#[did this happen just now? a week ago? a month ago? its a mystery]

[sugume]

YOUR BIGGEST FAN — GETO SUGURU

✧･. on vacation with your family, you discover that your biggest fan may not be a mystery after fall.

( TW ) f!reader. camgirl!reader. stepbrother!Geto (in a plot device way, no nii-chan and stuff.) unprotected sex. cream pie. phone sex. squirting. fingering. mutual masturbation. cunnilingus. deception. mentions of bullying. misunderstandings. hurt/comfort. explicit content.  

word count - > 6.6k

authors note. can you see I wasn’t creative with the username? I have a love-hate relationship with this fic because I feel like it goes from 0 to 100 real quick lmfao. This is heavily inspired by the book Eyes on Me! 

“I bet you look handsome.” You smile at the black screen with the default profile picture floating in the middle. 

‘Nah.’ User @Sssman72  types into the chat the takes up the left half of your computer. 

“Stop! Don’t say think bad things about yourself,” You laugh, making sure your tits jiggle in the flimsy red lingerie you're wearing. “I know your handsome baby.” You reassure your favorite client. The man who alone gives you 50% of your income. He’s the one who bought you this pretty lingerie set you're wearing.  

‘You look tired babydoll...how was today?’ He types. 

“I’m fine, I promise, just had a long day, was on a few other private chats with some other customers the entire day.” You confess. In all honesty after this call you were planning to pass out and try to get a few hours of sleep before you had to fly out to your family's vacation home. Today on your live stream, you told your followers you were going on vacation for the next two weeks and wouldn't be online. You didn't plan to get on a call with @Sssman72 but he had texted you as you were getting ready to go to bed that he had a bad day and wanted to see you. Before you had a chance to protest, he spent you 500 and said it would only be 30 minutes. You gave in because first he was your biggest supporter and you wanted to be there for him in some way with all the money and gifts, he sends you and second, you didn’t mind chatting with him, you thought he was the sweetest and you struck lucky the day he joined one of your lives.  

‘I’ll let you go then, I want you to get some rest before your flight, sorry for keeping you up beautiful just needed to vent about my ass job.’ 

“I’m always here for you handsome, I'll make sure to send you those pictures you requested through the week.” 

‘Make sure you enjoy your break babydoll, don’t gotta worry about me. Goodnight.’ 

You say your goodbyes and end up falling asleep in the lingerie bought you as soon as you shut your laptop. 

— 

“How’s college y/n?” Your stepfather asks when you slide into the back seat of the car. Your mother fitting the last of your luggage into the trunk.  

“it’s fine, some of my classes are difficult but nothing I can't manage.” You answer as you buckle in. 

“Oh yeah? Thats good. You mom tells me you started a job a few months ago, how's that working out for you?”  

You tense under the small blanket you’ve thrown over yourself. 

“u-uhm yeah its good—yeah it’s been fun.” 

“I’m sorry sweetheart, I don't remember what you mother told me you did again.” He chuckles. 

“Uhm—I'm a bartender, m-my friend works there and got me a position.” You tell him the lie you've rehearsed hundreds of times. You start to sweat under the blanket. Did he buy it? What if he and your mom found out what you did? Are they planning to ambush you when you get to the house? They're going to make you drop out and chain you up in the basement when they find out. You throw the blanket off, suddenly too hot and alert. Guess that nap you were planning on taking during the drive wasn’t happening. 

“Oh, that’s fun sweetheart, I remember I bartended awhile when I was in college, got fired for stealing the alcohol though,” He laughs at the memory before turning to look at you. “You wouldn’t do that though, you’re a good girl.” 

You nod, thankful that your mom decided now to take your stepdad's attention away and get in the car. 

“Alrighty were good to!” She cheers. Your stepdad turns back around in his seat before starting the car. 

“Finally, thought we were going to get a fine parked here another minute.” 

“Oh, shut up! Y/n are you excited to go back to the vacation house? You haven’t been in years!” You mom asks as you guys pull out of the airport.  

“Yeah, I can’t wait to, I missed the hiking trails and the waterfalls. None of that in the big city.” You answer truthfully. You did miss the silence of the secluded house you vacationed at every summer since your mom married your stepdad. It was the company that you hated. As if your mom heard your thought, she says something that makes your heart drop. 

“Suguru feels the same way, we didn't even have to blackmail him to come! That boy...” 

“Suguru is coming?” You scream.  

“Coming? Sweetie, he’s already arrived this morning. I’m so excited were all together as a family again.” 

“Are you fucking serious mom? Turn the car around and bring me back to the airport!” You screech. You were not going to spend the next week with your bully of a stepbrother.  

“Y/n!” You mom gasps. 

“Sweetheart, he’s changed.” Your stepdad tells you as if that's going to make it better. 

“That’s what he wants you to think! He’s the worst human being on planet earth, please don’t make me spend the next few weeks with him, please mom,” you lean over the consul. “Please dad.” You pout at your stepfather. You know he gets weak whenever you call him dad. 

“Sweetheart...” 

“No! You aren’t sweet talking your way out of this, he’s changed. He isn't the same teenager with a chip on his shoulder, he’s matured. He even told me the reason he’s coming is to apologize and bond with you y/n.” 

“He’s lying mom! He doesn't care about me; I wouldn't be surprised if he told you that just so he could drown me in the lake. You guys own the land so nobody would find my body!” You start to tear up. You were going to jump out of the car if your parents didn't turn back around. Your stepbrother was your biggest tormentor since the day you met him. From picking on you at home to getting the girls to bully you at school. He made your life hell for four years. The day you left for college you screamed how much you hated him and told your parents that the four of you would only be in the same room again when you lay in a casket. 

“Oh, don’t cry sweetheart. Your mother is right, he’s changed, I wouldn’t have allowed him around you if he hadn’t. Give us a week and if you want to leave, I promise I'll drive you back to the airport and you’ll never have to see him again, please?” 

“No.” You cross your arms and look out the window despite knowing that they’ve won. You can’t jump out of the car now that you are on the highway, and you didn’t bring your own car to drive yourself back to the airport. 

“We’ll give you the master suite, the whole attic floor to yourself.” They bargain. You act like you’re thinking of accepting the offer. With the master suite taking up the entire third floor you could lock yourself up there and ignore Suguru. You could also film videos and even go live because the room is soundproof. You perk up at that. You could just spend your vacation on stream and chatting with @Sssman72. He’s somehow always free for you and told you that if you get bored you could call him. He’ll make up for your stepbrother’s awful behavior. 

“Fine, I’ll take the master suite.” 

— 

“Okay that's the last of your luggage, we’ll be having dinner in a few hours on the dock.” 

“Kay, thanks.”  You watch your stepdad shut the door. Once he does you release the tension in your shoulders. You lock the door before running to throw yourself onto the huge king bed. You sink down. You didn’t see Suguru when you arrived, you mom told you he was probably in town. You hope he stayed in town for the next two weeks.  

After laying it bed thinking about how much you hate Suguru with a passion you pull out your phone and open the porn app. You click on messages and open your chat with @Sssman72. 

‘Hey...I know I told you I was on vacation but I already wanna go home. You don't have to answer lol.’ You send. He immediately starts typing.  

‘Of course, I'll answer you babydoll. What’s wrong?’  Your face heats at the pet names. You wish you knew what he looked like, all he told you about himself was that he was in his twenties and worked for his father's company. You want to know more, what he looks like, what he sounds like. If the messages he sends make you sweat, you wonder what’ll happen if he spoke to them to you. In your head he’s a handsome bachelor who just so happened to find you and deem you worthy of his time and money but hell, he could be lying. He could be some old rich man in his eighties who likes young girls like all the rest of your viewers. The romantic part of you ignores that and is convinced he is who he says he is and that one day you’re going to meet in person and fall in and have a bunch of his babies. 

‘You know that stepbrother I told you about?’ 

“Mm, that asshole who bullied you?’ 

‘Yep, that asshole. Anyways I bet you won't guess who's here on vacation with me?’ 

‘Are you serious?’ 

‘Dead serious...my parents didn’t tell me until I was already trapped and now, I have to spend my vacation away with a man who hates me for no reason.’ 

‘Wow that’s crazy lol. Did your parents tell you why he chose to vacation with you if he doesn’t like you?’ 

‘Apparently he’s here to make amends...he’s probably here to kill me so he gets all the inheritance.’ 

‘Well, what if he’s really there to make amends baby?’ 

‘You should've heard the groan I just let out. I can’t believe you’re on his side babe. When I tell you that he too evil for that I mean it.’ 

‘Hey, you know I'm always on your side babydoll, I'm just giving you a man’s perspective on it. Maybe he realized he’s fucked up and he feels back so he wants to apologize for all the wrong he caused you’ 

‘Yea well from a women's perspective he’s an asshole who doesn’t care about anyone else but himself!’ 

‘Don’t say the baby...hypothetically what would he have to do to get you to forgive him?’ 

‘Hypothetically he's going to have to get on his knees and beg for my forgiveness every time he sees me until I deem, he's forgiven. And he’s also gonna have to send every dollar in his bank account to me AND be my slave for the rest of his life...hypothetically.’ 

‘Lol you never know babydoll, he just might be willing to do anything for your forgiveness. I know I would.’ 

‘That’s because you’re perfect and care about my feelings...now I'm gonna go get some sleep before having to eat with the devil. Pray he doesn’t poison me and I survive the night.’ 

— 

You sit at the dinning room table waiting for Suguru. Of course, he’s late, he doesn’t care about anyone's time but his. You say so to your parents. 

“Y/n stop being so harsh and give him a chance please.” You roll your eyes and go back to scrolling on social media.  

“Sorry I'm late.” You jump at the deep voice before whipping your head to the left where your stepbrother stands looking so...so different. 

“Suguru! No need to apologize! Come sit.” Your mother points to the empty seat opposite you. Suguru glances at you and smiles before walking to the seat. You gasp. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him smile at you or anyone else. Actually, you know he hasn’t smiled at anyone, he was know for being so stoic. You watch intensely as he pulls out the chair and sits. He looks like a different man, his hair is long, down past his shoulders, the black shirt he's wearing stretches around a huge chest. He looks like he spends half his day in the gym. And those eyes—those eyes that always had heavy eyebags and glared at everyone that looked his way, look at you with gentle look you can’t place. They even crease with the smile that he’s wearing. Your eyes widen, he has a fucking dimple. He looks like a gentleman, he looks handsome. You can't stop staring at his smile. 

“Y/n? You alright?” You Stepdad breaks through the haze you were in. You look at your parents and back to Suguru who all have concerned expressions on their faces.  You feel your entire body heat in embarrassment.  

‘Uhm—yea I'm fine.” You look at your parents, refusing to look back at that smile.  Suguru has different plans. 

“Hey y/n, it’s been a long time yeah?” Suguru says in that deep voice that has your heart beating faster.  Out the corner of your eye you watch as Suguru reaches over the food, holding his hand out. Does he really think you’re about to give him a damn handshake?  

...Are you seriously thinking about shaking that huge hand? No, you won’t. 

You purse your lips and cross your arms over your chest. You swear you see him glance down at your cleavage but the next second, he's holding eye contact. You blink and look away with a ‘hmm’. He lowers his hand.  

“Alright guys let's eat, okay?” You mom breaks the tension. Everyone grabs their share, and you eat in silence for a while, nobody brave enough to speak and you simmering with anger at Suguru. You throw glare at him every time you look up from your plate which happens more times than you’d admit.  

“You got something there.” Suguru points the sharp end of the fork at you. 

“What?” You ask. 

“There,” He grabs his napkin and starts to reach for you. You tense suddenly locked in place. Suguru brings the napkin to the corner of your mouth and wipes it. “There you go.” 

You stare at him like he's grown three heads. Maybe he’s dying and wants to make amends? Why else would he be treating you like this. Maybe someone took over his body? That has to be it. 

“Uh thanks?” You mummer, unsure what to say. 

“You're welcome little sis.” You choke on your spit. What the hell did he just call you!? He must be messing with you; you’re suddenly filled with rage. You glare at him, hoping he disintegrates with the sheer force of your stare. 

“You’ve grown up.” Suguru says after another blinking contest, you lost. 

“Yea, have you?” You snarl. He stops smiling. 

“I have,” he says seriously, setting his fork down. “I want to talk about—” 

“I don’t care.” 

“Please—” 

“No!” You slam your hand on the table, and he goes silent. You’re overcome with guilt before you remember that he bullied you for a year, that he told the entire school to bully you after he graduated. Fuck him. 

— 

You slam the door the door of your room speed walking to the bathroom. You strip your clothes before turning on the tub. You finally breathe when you settle into the scolding hot water. You needed to wash his gaze, his touch, off your body. The entire dinner after your conversation was awkward, your parents didn't really speak, and you refused to glance back up at Suguru who wouldn't stop staring.  

You hated him. You hated him. You—you can’t bring yourself to hate him. For some unknown reason you can’t bring yourself to hate him despite everything he's put you through. Why? You shake your head. You don’t want to think of Suguru while you're trying to relax. You phone dings. You pick up and a smile replaces your frown. @Sssman72. 

‘How are you babydoll, you alive?’ 

‘Yes, wish I wasn’t though.’ 

‘Why what happened during dinner?’ You sigh and send him voice message detailing everything that happened. 

‘Oh wow.’ 

‘I know.’ 

‘You gonna give him a chance to explain?’ 

‘I don’t know I don’t want to but also, I want to hear his explanation...can we call I really don't want to type all of this out?’  

‘Course, give me a second. I'll call you.’ You wait a few minutes before you hear the familiar ring. 

“Hi handsome.” you smile at the blank profile. Right now, you’d do anything to see him, to hear him comfort you, to be in his arms. He could be the ugliest man in the world, you wouldn’t care. 

‘HI beautiful. Talk to me.’ He types into the chat box. 

“I don't know. like I said I want to hear him out but also, I don't want to hear it because what it it’s bad, what if it doesn’t excuse it? But also, what if it does and I feel like shit for being mean back—it's just so stressful.” 

‘I know babydoll. I wish I could be there right now and hold you. I would do anything to take that hurt away. I'm sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.’ 

“Stop, don’t apologize you didn’t do anything. If anything, I should apologize for using you as a therapist when you paid to see me naked.” You laugh. 

‘Beautiful girl—I would rather pay to hear all your problems and be able to comfort you than see you naked again.’ 

“Wow you don’t want to see me naked, I'm hurt. Just kidding, thank you for saying that handsome.” You feel your heart skip a beat at his message. Maybe you can convince him to turn his camera on tonight. 

“I kinda wanna take my mind off everything right now.” You murmur into the phone before turning on your camera. You hold it above you and smile so he can see everything.  

‘So, fucking beautiful, prettiest girl in the world. You gonna give me a show?’ 

“hm,” You use your free hand to tap your chin. “Only if you do something for me.” 

‘And what is that?’ 

‘Can you turn your camera on? And before you say no, you don’ have to show your face—maybe you can just show your dick or something else. We can masturbate on the phone, please handsome please.” You whine giving him your best puppy face. You watch as the chat bubbles disappear and reappear. You’re about to back out but all the sudden you’re looking at a dim lit room and a huge cock between a big hand. Your eyes widen and the sight. 

"Y-you probably won’t be able to type and jack off at the same time” You suck in a breath. Please turn your audio on please... 

‘I’m gonna turn my audio on but I won’t talk, okay? Think you can get off on my moans babydoll?’  

You nod. 

‘Good girl now show me that pretty pussy, make it squirt for me.’ 

You lift yourself up to sit on the corner of the tub, propping one leg on tub and spreading the other that rests in the water. You flip the camera so your mystery man can watch you finger yourself. You hear him groan and spit onto his hand. 

You moan softly at the sound, teasing your entrance. You wish he was talking to through it, but you’ll settle for this for now. One day... 

“Mmm, wish you were the one fingering me right now,” You circle your clit before gliding your fingers out your cunt. 

“Wish you were here, holding me n' fucking me.” You curl your fingers into your g-spot and moan. You look back at your phone, watching your stranger play with the tip of his long cock. It looks so big compared to his hand, you know you’ll struggle to take it. Your pussy clenches around your small fingers that do close to nothing compared to your dildos at home.  

“Wan’ your cock in me so bad, it looks so big you’ll have to force me to take it, you’ll have to hold me down and make me take it.” You cry out. You watch as he squeezes his hand up and down his cock. It looks painful. He grunts louder. 

“M’gonna cum for you handsome, m’gonna give you what you want and make a mess,” You speed up your fingers to match how fast he slides his fist up and his cock. You moan louder, thankful that you got the suite and aren’t in the room next to your stepbrothers, how embarrassing it would be if he could hear you pleasuring yourself.  

You clench harder around your fingers. Your stranger starts to grunt and groan louder. You shiver at his deep voice on the edge of cumming. 

“Please please let me cum please! Can I come for you please?” You cry, your pussy starts to squelch, spurts of liquid coming out. 

“Yes, cum for me.” Your mystery man groans in an all too familiar voice but before you have time to think about it, you’re squirting, the grip on your phone loosening and falling into the water. 

“N-no!” 

— 

“Yes, this phone is done for, your mother and I are heading into town we can try to find a company that sells phone, but you know how small towns like this are.” You stepdad stares at your phone that’s been sitting in a container full of rice since last night.  

“Fuck, I need it for work! What am I going to do?” You look up at him in distress. 

“What do you need your phone for bartending?” He looks down at you incredulously. 

“My boss is sending me some important email and I didn't bring my computer.” You lie. 

“Well, you can use Suguru’s laptop, I saw him using it this morning in the sitting room. Think he left it there before he went on his run.” Your stepdad points down the hall as your mother rounds the corner.  

“Ready to go honey?” She asks your stepdad. 

“Coming! Use Suguru laptop to check your email, if we come back and you haven’t got the email you can use my phone. Bye! Have fun and be nice!” Your stepdad waves before following your mother. You wave back. 

 Of course, you had to use Suguru’s laptop. Maybe you can just log in, tell your stranger that you’re okay and that you won’t be able to contact him until you get a new phone and then delete the history before Suguru comes back from his run. It’ll only take a few minutes...you hope he doesn’t a password.  

You run to the sitting room, but you don’t see a laptop anywhere. Dammit, he always has to make things hard for you. You walk up the round staircase and down the hall until you're standing in front of Suguru’s room. You look around, as if Suguru's gonna pop up out of nowhere and attack you from going into his room. You shake the thought off and open his door. You stop and stare at the bed, you feel like you've seen that duvet. You chalk it up to a bunch of man having the same bedding before turning to scan the room for a laptop. You quickly spot the laptop on his desk and run to it. You sigh in relief when it opens to the last tab he had opened. Thank you Suguru for not caring about who gets into your shit. You click new tab and start to type in the name of the website you use before you freeze.  

You only need to type in three letters before the website popped up in top hits. You stop breathing. No... He couldn’t know what you do. Is that why he came here? Was he going to expose you to your parents? Was he acting nice to butter you up before crushing you? Your vision starts to blur. All boys watch porn, maybe he just happens to watch porn on the same website you film on. You can block your account from him so that he never finds you. You swallow before clicking the tab. You shakily move they pointer over to the search bar before you spot something in the left corner that makes you dizzy.  

Right where the username of the viewer is supposed to be is the username @Sssman72. Your heart stops and you feel wetness hit your hands. This can’t be real. You move to chat and cry out when you see your username. The last text he sent was asking what happened. No—this is a dream; you’re going to wake up and this is going to be a bad nightmare. You refuse to believe the man you’ve been slowly falling in love with over the last six months is your stepbrother, your bully. The man you confessed all your darkest secrets is the man who never showed you an ounce of kindness. Is this a part of his master plan? Is he going to blackmail you and hold all the nudes you’ve sent him and all the secrets you’ve told him over your head. You’re going to become his slave, doing whatever he wants of you until you die. You curl into yourself and cry harder at the thought.  

“Y/n? What are you do—” Suguru stops when he sees what's on the screen. “Let me explain please baby.” He reaches out to touch your shoulder. You flinch away from his touch.  

“D-don’t call me that,” You sob staring at him with such heartbreak in your eyes he wants to drop and beg for your forgiveness. “You-you, it was you the whole time.” Your voice breaks. 

Suguru nods slowly trying to reach out for you again. You take a few steps away. “Was this some masterplan to hold me under your thumb for the rest of my life!?” You scream at him. 

He’s grateful your parents went out of town; this would be an absolute shitshow if they were here.  

“No babydoll—” 

“I said don’t call me that you asshole! Stop pretending. I hate you Suguru! You win okay, you win!” You tell him before you run out of his room. He curses before running after you, you run up that stairs and into the suite but before you can shut the door Suguru shoves it open. You drop to your knees to pull your suitcase from under your bed. 

“Please listen to me y/n. I wasn’t faking—stop packing and let me explain.” Suguru pleads as he watches you throw your clothes into your suitcase. 

“Y/n, baby, please listen to me please” He grabs your arm, and you try to fight him, but he pulls you down onto the bed with him. He hugs you around the waist and you push in this chest trying to break free. His heart aches. He hates seeing you hurt, he hates that he was the one who made you cry like this. He hates that you only associate him with the version of himself that he created to stop anyone from seeing what he was truly feeling. He hates that you won’t accept the real version of him now that you know it was him. He holds you tighter as you scream and cry. He whispers sweet nothings as you whisper how much you hate him. At some point you stop fighting and wrapping your arms around his neck. You sniffle into his neck, and he rubs your backs and rocks you.  

“Why?” You ask hoarsely after all the anger leaves your body. Now you feel numb, like you're watching your life from a third perspective.   

“I never hated you, I never lied, and I never planned to blackmail you—I know you don’t believe me baby but everything I've ever told you on that app was real. Everything I feel for you is real.”   You pull your face out of his neck and stare up at him. You don’t believe him. 

“I have never hated you y/n. I swear it. I hated the fact that my father replaced my mother with yours not even a year after she died. Baby, I never fucking hated you. I was just a teenager who didn’t know how to express my emotions so I took them out of the person I knew I could hurt the most. It was bad I know; I feel like shit to this day. When I graduated and got away from my father, I realized how bad I was to you, and I got into therapy. I wanted to be better for myself, for you, for everyone around me. I didn’t know that the bullying continued when I left. I didn’t know how bad people had taken it until that day I came back home. When you told me off about it, I was so confused. I’m so fucking sorry. I want to reach out and apologize for everything and the day I planned to do it Satoru—my best friend, you remember him—well he sent me the link to your account and so I made an account and it all just spiralized out of control after that. I was too embarrassed to tell you it was me and then we started to form a connection, a real connection, and I didn’t want our conversations to end so—fuck I'm sorry. Everything I told you; I meant it. I fucking meant every word.”  

You sit there stunned, trying to comprehend everything he said. You never knew about his mother. You thought she had passed away long before your mom and his dad had met. But you remember when your stranger told you that. God, you remember when your not so mystery man told you about his family the seemed so familiar to yours. And he didn’t tell all those people to bully you after he left? Did he mean every word? Every word of affirmation he gave you. Those times when he told you that you were capable of being loved and that you were going to find someone who would love every part of you, the good and bad. Was that the same Suguru? You try to wrap your mind around the fact that the man you love is your stepbrother. 

“I know it’s a lot of information.” 

“It is.” 

“Do you believe me?” He looks at you with furrowed brows. You do. Despite everything you find yourself nodding. He sighs and you feel the tension release from his shoulders that your arms are wrapped around. You suddenly realize the position you two are in and feel your face heat. Your arms are wrapped around his neck and your legs are on either side of his thick thighs his cock, the cock that you saw last night, is right underneath you, if you lower yourself an inch, you’d be sitting on it.  

Suguru grips your waist with one hand, the other cupping the right side of your face. You look up at him and sniffle. He leans down until your foreheads are touching.  

