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roanniom · 3 years

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The Night That Follows

Poe Dameron x Reader

Word Count: 8,000~

Summary: While celebrating a successful mission, you and Poe accidently ingest a mysterious beverage that makes it hard to resist one another, helping you forget the stress that weighs you down and the friendship that you’ve been holding between you two as a shield.

Note: This is my first ever non-ADCU fic and it is dedicated to the ever lovely and supportive @paper-n-ashes who urged me to get out of my comfort zone and cheered me on.

Warnings: NSFW, dirty talk, alcohol consumption, sex pollen, drugged drink (it’s drugged with the sex pollen by a 3rd party and not with malicious intent but it still might be triggering), masturbation (f/m), PIV sex, unprotected sex, war-related angst

When people talk about war, they often discuss the paralyzing fear, the numbing depression. Hopelessness that spreads through your veins like cold water as you face immeasurable odds and stare death in the face day after day. And you can attest to these feelings. You experience them with each dawn that breaks, muddy in the sky regardless of the atmosphere shrouding whatever planet you find yourself waking on each morning. Your life is transient, full of ships and bases and camps. The constants are the clothes on your back, the friends in your squadron (those who survive), and the x-wing you hop in each time danger calls.

The other constant is the part of war that people do not discuss. The rush of adrenaline every time you make it out of a tough scrape. Adrenaline that burns your veins, evaporating the icy hopelessness that had flooded you up until the minute your boots hit turf and your jellied knees catch up to the reality that you are still very much alive. The euphoria that crackles in your brain when you spy your best mate zooming down from above, finally landing and throwing themselves into your arms in the hug you never thought you’d experience again after their coms had gone down in a fire fight. The absolute debauchery of a night of celebration after such a fire fight. Because nobody needs to live quite as much as those who may die.

Which is how you find yourself here, on this non-descript jungle planet, the name of which you didn’t catch during your descent because honestly there have been so many jungle planets and they have all become little more than coordinates on a screen to you at this point. You and your squad have been set up with a mini-festival by the resistance-sympathizing locals as a thank you for your recent decimation of their First Order oppressors. The operation had been pretty seamless, thanks in no small part to the excellent teamwork between you and a one Poe Dameron.

Your flying today had rivaled some of his best, which is certainly saying something since Poe prides himself on being the best pilot in the resistance. You certainly gave him a run for his money, outflying TIE fighters and swiveling shuttle cannons in a perfectly choreographed tandem maneuver wherein the two of you manipulated your assailants to ultimately destroy themselves.

As you knock back a burning shot of the local alcoholic beverage, the liquid tingling and warming you all the way down, you search the triumphant crowd for the cocky pilot who had helped you set the stage for this celebration. You wouldn’t dwell on the earlier events of the day much more tonight. Wouldn’t think much of the comrades you’d lost in the struggle. That was an ache that would throb back to life tomorrow. Tonight, the priority is living.

It is then that you lock eyes with Poe Dameron through the throngs of semi-drunken revelers. His handsome face splits into a wide, cocky grin, so you adopt an exasperated smirk in response as he pushes his way towards you. Such is the game you play. A dance, if you will. Poe plays the role of the self-assured, overly confident golden boy while you, his long suffering partner, humble him with your good-natured criticism and ever rolling eyes.

“Alright there, Sweets?” Poe practically drawls as he reaches you, the nickname both a term of endearment and a teasing reference to the sweet tooth that keeps you hoarding candies of all kinds in your bunk, much to Poe’s own benefit. You beam up at him and upend your little glass to demonstrate its emptiness.

“On my way there, Fly Boy.”

“Looks like you’re falling behind, rookie. Like you did on that triple barrel twist today.”

You throw a punch that lands a little too lightly on his shoulder to produce the grunt and showy flail that he graces you with.

“First of all, you’re not allowed to call me rookie anymore. Your dumb ass might need to be constantly reassured that you’re ‘best pilot in the resistance,’ but by now I am, at worst, second best.” Your gut warms and you’re not sure if it’s the drink or Poe’s deep, full-bodied laugh in response. “And second of all, we don’t talk about the day if we make it to the night.”

