, someday he’d get to meet all of them and let them know precisely what they meant to him.