“If you give me achance, I'll treat you like the queen you are. I’ll love you the way you’re meant to be loved. One chance is all I ask for.” He mummers rubbing your noses together.  

You hesitate, one part of you wants to run away with him because he’s the man you’ve wanted for the last six months. The other part of you wants to run away from him, he’s your stepbrother, he lied, and you don't know if he would’ve ever told you the truth. But isn’t that what he came here to do? Can you blame a little boy for being mad at the people who replaced his mother?  

You give him his answer by grabbind his neck and push his lips towards you. If this does go to hell at least you’ll have a story to tell your feature children.  

Suguru kisses back before standing and pulling you off him. “What—” 

“You said you wanted me on my knees, didn't you? I’m ready to serve you in any way you want. I can have my savings transferred to your account by tomorrow night.” He says as he drops to his knees. You stare at him with wide eyes as he holds your legs and starts kissing from knee to right where your pussy starts.  

“Suguru—” 

“Shh babydoll let me take care of my girl, show her how sorry I am for hurting her.” He mummers before dropping your leg and picking up the next one. He repeats this a few more times before finally asking you to lift your hips so he can pull your leggings and panties off. Suguru throws your pants behind him before standing up to pull your tank top off. You reach behind to unbuckle your bra and toss it on the floor with your other clothes. Suguru chuckles, reaching up to kiss all over your face. 

“Take your clothes off too Sugu.” You giggle, reaching for his sweatpants. You get a firm grip and yank them down. His thick cock bounces out. Your mouth goes slack. The phone call didn’t do it justice. It somehow looks bigger than before and if you weren’t wet before, you are now. That thing is going to be inside you soon.  

“Like what you see beautiful?” You nod dumbly as you watch Suguru step out of his pants and take his shirt off with one hand. He’s so fucking sexy.  

He drops back down to his knees and pulls you until your ass is hanging off the bed. “Lay down and let me please you.”  You comply and watch as Suguru lifts your legs up and buries his face in your cunt. Your hands fly down to his long shiny hair. 

“Suguru!” You moan as he licks you from asshole to clit. He sucks on your clit before biting both lips. Your pussy clenches. “Feels s’good Sugu!” You grind down on his talented tongue. Suguru hums into your clit before setting one of you thighs in his shoulder and bringing his fingers to your entrance. He teases you, only pushing his fingers into the joint before taking them out. You cry out in frustration before pulling on his long hair when he finally slides two big fingers into you. 

Yours definitely don't compare to his long thick ones. Your back arches off the bed as Suguru fingers jackhammer into you all the while his mouth sucks on your clit.  

“S’good Sugu! Don’t stop!” You scream letting go of hair with one hand to cover your loud mouth.  

“Don’t hide those sweet moans from me babydoll. If you want my cock, you’ll let me hear you scream my name as you cum on my fingers and mouth.” 

You bring you hand back to hair and grind hard as you get closer and closer to orgasm.  

“Gonna cum! M’gonna come!” You cry, as you release all over Suguru's face. He moans and sucks even harder before adding another finger. You cry at the sudden intrusion. It doesn't take long before you’re coming all over again, this time liquid shooting out of you and onto Sugu’s chest.  

“Yes baby, that's it—what a good girl,” He praises as he slurps up all your juices. “Such a fucking good gril f’me.” 

“Gimme a kiss.” You say between heavy breaths.  

“Does the pretty girl want kiss?” You nod, pulling Suguru down with you by the shoulders. 

“Want you to kiss me while you fuck me for the first time. Want it to be special,” You confess shyly. Suguru leans down and pecks you on the forehead, then the nose, and then both of your cheeks. 

“Don’ tease meanie!” You laugh when he kisses the corner of your lips. 

“M’sorry baby, can you forgive me?” He pouts.  

“Hmm—I’ll forgive you only if you kiss me right no—” You don’t even finish your sentence before Suguru shoves his tongue down your throat. You kiss him back and your tongues fight for dominance. Suguru wins and smiles into the kiss. You can’t believe this is happening. Your bully, your stepbrother, your mystery man is kissing you right now. Your about to make love with said man. 

“You okay babydoll?”  

“Mhm, just can’t believe this is all happening.” 

“Me too beautiful, you sure you want to do this right now? We can always wait.” 

“No, I want to. I want you.” You raise your hand to tuck his hair behind his ear. He smiles, showing you that adorable dimple. You kiss it.  

Suguru kisses your lips once more before he grabs his cock, rubbing it up and down your cunt. 

“Fuck—I don’t have a condom.” 

“I’m on the pill—please Sugu.” You beg, frustrated from all this foreplay. You’ve been on edge since last tight in the tub.  

“Alight beautiful,” He pushes the head of his cock into you. “Fuck me—you feel so good. Always knew you would.” You feel his fist guide his long cock into you. You moan. He fits you perfectly.  

“Sugu—feel’s s’good, want more!” You cry, fisting the blanket’s underneath you.  

“Does my baby want more—does she want to orgasm on my cock?” You nod watching Suguru lift your legs to his shoulder. He leans down, bringing your feet to the side of your head. You whine at the stretch. 

Suguru groans as he pulls his cock in and out of you.  

“S’too much!” You moan into his shoulder. He just laughs and picks up his pace. The fancy headboard above the bed starts to slam against the wall. You watch with blurry eyes as the stock photos hung on the wall shake.  

“Said you wanted more baby, ‘m giving you more.”  he says before biting into your neck. Hard. You scream, back arching at the pain. Your hands fist the sheets even tighter, knuckles turning white. Suguru unlatches his jaw. Lifting his head to admire his mark. Now all your customers will know you belong to someone. To him. He kisses the mark. 

“Sugu, It’s too much. Hurts! m’gonna cum!” You cry, tears soaking the blanket breath you. 

“Oh, don't cry baby—shhh—you’re so beautiful y/n. So damn pretty.” He whispers, coaxing you to orgasm. Your eyes roll to the back of your head. You stop breathing for a second as your pussy contracts around Suguru's cock. Suguru follows in suit, spurting his cum deep inside your pussy. 

“Fuck,” he draws out, collapsing onto you.  

“T-that was—” 

“The best sex ‘ve ever had.” 

“Same.” You smile before wincing. 

“What’s wrong babydoll.”  

“You're about to break my damn hip if you keep my legs up any longer,” Suguru lefts himself enough to bring your legs to his sides. “And you probably ripped a chunk of my neck off with that little trick of yours.” You grumble. 

“It’s not bad, promise.” He kisses the bite mark softly. 

“And all the pictures fell of the wall.”  

“I’ll put ‘em back up baby,” He laughs into your ear. “Just let me hold you for a second.”  He kisses your cheek before snuggling deeper into you. You throw your arms around his shoulder while you both try to wrap your head around everything that happened.  

#𐙚 ࣪ ˖ sugume writes #𐙚 ࣪ ˖ smut journal #geto suguru #geto x reader #jjk geto #geto smut #jujutsu geto #geto scenarios #geto x y/n #geto x you #jjk x y/n #jjk x you #jjk x reader #jjk smut

[giamee]

𝐅𝐀𝐃𝐄 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐎 𝐘𝐎𝐔!

ཐི♡ཋྀ featuring -> luocha, blade, dan heng, jing yuan, gepard landau, welt yang

ཐི♡ཋྀ contains -> soulmate!au, no warnings just fluff (?) and maybe a bit suggestive for welt. ALSO LUOCHA'S IS SO ANGSTY AND FOR WHAT IDK IM SORRY

ཐི♡ཋྀ gia's notes -> ok so you know that soulmate au thing where the moles on ur body are where ur lover in a past life kissed you the most? yeah. i opened star rail for the first time in like 2 weeks today cos i rage quit after getting silver wolf while trying to build pity for luocha and then i did the story quest thingy and brainrot happened. sorry for being gone for so long. have this <3 (ppl who requested stuff two months ago i see you i hear you i'm just a slow writer)

☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★ LUOCHA has a particularly noticeable mole on the right side of his neck. with his high collar and serious expression, that remains another guarded secret of his that is privy to only his own searching eyes, a secret that raises colour in his cheeks at the insinuation of its placement.

having spent more time around the dead than the living these past few months, love and human connection is not exactly an occurence that can happen naturally within his profession.

and for the most part, that's alright.

yet there are some lonely nights where luocha finds his gloved fingertips grazing the dark spot on his neck, wishing that he could be graced with the same tenderness in this life that he had received in his previous one. if he closed his eyes and concentrated hard enough, he could almost feel the ghostly brush of a pair of lips against his cool skin, the feathery sensation sending a soft shiver down his spine, accompanied by the distant giggle of a past lover in his ear before it slips his grasp and he rolls onto his side in frustration.

that damned spot might as well be placed directly over his heart, considering the amount of influence it held over him.

he could only hope that his dreams tonight would reunite him with the figure that haunts his conscious mind too now, and continue his fruitless search to find them once again in his waking realm.

☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★ BLADE has moles on his chest and back littered amidst the scars that mar his porcelain skin. always a skeptic, the man has never been one to believe in the fanciful stories of soulmates destined to be, sneering in the face of such notions as fate, preferring to keep his head resolutely on his shoulders and feet planted on the ground.

and in some sense, he's right.

because when he met you, in this current life, you joined him in his rejection of a perfect other half. and then, slowly but surely, you had wormed your way into his heart, and his insistence on not having any such thing as a soulmate seems like such a flimsy rebuttal to the way you gaze at him in adoration, fingers trailing in your lips' wake as they brush over each individual mark on his chest.

he tries not to shiver when he feels your warm lips descend upon the skin of his back, your fingers tracing the faded marks that depict his life story with a silent promise that you'll be there for him, and to count every mark on his skin with tender care.

☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★ DAN HENG often finds himself staring in wonder at the moles which litter his arms. starting from his wrists, there is a dusting of them that creeps all the way up to his shoulders, placed upon his skin with such deliberate care that it's almost a foreign concept to him.

in the later hours of the night, he allows himself to muse over the possibility of a soulmate, a lover in a past life destined to find him again, trying to solve the mystery of their identity by peering at his arms as if their face is etched into them.

and when he meets you, he feels breathless all over again as your hands interlink with his own, clasping them so fervently that lightning practically runs up his spine as your lips reunite with his skin, once again staking their claim as you make your way from his wrists to the rest of his body.

☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★ JING YUAN bears his mark with pride, the distinct spot residing comfortly underneath his eye, attracting his attention to it every time he paises to study his reflection.

he wouldn't call himself a vain man, so he appraises that one mole before continuing on with his day, but it's not until you have his face cupped in your palms, and your eyes study his features with an intensity he had not felt until now, that you mention that he has two other moles on his face, albeit fainter.

and you make a point of reaffirming their existence at every chance you get, with you and jing yuan's morning routine involving your lips brushing against the faint mole on the apple of his cheek and bridge of his nose before landing a last one underneath his eye.

those only serve as a mere guidline, though, as you do not hesitate to pepper the rest of his unblemished face with kisses as your symbol of affection.

☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★ GEPARD does not know what to think of the moles that litter his collarbones. they're rather prominent, and if he lets himself think about them for too long, he'll start blushing.

even the thought of someone kissing him there makes his brain short circuit, so the sensation is definitely one that he will have to get used to with you.

the slightly sadistic part of you revels in the way his blushing face hides itself behind his hands when you kiss him on those marks, a muffled boyish giggle escaping his lips at the ticklish sensation of your lashes brushing against his skin when you lay your head against his chest.

you decide to place a few additional marks for his next life when you kiss the backs of his hands, until your lover relents and reveals his face to you once more, letting you place a final tender kiss to his lips.

☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★ WELT finds the little triangle of moles on his hipbone more humorous than anything. there's a certain intimacy to their placement that surpasses the more innocent and easily visible marks a person may have been granted by their soulmate, and he fonds himself wondering what kind of person his soulmate is for there to be the most frequent place they kiss.

and it's a pleasant surprise, really, as to how right it feels when you see those marks yourself and giggle, continuing their tradition by dropping a kiss to each in quick succession before grinning up at him with a smile so endearing that welt finds himself desperately committing the scene to memory.

𓏲 ࣪₊♡𓂃 IF YOU LIKED THIS, TRY: bound 2 fall in love!

honkai star rail masterlist ♡⸜(˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝

#🍙 ! food for thought #hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader #hsr fluff #honkai star rail fluff #star rail x reader #star rail fluff #luocha x reader #luocha fluff #blade x reader #blade fluff #dan heng x reader #dan heng fluff #jing yuan x reader #jing yuan fluff #gepard x reader #gepard landau x reader #gepard fluff #gepard landau fluff #welt x reader #welt yang x reader #welt fluff #welt yang fluff #hsr luocha x reader #hsr blade x reader #hsr jing yuan x reader #hsr dan heng x reader #hsr welt x reader #hsr gepard x reader #if u got this far.... luocha supremacy 🫶🫶

[the-modern-typewriter]

The Art of Turning 30

“So, am I allowed to talk?” Annabelle gave an awkward little laugh, that she immediately wanted to stuff back into her mouth. “I’ve never done this before!”

“You can talk.” Julian flashed her a quick, reassuring smile. “At least until I tell you not to.”

They both laughed, then. Julian’s laugh was not awkward.

It was six months until her thirtieth birthday.

She had met him at her girlfriend Camille’s twenty-ninth birthday party, a few weeks ago, only to be surprised that they’d somehow never crossed paths before. London was big, but it wasn’t that big surely, and Julian was an artist.

Annabelle felt like she spent half her free time at artsy bohemian parties and amateur gallery openings, though maybe that was why. He wasn’t an amateur, was he?

She’d looked him up online after and seen several shining reviews of his first exhibition, and a rosy buzz of anticipation at what he’d do next.

She remembered that buzz. People used to get that buzz when they talked about her. Apparently, his work was ‘visceral’ and ‘felt startlingly alive’.

It seemed impossible that he wanted to paint her, of all people.

Annabelle shifted on the stool, glancing around Julian’s studio space as he finished setting up his easel and paints. Oils. He’d said he was using oils. That mattered in painting, didn’t it?

The studio was everything she’d always imagined a professional artist’s studio to be. It was quite large, with clean wooden floors and white walls crowded with stacks of sheet-covered canvases in progress.

There was only one that was ready and visible; a painting of a beautiful blond man, probably nearing thirty too, lounging on the same stool that Annabelle was perched upon. He gazed out at the viewer with a hungry sort of hope. Like they were the best thing he had ever seen.

The studio smelled like drying paint and the sandalwood diffuser wafting its calming scent from the window sill. Sunlight coated the room like honey, or gold.

“You’re not going to make me look ugly, are you?” she asked.

He smiled again, meeting her eyes. “I couldn’t possibly.”

He probably flirted with all of his models, but she still felt a blush of heat rise to her face.

He looked like he could be in a painting, or one of those classical sculptures still concerned with archetypal ideals of beauty. Of course, she was with Camille, so nothing would happen…but still. The attention made her heart pound. Camille was usually too tired from work to flirt with her anymore.

Annabelle wasn’t sure how good she’d be at seeing a painting of herself that she hated, and not letting it show on her face. She’d probably tear up. It would be embarrassing for both of them. She shifted on the stool once more, and tugged at the hem of her summer dress.

“This is for your next exhibition?”

“I think I’m going to call it ‘The Art of Turning 30’.”

“Explains why I’m your muse instead of some gorgeous twenty two year old ingenue.” She laughed again. He did not. She continued, even as she willed herself to stop babbling, because he wasn’t looking at her with the expectation that she do anything. He plucked up a pencil, beginning his work. “It’s like, when you’re a woman, after you turn thirty your life is over, right? It’s like with my acting. And then by the time you’re forty all of a sudden all you can possibly be is, like, a mother or a witch. Or, you know, the dead wife. It’s all downhill.”

“You wouldn’t want to be a witch?” He raised a brow. “They always seemed pretty powerful to me. I could see you as a witch.”

“But do you know what I mean?”

“Can you turn your head a little the left, please?”

“What? Oh. Yes.”

She turned her head to the side, towards the window, and hoped the sunshine made her seem younger rather than highlighting every growing crag and wrinkle.

She could only watch him out of her periphery vision now; a wistful muse, seemingly unaware that she was being observed. She tried to look deep and mysterious.

“Perfect,” he said. “Thanks. You’re just perfect.”

The canvas of the blond man fell to the floor with a soft thump.

Annabelle jumped.

“Sorry.” Julian shook his head, another easy laugh on his breath. “The landlord never lets me put proper hangings on the wall here. Says it wrecks them. I guess so long as they don’t do that at the exhibition?”

“I don’t know, you could probably play it off as a stunt…lean into the photorealism.”

“Now, there’s an idea. Genius.” 

She probably didn’t look deep and mysterious. She probably just looked smitten.

***

She sat for Julian three times a week for the next several months.

It became a pocket of peace in her life, the hours when it was okay to finally stop and be for a while, because everything else seemed to be hurtling through her fingers faster than she could clutch hold of it.

She’d always imagined that she would be a successful, or at least up-and-coming, actress and screenwriter by the time she turned thirty.

Sure, women only made up around 30% of the directors or writers behind the camera, but back in school everyone always said that maybe she’d be the one to change that. She wasn’t entirely sure when they stopped saying it, but they had.

It was three months until her thirtieth birthday.

“Here.” Julian caught hold of her chin, featherlight, angling her back towards the sun. The days were getting shorter. Time was running out for them both. “You were like this.”

She had got in the habit of always sitting a little wrong, because he’d always adjust her, oh so careful and attentive, like she was his masterpiece.

She would have probably preferred to be her own masterpiece, but being his seemed like the second best option. She could practically feel the ghosts of forgotten, underappreciated female muses-past screaming at her that no, it was always better to be somebody than someone’s, but frankly she wasn’t sure she could be picky.

She’d been getting less and less call backs, and was starting to feel more like she was a part-time waitress dabbling at film than a part-time actress-filmmaker working hours in hospitality to make ends meet.

It was like a window was closing. Her window. That morning she’d found an honest to the devil grey hair on her head!

Camille told her that she was being ridiculous – that she’d become increasingly vain since Julian started painting her.

Annabelle had snapped back that vanity wasn’t vanity for an actress. Her looks were her currency.

It hadn’t always been so hard, had it?

All in all, it didn’t seem like a sin to let him touch her. It was nice to be touched. There was nothing untoward in that.

She peeked up at Julian, standing over her, his star ever on the rise. Their stares met again. He smiled that quick, reassuring smile of his.

“You look tired,” he said softly.

“Sorry.”

“No, no.” He widened his eyes. “I didn’t mean—” he huffed gently, and let go of her. “I haven’t got to your mouth yet. If you want to talk about it.”

Annabelle grinned back before she could stop herself.

It had become a standing joke. She sometimes felt she spent their whole time together talking about herself, but he always said it was interesting and made the hours fly. He was a very good listener.

More privately, she sometimes suspected that he was leaving her mouth for last just so they could continue chatting, but she wasn’t allowed to see the painting to check. The thought was thrilling though.

 “It’s nothing,” she said, even if she already knew she’d probably tell him everything on her mind. “I don’t know.”

What would she do when the painting was done? She’d see him at his exhibition opening, probably, but there would hardly be a reason for them spend time together like they did when she was sitting for her portrait.

Maybe it was silly to consider him one of her friends. She’d miss it, though. She’d miss him.

Maybe he’d want to do another one of her, but who was she kidding? Maybe in ten years, when he did a gimmicky but charming follow up. The Art of Turning 40: Where Are They Now?

What did he know about turning thirty anyway? He couldn’t be more than twenty-five. He had loads of time.

“There’s an intimacy,” he murmured, “to painting someone. Especially like this, in the old fashioned way. A lot of people use photographs and quick studies because they’re more convenient and you don’t have to catch the right light, you know? But I love it.” The air filled with their breathing, and the soothing dab of his paint brushes on his palette, mixing up the colours of her. “You really get to know people this way. It adds soul to the work. It’s magic.”

She felt, more than saw, his gaze cut over her again.  Her blood was electric beneath his scrutiny.

He continued, softly.

“I knew from the moment we met that I wanted you to be my centrepiece for this one.”

“Flatterer.”

“It’s true!” He laughed. “You have this great energy. I knew you were going to be interesting, and I was right. And you know how to model well. Because you’re an actress, right? You’re used to people looking at you.”

An actress, no ‘wannabe’ or ‘aspiring’ or ‘failed’ tacked on front. She couldn’t help but sneak a glance at him as best she could without turning her head.

“My boss always says I should have more energy, then I’d wait tables faster.”

“What does Camille say?”

“Camille—” Annabelle blinked in surprise, then swallowed. Her hands curled in her lap. She resisted the urge to sigh.

“Uh-oh.”

“No, no,” she said. “It’s fine. I just – she thinks if I’m not happy I should do something about it. She’s always telling me about other things I’d be really good at that have better pay, or more sociable hours.”

“So, give up on your dreams already.”

“Yeah.”

Annabelle deflated. She knew that Camille didn’t mean anything bad by it, but that was what it implied, right? She was never going to be a famous and successful actress or screenwriter, so she should settle for something manageable.

“Well, she’s not a creative, like us,” Julian said. “She doesn’t get it.”

Like us. Annabelle was a horrible girlfriend for feeling a swell of pleasure at that. It was true, though. Still.

“We’ve been together for a really long time, and she’s been really supportive. I think she’s just finding the whole ‘me turning thirty’ thing annoying. Mainly because I won’t shut up about it. Which I’m sure you sympathise with!”

Camille said that anyone who claimed life stopped at thirty was an idiot. There was no limit for potential, no one age where everyone had to have their life together and perfect by.

She was probably right, but Annabelle could still feel the panic of it clawing at her the closer her birthday got. Even if she was successful after thirty, she wouldn’t be one of those young geniuses that everyone had expected her to be. She wouldn’t be exceptional.

She would just be Annabelle. It didn’t feel like enough. Maybe if she could see herself like Julian apparently saw her, it would be better.

“Chin up,” Julian said.

Annabelle cleared her throat again. “Right, yeah.”

“No, I mean.” His voice was deadpan. “Your head. You’ve moved. Drooped.”

She shot him a look over her shoulder. The melancholy shoved itself down again in the pit of her stomach.

He tossed her a wink from behind the easel, to indicate he was joking. Only trying to cheer her up and lighten the mood.

“So, I still don’t get to see what else you’re working on, huh?” she asked.

“I’d have to kill you.” He switched to another, smaller brush in her periphery vision.

She snorted.

“It would be very inconvenient all around,” he said. “Rigor mortis sets in fast. I’d never get the painting done in time.”

“Well we can’t have that. After you’re finished with me then, I suppose.”

“Our art is a part of us, Annabelle.” He shot her another glance in turn, brush poised above his image of her, considering. “So how, then, could I ever truly be finished with you?”

Her breath hitched in her throat. She debated possible responses to that, and how he could have meant it. Her body felt warm and flushed.

He gestured that she angle her head left once more, not looking away for a second himself.

Annabelle turned.

The summer waned outside the window, but in the painting she would still be in her sundress, legs tanned and toes painted sky blue.

Thank god he kept his studio warm. The minutes ticked by, the air between them settling tranquil once more.

“Sometimes,” she said, softly, “I wish we could stay like this forever. Freeze the moment. Is that stupid?” It felt a confessional thing to say. Bold.

“No.” She could hear the equally soft smile in his voice. “It’s not stupid. Isn’t that how I got you to agree to do me this favour?”

She remembered the party; an adult version of what they all used to do, even if it still felt like they were all pretending to be grown-ups. Or at least, Annabelle felt like she was pretending. She didn’t feel twenty-nine.

She’d clutched her glass of wine and hovered near a somewhat strained conversation about mortgages and the state of the housing market, and how none of them were going to be on the property ladder before they were fifty, before she caught sight of Julian coming in. 