Poe almost seems to sober at your words, a phrase of his tossed back at him. The smile remains, though, and he tosses an arm around you before dragging you over to the table that’s been set up with refreshments.

“Right you are, Sweets,” Poe agrees quietly. Louder now and injecting you two into the crowd surrounding the cluster of bottles, he continues, “as for you being second best pilot, I’d rather let the squad decide before you go getting a head too big to fit in your helmet.”

This receives a laugh from the crowd as well as another smattering of slaps thrown towards Poe’s chest.

“Dameron, we all know you already have your own helmet custom made so you can stuff that massive ego in there,” your friend Myrna.

“And those curls,” you add, reaching up and ruffling your hand through his hair in that way that always makes his nose scrunch up in mock anger.

“If you must know, there’s something else they also have to custom make me…” Poe says, grabbing your wrist and forcing your hand to slide down his chest towards the bottom of his flight suit zipper and wiggling his eyebrows. You shriek and yank your hand away.

“In your dreams, Dameron.” Poe leans down toward you so that his face is close enough for you to feel his breath fan across your cheeks.

“Or perhaps in yours?”

Suddenly a small, wrinkled face appears between you. It’s an elderly female member of the local alien race and she’s beaming up at you, holding two steaming mugs and smiling around a garbled statement in a language you don’t recognize.

“Oh I’m sorry, I’m not sure I…” you interrupt her, glancing awkwardly between her massive eyes and Poe’s confused ones.

“I might be able to translate!” Myrna cries out, stumbling forward with a newly refilled glass in her hand.

“You sure that’s not just the liquor talking?” Poe asks with a chuckle. Myrna waves him off and kneels unsteadily to listen to the old woman. More garbled speech issues forward as the woman gestures between you and Poe with her mugs. Myrna nods several times and gives little hums of agreement and affirmation. You and Poe trade glances of amusement during the interaction, but you have to look away when the upturned corner of Poe’s mouth begins to distract you.

“Alright alright,” Myrna pipes up. You turn back in time to see Myrna standing back up to her full height, now holding the two mugs, while the woman waddles back into the crowd.

“What’s the deal?” Poe asks, slinging his arm back around your shoulders. You resist the knee jerk actions that come to mind, both to slap his touch away and to lean into it, standing rigid instead.

“She said these are for you,” Myrna says, pushing the steaming mugs into your hands and Poe’s.

“Did she say why?” You peer at the milky, opalescent contents curiously. Myrna has already moved on, however, turning back to the pilot she’d been hanging on before you and Poe had approached. You look to Poe but he shrugs.

“I don’t know, something about you guys deserving it.” Myrna waves her hand dismissively, obviously ready to get back to her own evening. You look up at Poe, unsure, but he’s nodding and smiling.

“Hear that, Sweets? Seems like word travels fast that we’re the top two pilots,” Poe says cheekily, clinking his mug to yours before throwing back his head and downing its contents in one gulp. Your insides ignite at his acknowledgment, as well as the bob of his adam’s apple, but your eyes still flit warily to your beverage.

“We don’t even know what it is and you’re drinking it?”

“Honey, I’m pretty sure that liquor we were taking shots of earlier was actually jet fuel, I don’t think we need to be too worried about this.” Poe smacks his lips and runs his finger around the inside of the mug. “And besides, it’s really kriffing good.”

Watching the way his cheeks hollow out as he sucks the last dregs of his drink from his finger makes a heat boil in the pit of the stomach. You decide you actually are quite thirsty, and since your curiosity is stronger than your apprehension, you knock the liquid back yourself.

“Atta girl!” Poe cheers you on, nudging you. The drink is sweet and thick on your tongue like a melted version of the ice cream you’d tasted once, many years ago. You can still remember the creamy texture, very much worth the credits paid to the traveling vendor who’d brought it to your village during the hottest summer of your childhood. As you swallow this liquid down, however, its cold temperature changes into a burn, similar to alcohol, though smoother than any liquor you’d ever had.

“Good, right?” Poe asks, eyebrows raised. You nod and lick your lips, sure that you’re imagining things when Poe’s eyes flicker down to your darting tongue.