She echoed his words, and didn’t have to fake her wistfulness that time.

“To be remembered in art is the closest any humans’ get to immortality.”

He echoed the next line back at her. “Doesn’t that sound like fun?”

And she’d said yes.

***

“I’ve got a date for the exhibition,” Julian said, from behind his easel. “A few weeks after your birthday. Short notice, I know. Soz.”

“Ugh, don’t mention the B word. But that’s exciting! Can I come?”

“Of course you can come,” he said. “It’s why I’m telling you. This wouldn’t be possible without you.”

“I mean, while sitting here is terribly difficult,” she said, “I do feel like you should get some of the credit. Just some.”

She heard him laugh.

She’d grown to love Julian’s laugh; he was so ready to do it, at least in their sessions.

She couldn’t remember the last time she’d heard Camille laugh at something she said. Then again, she wasn’t sure the last time she and Camille had spent all that much time together.

By the time Camille got back from a day of teaching, Annabelle was usually already out for the night shift at the pub she waited in. Yet another thing in her life that wasn’t working like it was supposed to!

Camille said that could be worked on if, hey, Annabelle was willing to actually prioritise their relationship.

It had been one of their worst arguments to date.

“There’ll be thirty paintings in total, I think,” he mused, more talkative than normal. “Yours being the main one, like I said.”

“I’m sure you will perfectly capture the raw turmoil of turning thirty.”

He laughed again. It had been one of the most notable reviews of his first exhibition – except the exact wording had been that his work perfectly captured ‘the raw turmoil of adolescence, as an emotional and nostalgic period of change and growth’.

He’d finally caved and showed her some of his previous pieces, other than the ones she’d managed to find online, as a compromise of his refusal to show her how his painting of her was coming along.

Most of the individual pieces from his first exhibit had been sold off, but he’d kept the main one.

His main piece – Girl On Swing – got the most praise, so it had apparently been a bit of a scandal that he hadn’t sold it. He’d had offers.

It was a triptych (Julian’s word) of a girl, unsurprisingly, on a swing.

In the first of three paintings she was a child, carefree and giggling. In the second, a young teenager, her face a storm of emotion. In the final one, she was a young adult, caught mid-leap flying off the swing she’d been sitting on for seemingly eighteen years. Her arms were painted halfway to transitioning to a bird’s wings. She was no longer looking back at the viewer but forward, to all that life had to offer.

Annabelle wondered what people would say about Julian’s version of her.

People liked to fantasise about how amazing being a teenager was when they were an adult, but she hadn’t met anyone who fantasied about turning thirty. It wasn’t nearly as glamorous.

She hoped he made her glamorous.

“Of course,” he was continuing, “with the date so near, we might need a few more sessions to get finished on time.”

She looked over at him again, then, even if she wasn’t supposed to be moving.

The golden light danced across his handsome features, and caught the edges of the canvases behind him. There were twenty nine of them waiting.

“I make a pretty good lasagne,” he said, biting his lip. “If I say so myself. Compensation. If you don’t mind finishing late. There’s also a nice wine I got for Christmas that I really couldn’t drink alone.”

“I don’t mind,” she heard herself saying, before she’d even thought about it. “I don’t mind at all.”

“It’s a good venue,” he said. “A really good venue. Everyone’s going to love you.”

With him, maybe, the window wouldn’t close.

***

“I’m done, except for the varnish.”

The words sent a bolt through her, stirring away the sleepy content that came with posing for an extended period of time. She felt seen. Now, though, she wanted to see. Finally.

It was the day before her thirtieth birthday, and Camille had a massive surprise party planned, that Annabelle was both pretending that she didn’t know about, and dreading like a punch to the gut.

It was sweet that Camille was doing it. But also, maybe, if she didn’t celebrate the date she could still, somehow, be in her twenties for another year. That was how it worked, right?

“You are?” She leapt off the stool, and felt her joints click. “Can I see? I feel like I should have a right to see before everyone else. I won’t tell anyone.”

“It is top secret.” He pretended to consider.

She took the opportunity to relish actually looking at him for once; there was a kiss of red on the cuff of his painting shirt that hadn’t yet dried. It was the exact colour of her lipstick. She smiled.

He really had left her mouth for last.

“Fine,” he said, and gestured her over, eyes bright with amusement. “But only because I know you won’t tell.”

In the short space of walking over, Annabelle had time to feel her stomach clench. Her old fears boiled nauseously to the surface.

What if it was awful?

What if it wasn’t what she wanted, as if that had ever been the point?

What if her immortality looked like the part-time waitress she didn’t want to be?

She would have to keep a straight face, and not hurt his feelings. He’d been working on it for so long. It would ruin everything if he knew she hated it. It would no doubt be technically very skilled. She should have researched painting techniques she could comment on.

She rounded the easel, a little dizzy.

His hand fell on the small of her back, thumb tracing the curve of her hip, idly almost.  

She stared.

Her painted self was lovely. So alive, as if thirty couldn’t possibly contain her.

It was not as realistic as ‘Girl On Swing’ though.

She was caught in the motion of talking, hands gesturing animatedly in the air despite her best efforts of posing, and though her face was turned towards the light of the window it was as clear as confession that her eyes were always turning towards him, trying to steal a glimpse.

She looked at him, at the viewer, like he was the best thing she had ever seen.

Camille would see the painting too.

She had already said that she had to come to the opening, especially ‘after all the time her girlfriend had spent with this Julian fellow instead of her.’

Annabelle swallowed.

The perfect bubble burst.

She released a shaky breath, abruptly more aware of his hand through the thin material of her dress.

They hadn’t done anything.

Even the night when she ended up staying over at his, after lasagne and wine, they hadn’t done anything.

The painting made it look like they had, though. She wasn’t even sure she could accuse Julian of exactly making it up, either.

He had painted the truth. Raw. Even when it would have been politer to hide it.

“Oh,” she said. “Wow. Um. Julian—”

“Happy Birthday,” he murmured. “For tomorrow.”

His hand moved up to the back of her neck and all of the colours of the painting swirled and rushed forward to meet her.

“Oh, and Annabelle?” His voice sounded very far away. “This is the bit where you stop talking.”

***

Annabelle had been thirty for nearly a month. Well, not exactly.

They all said that she looked amazing. So realistic.

She couldn’t move. She couldn’t feel her body. But, she could watch, from her frame.

She’d watched as Julian approached her with a paintbrush dipped in varnish – to seal the work – and she’d watched with her world turned sideways as they carried her canvas from the studio to the gallery.

She’d watched as they hung her up on the wall and made comments about her like she wasn’t there at all.

She’d screamed, too, or tried to. They hadn’t been able to hear her.

Julian had approached her again when they were alone, hands in his pockets, perfectly relaxed and pleased with himself.

“It’s a good trick, isn’t it? I’ve always had the knack of turning people into portraits.” He’d flashed her the same quick, reassuring smile he always did as he peered up at her. “As I said, it’s all about getting to know the person. Getting them to pour their soul out to you.”

He’d laughed, like he so often did, only this time it was at his own joke instead of hers. Or maybe she had always been the joke. 

“I did worry for a moment that I wouldn’t be finished in time. But, don’t worry. We made it. You’re twenty-nine forever! Just like you wanted. Just like I promised. I’m not that cruel.”

She’d wanted to tell him that this was not what she’d wanted. She wanted to ask a million questions. She wanted to punch him.

Instead, Annabelle watched as Camille stepped into the exhibition room, on opening night.

She watched Camille scan the crowd, feverishly, expecting her to be there.

She watched as Camille’s attention snagged on the vast painting of her across the room.

God, Camille.

Her girlfriend made a beeline over. It had been an age since Annabelle had last looked at her, properly looked at her, hadn’t it?

Camille’s face crumpled a little as she studied the portrait; a myriad of regret and fear and confusion. Hurt. Her eyes were red and swollen like she’d been crying. She raised one hand towards Annabelle’s life-sized face, as if to touch, but didn’t. Her fists curled at her sides instead.

Guilt twisted in Annabelle’s gut. Camille looked exactly like how one might when learning that their girlfriend had cheated on them.

She felt an absurd surge of hope, despite everything, that Camille might see her where no one other than Julian had. The portrait, for all of its intimacies, suggested a grand love affair. People didn’t vanish fairly from grand love affairs, they just didn’t! It was suspicious, right? He was the last person to see her. The proof was in the painting!

Camille stared at her for a moment longer, her jaw set with grim determination. Then she scrubbed a hand over her face. Her shoulders hunched against some unbearable, undefinable weight. Her dark hair was greasy with worry.

“I’ll find you,” Camille still whispered. “I swear, I’ll find you.”

Annabelle’s stomach sank.

“No, Camille—” Of course, the words didn't come out. Nothing did.

She’d had been such an idiot, hadn’t she?

She felt a fresh stab of longing for that surprise birthday party.

How long had they waited for her to arrive? Waited for her.

Had Camille reported her missing? There would be no body to find, no evidence. The painting, the wanting limited eyes she looked out of, felt like a mockery.

Maybe the life she had with Camille hadn’t been perfect, not by a long shot, but at least they’d been alive. At least they’d been real.

Camille began to turn away.

“Please.” Annabelle’s voice broke. “I’m so sorry. I’m here, please. Don’t leave me! Camille!”

More attendees bustled to claim prime spot in front of the painting, murmuring about how talented Julian was, speculating on if Annabelle was his lover. Camille flinched.

“It makes me feel,” one of gallery attendees said, “like I’m interrupting them in a private moment, you know? Of course, it’s so Julian that she’s not actually a nude—”

She couldn’t see Camille anymore.

She was never going to see Camille again, was she?

CAMILLE. CAMILLE. CAMILLE.

Annabelle screamed it with everything she had, every atom of her, with the absolute certainty that if her girlfriend walked out the gallery door that Annabelle would never escape the painting.

She would never get to say sorry, or kiss Camille, or tell her properly that nothing had happened or would ever have happened, despite what she may have let her foolish heart feel.

She’d just liked the way he looked at her.

She didn’t want to stop the clock.

She wanted her life back, to live.

The painting hit the floor of the exhibition with an almighty crash.

Everyone scattered back. Red wine spilled like a crime scene against the polished floor.

Camille whirled back around too, alone a few metres away, her eyes wide and startled.

Julian appeared, clutching a glass of champagne in one hand.

“Goddamn these hooks. Who set this up? It’s a hazard. Everyone alright?” He looked around at his adoring fans, and summoned up a rueful smile. “I should have just got eyes to follow you all around the room instead, huh?” He looked down at her, where she stared up, in the same narrow periphery vision he’d painted her with. “Really leaned into the photorealism.”

Past him, past his taunts, Camille looked between the two of them. Uncertain misery flashed across her features once more. She opened her mouth, as if to say something, before closing it.

Annabelle willed her painted self to move again too, to speak, to do anything. She willed Camille to question, to press, to not give up on them and on her. Not now.

“Camille!” Julian had caught sight of her too, and straightened. He gestured for one of the gallery employees to get Annabelle back into position. “I’m so glad you could make it! Is Annabelle not with you? She was so excited for the exhibition…”

“You haven’t seen her?” Camille’s voice broke. “I – I thought she’d be here, at least. With you.”

“With me?” Julian spoke mildly. Innocently. “No, no. I haven’t seen her. I thought she was with you. Is something wrong?” His tone gentled, as he walked towards Camille. “She mentioned you’d been having some problems…”

“No – it wasn’t like that – Camille—”

Crowds swarmed Annabelle’s painted self once more. She was lifted back on the wall, as if nothing had happened.

"Let me get you a drink," Julian said. "You can tell me everything."

She caught a glimpse of Julian's arm wrapped around Camille's waist. The way she leaned into him, looked up at him. His lips by her ear.

"Camille—"

By the time the room cleared, they were already gone.

#the last of these stories I swear #turning 30 #short story #horror #fiction #writing #creative writing #writeblr #getting rid of the archive just in case #idk what to tell you #art #magical realism

[satuguro]

*ೃ࿐TO FAULT A NET

[ THE EPILOGUE: .. AND KEEP YOUR ENEMIES CLOSER ]

spider-man! ethan landry x black cat! reader

#SYNOPSIS— ethan goes to museums a little too often, you ramble about paintings, and you think ethan sleeps like the dead.

#CONTAINS— enemies to lovers, slowburn, antihero&vigilante reader, familial issues, implication of ptsd, gore, blood, murder, death, reader is overly flirtatious

#AUTHORSNOTE— i'm lowkey emotional that this series is over, thank you all for the continuous support xx

ACT I, ACT II, ACT III, ACT IV, ACT V, EPILOGUE

the museum was bustling with people; to be expected, as it was a saturday. fall hung heavy over new york, teetering between the edge of winter, allowing the leaves to finally fall after they changed to red. a strong gust of cool wind made him tug his jacket closer around his body, shivering to himself as he hurried up the stairs of the metropolitan museum. even after months of living in new york, ethan never truly got used to that.

he murmured soft 'sorry's and 'excuse me's' under his breath as he passed the entry way, walking by the families and students that were walking every which way. during moments like these, he was truly reminded of just how many people live their own separate lives, and he knew that there was a word for it— he just couldn't remember it at the moment.

ethan regretfully hadn't gone into any of new york's museums at all ever since he moved. he couldn't lie and say he wasn't sure why he was here now, only two and a half weeks since everything happened, spending time walking in such a busy area instead of recuperating in his dorm.

he knew why he was here.

and like he always did for four days now, ethan walked towards the painting exhibit. for four days, this had been his routine; travel to the metropolitan museum, walk to the painting exhibit, and stare. and wait. and watch.

he hadn't seen you ever since you were discharged by the hospital. he visited you of course, sitting by the side of your unconscious body, talking to you about your day as though you would respond wittily. but four days ago, ethan showed up like he always did at the hospital and found your bed empty.

he wished he didn't react as panicked as he did. no one had seen you on campus since then, and as much as ethan wanted to visit you at your apartment, he knew you needed time. and while he gave you time, he'd go to your favorite spot and sit there, expecting something that was only a feeling in his gut.

it wasn't the word of his spider senses or his superpowers. it was just plain old ethan going with his instincts.

he sat on his usual bench, setting down his backpack as he sighed. his wounds had healed long ago (the perks of being a superhero), but they left behind prominent scars that ethan hated thinking about. the mere thought of them made them ache as though he was experiencing the pain again.

he didn't like letting his wander nowadays. not when they always wandered to the events in the theatre with his family.

they were horrible people, but they were family nonetheless. even just thinking about them made his faux last name feel heavy on his mind.

the painting ethan always found himself sitting in front of was called the lovers, by rene magritte. there was a small sign right near its plaque, stating how only recently was the painting returned to the museum, as it had been stolen years prior. it was returned by someone anonymous, who had mysteriously left it inside the museum and left without alerting any of the guards or the alarms.

an unexpected hero, they said. and ethan could only smile whenever they referred to your thefts as hero's work.

for four days, ethan had sat there on his bench, watching people walk by and stare at the painting, admiring their clothed heads as they tried to kiss each other. everyone had different interpretations of it. different reactions— it was cute, honestly, to see people be people. to see kids run around the exhibit with their toy dinosaurs and balloons, to see couples point at paintings and judge them freely, to see an old man lean forward to read a plaque that was too small for his poor eyesight. he thought that he needed to see that—all of that —after he witnessed people at their absolute worst. he needed to see that companionship and that connection.

but even in an entire museum full of people, ethan always sat alone. his friends had all offered to go with him, asking if he needed companionship or just someone's presence, but he didn't. he wanted this time alone. both to regain his trust in humanity and to just.. feel everything. to bask in his emotions alone.

and that's what he did. ethan could only stare at the painting of two lovers covered by their own insecurities and secrets, both trying to be with each other yet pushing each other away all at the same time. and he just stared and let the emotions flow past him.

but then he felt someone's presence sit on his bench. people always sat next to ethan during his time in the museum— people just looking for a chat, people who were lonely, old people who just wanted to know young minds —but never, never had their presence felt like this. and his heart jumped slightly at the conclusion that came to his mind.

you sat next to ethan, cold limbs suddenly warmed by his heat as you let out a soft sigh— one that made the pain from your wound twinge at your skin ever so lightly. eyes set on the painting— your painting, the one you had stolen from those people over the summer —you didn't say a word for a minute, and neither did he.

his overheated body was finally cooled off just by the feeling of your skin so close to his. even under his jacket, goosebumps ran over his skin just at your proximity.

"that's the one i stole," you stated, voice slightly hoarse as you stared at it. the lovers, by rene magritte.

ethan nodded. "that's the one you put back."

"after i stole it." there it was— that downturned smile that ethan saw ever so slightly from his peripherals. the one that made you feel more real. more human, and not just black cat. "you almost caught me that night. that was the night we—"

"met." and finally, he turned to look at you. the cut he had bandaged all those days ago had healed over in a scar at the base of your neck. he could see the weakness in your eyes and face, how you didn't seem to have that healthy glow you once did, but you were healing. and that's what mattered. "you look like shit," ethan said, making you look at him with a slight tilt of your head.

"really? i thought you'd like the whole 'i just escaped death' look." you paused for a second, watching as his eyebrows raised. "that was probably too soon."

"it was." he looked back at the painting again, letting silence envelope the both of you. "you look beautiful, y/n." he said softly, so quiet that you swore he was murmuring it to himself, but no, he was speaking to you.

and for once, you couldn't say anything, the genuineness of his tone catching you completely off guard. "you're beautiful too."

a beat of silence.

"how do you interpret it?" ethan suddenly asked you, cheeks burning red as he changed the subject. he nodded at the painting, making you peer at it as though you hadn't studied it before.

"i see," you began, staring at the painting, "two people who love each other but don't truly know each other. like.. they're wearing masks to hide their true selves. their insecurities cover their face and take over every part of them and it makes them completely unknown to each other."

ethan stared at you as you spoke, gaze softening as you spoke so passionately about one of your favorite paintings to him. his heart was practically beating out of his chest, but he had never felt so at home. so comfortable. so content just sitting here in a museum with you as you spoke.

".. and they want each other so much but are so blissfully unaware of.." your words died in your throat as you stared at him, his intent gaze making your words die on the tip of your tongue. ethan was looking at you as though you had made the painting yourself, his eyes dilated as he watched you. and you had seen that stare before, because that was how you looked at him.

and when ethan realized you were staring back at him, his face flushed such a beautiful red before he stared back at the painting. you quickly followed, staring as well and letting silence pass by yet again. a few minutes passed by of just sitting next to each other quietly. listening to the genuine sounds of human love around you in the museum.

“do you wanna go on a walk?” you asked him.

“i’d love to.”

the wind blew by your ears, biting them with cold as you zipped your leather jacket all the way up to your body. the scarf around your neck provided you with more warmth as you walked side by side with ethan.

you were both avoiding saying it; the thing that you oh so desperately needed to say to the other. the few words that felt like a leap of faith the other would surely catch you from. and you both knew you were both far too afraid to take that leap even though you so desperately wanted to.

“can i ask?” you began, curiosity getting the better of you ad you looked at him. “the whole.. spider-man thing..”

ethan tsked at that, nodding with his hands buried deep in his pockets. he hadn't told anyone about how he had even taken up the role of spider-man. it had been something he couldn't confide with in anyone else (not even chad, even though he was the only other person besides you who knew), but to be able to freely talk to you about it made something warm settle in his chest.

“bitten by a spider when i went to a science demonstration when i first moved here. just to get used to living here," ethan sighed, his breath coming out in white steam, "got bitten by a radioactive spider, and the rest is history."

"i noticed those web shooter things when we first met," you hummed, unable to hide your interest. "you made them?"

"yup. maybe i should make them stronger." ethan said with a lopsided smile, looking up ahead of you again. as desperately as he wanted to poke fun at your shared trauma just like you did, he couldn't even bring himself to do more than indirect jokes. it still made his heart ache to think about it all.

gently nudging your arm (all while being careful that it wasn't your injured one), he asked, "and you?"

could you tell him? you swallowed thickly, brows furrowing a little as you mentally prepared yourself to even speak about your past. but you trusted him— more than you trusted anyone.

"take your time," ethan said softly, just like you said to him all those days ago. his patience extended far and beyond for you as he led you to a bench near a lake. he sat down next to you, his arm right up against yours, his warm so strong that you could feel it under your leather jacket.

"my dad," you breathed out, taking your uninjured hand out of your pocket and putting it on your lap. ethan's hand was right next to yours, and the proximity of the skin to skin contact made the hairs on your arms stand up. "my dad was the first black cat. he's dead now, of course, but.." you felt ethan's hand move closer to yours, and you slowly slipped your hand into his.

and it felt right. like it was simply second nature for you to have your hand in his. you intertwined your fingers, his touch so warm and so gentle on your skin that you found your train of thought turning every which way until you saw ethan nod silently for you to continue.

"i took up black cat not only to pay rent and school, but because.. it's one of the last genuine things i have from him." you exhaled shakily. "he left behind jewels and clothes and practically everything materialistic, sure, but black cat showed his effort. his livelihood, and as much as he is a criminal, he was my dad first." the pressure behind your eyes grew, but you prevailed, ignoring the threat of tears. "i don't want people believing that they killed black cat so easily."

you paused. "and it's a really fun job."

ethan laughed at that, the sound making you look at him with a small, almost sheepish smile. "i know you're all heroic and shit but like, come on," you said, smile only growing wider as ethan shook his head stubbornly.

"no, i chose to stop people like you," he said with a content smile, hand squeezing yours softly. "imagine if i turned into a villain with my powers. i'd rather be responsible—"

"are you saying i'm not?" you scoffed, making ethan's eyes widen in panic.

"no, no— i'm sorry! i'm not like bashing your livelihood or anything, i'm just saying that i use my powers to keep people safe— stop laughing, y/n!" ethan rambled with heated cheeks as you laughed— genuinely laughed —with your head thrown back.

"well," you managed between chuckles, "whenever you want to turn into a villian like me—"

"i didn't say that!"

"then you let me know, okay?" you said with an amused twinkle in your eye. "or you can just stick to catching me whenever i get back to stealing."

ethan's face fell a bit at that, his mind immediately being reminded of that deal ages ago. the deal that he would let you go if you only helped him catch the killer. and you did— you laid down your life just to catch all of them.

he didn't want to just leave it all at that. he couldn't.

maybe ethan was more selfish than he thought.

"y/n," ethan said, hearing your small sound of acknowledgement, "does the deal still matter to you?"

ethan needed to hear you say no. he needed to know that he wasn't just imagining things because of his loneliness that only increased tenfold since the death of his family. and if he was imagining everything, that all those moments with you meant nothing to you, then he needed you to let him down easy yet again. and after that, ethan would never see you again.

you were quiet, the only sounds coming from the ducks on the pond and that crunching of leaves on the ground as people walked by, too engrossed in their own lives and only signing you both off as a couple on a bench, watching the world go by.

"y/n, please answer me," ethan said, quiet desperation in his tone as he looked away from you.

and you didn't say anything, choosing to use your injured hand to softly turn ethan's head towards you and pulling him into a kiss. and you poured your heart out to him in that kiss, hesitation so evident in both of your movements, before it turned into desperation. want. need.

no longer shrouded by your masks, you kissed him with everything you had in your heart for him. and suddenly, your life was full of him, and he with you. his cologne, his touch, his breath— all you felt was him, and for once, you didn't mind it.

ethan's lips moved so slowly with yours, eyes shut as his mind was clouded with you and only you. and when you pulled away, looking at him with slightly swollen lips and dilated eyes, he realized that the familiarity he had always felt was comfort. and he felt his muscles and bones relax at the realization.