“That was actually pretty good,” you concede with a grin.

“So what have we learned tonight?” Poe prompts, grabbing your mug from your hands and placing it next to his on a nearby table. You shake your head.

“Your cockiness extends to believing locals on a miniscule planet find you special?”

“The correct answer was ‘always give things a chance,’ Sweets, but you can continue being closeminded if you want,” Poe responds with a chuckle. He stuffs his hands in his pockets and makes to walk away.

“Fine!” You reach out and grab his arm before he can leave. When he rounds back on you with a wide smile you roll your eyes and refuse eye contact. “And just so you know, I’m a lot more open minded than you think, Dameron.”

“Is that so, rookie?” You bristle but as the glee raises in his eyes at your reaction you do your best to tamp it down.

“I’m…flexible,” you say, your grin begrudging. A hubbub breaks out beyond you in the crowd as the makeshift band that had assembled to play party music transitions to a particularly festive song, causing both you and Poe to watch as people begin forming an impromptu dance floor. When Poe turns back at you and raises his eyebrows, expectant, you throw up your hands defensively.

“No. Don’t look at me like that, Fly Boy,” you’re quick to say, but Poe’s even quicker, having already grabbed you by the hand and pulled you to him. Your body collides with his and his other hand finds the dip of your waist.

“Oh I’m sorry, what was that I just heard someone say about being open minded?” Poe asks. In a sudden fluid motion he dips you, bending you over so that your back is parallel to the ground and his face hovers over yours. “Being flexible?”

You let him pull you back up and steady yourself with a hand on his chest to catch your balance, dizzy now, most likely from the suddenness of the motion. You’re about to toss back a witty retort, possibly something that will knock him down a few pegs, but then you catch the glint in his eye and a smile spreads across your lips unbidden.

“You get one dance, Dameron.”

~*~

One dance turned into many, as it turns out. The band, upon realizing their audience’s appetite for raucous music, had begun a steady rotation of upbeat tunes. The dance floor had expanded, spilling out of its original confines in the center of the town square and into the concession areas on the perimeter. Resistance members danced and drank, their bodies jumping and moving to the beat in one chaotic mass of excess energy and euphoria. Bodies writhe against one another in all directions as people seek out friction that can confirm to them that they did indeed survive the day’s trials.

You’re experiencing friction of your own in your little portion of the dance floor. Where things had started out innocently – energetic bouncing to the beat and moving in unison – the tone had long changed. At this point Poe is behind you, arms slung dangerously low on your hips to hold you against him, hands pressed right above your pelvis. The feeling of his chest pressing against your back, his hips bracketing your ass – you’ve lost yourself in the sensations. The rhythm of the music shakes through your muscles but instead of tense and tired, they’re loose and buzzing.

Though truth be told, they aren’t the only thing buzzing. The proximity of Poe’s hands to your lower body feels charged like a magnet. Without thinking you press your hands over the backs of his, encouraging pressure on your lower abdomen. You swear you hear Poe growl behind you has his hands pull you further to him, but it could also be the roar of the crowd. Your hips move in sync, your ass grinding against him in time with the music. Escapism in its purest form is what you’re experiencing in Poe’s arms, held against Poe’s body, matching Poe’s motions. It’s heady and distracting and everything you could ask for to make living feel like living, especially in the aftermath of a day centered on death. You’re content to let this moment last as long as the universe allows.

That is until you realize that the increasing beat you’d thought was a shift in the music is actually the rapid crescendo of your own heartbeat.

Swallowing you find your throat is thick, saliva pooling in your mouth inexplicably. You take a deep breath and allow your mind to reel. How long had you been feeling like this? Why hadn’t you noticed these feelings coming on?

One of the large hands at your hip begins sliding up along the plane of your side and you get your answer. The weight of his touch lights your skin on fire as it drags up and across your collar bone. Your breath feels ragged, rattling around in lungs that can’t seem to take in oxygen no matter how high your chest rises and falls. Poe’s hand lingers on your throat for a second so you swallow again, with even less luck than before. His hand reaches up to grip your jaw which he uses to turn your head back toward him.