"you know that i love you, right?" you said quietly, only loud enough for him to hear above the sounds of life. you almost looked away from him, and maybe you were a coward for almost doing so. for almost not looking at someone you had cared for so deeply that you couldn't help but confess, because if you didn't then you couldn't even bear to be around him.

but you were no coward, and so you looked at ethan in the eyes and caressed his face, because never in your life did you think that you had to muster this much courage to fall for someone and willingly put yourself in that vulnerable role. to love someone like they were a part of you. swallowing down your pride, you kept going. "i loved you when you were just spider, and even more when you were just you."

you could see his rosy lips twitch up into that genuine smile of his. the one that caught your eye all those days ago when he was just the masked hero playing with your cats in your living room. the smile that made you stop and stare just like you did with your favorite paintings, because it meant that much to you.

"and i love you," ethan murmured in return.

wind whipped by your face as you ran, your side pack full of jewelry as you jumped over new york's alleyways yet again. you could hear the police drive right past the building you were running on, most likely making their way to the house you had just stolen from.

you let the rich people breathe for only three months until you deemed yourself ready to start stealing again. and god, after being put out of commission for that long, it felt good. and it felt even better now that you could stop turning on the news and listening to reporters talk about how unusual it was for new york's most notorious thief to disappear for three months, and that maybe she was finally caught.

if only they knew.

your mask covered the upper half of your face, hiding your identity from the world yet again as you ran as fast as you could, because even though you had technically snuck out as quietly as you could, you knew ethan woke up in your shared bed and found your side empty.

but where was the fun if he didn't know?

the familiar thwip thwip sound of his webs made you grin wickedly, jumping over another alleyway before you shot your grappling hook the opposite way. the rope of the grappling hook brought you back and into an alleyway. silently climbing down, you sat under a fire escape as you waited for his webs to pass you. because as much as ethan loved to say that he could catch you, you were always one step ahead of him.

the sight of his masked head peeking upside down from the fire escape above you made you tilt your head in amusement. "oh wow, you actually found me," you stated dryly, making your masked boyfriend scoff.

"i almost always find you," ethan said, using his web to move himself down in front of you. his legs were on the web as he hung upside down in front of you, his masked face right in front of yours. "you really thought i wouldn't notice?"

"i thought your ethan tingle—"

"spider sense."

"your ethan tingle turned off when you were asleep!" you took a step closer to him, finger hooking under his mask and pulling it off of his face. ethan's brown curls fall out from under his mask, his eyes snapping between your eyes and your lips as he smirked cockily.

"here? in an alleyway?" ethan teased flirtatiously, making you groan and roll your eyes. maybe your flirting really was rubbing off on him.

"as if we haven't done that before." you muttered, before taking his face into your hands and kissing him.

#AUTHORSNOTE— thank you so much for following this series all the way until the end! the masterlist for this will be made soon, and i'll be writing another ethan series soon too! in the meantime, pls don't forget to send me asks bc i love you guys xx

#TAGLIST— @ethanlvndry , @iloveneilperry , @starsfilm , @goosenoggin , @aminatic , @wenvierismycomfort , @l5byrinth , @wroetoslut , @briefwinnerpersonaturtle , @oliviapopewannabe , @wzrlds , @raggedyoldwitch , @hotweeb , @marsyay78 , @valenftcrush , @bonkyandsteeb3000 , @bubs-world , @danis-stuff-is-here , @nuhteyam , @ravenstrueluv , @taeversity , @heartipods , @gcidrvsh , @theapulidooo , @volturi-girl-imagines , @duolingofanaccount , @buorke , @grxcisxhy-wp , @strangerdangerwrites , @mrslandryy , @michaelangdonsslut , @netey6m

#scream 6 imagines #scream 6 smut #ethan landry smut #ethan landry x reader #ethan landry imagines #ethan landry imagine #ethan landry #ethan landry x you #ethan landry fluff #ethan landry x y/n #scream fanfic #scream 6 fanfic #ethan landry fanfiction #to fault a net—! #scream 6 imagine #scream vi imagine #scream vi smut #scream vi imagines

[itsjustjake13]

First: I adore the universe of Destiny, the game, and the story... So if you are looking for some Destiny vitriol, look elsewhere.

Second: Destiny 2 spoilers from this week's story beat ahead... tagging and putting a line here just as a heads up.

Third: Ranting time!

"Thus began the Witness's pursuit... its campaign to impose meaning on a meaningless universe."

I would love if some of the critics of Destiny 2, and most recently the harsh critics of the Lightfall campaign, would listen to that one line over and over and over again.

While many stories often have meaning and lessons behind them, did you ever stop to consider to just sit back and enjoy? The Witness's prior existence as an entire species was wiped out because it could not just sit back and enjoy what was right in front of it.

They sought to impose meaning where there was none and have destroyed so much in the process.

Civilizations, planets, people... and now so many Guardians and characters we hold dear.

This is what seems to be happening to the Destiny 2 community these days. It is so focused on what it purports to not have rather than focus on what it does: an incredible world built by some of the most talented game developers in the world.

Why hold this back? This should have been the last cutscene in Lightfall. Destiny 2 is in the worst shape its ever been.

How about looking at what's right in front of you? Just over a month ago, we were all thrilled at the addition of two new unique seasonal activities AND they added fishing AND they brought back a beloved NPC AND started unveiling the mystery of the veil by connecting us to a prior piece of lore about a creature on Titan. How fuckin' rad is all of that in ONE season?

Not just that but why not let them unfold the mystery they want to unfold as they unfold it? Why do they have to answer to what certain "lore daddys" consider to be poor storytelling?

If anyone who works on Destiny 2 sees this: I think your game is so awesome. I think the story you are telling is amazing. And I really appreciate everything you've placed before me.

People often look for meaning in the meaningless, look for what's not there instead of what is, and often miss the love, community, and awesome stuff that is happening right in front of their eyes.

Video games are entertainment. Let them entertain you.

More love. Less anger.

</rant>

#destiny 2 #spoilers #destiny 2 spoilers

[pilot-boi]

What is up with Jaune Arc?

So I have a theory about why Jaune flinched from Ruby's eyes and several other mysteries about our favorite banana noodle

So I was a strong proponent of the Jaune is a descendant of Salem theory a while back during volume 6, it just made sense. It explained the flinching, Tyrians weird interest, and even why Ozpin allowed an untrained nobody to enter Beacon when he saw Pyrrha unlock his aura during initiation

(Seriously, why does no one bring that up!? Every betrayal fic, expulsion au, and complaints about Jaune sneaking into Beacon seem to forget that Ozpin straight up saw Jaune unlock his aura. Like Bruh...)

Anyways once that theory was said to be false by the show writers I was stumped

Why can a boy with no training and having his aura unlocked 5 minutes ago be able to hold back a fully grown deathstalker with one arm and have the aura control to walk away from a 100ft drop with barely a bruise?

How is his able to at least be passible for weeks with no proper training during the Jaundice arc? How is it that he is able to catch up to warriors who have been training for years in a matter of months? Why did Tyrian have such an interest in him during volume 4?

I assumed that these were just plot holes that I would never get a good answer to. Until volume 9 that is

We now know that Jaune Arc is the Rusted Knight, a storybook character who in the very least predates the Great War and is known across Remnant. This means for all of Jaune’s existence upon Remnant he has simultaneously existed in the Ever After. Which means that the minute Jaune was born, he had already been a fully fledged combatant for decades, if not centuries

My theory is that the reason Jaune is so "special" is because of his paradoxal nature

Jaune Arc knows the basics of combat and how to fight off of muscle memory that isn't his yet. His aura control is stellar upon being unlocked since he's been using his semblance for years now. His aura size is so large because he now literally has double the amount a normal person should have because there are two of him. He is a being who shares a soul with another, himself in a world parallel to Remnant

Tyrian is interested in him beacause he can see somethings weird about his aura. A popular headcanon about Tyrian is that he has poor eyesight like real scorpions but can see aura just fine

So when he takes a close look at Jaune he can see a faint overlay of something, or someone else. A much older, stronger aura than this novice huntsman should possibly have

Its why Jaune flinched during Rubys silver eye blast at Haven. For a brief moment he was exposed to the pure essence of a being from the Ever After, the essence of the God of Light. And during that brief moment, the two parallel worlds were bridged, and the Rusted Knight and Jaune Arc felt each other for the first time

A tiny jolt, one that was soon brushed off but a feeling of suddenly not being alone in your very soul coming and going like a flash would cause anyone to flinch. Makes me wonder how Rusted Jaune felt during that moment

I know this is a long shot but notice that the only times Jaunes aura has broken was after being slapped by a mech while boosting Nora, on the bridge during his fight with Cinder, and in the Ever After from the Curious Cat. One of those times was after he pulled off a truly absurd feat, and the other two both happened above and within the other world, where the rest of his soul resided

Coming out of the Ever After Jaune might no longer have absurdly large aura, since he now is whole once more and only has as much as one person should have

Sorry for the long post but this has been bugging me for awhile and I thought this might be a good theory for why Jaune is the way he is.

TLDR; Jaune Arc is connected Rusted Jaune and both share a soul causing weird things about Jaune

————————

Formatted for ease of reading

Okay but this is a BRILLIANT freaking theory about all the nonsense going on with Jaune, and it would honestly make a lot of stuff make sense

Why was Tyrian interested in him? He has more Aura than any one person should be able to hold

Why did Jaune flinch at the silver eyes when no one else did? He very briefly was connected to the version of him in the Ever After

Why did his Aura break so quickly on the bridges when before it took being bitchslapped by a mile high mech AND boosting Nora? Now he was “in” the Ever After and only able to draw on one pool of Aura

It even explains pretty mundane stuff like how he was able to catch up to his friends after only a year or two of training. It’s the same reason Oscar was able to, he’s pulling on “someone else’s” muscle memory

Even his symbol! TWO arcs, not one, TWO Jaune Arcs, not one

God this is a really cool theory, I REALLY love this idea. Thank you for sharing

#rwby #jaune arc #monster creater 12 #submission #mine

[kaitou-kid-my-beloved]

There's A Phantump In The Library

(Ao3 link)

Based on @livmadart's Phantump Conan AU :)

Ran was a good pokemon trainer, a really good pokemon trainer. She’d become the Kanto champion at age 16, she’d beat all eight main gyms in record time, and she’d never lost an official battle in her life. She was also the daughter of a detective. She knew enough to know that she was being watched by something.

She’d noticed the feeling for the first time about a week ago- but she had a feeling that she’d been a bit slow on the uptake. She’d thought that her team was just antsy after… after Shinichi died- they’d loved him as much as she had after all; but now she thought that their odd behavior could be attributed to this odd presence that followed them.

She’d spent the past week trying to catch a glimpse of it- whatever it was. She was fairly sure it was a pokemon, but that still gave her a lot of options. It had to be fairly small, to hide like it obviously was, but a lot of pokemon were small enough for that. No, there were significantly less pokemon that could also hide from her team.

In a way, she was grateful for whatever it was. It gave her an excuse to be distracted, it was something unimportant that she could focus on to take her mind off of… everything else. It gave her something to change the subject to, something that would make people stop looking at her like that.

She knew she wasn’t okay, she knew that, but she wished everyone would stop treating her as if she was fragile.

Until that stopped, and she could safely return her focus to other things, this mysterious pokemon following her would be her personal project. It was her method of coping, and she would stick to it.

Unfortunately, there were still things that had to be done. Uncomfortable, painful things that she’d really rather avoid but… everyone else was avoiding them too, and as much as she’d love to shut down, she had to keep things running, just like she always did.

This was how she found herself in Shinichi’s library, with the prickling feeling of being watched as the most comforting thing she was feeling. It hadn’t been cleaned in over a month, and the dust amongst the misplaced books was becoming untenable. She knew Shinichi would never forgive her if she let anything happen to his precious books, and goodness knows his parents weren’t going to do anything about it. They were far more of a mess at this point than Ran was.

She hadn’t told anyone exactly where she was going. This chore needed to be done, but she didn’t want anyone to see her do it. She didn’t want anyone to see her cry anymore. Her only company here was Chives, her venusaur; and her mysterious stalker.

Chives was using his vines to help dust, and Ran was gathering scattered books, gingerly piling them onto the desk before she could figure out where they were all supposed to go. The hardest part of her job was keeping her tears off the pages. She swiped at her eyes, closing them and taking a deep breath. She could do this.

A noise shocked her out of her thoughts. It was a small sound- almost like a child keening in pain, but Ran recognized it. She glanced down as fast she could, and caught sight of a rather unusual shadow, already fading away.

“Phantump!” She cried, almost without thinking. The poor thing was startled into visibility again; it tried to fly away, only to bump into the side of the desk, hard, making a book fall on top of its head. Ran winced. She hadn’t meant to do that.

She’d met a trainer on her journey who had a phantump, and their cry had stuck in her head. It was unique, and a little haunting- though she supposed that was fitting. They weren’t very common in Kanto, so she’d only met the one, but now she was very glad she’d remembered. If she hadn’t, she probably wouldn’t have gotten to see her little observer.

It keened again, shaking its head a little trying to dislodge the book that had fallen open over its head- but it was lodged in between its little branches. Ran had to stifle a laugh- its misfortune may have been her fault, but it was a funny sight.

“Sorry about that, let me just- oh,” Ran smiled, kneeling down to remove the book. As she took it off, she saw it blink up at her with big, blue eyes. Phantump were supposed to have red eyes, the one she’d met before certainly had, but that one had also had deep brown bark on its head, where this one had a lovely silver color. It also had red leaves, and the wispy dark parts of its body seemed to be a lighter shade.

Shiny!

Ran had never found a shiny before. She’d seen one or two under the care of other trainers, but they were beyond rare in the wild. She felt her smile stretch into a grin. If this little one really was the mysterious presence that had been following her, then it probably didn’t have a trainer. This was so cool!

It whined quietly, drifting away from her a little as it rubbed the space between its eyes. It looked like a small crack had appeared in its wood there- and Ran bit her lip in guilt. Whoops.

“Uh, sorry about that,” Ran said, running her fingers along the spine of the book she’d taken off of it. It was a Sherlock book- The Sign Of Four… Shinichi’s favorite. It looked at her nervously- before starting to fade away again. “Wait!”

It paused, and became visible again, though it hovered farther away. She couldn’t blame it, she had cracked its face. It blinked at her, and though she could be misreading its mannerisms, it almost seemed shy.

“You’re the one who’s been following me around for a while, right?” Ran asked, gently. The phantump’s tail curled in the air, and it nodded hesitantly, as if it was embarrassed. Honestly, it was adorable. Ran wasn’t a fan of many ghost types, due to their tendency to be, well, scary, but this one was just cute.

“I don’t mind!” She assured it, “I’ve enjoyed trying to find you, actually,” It warbled something, its child-like voice sounding bittersweet to Ran’s human ears.

Chives had mostly ignored the commotion up till that point, more concerned with his task of dusting, but when the phantump cried again, all sounds of Chives dusting ceased. The ground rumbled a bit as the full grown venusaur dashed across the room as fast as he could.

“Wha- Chives!” Ran said, setting the book on the floor next to her to intercept her starter. “No no no chives, we like this pokemon, so- oh, um…” She’d been expecting Chives to attack it, since he could get a little overprotective sometimes, but instead he just stopped dead, and stared at it.

The poor phantump looked spooked, it glanced wildly between Ran and Chives, and the edges of its form flickered in and out of visibility. Chives growled a little, though not in an unfriendly way. The phantump keened back, and Chives immediately relaxed, reaching out and pulling the Phantump closer with his vines. It still looked a little spooked, but didn’t resist, or disappear again.

“Chives, let him go,” Ran said, patting Chives’s vines. He rumbled unhappily, but complied. The phantump squeaked a little as it was freed. “I can understand if you want to go, but I’m hoping you’ve stuck around so long because you liked me, right?” Ran smiled at it, and Chives stepped back to allow her to talk to it better. “If you’d like, you could stick around for a while longer- the company would be nice,” She shrugged, and glanced around the library. “But this time, you don’t have to hide as much, okay?”

The phantump hesitated, meeting her eyes. It keened softly, before flying past her, and settling down on Chives’s back, just at the base of his flower. Ran blinked after him- she had been hoping that it’d stay, but she hadn’t expected it to be so comfortable with her venusaur. Was it because they were both grass types? Well, at least Chives looked thoroughly pleased with the development.

“Alright, well, I’m happy to have you,” Ran smiled at it, and her heart swelled as it offered her a tiny smile back. “Though, if you are going to stay, I’ll need something to call you…” Ran was the type of trainer to nickname all of her pokemon. She felt they deserved to feel distinct. She glanced around for any inspiration for a name for this little one, and her eyes fell on the book she’d taken off of it earlier.

The book was well loved- one from Shinichi’s personal collection. It was rarely at home on the shelves, and was almost always found somewhere else in the house- often in Shinichi’s own hands. She smiled sadly as she picked it up, tears pricking at her eyes again. Shinichi had only ever had one pokemon- but he’d named it Sherlock, after his favorite character. He’d said that if he ever got more, that he’d name them after the Sherlock Holmes novels as well. Now, he’d never get that chance. But Ran…

“How about Conan?” She asked, glancing up at the little phantump even as her finger traced the spine. It keened a little, looking at the book. “It’s the name of my friend Shinichi’s favorite author- I don’t think you got the chance to see him, though,” She bit back a sob. “He named his pokemon after the main character, and I don’t- well, I thought that the author would be…” The phantump cut her off with a cry, the loudest one it had given yet, and also the happiest.

“Okay okay!” Ran laughed, swiping her tears away. “Conan it is then!”

Conan smiled at her, a small thing, but it was something that made Ran happy. Chives lumbered over to where he’d abandoned his dusters, taking Conan with him.

Ran got to her feet, still clutching the book in her hands. She was about to place it back on the desk- but hesitated. She walked across the room, and slid into her bag instead. Shinichi wouldn’t have wanted it to rot on a bookshelf somewhere. He would want it to be read, and loved. She could do that for him.

While she was at her bag, she retrieved her phone, and opened the pokedex app. She pointed the camera over at Chives and Conan, and watched the information scroll across the screen. She smiled a little to herself as it noted that it was her first shiny entry, before moving on to reading the actual dex entry.

‘According to old tales, these Pokémon are stumps possessed by the spirits of children who died while lost in the forest. According to legend, medicine to cure any illness can be made by plucking the green leaves on its head, brewing them, and boiling down the liquid. ’

Nothing but old tales and legends- an unfortunate number of dex entries were like that. Still, this one was unusually sad. Ran knew that most ghost pokemon were not literal ghosts, but on the off chance that this one was… Well, she supposed that they had both lost a lot. Perhaps, they could find comfort in each other.

Somehow, the entire building felt less oppressive than it had that morning. She watched as Chives tried to teach Conan how to hold a duster with his tail, only for it to phase through, and laughed to herself.

She wasn’t okay, not quite yet, but every day was brighter. The future was full of pain yes- but also comfort, and new friends.

She was going to be alright.

#dcmk #pokemon #dcmk x pokemon #phantump conan au #my writing #mouri ran #edogawa conan #I have so much brainrot for this AU #fanfic

[thepastisalreadywritten]

By Kate Andrews

Has Kate Middleton united America? For the past few days, we have been one nation under her spell.

The Princess of Wales has dominated Google searches in the United States ever since Kensington Palace released that now-notorious doctored photo of her with her children for Mother’s Day.

Her name search beat that of both ‘Donald Trump’ and ‘Joe Biden’ over the past week.

To say she has broken the internet would be only the start of it: rumours of her well-being are making their way into every newsroom, dive bar, and church fellowship hour across America.

My friends from all over the country text and call me to ask the same question: What’s happened to Kate?

They know I’m as removed from the royal family as anyone could be, but I’m in London and I work in Westminster, so they hope I’ve heard a theory that hasn’t made its way across the pond just yet.

Left-liberal pals who usually text me when Trump says something obscene now want to know when I last walked by Buckingham Palace.

Did anything seem strange? More right-leaning friends, who tend to send videos of Biden jumbling his words, want to know if it’s unusual in Britain to not wear your wedding ring.

Or did someone photoshop her ring out of the Mother’s Day photo, too? Is that even her hand in the picture?

I wonder if Kate knows she has achieved the impossible in bringing America together in this way.

I suppose that depends on where she’s been, how she’s been faring, and how much she’s checking the news – all questions that largely remain unanswered.

Either way, it’s an impressive feat and a wonderful service she has performed.

Sure, it would be nice if existential threats to the United States and its citizens were cause enough for us to find common ground. But I’m not going to be picky.

I will forever be grateful for this smidgen of evidence that, if the cause is compelling enough, America can pull itself back from the brink.

How did ‘Kate-gate’ go viral in a nation that isn’t even her own? The princess’s prolonged absence from public life has the right components to capture America’s imagination.

We are a country obsessed with The Crown and true crime. Since we rejected the British monarchy almost 250 years ago, we have rarely had the opportunity to combine the two.

The mystery of Kate’s movements and the online sleuthing required to discredit that photograph proved to be a golden moment.

But it’s the cover-up elements, which made the story stratospheric.

Like everything else in the States, conspiracy theories tend to be big – the more far-fetched, the more viral they go.

Trumpist QAnon talk has never appealed to non-partisan Instagram girlies, but speculation around a princess’s whereabouts make for perfect 20-part video series to add to your highlights reel.

That’s because Kate-gate is not your traditional conspiracy fare.

The big questions – what’s happened to Kate, where has she been – have not been whipped up from nothing.

Suspicion has been fed by a number of public-relations mishandlings from the Palace.

Stories have changed, a photo has been botched and is still being censored on social media.

This is particularly strange given the normal PR slickness of the Firm: a protective, ruthless operation that presidents and popstars envy.

Some of the rumours have taken absurd and dangerous turns. But it’s not only fantasists who have questions. Something seems to be happening; we just don’t know what.

We may never find out what Kate has been up to these past months. And perhaps we shouldn’t. Her medical issues aren’t our business, after all.

But we know what’s happened to her in the eyes of the public: Brand Kate has skyrocketed.

She and her family have become even more intriguing – the Prince and Princess of Wales’s Instagram and X accounts gained more than 200,000 followers combined in the days after the doctored photo was posted.

That intrigue has made the princess all the more sensational.

Kate is now a mega-celebrity. She has the kind of fame her sister-in-law craves so badly.

Markle’s tactic was to shout from the rooftops: to make herself and her point of view heard through every media platform and streaming service that showed any interest. It worked for a while.

Had a pandemic not scuppered her big moment, ‘Megxit’ would have been the story of 2020.

She and Harry still got to sit down with Oprah. Netflix charted their journey from the Palace to the Hollywood Hills. But attention quickly waned.

This week, the duchess finds herself doing what every fame-hustler must do in the fight for survival: launching a lifestyle brand.

Her Californian-inspired venture, called American Riviera Orchard, will be offering us fashion advice and gardening tips, along with another outlet selling artisan jams and yoga gear.

Yet as she pushes the cutlery and cookbooks, it’s absent Kate whose face is projected all over the world: a testament, if there ever was one, to the power of silence.

Given the long line of mess-ups from the Palace, this boost for Kate is a fairly good outcome.

The princess disappeared for a few months, and the world made its message clear: we simply can’t bear to be without her.

When she returns to public life, she will be more adored and loved than ever.

The rumours and theories will die down. The outpouring of support for the Princess of Wales will continue.

It seems likely that she will, as promised, resume public duty in the spring.

The future queen of England will return, radiant as ever, to stand next to her future king and her family, as if nothing ever happened.

We’ll watch on, always with the niggling feeling that there was something we weren’t told and that not knowing is the key to the charm.

As Walter Bagehot said:

‘We must not let in daylight upon magic’ – or photoshop, for that matter.

NOTE: Additional photos have been included in this article.

#Princess of Wales #Catherine Princess of Wales #Catherine Middleton #Kate Middleton #British Royal Family #Brand Kate #trending #viral #fake news #misinformation #disinformation #cancer #chemotherapy #break the internet #Kate-Gate

[chthonicgodling]

/KICKS THE DOOR DOWN- omFG HELLO ITS FINALLY TIME FOR-

welcome to an Elysium Drama Update tHAT IVE BEEN VAGUING AND HYPING ABOUT FOR THREEEEEEEE MONTHS 😱 yes you ARE reading this correctly! After all this time of spiraling deeper and deeper RECENTLY and after the VERY long tumultuous past of the previous decade-ish - the Taki Fuego Trifecta Trio (their tag here) is HAVING AN ENTIRE BABY BY CHOICE AND ON PURPOSE— oh mmmmYYYY GGGGGGGOD—

All five of these illustrations feature completely canon dialogue dating back from January when they first started trying for a baby. now that Loki finally confirmed that he’s actually pregnant a few weeks ago - clearly out loud and in words - it is finally time to reveal this news to all of YOU!

Congratulations YOU are now part of a select few! NO ONE ELSE IN THE PALACE KNOWS YET.

The baby Loki is now incubating is sired by Tory!! with Maci of course knowingly and delightedly pulling all puppet strings “behind the scenes” aka like, to the left of them or whatever on the bed.💞How did this even fucking happen you may be asking??!!! They went from fun bedroom dynamic to let’s have an entire babBY?!?! Well- just like the way these playfully suggestive drawings (every one of these convos took place during…… during. uhhhhhhhhhh) are slyly ambiguous in the way I chose to draw them - let me explain the decision of this baby in the same,, extremely sanitized way:::

Maci and Tory.,,, will say.,,, literally anything. And During one such occasion,, it dawned on Loki - and them too, honestly — suddenly with a full record scratch that — wait are you actually being serious?? WAIT DO YOU *ACTUALLY* WANT A—

As nudged upon here and also in my many recent lore essays, please remember that Loki’s ~antsy~ when it comes to his pregnancies and history of children; due to the prior tragedies that had befallen the first six he’s always made it a habit of just vanishing, paranoid and anxious, each time he’s found himself pregnant. However Maci and Tory unequivocally and wholeheartedly asking him to make a baby with them because 💞love💞 and 💞lust💞 and 💞clingy vibes💞- again LITERALLY the first EVER baby ON PURPOSE EVER- was enough to IMMEDIATELY make him go starry eyed. Even though over these past few months since Tory first initiated the talk Loki had…. Still has……. refused to admit that and continued to be his usual vaguely hostile and suspicious self but….

As of today he’s six weeks pregnant (he can always, magically, tell right away) and he has not yet disappeared.in fact he hasn’t even left their BED or their SIDE in THREE MONTHS. 🥺 mhy god hellO., Loki you’re so full of shit and they’re onto you. Maybe stop blushing so much.

and so now begins the countdown to NEW MYSTERY BABY and the shenanigans that will follow; ONCE AGAIN I am FLOORED and THRILLED and WATCHING all this with my jaw on the FLOOR. ‼️they’re not a throuple this is just uhh fun things to do with your platonic friends!‼️ (oh my god I’m gonna lose my mind for fucking real—)

All the dialogue in the orange bubbles + Tory himself of course belong to @fenixethekid , hiatused, once again trying for real to kill me im pretty sure.Maci & all pink and green bubbles are mine; EeL is mine too idc; do NOT tag this with the m word; I hope this has been worth the hype (and I’m pretty sure I was EXTREMELY obvious about hinting at this so?!?!?! GOLD STAR IF YOU’D ALREADY GUESSED THIS NEWS!)

POPS CHAMPAGNE STAY TUUUUNEDDDDD

#LONG POST / #pregnancy / #nsfwtxt .?? #my art #Elysium drama update #Taki fuego #eloki #Elysium comics #HEY!!!!! AAUGHHHHHGGFGFFFFF

[arcane-apathy]

~Protective~

The Prize of War Masterlist 

AN: A little while ago I had someone mention in an ask that they’d love to see something from Kurakh’s perspective. I originally brushed it off, but I got a rush of inspiration to write a short piece. And because this month is so busy for me, I’ve barely had time to make any progress on upcoming chapters. Hopefully this will tide y’all over until I can actually update. While today may be my birthday, this is my little present to y’all. Thank y’all for your support, and I hope you’ll enjoy! 

Warning(s): Swearing, Suggestive Language, Angry Kurakh (he deserves his own warning)

 A week has passed since the first snow. And whilst beautiful, the cold was a shock to many in the horde. It was becoming more of a struggle to leave the warmth of the furs in the morning. Kurakh didn't know how Odmili did it with ease each morning. Their usual rolls have switched, with her getting up first to put wood into the fireplace before getting ready for the day. Her routine never changed. Starting with her boots, then brushing the knots from her hair before braiding it and hiding it beneath the cap. 

  Kurakh hated that cap. While it had its purpose, it hid the maid’s best feature. Much like her entire outfit. Designed to hide the personality of the wearer, to diminish their importance despite the skills they possess. The sleeves are long, neckline high, hemline to the ankles, and baggy. Everything she wore was rough to the touch. Purely utilitarian. And she deserved better, even if she thought she didn’t. But despite the habit’s best efforts, Kurakh couldn’t ignore the maid’s beauty. To the point that he struggled with daily tasks. 

  “You’re not even cutting any wood, you’re just staring,” Eteos grumbles beside him. 

  “Sorry, just got distracted,” he turns away from her just as she looks at him. Schelura laughed alongside her as they got water from the well across the camp. 

  “Tends to be happening more and more buddy,” the centaur smirks as he splits another log. “When’s the wedding?” 

  “Be quiet,” he huffs while putting the split pieces in the cart. 

  “You’re being a big baby. She obviously likes you back.” 

  “You don’t know that.” 

  “We offered her a room to herself, she refused. Marvi offered to help her make a second bed pad, but she refused. I tried to rescue her and she jumped off my back. She likes you!” 

  “I don’t want to rush her…” 

  “Well you better get a move on before someone else does. I’ve got too many horny, single men in this camp. Who would love nothing more than to be up her skirt.” Kurakh frowned and split a log, trying to ignore it. “Speaking of, here comes one now… Hello Fergal, how’s the leg?” 

  Kurakh could see the Tiefling out of the corner of his good eye as he chopped, “hello Commander, Warchief.” Nodding to each of them respectively, “it’s fine, just sore, not as bad as the first two days.” 

  “That’s good. Why don’t you make yourself a little useful and stack the wood neatly in the cart? There’s not much to catch up on, since someone here is distracted,” Eteos teases. 

  “I’m sure the Warchief has a lot on his mind,” Fergal smiles and begins to straighten the contents of the cart. Kurakh rolls his eyes before chopping more wood. The silence quickly ruined, “Warchief may I ask you something?” 

  Kurakh sighs, “go ahead.” 

  “What is the Maid of Eia like?” 

  “Why do you want to know?” 

  “I’ve lived in Evor all of my life, the clergy of any deity is mysterious to the common folk. We only see them on holidays, major life events, or when dying… She’s also very pretty.” 

  Eteos watches Kurakh carefully, the orc standing at his full height. “She is an honorable woman with many skills, and a great addition to the horde. The rest of my people would agree.” 

  “She’s nice,” the Tiefling smiles. “Although she’s got quite the mouth on her, I think I can find a better use for it. I know she’s smart and all, but those maids take vows of chastity… I’d be happy to teach her a few things. Not like I’ve done it before, maids are always fun to break in.” 

Kurakh grips his axe tighter, “you’ve done it before?” 

  “Several times, not just Maids of Eia. But they tend to be the most fun, considering they know how everything works down there.” Eteos watches as Kurakh places his axe on the ground, taking a step towards Fergal as his back is turned. “And getting to see what’s under that habit is the best part. They always seem more shapely than the habit lets on. I’m sure she has fat ass underneath that blue mess of fabric.” Fergal turns around, freezing as he realizes how close Kurakh was. 

  “I’m only going to say this one time, and you will not have a smartass response. I can still reach my axe and you can’t run that well. The Maid of Eia is not a trophy for you to win or a shiny new toy for you to play with. And you will never speak of her in such a way ever again. You will only speak to her only on matters of your health. Do you understand me? 

  “Yes sir.” 

  Kurakh leans in just a tad bit closer, his voice quieter yet just as stern as before. “And don’t even think that you can be sneaky about it either. I’m the one she shares a bed with, and I’m the one who holds her at night. I will find out. One step out of line and I will feed you to my warg, alive. Have I made my intentions clear?” 

  “Y-Yes Warchief.” 

  “Good, now go find someone else you annoy,” Kurakh steps away from him. Just enough for him to move away from the cart. The injured Tiefling limps away with his tail between his legs. The few bystanders quickly acted like they weren’t listening to every word. “So you sort wood while I chop,” the orc lifts his axe with a sigh.  

  Eteos rolls his eyes, “feeding him to your warg? A bit much, isn’t it?.” 

  “Not when it concerns her.”

#tpow #male orc x female reader #High Fantasy #orc x reader #my work #snippet #m orc x f reader #tpow series #fantasy

[foxcantswim]

Barbie x Harley Quinn // Lucky I Love Ya

First Barbie x Harley fic out there??? I am now BEGGING for more. I am also begging for requests for these two. I'm on my knees at this point.

Harley breaks Barbie out of jail. Afterall, she would do anything for her girlfriend.

TW: Mention of catcalling, blood, language

Barbie had been arrested… again… She had been catcalled one too many times and she had simply lost her patience, a punch and a kick there had landed her in yet another cell.

Harley grabbed hold of Barbie's wrist and pulled her closer, "Watch your back!" she shouted before pointing a gun at a cop who had appeared behind Barbie.

Taking a deep breath, Barbie closed her eyes and awaited the gunshot. She flinched. Harley had always been on the extreme side. She had even offered Barbie a gun a few days ago, which she obviously declined.

An arm wrapped around Barbie's waist, "You sure are lucky I like you enough to bust you outta here, puddin'."

A shy smile appeared on Barbie's face, "You know I appreciate it. But you don't have to keep…" she dared to take a look behind her towards the body on the floor, "Keep doing things like this," her voice became quiet.

The concept of death was always something Barbie had a problem with. And Harley didn't exactly help with that.

"Anything for my doll," Harley licked her lips, leaning in close, "One day you'll use a gun and you'll see just how exciting this shit can be." Barbie took a step back, narrowly avoiding Harley's kiss. Harley stuck out her tongue, Barbie couldn't help but smile.

Barbie was grateful for Harley. She had run into her when she was robbing a bank… Of course she was. A stray bullet had flew past her head, missing her by mere inches. Harley was about to make sure the next bullet hit its mark, but then she realised something. It was almost as if she was looking into a mirror…

Harley was determined to look after this mysterious woman from that day on.

It had been a few months since the two first met now.

"You want to take me to where?"

"BarbieLand!" Barbie exclaimed with a huge grin on her face.

BarbieLand was something she had brought up a few times, Harley was still confused at the possibility of a whole other world which was run by women and… very pink?

"This again?" she groaned, "You really think someone like me would be able to function somewhere like that? You know I love ya, doll, but I ain't goin' anywhere near that place," Harley said as she sat down on the sofa, leaning back.

"Erm… Gloria probably wouldn't like it if you got…" Barbie nodded towards Harley's blood covered clothes, "That on her furniture."

Speaking of Gloria. She almost fainted from a panic attack upon seeing TWO Barbies. It had taken a few weeks for her to get used to it.

"Isn't this kind of weird…?" she had asked.

"I'm literally friends with a walking shark and a woman who can control plants. Nothin' is weird to me."

Harley giggled up at Barbie, "Me n Gloria are like this," she crossed her fingers, "She won't mind."

"I won't mind what?"

"Speak of the devil," Harley smirked before kicking her feet up on the coffee table.

"Hi, sorry I'm late I had a-" Gloria froze in her tracks, "Get up! Now!" she shouted, instantly moving to grab Harley's hand to pull her up, "What the hell happened?"

"Nothin'!" Harley smiled as innocently as she could.

Gloria released her hand, "Really?" she tried to control her breathing at the sight of blood staining her couch.

"Some assholes were gettin' all up in my doll's business. I only did what was right and broke her out of jail."

"Jail?! Again?!" Gloria's eyes darted towards Barbie who was shifting back and forth on her feet.

"She was stickin' up for herself," Harley argued, "Men can be assholes."

Gloria sighed deeply, "That doesn't mean you can go around killing people! For one thing, you are dragging evidence here!" Despite not wanting to be anywhere near the blood, she ran to the kitchen to grab some rubber gloves in preparation of a thorough cleanup. This hadn't been the first time Harley had shown up covered in blood. Of course Gloria had called the cops the first handful of times, but each and every time Harley would somehow escape and show up once again.

"She was only trying to help," Barbie muttered as Gloria made her way back towards the couch with multiple different cleaning products in hand.

Harley laughed and walked up behind Barbie, wrapping her aways around her waist, "Ya see… Even puddin' knows I'm only doing what's right."

Gloria had found it incredibly narcissistic when Harley had announced that she was in a relationship with Barbie a few weeks ago. But then again, that was totally a Harley thing to do.

"I never said it was right," Barbie gasped.

"You wound me, babe!" Harley pouted as she rested her chin on Barbie's shoulder.

"You need to leave. Both of you. I need to disinfect the whole house." Gloria loved Barbie, regardless of her choices. And if Harley made her happy, then who was she to judge? If Gloria was being honest, she was glad that Harley was there to look after Barbie in the outside world. She was still learning about how to be human, afterall. She just hoped that Barbie was learning how to be a good person.

Harley planted a kiss on Barbie's cheek before moving away, "But where would we go? You can't kick us out like this," Harley wiped her eyes, trying her hardest to produce tears.

Barbie's frown soon turned into a huge smile, "We can go to BarbieLand!"

Before Harley could protest, Gloria interrupted, "Yes. That is a great idea. The police won't look for you there."

Harley was quickly on knees in front of Gloria, "Don't let her take me there!" she clasped her hands together and begged, "What if I don't make it back alive?!"

"You are always so dramatic," Gloria shook her head before looking over at Barbie, "Go on. Take all the time you need."

Barbie giggled with joy before pulling Harley up from the ground, "We're going to have so much fun, Harley!" she placed a kiss on her cheek, which melted the latter's heart.

It was becoming increasingly hard for Harley to deny whatever Barbie wanted. It was rare for Barbie to show affection, so a simple kiss on the cheek was usually her undoing.

"Okay! You've convinced me, doll!" Harley linked their arms together before dragging her towards the door, "Good luck with the blood!" she laughed towards Gloria.

"Ha ha……" Gloria rolled her eyes. Just before thy were about to leave the house, Gloria gasped, "Harley! Clean yourself up before you leave!"

"Booooo! You're no fun," she replied. Barbie had to forcefully drag Harley up the stairs towards the bathroom.

Harley clicked the lock as soon as they were in. It was barely even five seconds before Barbie found herself pushed against the sink.

"Nope!" Barbie put a hand up as Harley leaned in, "I refuse to kiss you when you are covered in… that."

"Dollfaaaace, you're killin' me!" Harley rolled her eyes, but she did indeed move Barbie out of the way in order to reach the sink. She had never scrubbed her face faster, water and soap splashed over the sides haphazardly.

"There we go!" Harley cheered before turning towards Barbie once more, instantly claiming her lips with her own. Barbie automatically smiled into the kiss.

"Much better," Barbie said when she pulled away.

"Love ya, babe," Harley moved a stray hair out of Barbie's face before going back in for seconds. The kiss soon deepened, it was always hard for Harley not to escalate things.

A loud bang could soon be heard coming from the front door.

"Ma'am, we're looking for Harley Quinn… Again."

"Fuckin' cops," Harley groaned as she buried her face into a panting Barbie's neck.

"L-Language," Barbie shivered under her grasp.

"I think it's about time we jump this place, puddin'," she pressed a soft kiss to the underside of her jaw before reluctantly pulling away.

The pair made their way to the room next door, Barbie always made sure to keep a spare change of clothes in a bag for Harley.

"Do I really need to change?" she groaned.

"Yes! You can't go out looking like that!" Blood still clearly stained her clothes.

"Lucky I love ya," Harley rolled her eyes before grabbing the bag.

Barbie clapped her hands together in excitement as she watched Harley change, "We're finally going to BarbieLand!" she shouted.

"Shh!" Harley hushed her.

Once Harley was finally changed, she ran towards the window and flung it open. She reached out to hold Barbie's hand before the pair jumped.

Harley was not looking forward to the trip to BarbieLand. She had no idea what was in store for her… But if it made Barbie happy, then so be it. The smile on her girlfriend's face as they skated alongside the beach was worth it.

#barbie #harley quinn #margot robbie #barbie x harley #suicide squad #dc universe #harley #barbie fanfic #harley quinn fanfic #margot robbie fanfic

[teddypickerry]

Ok first I absolutely loved dad Jess it was so cute!! For dad Jess, can I request Alice saying her first word and Jess reacting to it please??

𝐌𝐄𝐋𝐃𝐑𝐎𝐏.

j. mariano !

PART TWO

pairings! single dad jess x dealing with daughter’s first word

warnings! cursing

word count! 1.2k

a/n! thank you for requesting!! i promise i’ll get the others out soon <3 jess & alice literally have my heart, i hope you guys love them as much as i do. requests are still open!!

ALICE MARIANO was the brightest of babies. for being less than a year old, she had already excelled in many more ways than one. she was ahead of most babies her own age by now. which didn't surprise her dad as much as it should have. he excelled as a baby — his uncle luke had explained to him several times. so no doubt his baby girl would do the same. but there was one way that she was just average. and that came in the form of speaking.

most babies averaged to say their first word around their first birthday. and with that in only three days, alice was cutting it short. the little girl was bigger by now. matching her father's dark messy hair, long eyelashes, and big eyes. she was practically mini jess. the two living comfortably by now. he could finally afford his own place without four roommates. this time only with one who happened to be very adorable.

the apartment hardly lived up to its name. it was a one room place, but came with a nice bathroom and he kept it decently tidy. alice had her own crib and several toys by the small window, directly beside jess's single bed. the room sported a small kitchen which consisted of a few cabinets, a run down oven, and a fridge. but the star of it all was the wooden desk jess had found on the street months ago. the second best night of his life, after his daughter's birth of course.

several of his works stacked the wooden desk. written with a typewriter the boy's uncle purchased for him for his nineteenth in the autumn. the apartments sat silent for several hours during the day while jess mariano spent his afternoon at his work. a nine to five that was starting to get on his nerves, and make him miss the walmart cooperation. on the bright side, the ridiculous office job that required him in button downs, did have a daycare. so his girl could be with him throughout the day. without actually being with him.

the two burst through the apartment door. the father's hands full with his baby and a few other items; mail; keys, briefcase - yes, he was one of those guys. alice hummed in her dad's ear something she had done recently. everytime believing she would be saying her first word. which jess anticipated every single time. even waking up luke at three in the morning because of this assumption. something the uncle was not too proud of.

"c'mon ali, toy time." jess told his little girl as he sat her in her crib, handing her two of her toys. before making his way around the apartment, putting his jacket and keys away. he reached for a bottle in the fridge, his mind stuck on what birthday present to get the girl. he had been saving up for the past few weeks. on what was the mystery. no matter what he got her, he knew she would have a delightful birthday. luke and lorelai, who were now an item, would be coming up from the hollow to visit the girl. spend the day with the almost toddler while jess was at work. not that she would notice, considering it was only her first.

"m- hmph," the baby sounded from across the room making jess nearly spill the bottle as he made his way over towards her. only holding his breath as he half expected the girl's first word to be mama. even though she lacked one of those. "ali cooper?

"me-fafafadel," she spit as he wiped her chin, smiling brightly at the little girl. her eyes like looking into his own — but much, much, better. "you got it, coop. keep talking."

"me-dup. mel-drop." she giggled making the teenager's eyes practically widen in awe as he ran over towards his desk. yanking the phone from the chord on the desk, shoving it to his ear with a quick dial. "meldrop; meldrop; meldrop." the boy mumbled as he made his way over towards the girl, tickling her with a grin. "so smart, ali."

three rings and a very frustrated answer caught the boy's attention. "what?"

"meldrop," jess smiled as he spoke into the phone. he could practically hear luke look around like he was on a prank show before pressing the phone between his ear and his shoulder. "i don't speak youths, jess."

"she said it. meldrop. don't know what it means but fuck- she spoke. it was, it was better than live-aid '85." the smile rolled off of his tongue and through the phone. luke's change in persona was sudden as he stood straightly, throwing down his pen from behind the diner counter. catching the eyes of several customers. "oh my god- jess. she's a genius."

"talking to justin timberlake about britney, because yes, i agree." lorelai grinned from the counter of the diner making luke turn to her. "alice said her first word."

the brightest grin erupted on both of the couple's faces as rory gilmore sat uncomfortably beside the two. it had been well over a year since she had broken up with the once troublemaker. only learning a few months ago that he had knocked up someone just a week after their breakup. the news haunted her, something that kept her wide awake at night. she was seriously over the boy by now and had no reason to dislike the baby, obviously. baby alice had done nothing but existed and reminded rory of her failed relationship. she'd yet to meet the small child, considering her spent time was mostly at yale. which conveniently kept her far away from stars hollow whenever jess visited.

"i'm not fucking-" jess groaned to himself as he shut his mouth. "she said one word. took almost a year, said it once. she's not gonna say it a-"

"meldrop!" the brunette baby giggled making jess's jaw nearly drop. the couple on the other side of the phone practically shook the whole building with their happiness. rory sat at the counter with a slight grin on her face. "what were you saying jess?"

"oh screw you!" he swatted making luke hand herself the phone, taking it from lorelai. "now you gotta watch what you say 'round her. she's a baby, jess. a baby. she can't be coming around to preschool throwing around the f-bomb."

"well that would be pretty fantastic," jess smirked making luke practically groan. "this is why you shouldn't be a father-"

"okay let's just, simmer." lorelai straightened out as she yanked luke's arm. rory piped up finally, her arms still crossed. "what'd she say?"

"meldrop." luke replied simply making rory give them both a very odd look at the ecstatic reactions. "i'm assuming neither of you know the true meaning."

"oh god. did she just say to start a massacre. i knew she was a little devil," lorelai joked making rory bite her lip before shaking her head. luke growing impatient as jess could faintly listen on the other side. "it's mucus. you know... snot, that hangs from someone's nose."

"... can i take back the massacre?" lorelai questioned as luke simply blinked his eyes before pressing the phone hardly into his ear. "jess-?"

"she's gonna be a doctor. goddamn little einstein."

#gilmore girls #jess mariano x reader #jess mariano #jess mariano x y/n #teddypickerry #lorelai gilmore #rory gilmore #alice mariano #luke danes #dad jess mariano series #dad jess mariano

[lastweeksshirttonight]

Lee is re-watching Sherlock for some fucking reason - Season One

I'm well aware that the crossover between "currently popular and loved British comedian in the US updates, thirst, and accoutrements" and "BBC show that went so off the rails that people now like to pretend Andrew Scott's breakout role was the Hot Priest in Fleabag" is limited, but weirdly, returning to Sherlock was one of the few things that was keeping my brain somewhat grounded and whirring during Work Hell.

We're in uncharted territory here. You're gonna learn a bit about the things I do when I'm not tracking John Oliver obsessively. I am nervous about this but hey, I'm guessing most of you knew I don't solely live and breathe John Oliver. (I know. I have multitudes. This is a shocking revelation. Please take time to process it.)

Firstly, a content note - there's going to be discussion about queerbaiting and queercoding villains, and the beginning of this goes into some of James Somerton's absolutely disgusting claims about the AIDS crisis. This post will only be focused on Season One, as that's all I've finished at this point.