Oh.

Poe continues to move behind you, his motions controlling you both on the floor, but his face is strained. Sweat dots his temples, gleaming in his curls, and his teeth seem gritted, making his jaw set at a striking angle. His eyes pin you down, however, and they keep your attention as you gaze back, wide-eyed.

“You okay, rookie?” Poe’s voice is deeper than normal, huskier. The way it reverberates through your body makes a rumbling bubble up deep inside your chest. The beginnings of a moan, perhaps? You’re quick to gasp a response before such a sound has a chance to make its way into the air between you.

“I’m…feeling quite strange.”

The hand still at your waist tightens its grip while the other rejoins on the opposite side. You have to gasp again to keep from moaning. Suddenly you’re being maneuvered forward, Poe’s guidance weaving you through the crowd with ease despite the congested revelry.

Neither of you see the way Myrna is watching you both with a knowing smirk from her place draped around her own handsome pilot beau. Or the way the little old woman who’d gifted you the beverage hovers on the outskirts of the dance floor, a proud look on her wrinkled face as she eyes your retreating figures.

~*~

You’re not really able to follow where Poe is directing you, mainly because of how the imprint of his hands on your body seems to be searing into your skin through your flight suit. While your accelerated heart rate was the thing you had been most worried about, now you are equally worried about the dull ache that has seated itself in the pit of your stomach. You bite down hard on your lip to keep the moan from spilling out, the one you’ve been suppressing since the moment you became conscious to your current discomfort.

When Poe’s stride finally slows to a stop only then are you able to take in your surroundings. Blinking, you’re surprised to find that you’re now outside of the town, far from the lights and bustle of the party, walking into the silent clearing that contains the squadron’s parked aircrafts.

“Why are we all the way out here?” you ask, unsettled by how deep your voice sounds in the darkness.

“Needed to get away from the crowd.” You’re even more unsettled by how breathless Poe’s voice is as he says his first words since the dance floor. So unsettled that you turn in his arms so you can finally take in his disheveled appearance fully.

“Are you okay?”

“I don’t know, it’s the weirdest thing. One minute everything was fine and the next…”

“You can’t catch your breath,” you finish for him and he nods gravely. Both of your chests are practically heaving, pressing into each other with each exhale. When you become aware of this, it also brings awareness of the way his chest pressed up against yours is also adding pressure to your nipples. Since when were your nipples hard? The night is balmy, a cool breeze barely able to disturb the moist warmth that settles in the jungle terrain. You feel sweat begin to collect on the back of your neck and your hairline, much like the sweat causing Poe to shine a bit in the moonlight. And yet your nipples are hard and a shudder runs through your body, nerve endings clearly ten steps ahead of you, taking in some experience to which you’d yet to catch up.

“Wait a minute, look at me,” Poe suddenly orders, his fingers wrapping around your chin to lift your face toward his. You freeze as he stares down at you, eyes widening at whatever he sees.

“What is it?” you ask, voice urgent, almost frightened.

“Your pupils are wide as planets,” he mutters, distracted fingers drawing up the side of your jaw to press to the pulse point at your throat. “Your heartbeat is out of control.”

“I haven’t been able to calm down,” you say, nodding but getting more worried by the second. “Why can’t I calm down? Are you feeling the same way?”

Poe’s mouth presses into a hard line and he turns away abruptly, head tilting down.

“Oh fuck.”

“What?” You try to pull him back toward you but he doesn’t budge.

“I think…we’ve been drugged.”

Your blood runs cold and a hand flies to cover your mouth. You’d known tonight was too good to be true. Your mind races, making connections out of thin air, trying to place when and where you could have possibly come in close enough proximity to First Order agents to be compromised.

“But what – how – what can we do? What is it? Is it deadly?” You’re cut off by a sound issuing from Poe’s now curved body. You wonder at first if it’s a sob, which makes sense because you’re about ready to cry yourself. But then you realize it’s a chuckle.

“I wouldn’t say deadly. Just exceedingly inconvenient.”

“So you know what it is then?” you prompt, tugging at his shoulder some more to try and see his face. “Tell me!”