Let's go.

(above image sourced from Writing Tips and Memes)

My sudden re-emergent hyperfixation started because of the hbomberguy takedown of James Somerton, weirdly. I don't follow many YouTubers - I like Bright Sun Films because he goes urban exploring, something I've always wanted to do but have never managed to make happen, and also Todd in the Shadows, whose Trainwreckords series is very well-done and expertly researched. Seeing that name, you might know where this is going. Todd dropped a video about James Somerton, who I had never fucking heard of and now wish I'd known about before, so I could scream bloody murder about what an absolute fuckwad he is.

(I don't want to get too in the weeds here, but the things James asserted about WWII, Nazis, and the AIDS crisis are so vehemently offensive that I'm still struggling with them. Claiming that only boring gays survived the AIDS crisis in particular is so vile that I have gotten anger flashes thinking about it almost daily since hearing it.)

Todd recommended watching all four hours of the hbomberguy plagiarism video, and I ran that in the background while working about two weeks ago. Eventually I had to stop doing that because the plagiarism revelations were so distracting and shocking. Todd's video was even more of a goddamn mindfuck, and even the smaller, less offensive things have taken up far too much space in my brain. Californians, does anyone at all deify Bob Iger??? Like... what the goddamn fuck??? Bob Iger????

After watching one hbomberguy video, the algorithm did its thing, and gave me a video called "Sherlock is Garbage and Here's Why". Posting it here for posterity:

Because my brain works in mysterious ways (-cough-ADHD-cough-), watching this... made me want to rewatch Sherlock.

I initially saw Sherlock for the first time thanks to someone I met in my last year of college, 2012. At the time, Michael (a nickname) was my neighbor in the dorms; over the past ten years, she's become one of my closest friends and a true rock in my life. One of the first things we bonded over that I introduced her to was the San Francisco Giants and the ghost I will always be chasing, Tim Lincecum; one of the first things we bonded over that she introduced me to was BBC Sherlock. The show was in the early months of its extended hiatus after Season Two, at the height of its fandom, and we were both completely obsessed. I read all the Doyle stories, took in a truly wild amount of fanfiction, wrote a not-very-popular AU fic, became part of a strange inter-dorm ARG based on Sherlock orchestrated by Michael... it consumed a huge part of our lives.

When Season 3 dropped, I almost stopped watching after "The Empty Hearse". I don't want to get into why it offended me so much before we get to a Season 3 post, but just know my enthusiasm severely dampened there. The rest of Season 3 I think of with blase emotions, especially the ending, which I found just dumb, save one part of it. I recall going to see The Abominable Bride in theatres with my mom (and maybe Michael?), and I think I liked it fine - aside, again, from the ending. But I had no interest in a Season Four, and when it dropped, Michael's long rambling phone calls describing the absolute shitstorm of a plot cemented that I was never going to watch it again.

Until now.

I definitely don't think the hbomberguy video is perfect. His insistence that Doyle canon never had Holmes pull answers to cases out of his ass is... something, lol, as is his opinion that changing the solution to certain puzzles in A Study in Pink disrespects the original canon. (Bro, these stories have been retold a bajillion times, they need to mix it up to keep it interesting.) But he put a finger on something that I'd wrestled with regarding Sherlock for a long time - that the show's writing often teased something big and new and conclusive in the horizon, but almost never delivered. That wasn't an issue in early days when there was less invested in an increasingly convoluted mythic story, or when they weren't fully blowing off the resolutions to cliffhangers, but the flaw in writing a story where you promise something huge on the horizon and never deliver should be obvious.

The first season doesn't trade much in that idea, and going back to it was something I found exceptionally enjoyable!

Before I watched:

I remembered bits and pieces of "A Study in Pink" and the whole plot in summary.

I truly didn't remember anything about "The Blind Banker" except that I found it fairly 'yellow peril'-y when I saw it in 2012.

I mixed up huge chunks of Season Two's "A Scandal in Belgravia" with "The Great Game" in my head and somehow forgot the main plot thrust was Moriarty kidnapping people and strapping bombs to them.

I genuinely forgot Sebastian Moran was a character basically hallucinated into existence by the fandom and didn't appear in the show at all until a brief appearance in Season Three.

In a way, it was like I was watching the show for the first time all over again. My partner also watched the first season with me, and it was interesting to get his thoughts on the show as we watched.

To start, his favorite character is Mycroft. Watching Season One, I had to agree that Mycroft has a depth of character that I'd forgotten about. Mark Gatiss plays him perfectly, aloof and smarter than you but unsure of how to deal with his natural feelings of concern and fear for his oft-spiraling, danger-seeking younger brother - and how those feelings magnify with the influence of extreme danger-seeker (at least in this season) John Watson. The show wants you to believe so badly that he's Moriarty in "A Study in Pink", which I don't think works even if you know he isn't Moriarty - there's a warmth to Gatiss' Mycroft that, even while he's doing incredibly ominous things like shutting off all cameras in a busy intersection, still comes through.

My favorite character is Moriarty. I haven't mentioned this very much here, because why would I, but my favorite character type in media is "theatrical abject shithead". It's why I cosplay Bakugo from My Hero Academia and loved everything about Akechi in Persona 5. Hell when I was a kid, I told teachers that when I grew up, I wanted to join Team Rocket. I love the theatrical shitheads. And boy, is Moriarty some sort of theatrical shithead. I don't DISAGREE with hbomberguy pointing out that, as written, Moriarty is a complete mess of a character, a queer-coded literal terrorist with no motivations besides "I did that because I'M CRAAAAZY!"... but he's my queer-coded literal terrorist, ok? I could write a whole paper on all the harmful stereotypes inhabiting this version of Moriarty... but I can't deny that the flamboyance and violence pulsing just beneath the surface of Andrew Scott's performance was the beating heart of that show for me. Sure, Sherlock and John, at least early on, were a compelling duo, but the show was at its best with Moriarty pulling strings for inexplicable reasons in the background. I love him.

(An aside: watching Sherlock made me remember how hilarious it was to see basically every major actor from the show in one of my favorite movies of all time, 1917, to the point that I actually kinda laughed in the theatre thinking about it.)

The entirety of the first season also is more devoted to actual crime-solving and detective work than I remembered the show being. I think that works strongly in its favor, and as I recall things from later seasons, drifting from that element definitely hampers the show greatly. In particular, while the lazy and uncomfortable Orientalism of "The Blind Banker" is still incredibly glaring, the actual mystery at the core of it is very excitingly tracked and easily followed while watching. The fact that John is treated like an equal (mostly) throughout only enhances my thoughts on that. "The Great Game" is a little more slapdash (and hurt by the fact that the entire Vermeer section would be solvable with a smartphone nowadays), but you can still make connections mentally with most of the cases and deduction/investigation is being shown logically. (hbomberguy cites the Golem as a problematic logical leap akin to some of Season Two's dumbest, and I can't agree. It's a reasonable suspension of disbelief to assume Sherlock knows about assassins and is followed by some more sensible investigation and inspection of the Golem's victim. The sequence of Sherlock fighting the Golem, however, is very, very silly.)

Related to that... the autopsy doctors on this show are fucking AWFUL at their jobs. Like straight-up negligently awful. How in the actual fuck did they not investigate the puncture marks on Connie Price's body? How did they not notice a highly distinctive heel tattoo on three recently-murdered corpses? Is Molly the only vaguely competent person in the mortuary? My partner and I were extremely amused that, while Lestrade and his police force are thankfully shown with much more intelligence than in other Holmes adaptations and BBC!Watson wouldn't think jam is a clue, the writers seem to have shunted the stupidity straight to the invisible autopsy doctors.

The first season also does a good job of making Sherlock seem like an overly intelligent if socially stunted human being, instead of the condescending prickish intellectual Ubermensch he ends up becoming as the show progresses. "A Study in Pink"'s ending being Sherlock throwing aside his deduction of the cabbie's killer when he realizes it's Watson, unconvincingly lying to Lestrade and insisting he's in shock before rejoining the other man and genuinely bonding with him, is remarkably compelling as fulfillment of a promise we get from Lestrade earlier in the episode - "Sherlock Holmes is a great man. One day he may even be a good one." My memory is admittedly faulty, but part of why "The Empty Hearse" turned me off so viscerally was Sherlock's (and to an extent, Mycroft's) insufferable growing smugness, particularly where explaining plans or mysteries to John. We get told often that Watson humanizes Sherlock and that the two have a strong bond throughout the series, but Sherlock gets much more dickish in general as the series progresses. One thing I do remember with stark clarity is that after being utterly chastised at a Christmas party in "A Scandal in Belgravia", Sherlock does visibly treat Molly MUCH better throughout the remainder of the show. So, uh, why did we lose that energy with the show's central pairing?

Speaking of the show's central pairing, the queerbaiting starts SO EARLY on this show. I want to make it clear that obviously the benefit of hindsight and knowledge of how the show ends really colors a lot about the Johnlock relationship now, and as a society, we're more aware of what queerbaiting is and what it looks like, which will obviously alter how I perceive these interactions now. I also want to make it clear that I never really shipped Johnlock outside of just kind of assuming that it would be canon because everyone seemed really convinced of it. (I was an absolute degenerate that shipped John with Moriarty. On top of enjoying theatrical disasters, I enjoy ships with an abundance of chaos and impossibility.) There's some biases at play here.

Even so, we are not far into the episode where John is protesting that obviously he needs a second bed in 221B to Mrs. Hudson, he's not gay! The scene in the restaurant has such an aggressively shippy energy to it (despite Watson's consistent denials) that I actively commented on it to my partner as it was happening, saying "the queerbaiting happens WAY SOONER than I thought!" It's distracting and has aged absolutely terribly. The worst by far is John quipping, after being removed from a bomb vest at a pool in "The Great Game", that people will talk because of Sherlock ripping his clothes off in a darkened swimming pool. Why is Watson's heterosexuality so fragile that he's thinking about gossip rags as he's actively recovering from a near-death experience?!

(Aside: I'm aware that last point is not as effective when you think about the fact that I shipped two characters whose sole canonical interaction was one man kidnapping and forcing the other into a bomb vest. In my defense, a) I love mess and b) John never quips about thinking people will talk because he got kidnapped.)

Moriarty's first appearance in "The Great Game" sees him as Molly's fake boyfriend slipping a phone number to Sherlock, which lead to my partner commenting about how distracting it also was, on top of the queerbaiting, that almost every single person on the show has some sort of deep metaphysical attraction to Sherlock. Those people aren't on the lighting and cinematography team for sure; Benedict Cumberbatch is lit ominously and sometimes demonically throughout the first season, highlighting his antihero and brusque nature effectively. But many, many characters in the show - just in season one, Molly, Moriarty, multiple characters of the day, the Cabbie, and John - are all drawn to Sherlock and his very special brain and his very sharp cheekbones. Signs of a big future problem come through in this way, where the show starts sidelining Watson as our central figure and puts Sherlock squarely at the center of everyone's universe and makes lesbians fall in love with him.

(My partner also laughed pretty hard at how obvious Moriarty's pratfalls were as Molly's boyfriend, noting that the show was pretty bad at hiding who Moriarty was every time it came up.)

Some of the seeds of Sherlock's destruction are sown in this first season, obviously. The big one I haven't touched on is the ending cliffhanger itself. Moriarty has John and Sherlock trapped in the pool, tens of sniper sights trained on them, and says that he can't let them escape. Amazing cliffhanger here! It is not fulfilled on at all, but because Andrew Scott can carry anything on his back (including Spectre, which I cannot start talking about because we'll be here all day), the scene doesn't feel like a total waste and makes you want to hang on to find out what happens later.

But there was so much here that was delightful. All the acting is uniformly excellent, and the overt physical tics that come to define Sherlock's mind palace and mental prowess being showcased are barely evident here. The actual detective work, like I said earlier, is really involving! I don't feel like I figured out the solutions for the mysteries I couldn't recall the answers for too easily and thought Sherlock's deductive reason largely followed and wasn't too obscure. I'm still such a sucker for the show's style - that opening credits sequence is so perfectly put together, the text messages that interact with the scene and at the time made this show feel so fresh and modern to me, filming the character's faces in taxis through panes of glass and obscuring material in "A Study in Pink" to give everything an obfuscating sheen... give me all of it.

The music, too, was something I'd forgotten about and truly ended up adoring. Taskmaster (and The Horne Section's score for it) really owes a debt to Michael Price and David Arnold. So much of Sherlock's score could probably be dropped straight into a Taskmaster episode and I would have to think pretty hard to notice a difference in the show's usual musical palette. I've been eyeballing the vinyl on eBay, to give you an idea of how much I love this score. "The Game is On" is a perfect piece of music, clockwork spinning noises emphasizing the jauntiness of Sherlock as he drags Watson on his latest case before sliding into the more subdued, vaguely ominous thrum of its second movement descending into the madness of the third part, violins shrieking as the action reaches its apex.

Normally, with such a degree of pleasant surprise, I'd be eager to move forward to Season Two. Unfortunately, I know the first episode of Season Two is... a doozy. To say the least. A doozy that may get its own essay because of how doozy-ish it is.

In any case, I ended up really enjoying going back to Season One of Sherlock! Super down to talk further about the show, future write-ups, and my horrible taste in fictional ships and men - shoot me a message, reply to this post, wherever, I'll be here! <3

#not john oliver #bbc sherlock #sherlock bbc #Youtube #too long didn't read - the lee lastweeksshirttonight story #hbomberguy #todd in the shadows #fuck james somerton #3k words on a hyperfixation

[klbwriting]

The Jason Todd Anomaly

Chapter 7: What Else Do You Need To Tell Me?

Pairing: Jason Todd x female!Reader

Warnings: little violent, nothing too bad

Summary: Penguin is arrested and Y/N finds something interesting on the feather she received a few months ago

Y/N and Jason were awkwardly dancing around each other both in the gym and in the evenings.  Y/N was getting more calls telling her to not get involved, and Jason was doing his best to watch her back without her knowing.  Something was brewing in Gotham and he didn't want her to get killed trying to stop whatever storm was happening.  She, in turn, was trying to solve the mystery around the mysterious calls, sticking her nose where it really didn't belong.  She was getting better but was still sloppy enough that Jason spent more time cleaning up after her than actually doing his patrols.  The Robins were bitching about it to him constantly and it was grating on his nerves.  Finally, after a month of waiting, Y/N got a break in her case when the tech she had convinced to run tests on the feather from her apartment gave her the report.

"Wait, are you telling me that this isn't a real feather?" she asked, looking over the analysis.  The tech shrugged.  He looked frazzled.  The police had been able to catch Penguin the previous evening with the help of the Robins and they were swamped trying to round up his thugs in his territory and take it over.  She had been funneling calls all morning asking about the school and hotel and when people could start moving.   She was able to string lies together to stall for time but she hoped that by the next week she could start getting people settled.

"Its a high quality fake, not cheap, but you can tell because there's a poem on the inside of the calamus," he said, taking the file and showing her the second page.  She took the file back and frowned.  "No idea what it means but that's all I could get from it.  Now I have better things to do, bye."  He gave a tight smile and took off to get back to his real work.  Y/N sat at her desk reading the poem a few times in confusion, snapping a picture of it on her phone to search later.

Beware The Court of Owls, that watches all the time, ruling Gotham from a shadow perch, behind granite and lime. They watch you at your hearth, they watch you in your bed, speak not a whispered word of them or they'll send The Talon for your head

"What the actual fuck?" she whispered.  She needed to talk to someone about this.  Dammit.  She would have to figure out a way to get in touch with Red Hood or the Robins.  She glanced over when the police were bringing in Penguin and frowned.  He was beaten badly, worse then she could imagine the cops around here doing.  There were few decent cops and these people were about it, so why did it look like someone had kicked the shit out of Penguin?  Another thing to ask the Robins, if one of them had done it that is, she couldn't imagine even Red Hood doing that, he would have just shot the bastard and been done with it.  Behind her someone called her name.  She stood and took a few steps, looking around for whoever needed her, but no one seemed to even noticed she was there.  Shrugging she turned back to her desk and saw that the report on the feather was gone.  Fuck.

Jason was very good at lying to people.  He could lie to anyone, just not himself.  Something about dying and coming back to life gave him time to reflect and in truth, lying to yourself was a waste of time and time wasn't a luxury he felt he had anymore.  He had died once, who knows when he would be killed again.  Joker was dead, but Harley might still want to take him out.  He did kill her boyfriend after all.  He wasn't going to tell himself that he didn't have some inkling of feelings for Y/N.  That her being Anomaly didn't make her more attractive to him.  That every time he met up with her he considered actually telling her who he was, seeing if they could work together, maybe take her to the diner with the intention of going on a date.  But he wasn't going to tell anyone else that, ever, especially not Y/N.  He wouldn't tell her who he was, he wouldn't tell her that he knew who she was, and he would never, ever, tell her that he had feelings for her.  That would complicate matters more than he could handle.  He could take this secret to the grave.  He definitely would never admit it or do anything about his feelings.  He was Jason Fucking Todd, been dead, brought back to life, shot, stabbed, poisoned, he could contain his emotions over one girl.  Totally.

He definitely wasn't outside Gotham PD waiting to see her leave so that he could make sure she got home safe before starting patrols, he wanted to make sure she stayed home that night instead of heading out on her own. He knew something was going on in Gotham and he didn't want anyone else to get involved, especially not someone so new to this life.  If she stayed home that night he could go out and patrol in peace, maybe even follow the lead about Penguin's arrest.  None of his family had brought him in, and he knew that Y/N wouldn't have been able to pull that off yet, but he had noticed at the scene of arrest that someone stood in the shadows, watching.  He had gotten a scan on the person's face and was having Alfred look into it for him.  If he found that person maybe he could start unraveling the mystery behind the 'war for Gotham'.  He groaned when Y/N went into her apartment and not even 10 minutes later, just as true dark was setting on the city, climbed out of her window and jumped to the roof next to her balcony.  Fuck.

He donned his helmet and took off after her.  She headed into his territory and found the diner, watching it.  Did she think he lived there or something?

"What are you doing?" he asked, coming over to where she perched.  She looked back at him, not startled.  At some point she must have realized he was following.

"I was waiting for you to show yourself," she said.   "I wanted to ask you and your friends about Penguin's arrest."  He folded his arms and tilted his head, waiting for her to continue.  "I saw when they brought him in, he looked like someone had been trying to kill him, or at least bring him as close to death as possible.  I know the Robins wouldn't be that vicious, and I don't feel like you would either, you would just put him down, so you have any ideas?"  Jason frowned, contemplating this news.  He hadn't actually seen Penguin, only knew of the arrest.  He was already in the back of the van when Jason had arrived on the scene.  Penguin beat to hell wasn't the MO for any of them, not even Damian, they all wanted him to go into Gotham PD and spill secrets about the other crime lords, not be so incapacitated he was useless.  He started pacing as Anomaly just watched.

"None of us are responsible for that," he said.  "Did you notice anything else when you saw him?"  She shook her head.  He could tell there was something else even with her mask.  Her body was still perched, too still, like she was worried about moving, about setting something off.  A bomb that she didn't know how to disengage.  "What else do you need to tell me?"

"I don't need to tell you anything, but I do need to ask your help," she said.  "You and your Robin friends."  She pulled out a piece of paper and held it out to him.  There was a poem on it.  "A couple months ago I got a call at my place, some voice telling me to not stick my nose where it doesn't belong, about a war for Gotham.  I thought it was you at first, trying to scare me off, but then I found this feather on my windowsill, my window open.  I took it to a friend I have in the GCPD and he found out the feather was fake, some kind of fancy costume piece I think.  And embedded on the stem was this poem.   Something about a Court of Owls.  You ever heard of them?"

"I have no idea what that is, but I've been getting message too, about a war, and about you keeping out of it," he said.  Her eyes bored into him.  "I don't know why they thought I could stop you, but they threatened you, me and the rest of the city, getting wrapped up in this war."  She stood finally, moving over to him, taking the poem.

"They say they rule Gotham from the shadows, and now Gotham is in pieces, must be pretty hard to rule when several other people are vying for the same crown.   Wonder if these bird people got sick of waiting for someone else to take out their competition," she said.  "They take out Penguin, give him to the GCPD, which we all know are easy to corrupt, get some good graces with the commissioner, try to start ruling again."

"I don't thin Gordon is the type to roll over and give up the city to these dramatic dickbags," Jason said.

"You haven't seen him recently have you?  Gordon isn't what he used to be, since Batman disappeared he's been despondent, he has an assistant handling more and more of the day to day duties, only handling big things when he can take it.  I worry he might be in the perfect position for someone to come in and tell him he can take a break, that Gotham can be run by those who care about it.  I mean, giving him Penguin?   That's a gift from these fuckers," she said.  Jason frowned.  He hadn't seen Gordon since he had told them that Bruce was missing, presumed dead, he might not be the same man he was then.  He might be getting beaten down by the constant shit that was thrown at him.  Jason turned to face Anomaly completely just as a creature appeared behind her, grabbing her from behind and disappearing her into the shadows.  He moved to give chase when he felt a surge of electricity in his whole body.  He collapsed, only seeing the feet of the same kind of creature before he passed out.  Fuck.

#Jason Todd #jason todd x plus size reader #jason todd x reader #jasontoddanomaly #red hood #red hood x reader #red hood x plus size reader

[mindful-of-ideas]

“Y/N, it’s almost midnight, maybe you should just go to bed. I’ll wake you up early tomorrow so you can give him his gift if you want”, said James.

“But he said he would be here”, you answered tears in your eyes.

Not long ago, you decided to move in with your father. Your mom had a new boyfriend and things at home weren’t exactly going well. Screaming matches would often take a turn for the worse and you would get stuck in the crossfire. So, even if you barely knew you’re father, your mother made sure of that, you showed up on his doorstep one day, asking if you could stay with him for a while. And well… he wasn’t the one who opened the door, James Wilson did. You must have looked really desperate because he didn’t even question the fact that his best friend had a child he knew nothing of. Instead, he just let you come inside and spent the rest of the day making sure you were okay while waiting for your dad. Since then, you had grew closer to him. James that is. Your dad too, but there was something about James just being there most of the time that made you feel closer to him. You could be doing homework on the kitchen table and he would be reading over something in the living room, but just him being there made you feel at ease. He made you feel safe.

That was more than six months ago and you were now used to living with your dad and James. It wasn’t exactly ideal but it was better than living with your mother for sure. You learned a lot about your dad during those months. At first, he didn’t seem to really care about you. He did the bare minimum to make sure you were okay and that was it. James was doing the most to make you feel at home in their apartment. But as weeks went by, your dad seemed to relax and you got to make some memories with him. After all this time, you felt like you could finally trust him.

“He said he couldn’t wait to get back home to see what I got him”, you insisted, seeing James wasn’t answering.

You were sitting at the kitchen table, the cake you took all afternoon to bake sitting right in front of you with a carefully wrapped present by its side. James had just got up, clearly exasperated by House’s behaviour.

“I- Y/N, you’ve been living here for a while now but there’s still a part of your dad you haven’t seen yet. I’m sorry it has to happen like that…”

“But…”

“Listen. House, your dad…”, he took a deep breath before continuing, “he’s not the most reliable person ever. He tends to forget that others have feelings. He’ll be true to himself even if that means hurting others. Not because he doesn’t love you, just because he probably didn’t realize it would hurt you.”

You looked away from James.

“Look kid, I’m sure he cares about you, a lot, but…” he started coming closer to you and wrapping an arm around your shoulder, “but… there’s no but. I’m certain he loves you, just like I’m certain he hates his birthday. It’s not personal, believe me.”

He tried to pull you into a hug but you turned away from him.

“Can we just wait a little bit more?” you asked, after a long silence.

“Can we at least wait on the couch and watch some TV?” James asked in return.

“Sure”, you mumbled, getting up and making your way to the couch.

You slumped down on the couch crossing your arms while James sat by your side. You weren’t sad anymore, you were mad. Well not quite mad but more disappointed. After six months, you felt like you had opened up to your dad about a lot of things. Why did he stay so mysterious? If he could just talk to you sometimes, things would be easier. Like tonight. If he couldn’t make it or if he simply didn’t want to celebrate, why didn’t he just tell you? Why couldn’t he just tell you?

Ads came on the TV and interrupted your reflection. James had pulled a blanket over your knees. You realised how tired you were getting and, sitting up straighter, you pull your legs up on the couch. The show came back on but you couldn’t really focus. You slowly closed your eyes and fell on James’ shoulder. You felt his arm go around your shoulders, pulling up the blanket and you closer to him. You fell asleep.

An hour went by and James let you sleep on his shoulder until he himself got too tired and decided to go to bed. At that moment, the door opened.

“Hey!” said House loudly.

“Quiet down, Y/N is sleeping!” said James whispering.

“Hey!” House said more quietly.

“Where were you? We’ve been waiting all night. Y/N baked a cake and everything. They kept saying you promised you were going to be here. What happened?”

“Would you believe me if I said it was a work emergency?” asked House, cocking his head.

“You’re insufferable!”

“It was.. work related but I also didn’t want to come back. Not because of them”, he said pointing towards you with his cane, “but you know… birthdays… me… I’ll make it up to the kid tomorrow morning, it’ll be fine!”

James went and made himself a glass of water, drank it all and then headed towards his room.

“It’ll be fine, right?” asked House this time.

“I don’t know. They were pretty disappointed if you ask me. And they’re not me. Maybe I put up with your bad attitude but they shouldn’t have to. Y/N is your kid and they wanted to do something nice for you. For god’s sake! They even told you about it in advance! Just…”

“I’m not meant to do this! Be a dad! They deserve more than me”, said House quietly, cutting off Wilson.

“Y/N needs you. They want you. Just be yourself with them, stop pretending”, said James after a moment.

“They matter… they matter to me you know?”

“Then tell them. Goodnight House.”

Your dad made his way to the couch sitting down on the floor near your head. You were still fast asleep.

“I’m sorry Y/N. I should’ve called I guess. It was work stuff but that’s not an excuse. Truth is, I never liked celebrating my birthday, not in a long time at least. So I spent all day trying to come up with an excuse or find a reason to stay at work.”

He got back up on his feet.

“I’ll be your dad”, he said, moving away a strand of hair from your forehead. “I’ll try my best to be the best dad, starting with making it up to you tomorrow morning”, he said kissing your forehead.

You spent the night on the couch and woke up with the sun the next morning. You were about to go to your room to maybe get a few more hours of sleep when you noticed someone sitting at the kitchen table.

“Dad?” you asked in a groggy voice.

“Morning! Want a slice?” he said offering you some cake.

“What? What’s going on? It’s so early!”

“That’s his way of saying sorry about last night”, said James coming up from behind you. “But you could’ve waited at least another hour”, he added to your dad.

“Look”, your dad said coming up to you, “He’s right. I messed up last night and this is me trying to apologize. I should’ve texted or called you and I got no excuse, but can we try again this morning? We’ll just pretend it’s still my birthday. You matter to me, okay? I just want you to know that. You matter.”

Again, tears filled your eyes but this time, it wasn’t out of sadness. You ran over to your dad hugging him tightly.

“Mom never told me that, you know” you mumbled, your face in his chest.

“Well, I’ll say it again. You matter”, he said kissing the top of your head.

“You matter too, dad. Let’s have this birthday party now!” you said pulling away from him.

#mindful-of-ideas #imagine-13-fandoms #imagine #dr house imagine #gregory house imagine #house imagine #doctor house imagine #house md imagine #james wilson imagine #wilson imagine #gregory house #james wilson #hugh laurie #robert sean leonard #dr house #house md

[coreychick]

Chapter 23: The Reason

Part of the In the Dark Series: 18+ Smut & Story /Romance and Adventure Din X Fem!Reader Insert

Just a reminder, I do not post specific trigger warnings, so if you have triggers, this may not be a story for you. Read at your own risk.

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A fiery burn flicks under your skin as Pershing pricks your arm with a needle, sending another round of a mysterious purple elixir, coursing through your body. He says it’s just vitamins and rare minerals. Something about that explanation gives you a queasy feeling in your stomach- not that you believe him- likely there’s something more sinister threading its way through your system. Whatever it is, he hasn’t let you miss a dose since you arrived, several weeks ago. 

You don’t fight back anymore. You learned early on, that fighting back gets you the special needle-the one that comes with the blue liquid. The one they stab into your neck, that knocks you out completely. You’d wake up hours later, covered in bruises, your body and muscles aching, with no knowledge of what they did to you while you were out. You hated not knowing. No, it's better to let them poke and prod. At least then, you knew what was happening. The idea of them, having full access to your unconscious body and waking up with no memory of it, was much worse than the alternative. Either way, they are going to do what they are going to do. It seems smarter to stay silent. To observe and learn what you can, to formulate a decent escape plan- cause right now, you’ve got nothing. 

One walk from the brig to Pershing’s lab showed you that the ship you were on was massive. It likely could carry a crew of a thousand, though by all appearances, it’s  running on minimal staff. Small squads of storm troopers, dressed in the same standard issue white plastoid armor as the two you killed, when you first arrived. Crew members of varying rank travel the halls, but there are few enough that you are beginning to recognize faces. 

And then there’s Pershing. Lab Coat , from all those months ago, back on Navarro. He’s clearly intelligent, but lacking in backbone. Mando taught you to assess your opponents at the offset, determine their weaknesses, and so far, Pershing is the only weakness you can detect on this massive flying fortress. 

You’d gone through all of your options at the start. Flee? Where was there to go? Gideon’s ship isn’t likely to make port anytime soon. Crew come and go via shuttle, along with supplies. In fact, this ship probably never stops moving, and one look at Pershing’s fancy ass laboratory tells you that this place might have been the intended destination for your capture all along. Commandeer a smaller transport ship? A memorized ignition sequence for a pre-empire Razor Crest, does not a pilot make. 

But there is something about Pershing that tugs at you. A small, nearly indistinguishable inkling that maybe he doesn’t want to be here either. But yet, he is. And he doesn’t put up a fight when orders are issued. Again, no backbone. Still, he might be your only chance of escape. If you could turn him into an ally, get him to see you as a fellow human being, maybe he can help you escape. 

Sometimes, Pershing is joined by an officer, sent to help him with certain tasks. He wears a gray uniform, sporting a few decorations on his lapel. Zero pleasantries are exchanged between the two giving the already cold laboratory an icy chill. The officer seems perturbed that he has to assist the dorky, big-brain at all, probably ordered away from his normal posting of - who the hell cares- or whatever cool job he thinks is more important.

When he’s in the room, Pershing shuts down, completely ignoring every word you say, operating on auto-pilot, as if you didn’t exist at all- just another squeaking lab rat in the room. Officer Dickhead, on the other hand, has very little patience for your commentary, opinions on how his hat makes his head look like a penis, not excluded. He swipes a syringe full of Big Blue off the metal tray, threatening to give you the big sleep, if you don’t shut your ‘smart mouth’. There’s a victorious gleam in his eye when you acquiesce, that rankles your pride- so you smile back, listing off all his vulnerable spots in your head. Throat, eyes, stomach, kidneys, groin….definitely groin.  

Pershing shifts uncomfortably on his feet, his chin going down so he can avoid eye contact with either one of you. Officer Dickhead , because he’s intimidated, and you, because maybe he’s a little ashamed. When Officer Dickhead leaves, and there’s nobody else in the room, Pershing talks to you, almost like a living being and not some sort of science experiment. 

“I wish you wouldn’t provoke him like that.” he says, scanning your face with a little red light, for the umteenth time.

“I wish you would.” you snap back. 

He lowers his gaze to examine the readouts from his little scanner, jotting notes onto his clipboard. 

“Why are you doing this?” you ask. “You don’t seem like the type of person who wants to hurt people.”

“I’m not.” he says, defensively with a visible bob of his throat. “I’m here for the science…and, it’s not as if I have much choice in the matter.”

The opening you’ve been waiting for…

You place your hand on his forearm. His pen stops moving as he stares at your hand.

 “Then let's work together. We can help each other, we can both get out of here.” 

He turns away, leaving your hand to drop at your side.

“Impossible. There is no way out.The sooner you accept that, the sooner we can move on.” 

The utter certainty in his voice is defeating. You want to yell, to scream that he’s a coward, because he won’t even try. Somehow, you manage to hold back. You maintain your cool, reminding yourself that you don’t have the foggiest idea how he ended up here and what he might have lost along the way. You’ll just have to keep chipping away, build up his confidence, and show him that there’s a chance. But the disappointment at his words must be written on your face.

“Please, don’t look at me like that.” he mutters.

You remain silent. 

“You know, things could be much better for you, if you’d only cooperate,” he continues.

Not this again…

For weeks, Pershing has been grilling you on what abilities you have. You decided at the very beginning, not to give anything away. It’s the only card you have to play. They want you because you have abilities, but perhaps if you could convince them otherwise….. they’d what? Pull up to the nearest starport, and drop you off? No, but your survival instincts are telling you not to give them the one thing they want the most from you. So, from day one, you’ve denied, denied, denied. 

“Look, I’ve nearly exhausted the testing I can do, I can’t stall things for much longer. If you don’t give us what we need, Gideon will pry it out of you. Do you understand?”

“Stall? Stall for what? You won’t even tell me why I am here!” you snap back. Well, so much for keeping my cool. 

“Shhhh.” he says, placating you with raised palms. “They’ll send him back in if they think you’re being difficult again- neither of us wants that.”

“I’m not stupid. I’ve heard the guards whispering in the halls. You’re a clone scientist, right?”

He doesn’t answer, just stares back at you through tinted lenses in silence, debating with himself what to tell you.

“So, you intend to what? Clone me? Is that it?”

Again, silence.

“Bold move Pershing, most consider one of me too much to deal with.”

“Not you,” he says, surprising you. You tilt your head in question, giving him the space to answer.

He takes a step toward you, his voice lowering to barely above a whisper. This is it. He’s about to tell you something vital.

“It’s not you we intend to clone….it’s your offspring.”

Your head snaps back with a jolt of confusion, your brain scrambling to make sense of his words.

“I hate to break it to you doc, but I don’t have any offspring.”

“You will.” he says plainly. 

It makes sense now. The daily injections, the sore muscles and cramping. Your eyes skim the room and land on the metal cylinder- a cryofreezer- to the side. You’ve seen Pershing putting little vials in it. 

“You took…my eggs?” you can barely get the words out, disbelief and fear clouding your brain. 

“Yes, we have harvested some eggs, but that’s only as a precaution, if the main stratagem fails.”

Harvest, eggs.  The words make you instantly nauseous. 

“The main stratagem?” Your heart pounds. Maintain! Maintain control! 

“Gideon would prefer to harvest the eggs and dispose of you after you’ve produced a viable subject.” He leans in a little closer. “But I have convinced him that we will have much more success, if we replicate nature’s process as closely as possible.”

Your head is swimming. Nothing makes sense. 

You shake your head. “I don’t understand, what does that mean?”

“You will conceive, carry, and possibly even raise the child as your own, under strict guidance and training of course, but don’t you see? I’ve convinced him that you don’t have to die now. I saved you.”

“Saved me?” Your breathing grows heavier. “You expect me to give up my child to… the empire?”

He lets out a frustrated sigh. “Try not to look at it that way.”

“What way should I look at it?” you say through clenched teeth, your growing anger, duels for dominance over your fear and disgust. 

“We will be responsible for creating the most powerful being this galaxy has ever seen.”

We? You shake your head in defiance. 

“You’re wrong. I’ve told you, I hold no power.”

“We both know that is a lie. I’ve tested your blood, your M-count is significant, you’ve already tapped into an ability that few- if any- have been reported to channel, with no training, and your personal background makes you an ideal vessel.”

What the hell is an M count? What ability is he referring to?” 

“My personal background?” 

“Yes. As far as I can tell, your ability suggests a strength that can be traced back several generations, making you very powerful. Albeit, your source of power is untapped, it is still there. And your station as an orphan is beneficial.” 

Lab rat, indeed. 

“Beneficial? Because nobody will come looking for me?”

“Because you haven't been influenced by outside sources.”

Is he referring to Jedi?

“And what of a father? Have you kidnapped a Jedi male as well, or does Gideon intend to be the sperm donor himself?”

“No. Gideon doesn’t have the ability to wield the force. We have searched high and low for the optimal candidate. Unfortunately, the pool was drastically cut down after eliminating non-compatible species for breeding.”  

“Breeding!? Do you hear yourself? I was wrong about you. You’re sicker than all of them!” You spring from the table, launching yourself at Pershing. You both tumble to the ground as your hands wring his scrawny neck. His plasspecs are knocked askew and despite his lack of mental backbone, he still has enough strength to fight back physically. He pushes one of your hands away, breaking the hold you have on his neck, long enough to shout out for help. Sirens begin wailing as the labroom door opens and heavy footsteps are heard behind you. You pay them no attention, continuing your attempt to strangle every last breath out of him, seeing nothing but red. 

An electric shock blasts you from behind. Your back constricts violently and every muscle in your body goes rigid and the familiar feeling of getting hit by a stun blaster vibrates your bones from the inside out. It feels like being struck by a bolt of lightning, and as the shockwave dissipates, it leaves behind a swarm of bees crawling under your skin. Your arms fall to the side and your body goes slack just as two strong arms catch you from behind. The paralytic effect works instantaneously, and you know from experience that it will be several long minutes before regaining any type of control of your limbs. Officer Dickhead presses his clammy cheek up against yours from behind, forcing your head to the side. 

“That’s it. So much better this way, don’t you think?” he says, dragging your body backward toward the table. 

He maneuvers you up and on top, your arms falling open, heedless to mind the orders you're silently shouting to them. Move! Claw his eyes out! Tear him to pieces! You have no control, your body is helpless to do more than keep breathing and blink. He comes around to the side of the table. A tear slips out of the corner of your eye. Not from fear, but born of pure anger. The violation, the knowledge of what they have already stolen from you…it’s almost too much to bear. 

“You think you’re so smart…so funny.” he says, tracing the path of your tear with the tip of his stun blaster. The barrel is hot from its recent use, leaving a welting line behind. 

“Look at you. Not so funny now, are we? Now..you’re just a pet. Leashed, soon to be broken, domesticated.” His voice lowers, just above a whisper. “I will enjoy watching them break you.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of looking into your eyes when he speaks to you. 

The woosh of the labroom door precedes more heavy footfall, and for the first time in several weeks, you hear the unmistakable voice of Moff Gideon. Officer Dickhead’s back straightens, coming to attention and falling silent as his superior addresses the room. Gideon takes in the scene, pausing a few extra seconds on the officer. 

“Dr. Pershing. We have a problem here?”

“No, sir. Everything is under control now.”

“Good. I want a full update. Where do we stand?”

Pershing hesitates a little, but responds in turn. 

“Well, sir. She’s very healthy. All tests indicate she’ll be an ideal carrier.”

“Very good. When do we expect we can proceed to the next step?”

“A few more weeks. She has some type of Moltok herbal concoction in her system- it’s very effective at preventing conception. It’s not something I can remove or that bacta can fix, it simply needs to run its course. However, the levels are dropping everyday. I anticipate it will fully be out of her system in a few weeks.” 

Thank the Maker for Moltok birth control. 

Gideon inhales, clearly disappointed at the hurtle in his timeline. 

“And what of the speculative donors?”

“Well, I’ve narrowed down the donor pool to two potentials. When we exit hyperspace, I will send a summons for them. I will need to bring them both aboard for testing first, to determine which will give us the highest probable success rate.” 

“Which sith are we speaking of?” 

What the hell is a sith?

Pershing looks back down at his clipboard, flipping several papers over. 

“Flint…”

“Flint? Are you sure?”

“Yes, sir. His mastery of the force is impressive, he’s quite skilled with the saber and his telekinetic abilities are reported to rival even..”

“Who else?” Gideon interrupts.

Pershing looks back down at his paper, trying to decide whether or not he should continue with the next name.

“Carnor Jax.”

“Ahhh. Carnor Jax.”

“Yes sir.” Pershing confirms.

“If the two prove to be equal to the task, push for Jax. As a former member of the Imperial Royal Guard, his ambitions are more in line with our directive.”

“Understood.” Pershing agrees.

“Anything else?”

Pershing looks at you on the table. You want to scream, to voice your disgust, to threaten, to call out for help- anything, but your vocal cords won’t produce any sound. 

“Yes, sir.” They turn their backs to speak more quietly, but you can still make out the gist of the conversation. 

“Force-wielders grow more powerful over time, the more they use, they practice….. She’s powerful, but I don’t think she comprehends what she is capable of. She denies all of it. Her power…it lies dormant. I fear that if we do not awaken it somehow…. “

“You don’t think the ability will pass on to the offspring?”

“The power- it’s not something I can just extract and inject, we know that now. It’s beyond my ability to just recreate. I’ve seen it in testing the others. When force users wield their powers, their numbers climb. I believe the highest chance of success at passing it on, rests with her… exercising use.”

Gideon considers Pershing’s theory.

“What about Lord Hethrir?”

Pershing looks back through his notes. “Sir?”

“He was enthusiastic about the prospect of donating, even had suggestions for alternative experiments regarding force-sensitives.”

“He is not human. He is Firrerreo.”

“Are they not compatible breeders?”

Breeders? Fucking Breeders….like I’m some fucking broodmare. 

“They’re DNA is near-human. I suppose it is possible, though I’d have to do some research. I’m not aware if the two can successfully reproduce.”

“Don’t rule him out. In addition to his telekinetic abilities, it’s said that he can suppress force potential in others. If he can suppress it, perhaps he can also awaken it.”

“I’ll look into it.”

“Until then…” he says, walking over to the table to stare down at you.

“We’ll take matters into our own hands.”

“Sir?” Pershing asks. 

“Prepare a bacta tank….and secure an IT-O.”

“Join me for a walk.” Gideon says, sometime later when you’ve regained the use of your limbs. Every muscle in your body aches as if you’d just climbed to the peak of the galaxy’s tallest mountain range. 

You follow alongside, listening to the sound of trooper footsteps in perfect synchronization, pounding the floor behind you. Officer Dickhead follows too, several steps back. You keep your eyes forward as they lead you through the halls, on a route you’ve never taken before. By now, you’ve learned the path from brig to lab, having made the trip twice a day, every day since you’ve arrived- but this, this is new. 

You eye the hilt of the weapon Gideon carries at his side, that wicked looking black blade he waved in front of your face when you first met. It’s temping for sure, but your hands are shackled and even if you could snatch it, you have no idea how to wield a sword. Gideon knows this, as he is clearly not worried about leaving it within your arms reach. He’s practically taunting you with it. 

As you round the corner, Gideon punches in a sequence on a large control panel. Behind it, two large double doors retract. He enters a long hall ahead of you. You slowly follow, eyes fixated on the sight before you. The walls are lined with rows of large battle droids. Memories spring forth, of your capture, of the way they seemed invincible in those moments. Their exoskeletons are eerie, even in their deactivated state, docked in their ports, and illuminated by the glow of red light- dark reapers slumbering in upright metal coffins. 

“Impressive, aren’t they?”

You ignore him, trying not to outwardly appear as staggered as you feel. Somehow, over the past weeks, you had failed to consider that the troopers had been here all along. Back on Tython, there were several, maybe four or five that had cornered you at the rock. Here, there must be dozens. 

“A new generation of troopers, superior in every way to the ones that came before. Capable of flight, impervious to blaster fire and flame….heavily armed and with a strength twice that of its predecessor.”

It makes sense to you now, why Moff Gideon’s ship seems to run on minimal staff. A garrison of a few dozen dark troopers probably replaces hundreds of storm troopers. Maker knows they fall like bowling pins. But these….

“Dr. Pershing tells me you’re resolved to remain in denial. I must admit, for the longest time, I couldn’t decide whether you’ve actually convinced yourself, or….”

“Or what?” you finally say back.

“Or if you were simply holding out. Stalling…in hopes of a rescue.” 

You laugh bitterly. “I learned long ago not to waste my time waiting for someone to rescue me.”

“Is that so?”

“And who would rescue me? I thought nothing escaped your notice Gideon? Except that must not be true, because you’ve obviously failed to notice that I don’t have a single friend in this galaxy or any other.”

He smiles and takes a step closer to you. 

“Take a good look at where you are. There is no escape, and as good as your decommissioned Mandalorian hunter, Din Djarin, is- he is no match for what you see before you.”

“Why don’t you take a look around? You obviously can’t see what is right in front of your face. I’m not who you think I am.”

“I know exactly who you are.”

“Based on what?!” you snap back. “A little rumor you heard? That story was fabricated by a bunch of nuns, desperate to get a boy adopted before his eighteenth birthday. And it worked like a charm! Did you read the headlines? ‘ Miracle boy walks after life threatening fall, Claims angel saved his life’. And guess what? It wasn’t more than a week before he was adopted by a rich family on Alderaan. Did they tell you that he also soaked in a bacta tank for weeks? Or did the kind, sweet, nuns leave that part out?” 

You see just a flicker of doubt cross Gideon’s eyes, spurring you further. He prides himself on knowing all. Make him doubt everything he thinks he knows.

“And tell me Moff, what happens to your little scientist when he’s gone too long without producing results? I’m willing to bet he’s seen you kill your own men firsthand, for far lesser disappointments.” 

He doesn’t respond.

“All he needed was the fuel of a fairytale. He already has his magical sperm donors anyway, hasn’t he? So now all he has to do is put the two together and as long as the child inherits at least something from the father, you’ll never be the wiser.” 

Gideon remains silent, but you can see the muscle in his jaw ticking. You’ve got him doubting his people, so you press further.

“And if you really think the Mandalorian was in this for anything more than a payday, I’d fact- check the information your officers are feeding you too.” You say, glancing back toward Officer Dickhead. 

“Did they tell you he dragged me all over this galaxy in chains? Looking for the highest bid? Did they tell you how many times I tried to escape? Bastard tried to sell me to Jabba’s successor before putting me up for private auction on Hunter’s World. Would have been one of the greatest cons of all time if they hadn’t caught on to his deceit. If those troopers had peeled that tin can off of his head, I bet the look on his face would have matched yours, the day he stole your cash-cow back from you. So if you happen to see him in passing, please do tell him, I send warm regards of Fuck You. ” 

Gideon twines his fingers behind his back as he begins to pace the hall. 

“Uh oh,” you say looking down the hall again. “Officer Dickhead over there looks a little nervous. Was he the one delivering your intel?” you smile. 

Gideon turns back to pace in the other direction, stopping in front of you. He thrusts his fist into your stomach, causing you to drop to your knees. All the air in your lungs escapes in a choking rush. You cup your stomach with shackled hands, your forehead pressing into the floor. Your lungs burn, your mouth agape as your brain struggles to remember how to inhale. You desperately gasp, choking on nothing, as your lungs refuse to inflate. Your stomach burns, and you feel the veins at your temple threatening to burst as your eyes water. There’s no sound, aside from a few small squeaks that you make in an attempt to find the air. Gloved fingers scrape against your scalp, anchoring themselves into the roots of your hair. Your head is jerked back, forcing your throat up just as you feel the first tinge of air attempting to return. You begin coughing and choking, the air burns equally as bad as it refills your lungs. 

He leans down by your face. “I assure you, I will get what I need from you, one way or another. And if I determine you’ve exhausted your usefulness, don’t expect to live for very long.”