“Well for starters I’m pretty sure it was that drink the old woman gave us.”

Fuck.

Of course. What was the one suspicious thing you’d ingested all day? The fact that you hadn’t thought about it sooner makes you want to kick yourself, but you press on instead, anxious to have the matter dealt with.

“What does it do?” You hate the tremor that colors your voice. At that Poe finally turns around and you take him in all at once, trying to assess what he could have been hiding. His tall, wide-legged stance makes it easy to notice after a few seconds. As your gaze moves lower on his body you finally see the massive tent forming below the zipper line of his flight suit.

Without even being able to mentally process what you’re looking at your body responds immediately. A rush of warmth and wetness floods the apex of your thighs and the moan that you’d so far been able to hold in finally makes it way out of your throat. Poe’s eyes, which had recently gone hooded, widen in response to the lewd sound. You clap a hand over your mouth and snap your eyes back up to his face, away from the rigid shape that had made the muscles inside you contract wantonly around nothing.

“It’s made from a plant that’s meant to accelerate sex drive,” Poe says matter-of-factly.

You almost don’t hear him because your eyes have already slid back down his body, feasting on the sight of his impressive bulge. You’d heard stories of Poe’s sexual prowess, many from the man’s own loud mouth. You knew he’d satisfied many members of the Resistance, male and female alike. But you had never truly let yourself consider what he’d be like. What he’d look like. What he’d feel like…

“Why would she possibly give that to us of all people?” You feel like you’re going to cry. The feelings coursing through your body are overwhelming.

“Maybe she went around spiking many people at the party. Maybe she just thought you and I would look hot together? You can’t blame her for that one.” Poe winks at you and it diffuses some of your angst. You let out a tense laugh and shake your head.

“How do we make it stop?” you force yourself to ask, just as you force yourself yet again to look back up in his eyes. Poe averts his own, a sheepish look overtaking his face. When he doesn’t answer you step forward and grab his arm in alarm, trying not to consider the way his bicep bulges under his sleeve. “Poe?!”

“We have to…take care of it.”

You’re launching yourself away from him before he can finish the sentence. You probably knew the answer before you’d even asked the question, but his words still sent electricity through your spine.

“We can’t. That’s…that’s crazy – you’re crazy, Dameron!”

“Hey, you think I like this? Standing here like an idiot with my dick so hard I can barely see straight?”

The sexual nature of his words, spoken so plainly and without euphemism for the first time, makes a new wave of wetness pool between your legs against your will.

“Don’t….talk about it,” you say through gritted teeth, closing your eyes in an attempt to center yourself.

“What? Don’t talk about my aching cock?” he asks, almost as a challenge. He’s frustrated now, egged on by your attitude.

“Stop it.”

“Are you about to tell me you aren’t wet right now?”

You turn your back on him in a childish and fruitless attempt at blocking out his words. When you don’t reply you hear his footsteps as he approaches from behind.

“If we’re both having the same reaction, and I’m certain we are, then I’d imagine you’re practically dripping right now.”

His words would have made your eyes cross if you didn’t have them shut so tightly. A hand molds around your hip while the other grasps at the side of your neck, both working in tandem to pull your back flush against his front. The impact, though gentle, knocks the wind out of you. Or whatever wind had been in you in the first place. His lips are at your ear then and you melt into his touch.

“If we take care of this together we’ll go back to normal.”

“…back to normal?” you ask, simply repeating and not really aware of your words.

“Exactly.”

“I…I don’t know.” Poe’s hardened length is pressing into your ass now, insistent and firm behind you. The hand on your hip migrates lower to pull you against him. A swivel of his hips causes your own to follow the momentum, gyrating in their own right.

“We can be quick,” Poe coos, his voice vibrating over your earlobe where his lips are making contact with your skin. Another low chuckle sounds. “Or I can take my time if you want. Either way, I can promise you’ll enjoy it.”

There’s your cocky Fly Boy.

You wrench yourself from his grasp and take a few steadying steps away before gaining the wherewithal to turn back and face him once more. He looks supremely disappointed, arms still outstretched in the place where you had just been.