He releases his grip on your hair, allowing your head to fall forward as you continue to wheeze and choke. 

"Sub-lieutenant Rund.”

“Yes, sir.” Officer Dickhead replies. 

“I've heard you acquired a penchant for shock-whips during your time on Zygerria.”

“Yes sir.” Officer Dickhead replies, with just a bit too much excitement in his voice. 

“Do you have one on board?”

“Yes sir, I do.”

“Do you keep up with training?”

“Well,” he hesitates. “It’s been some time…”

“Good. It sounds like you could use a little practice.”

Fear takes up permanent residence deep in your gut, causing your whole body to tremble. You wish you appeared stronger on the outside, not giving them the satisfaction of knowing that you’re scared, but it’s an involuntary reaction when you dangle from magnetic beams in the middle of your cell. They’ve strung you up high enough that your toes skim the floor, but you can’t quite support your weight on them. The result is a terrible strain on your wrist and it feels like your arms are being pulled straight out of the sockets. Officer D relishes in the moment, taking his time to get started, and if you’re being honest, the anticipation of getting struck by a shock whip seems almost as cruel as the actual delivery. If there’s one thing you can be proud of, it’s your absolute resolve not to plead or beg, and so far you’re doing ok on that front. 

His hand slides down, pulling a dark, banded handle from his waistband. He sweeps over the surface with his thumb, triggering a long whipcord to extend several meters, landing on the floor. 

“Anything, before we start?”

He’s baiting you, that much is clear. He wants you to throw fuel on the fire, wants to get a reaction, cause Maker knows he’ll get off on this a lot more. You give him what he wants- not because he prompts you, but because you know he’s going to whip you either way, so you might as well throw one more insult his way while you can. 

“I’m sorry.”

He raises his brows a smidge waiting for it.

“I’m sorry. It’s just…it’s the shape of your hat. It’s totally penis shaped. You see it, right? Like, the whole part up there….it’s just like the tip of a dick.”

He smiles. “There it is.”

He ignites the shockwhip, causing an electric light to vibrate through the cord. It hums and buzzes loudly as he walks toward the door your back faces. Those last few seconds before receiving the first lash are a blur. Your muscles tense waiting for the first contact. The anticipation of pain makes your heart thunder in your chest. You repeat silently in your mind, “Do not beg. Do not beg.” You tell yourself you won’t make any noise at all, but that part unfortunately, is beyond your control. 

The first lash strikes you square across the back. It’s a metal rope snapping you with a streak of liquid fire, followed by a jolt of electricity that makes your back muscles seize. You cry out at the first impact.

The second and third come in quick succession under your left shoulder blade, compounding on the still radiating heat of the first. The fourth strike begins to tear away at your shirt and there’s a new element of agony added when the fabric no longer protects your skin from direct contact. By the eighth lashing, you no longer try to balance on your toes, leaving the entire weight of your body to hang from the shackles above. Officer D is panting loudly, clearly receiving a great workout on his end. It doesn’t escape your notice that he never bothers to ask you any questions or offer you any reprieve in exchange for a surrender to cooperate. 

The stormtrooper watching at the side, runs to the corner and removes his bucket, losing his last meal all over the floor. Officer D yells some obscenities, chastising the trooper's weak stomach and ordering that he be taken away. 

You lose count after that, unable to prevent screaming and crying out with every new strike. Tears soak your cheeks as the sensation of being on fire starts to morph into something along the lines of being flayed by razor blades. Never in your wildest dreams had you even imagined that physical agony like this existed. You had to be on the verge of passing out, and welcome every lash that brings you closer to it. 

You reach a place where you think, “Surely the next one will be the last I feel?”, but continue to repeat it with every lash that follows. That's when you feel the surprising sting of a lash across your buttocks. The previously untouched target, causes fear to surge again. Will he continue until every part of my body has received his whip’s kiss?

The answer comes with another snap across your back, slicing into the already flayed skin. 

No. It was unintentional. An aim and a miss. Perhaps his arm is growing tired? 

You continue to cry, willing your mind to retreat to someplace else. A dark corner in the recesses of your mind. You imagine Mando there and what you’d say to him. 

You’d be proud of me…I didn’t yield.

You did good, baby. I’m real proud. 

You wake from an excruciating sting. It feels like acid dripping on your back. You're face down on a table in Pershing’s lab. 

“Shhh, it’s ok. It’s just me.” he says- as if that is supposed to somehow be comforting. 

You cry out as the pain returns. He’s doing something to your back. You try to sit up and move, but your head swims as your entire body rejects that idea. 

“Stay still. I won’t hurt you.”

“You are hurting me!”

“I’m sorry, I’ll stop, just be still.”

You do as he says, lying back down, but only because your body won’t allow anything else.

“I’m going to give you an injection, so you won’t feel the next part. It will sting for a few seconds, but then you won’t feel anything at all, ok?” 

“Don’t touch me.” you say, unable to put any semblance of actual threat behind it.

He kneels down next to the table, so that he can look you in the eyes. It’s then that you notice he has some fresh bruising on his cheekbone. 

“You’re hurt- badly. I need to put you in the bacta tank for several days. But, before I can do that, I need to remove some debris from your wounds, otherwise they will close around it and become infected. You understand?” 

“Please don’t knock me out.” you say, ashamed that you actually used the word ‘please’. At least it was only for Pershing’s ears. He looks into your eyes and seems to understand. 

“I won’t let them touch you while you’re under. I promise.”

You stare back at him. You both know that he can ultimately do whatever he wants, but for some reason, he is asking your permission. It pains you, but something in your gut is choosing to believe him. You nod your head yes . 

He delivers his injection and the pain melts away. Your senses dull until you’re only mildly aware of what the doctor is doing. One at a time, using a large pair of forceps, he sets down bloodied and charred ribbons of fabric into a metal tray next to the table. After that, your sight washes over as you're suspended into a pool of jelly. Your consciousness floats in the warm waves as all thoughts of this reality disappear. 

---WEEKS LATER---

“This looks good, much better.” Pershing says as he examines your back. 

“The mending of flesh is truly incredible, though I’m afraid it couldn’t be completely made new. Some of these will be permanent scars, I’m afraid.”

Not really caring, you shrug your thin robe back up over your shoulders. He walks around to face your front as you stare blankly ahead. He scans you with his little doohickey and logs whatever it is, it’s telling him. 

“They tell me you’re not eating though.”

You lift up your hands, giving a little jiggle to the manacles around your wrists. 

“They chain me to the bench in my cell.”

He continues to stare in question. You lift your gaze to meet his.

“They leave the food by the door. It’s out of reach.”

With understanding, he leans in a little, ignoring the trooper standing guard in the room, and whispers. 

“If you were to concentrate, I believe you could move the tray.”

That’s exactly what they want me to do.

“Why doctor, whatever do you mean?” you say, sarcastically. 

Pershing clears his throat, standing a little straighter. 

“You can’t carry on like this.”

“You’re going to have to speak up, doctor. I’m afraid my ears are still ringing.” you say forcefully.

He pulls out a retractable otoscope and looks into your ears. After your three week stint in the bacta tank following the whipping, your cell became a hell of its own. You were barraged with sonic torture- a deafening array of arrhythmic and atonal sounds, with no discernable pattern, blasted out from the walls. Additionally, your cell was bathed in a harsh, white light, adding to the attack on your senses, making it nearly impossible to think, let alone sleep. 

These daily trips to Pershing’s lab had become a welcome reprieve from the continuous torture. It was the only time you had to think. Three weeks, three precious weeks had passed in the bacta tank. That time was vital, and had pushed you ever closer to your looming deadline. 

“How much longer do I have?”

“Not long, two weeks, maybe three.”

Two weeks. You have maybe two weeks to carry out your plan. 

After your meeting with Gideon, many things had become clear. For one, he was right. There really was, in all likelihood, no means of escaping this ship. Two, the new objective was no longer to stay alive. The idea of Gideon taking your eggs, of potentially turning your offspring into some kind of sick spy weapon for the empire, of having little pieces of you scattered all over the galaxy, created with evil intent, was more than you could handle. You can not- will not- allow that to happen. 

Your eyes subtly wander the room, landing on the cryo-freezer off to the side. There’s no doubt in your mind- that is where Pershing stores the vials of everything he takes from you. Blood, eggs, and Maker knows what else. You need to destroy it, to eliminate any possibility of that happening. And thirdly, after destroying his treasure trove of stolen biological material, you needed to also destroy his source. Me. 

The only way to ensure Gideon wouldn’t be able to carry out his ambition was to remove yourself from the equation entirely. No Vessel means no offspring. And since escape was moot, that meant death was the only viable solution. And you refuse to view it as giving up. It was a means to an end and the only way to stop what was coming. The question was now, how to do it. You’d have to do it in such a way, that the bacta tank wouldn’t be able to heal you and the IT-O wouldn’t be able to revive you. Ironically, you had Officer D to thank for that bit of enlightenment. 

After you had come out of the tank, you had noticed that Officer D had been curiously absent from his normal post. When asked where his bestie had gone, Dr. Pershing had replied, “Gone. Disciplined for disobeying orders.”

“What orders?”

“Not to kill you.”

“‘S’cuse me?”

“He had direct orders to beat you within an inch of your life, but not to actually kill you. He failed. Apparently, the IT-O had warned him that your life functions were close to ceasing, however he continued to whip you beyond the warning- something about being goaded by your remarks. In any event, he went too far, and the IT-O had to administer lifesaving procedures to bring you back.”

Now you know that however you decide to end it, it needs to be done in a way that prevents them from resuscitating you. Some type of explosion would be ideal. That would eliminate any lasting biological material as well as destroy the cryo-freezer, with the added bonus of ending things quickly and painlessly. The problem was, you had no idea how to construct an explosive. Every time you enter the lab, you silently take stock of the equipment and available chemicals around, but most inconveniently, nothing around you is glaringly labeled as “flammable”. 

That left you with a half solid backup plan. You’d been watching Pershing closely over the last few weeks. You know exactly where he stores the syringes of paralytic drugs. If you could get him to agree to remove the binders on your wrists, you’re certain you could get to them quickly. If you incapacitate him and the one guard, you should be able to get to them in time. You could inject the paralytic straight into your heart. Done and done. You’re no doctor, but you’re willing to be that there would be no recovering from that. Yes, it would still leave your body behind, but….beggars, choosers. 

The days that follow are a blur, a constant and ever-changing gamut of varying torture, ranging from sleep deprivation to hallucinogens administered via the interrogator droid. The nightmares that play out in your head are a mix of dreams and excruciating pain. When it's over, you are little more than a blubbering puddle on the floor, your heart exhausted from racing against the drugs, and your lungs are devastated from all of the screaming. Again, no questions are asked, no prompts for submission are given. It seems they are content to poke and prod, hoping they will eventually elicit you to fight back using a power you have no idea how to wield. And to make it worse, they refuse to let you die. 

You receive a glorious reprieve of peace and silence after one particularly nasty bout. That’s how they seem to like to deliver it- they give you just enough time to recover before starting the process all over again. This time, your cell is quiet and dark, albeit cold. You’re used to the dark, it doesn’t frighten you like it used to. You close your eyes and try to get back to that place on top of the rock- the place your voice could be heard across the stars and where the universe spoke back. You call out for Luke, or anyone else listening, but only silence answers back. Whatever magic mojo that rock possessed, it kept it to itself. 

You think about Mando and how grateful you are that he must have survived. Gideon would have used that against you otherwise. Your heart hurts when you think of how he must have felt. You hope he isn’t driving himself completely mad with guilt, because you know he will be blaming himself. His sense of duty is too strong. 

Please don’t hate me for what I must do. Please don’t hate yourself either. 

Warm tears roll down your cheeks as you lay on the bench, using your arm as a pillow. It’s freezing cold with your naked body laying on the metal- they had taken your clothes away for added humiliation. Pushing those dark thoughts away, you escape to a safer place. You imagine this cold cell is the dark hull of the Crest. You’re curled up in Din’s arms, soaking up the warmth of his body. You imagine the way his skin smells, the way the timbre of his voice soothes your being. The way the soft scruff on his cheek tickles the smoothness of yours. 

Please, forgive me.

Forgiven.

Tell me you’ll find me again, in the next life. 

I will always find you. 

You take solace in his words, even though they are an illusion of your own making. The trance is shattered when the sound of your cell door opens. 

Please, not now. Just a few more minutes. 

You remain still, feigning sleep, with your back to the door as you face the wall. The bright overhead lights roll on and you squeeze your eyes tighter, trying to chase after the dream.

  This might be the cruelest torture of them all. 

The sound of several feet entering the room extinguishes any lingering attempt, and curiosity causes you to peek over your shoulder. You’re taken aback, and fear quickly plummets to the pit of your stomach. Dr. Pershing stands off to the side as two very large men approach you. You quickly sit up, remembering a second too late that your currently sans clothes. You cross your legs, one over the other and hug your chest in an attempt to cover your most intimate places from view. 

The male on the left must be six and a half feet tall. He’s covered head to toe in black and red leather armor, with a heavy looking black cape that reaches the floor. His chest is broader than any humanoid species you’ve seen before. The overall appearance is menacing, but it’s his face covering that sends a shiver down your spine. It’s a triangular black visor with an exaggerated oblong shape, flanked by a red cowl. At his back, he wears a double edged vibroblade that you’re willing to bet would be taller than you if placed side by side. 

You try to school your reaction and not give anything away, but the rise and fall of your chest likely hints at your shaken nerves. The man on his right is nearly as tall, despite the fact that he doesn’t wear a mask. He’s human by appearances, with light skin, black hair and piercing blue eyes that seem to look straight through you. He wears a long black cape across his shoulders and silver metal armor, though you can tell by the sheen that it isn’t made from beskar. You’d put his age at about forty and would consider him handsome if it weren’t for the disapproving lines etched on his brow. 

They stop at arm's length and stare down at you. You stare right back, though you can’t seem to conjure any words to speak. 

“What is this Dr. Pershing?” the human male says. “I was told that the vessel was a volunteer - a willing participant in this trial.”

“You’re early. Moff Gideon wasn’t expec-” 

The man cuts Pershing off, with a lift of his hand.

“Where are her clothes?” 

Nobody in the room answers.

“Bring her some clothes.” he squats down to bring himself at eye level. He schools his expression to be a slight gentler as he looks at your face. You feel the slightest brush of awareness in your mind. 

“When's the last time you ate?”

You remain silent, willing yourself not to crumble at the first sign of decency aimed in your direction. This is your enemy. 

“Days?” he persists, looking into your eyes. 

Either he reads your mind, or your silence is confirmation enough. 

“Bring her something to eat.” he commands. 

“What else do you need?”

It’s tempting to refuse. You’re perfectly aware that this may be a case of good guy, bad guy, designed to obtain your trust by way of his sympathies. You promise yourself that this is not a case of rapid stockholm syndrome, and that you might as well take advantage of the gifts. If they think it will warm you to their cause, they are gravely mistaken. 

“Water. A shower. A blanket.... a blaster if you’re feeling particularly generous.”

He looks over his shoulder and nods to the nearest storm trooper, who then rushes out of the room. 

He stands up, returning to his full height once again. 

“I apologize for your treatment. Had I known, I would have come earlier…. They should be treating you like a Queen.”

Your body begins to tremble. The trooper returns, handing you a stack of clothes and the boots you had come in with. You accept it with one hand, keeping your free arm securely pinned across your chest. A few seconds later, another trooper enters the room with a tray of food and water and a blanket under his arm. The unmasked man takes the blanket as the trooper sets the tray beside you on the bench and steps away. The man opens the blanket, whirling it over your head to wrap around your shoulders. You grab the inside corners and pull it closed, tightly around you. 

He turns to speak to Pershing directly. “I want to speak to Gideon now. Take me to the Dark Troopers, have him meet me there.”

Pershing nods to the troopers to follow his instructions and the unmasked man follows them out of the room. 

The masked man however, remains in his position, continuing to stare down at you. Pershing, noticing this, hesitates to leave. 

“Tell me doctor,”  his modulated voice is dark, sending a jolt of fear through your bones. “Why you would have me waste my spend in a cup, when I could have come down here and finished the job?”

“As I said before, I need to run some tests-”

“Waste of time, I can tell you right now, my seed will take root. In fact, I’d be willing to try again…” You begin to shake, your body and mind freezing. What to do?

You squeeze the blanket tighter. 

“That won’t be necessary, she isn’t fertile yet.”

“Hhhhu.” he groans. “Soon, then.” and turns to leave the chamber.

Pershing lingers back after the others have left the room. He kneels by your side placing a hand at your knee. You quickly pull away, revolted by his touch. You shake harder than before, even though the immediate danger has left the room. 

Pershing sighs, “I’m sorry.” 

You don’t bother responding, his apology is worthless.

“When the time comes, I can sedate you…if you want?”

“Sedate me? For my rape, you mean?” you say, boring a hole straight between his plasspecs. “How altruistic of you.”

Pershing leaves the room, a look of shame on his face. 

When the doors close, the manacles at your wrist pop open and a stream of hot water begins to flow from the ceiling in the corner, over a floor drain. Before you step under the stream and enjoy the first shower you’ve had in Maker knows how long, you wonder to yourself, which one was Flint, and which one was Jax?  

Today is the day. I can’t put it off any longer. 

After the visit from the “potential donors”, the torture sessions stopped. Like clockwork, food is delivered, and the shower comes on once a day. They may not have provided the requested blaster or upgraded you to first class accommodations, but they have left you blissfully alone. You wonder if it’s all part of the program, meant to make you trust the unmasked man? More than likely it’s just an indication that the sands in the hourglass have almost run out. Surely they want you in tip-top shape to conceive this hell-spawn prodigy for them. You’re thankful for the calm. It’s given you time to make peace with your decision. 

Today is the day. 

-In the hall outside your cell, Dr. Pershing consults with Moff Gideon- 

“She’s dying.”

“You said she’s fully recovered from the last session. That was a week ago.”

“She has. It’s more than that. Her systems are slowing down, we’re losing her.”

“How can that be, Dr. Pershing?”

Pershing takes a deep breath. “I believe she’s lost the will to live. It’s the only explanation. I’ve heard stories of such things, dying from a broken heart for example…. it’s not something I’ve seen before, but I believe that is what’s happening. She is the one controlling it.”

“What can you do?”

“Nothing. This is beyond science.” 

“There must be something?”

“Nothing. I don’t expect her to make it to the window of opportunity. Unless you can give her hope- a reason to live. This will all have been for nothing.”

This is it. You expect your escorts to walk through the door, having come to make the daily journey to Pershing’s office, where you’ll finish this once and for all.

You’re surprised then, when Moff Gideon enters the room instead. His palm rests on the hilt of the sword, sheathed at his side. This is an unexpected visit, which is never a good thing.

Please don’t let it be too late .

It’s been weeks since you’ve seen him in person- not since that day he introduced you to the garrison of dark troopers. Gideon prefers to keep his hands clean, lets his posse of underlings carry out the dirty work for him. That’s not to say he doesn’t enjoy watching. You’d felt his eyes on you more than once, even if it was through a lens or a one-way mirror.

“I must admit,” he says, strolling into the room. “I didn’t expect you to hold out this much resistance. A brutal whipping, sonic bombardment, sleep, food and air deprivation…” he begins listing off. “And all the while, never using the force to defend yourself. You truly are as stubborn as they come.”

“So I’ve been told.”

“Have you ever heard of a memory walk?” he asks. 

Taking your silence as a ‘no’, he continues. “Imagine, having the power to see into someone’s mind, to project your own thoughts as well.” Gideon begins to pace the room while you listen. 

“You could bring a dying man peace, by showing him his loved ones waiting for him in the ether…or, you could bring your enemy to their knees, force them to relive their greatest horrors over and over. Everything from their most embarrassing moments to facing their darkest fears. And all without having to lift a finger. Can you imagine what that power must be like?”

You consider it a moment. “There was that time I got my period in front of everyone, oh…and that one night stand with Dash Obrin- highly regrettable. I definitely would not want to relive that again.” 

“You use your sense of humor as a shield. Imagine instead, if you had the ability to quite literally shield yourself. You have assets in reserve that you aren’t even aware of.”

You hate that he calls you out on it, reads the situation so clearly. 

“Yeah, well…joke ‘em if they can’t take a fuck.”

Gideon inhales for patience. “You’re squandering what you have been given. But we have the means, the resources to teach you how to wield them.”

“Resources? You mean like that masked barbarian in the leather onesie? No thank you.”

“If you would take a moment, I encourage you to let go of that pride, you might be able to see things differently- see the opportunity that lies before you.”

“Opportunity? Only you would view an unconscionable violation of this magnitude, as an opportunity.” 

“You have a gift. You are capable of power, few in this galaxy will ever understand.”

“I see.” You snort, a mocking sound of indifference. “It’s so clear now, you’re jealous.”

Gideon stops his pacing, turning to stare down at you.

“They have a power you’ll spend the rest of your miserable life pining for. No matter what you do, no matter how many lives you take, or civilizations you destroy, you’ll still never be as powerful as them.” Hoping to strike every nerve in his body, you continue. “And if you can’t have it, you’ll, what? Find a way to control it in someone else? You’ll never have the power they have.” 

His jaw begins to tick, his anger showing by the twitch of his mustache. You definitely found the weakness in his armor- his pride. 

“You tell me, who’s in control here? You’re the one in shackles.” Maker, his voice is grading. Every word out of his mouth comes out sounding like a lecture. He’s trying to goad you, to get you to lose your temper. And it’s working. 

“Let’s face facts, your little torture sessions proved nothing, I’ve given you nothing.” you say, mocking his failure.

“You’ve given me everything!” He snaps back. “All these weeks, enduring the pain and suffering…I’ve never seen anything like it. Most break within the first few hours, but you…” he shakes his head, “Not you. You must be very powerful indeed. Imagine what you’ll be capable of when you stop holding back and embrace the power before you.”

Your heart begins to race at the implication. Is it possible that everything you went through was in vain? “No.” You shake your head. 

“Did you not know? That your numbers climbed after every grueling session? You may not have fought back, but you were using the force to keep yourself alive.” 

“That’s not true, that can’t be true.” All this time, it was for nothing.

“Lying to you, does nothing to serve me. You on the other hand…you are very convincing.”

Your hand begins to tremble. 

Just tell him what he wants to hear, tell him whatever it takes to get you into Pershing’s lab, so that you can end this game once and for all. 

“Fuck you. I don’t care what you believe.” 

“If it’s any consolation, you almost had me convinced….Not about the force. I knew that was just desperation on your part.”

He smiles, with all the arrogance of someone who holds an ace in their pocket. He tosses you a small object. Out of instinct, you raise your cuffed hands to catch it midair. Opening your palm, you see a small handheld holoprojector. 

“What’s this?”

Gideon turns to leave, his cape swirling around his feet dramatically. 

“A reason to live.” he says, before the door closes. 

Once you’re alone again, you find the courage to activate the device. A clear holo projection of Mando, in full beskar armor, alive, and well, and strong, stares back at you. His voice, resolute and intent, threatens a promised retribution, as he recites back words, once delivered to him. 

Moff Gideon, 

You have something I want.

You may think you have some idea what you are in possession of, but you do not.

Soon, she will be back with me. 

She means more to me than you will ever know. 

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A/N: As always, kudus, hearts, reblogs and comments are much appreciated. Thank you for reading!

Inspired soundtrack in my head this chapter: The Mandalorian || Flesh and Bone - YouTube

Faithful Readers: @mandosmistress @mandomover @yeetusfeetus3000 @wildmoonflower @littlemisspascal @starwars-thirst @spideysimpossiblegirl @mominousrex @toobsessedsstuff @pickledbeskar @brunette-overalls

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