“Does this really have to be a…team effort?” you ask, face screwed up with discomfort. Poe runs a hand through his hair and casts a distracted glance about your surroundings.

“I mean I guess theoretically one could take care of themselves – ”

“Great!” you cut him off and stalk around to the other side of his x-wing. Of course he’d brought you to his ship. You look around for your own but when you can’t find it you plop yourself down on the ground.

“Are you kriffing serious?” comes Poe’s angry voice behind you as he stomps over. “We could bang this out and feel better but you’re just going to – ”

“Oh ‘bang’ this out? Real nice, Dameron.”

“You know what I mean.” You can practically hear his eye roll.

“The other side,” you say simply, lowering the zipper on your flight suit. When you don’t hear the sound of his retreating footsteps, however, you pause. “Stay on the other side of the ship, Dameron.”

He grumbles but does as you say. When you finally hear the sound of him throwing himself to the ground, you lift the tab of your zipper again. However, the loud and sudden ziiiip indicating that he’s yanked open his own garment seems ring out then in the clearing and you’re inundated with mental images of what that must look like. Poe sprawled on the ground with his flight suit open and askew. You imagine the expanse of his chest, the way the muscle would ripple in the shadows of the jungle. You’d seen him without a shirt before, the arms of his flight suit tied at his waist as he reclined beneath his x-wing making repairs. Covered in sweat and grease. The memory and the subsequent lurid thoughts have you dipping your hand down into the small opening you’ve made in your clothes, not fully comfortable enough to expose yourself entirely to the elements. When you reach the place between your thighs you have to swallow the gasp that bursts forth at the realization that Poe had been right. You’re not just wet. You’re dripping.

“Fuck.”

You think you say it quietly but a chuckle from the other side of the ship proves otherwise.

“Need any help over there?”

You ignore him and try to focus in on your own body, closing your eyes. You allow a hand to ghost over your breast as you ease a finger through your folds. You feel the insistent thrumming of your pulse even down below and your breath is shallow in your chest. The images dancing behind your eyelids show you flashes, glimpses of things you try to banish from your mind. The angle of Poe’s jaw. His faint, ever present stubble. The arch of his eyebrow. The curve of his smirk. His ass in those pants.

“Sweets…”

Poe’s voice interrupts a whimper you hadn’t even realized you were releasing.

“Poe.” Your voice is small and it cracks around his name. Your muscles are contracting but nothing you do eases the sensation. It just continues building within you. “It hurts.”

“Just come over here. I don’t even have to touch you. Just let me help you through it.”

You ponder the darkness before you, the way it envelops the other aircrafts in this makeshift parking zone. You hear a shick shick shick behind you and your cunt aches. Completely in response to the siren call of Poe Dameron’s building pleasure. You’re immediately intensely jealous. Jealous of the way that, you assumed, he was having more luck getting himself off than you were, despite the fingers inside you right now. Jealous of the way his voice didn’t crack when he beckoned you over.

But most of all jealous of the fact that he’s the one currently touching his hard cock. Not you.

You will yourself to stand up, pulling your hand out of your flight suit but not bothering to zip it back up. On jelly legs you make your way to the other side of the ship. The far side, facing away from the town square and the distant glow of the party you’ve now forgotten.

As you round the edge of the x-wing you bite your lip at the sight before you. Poe is indeed sprawled out with his suit zipped all the way down. His thick member protrudes from the bottom of the opening, a fist moving up and down rapidly, pulling from root to flushed tip in skilled motions. However the eyes that gaze up at you from under his unruly mop of curly hair are not doused with pleasure and satisfaction as you’d imagined. Instead he looks pained, almost agonized. At the sight of you he sits up a bit and does his best to give you a reassuring smile though it comes out as more of a grimace.

“Fuck, you’re beautiful, rookie.”

“That’s the drink talking,” you dismiss, despite the way your stomach swoops as you move to settle yourself down next to him, careful not to make contact. “And you know I hate you calling me rookie.”

“I’ll call you anything you want, baby, as long as you start touching yourself.”

Your cunt pulses at his words so suddenly that you almost double over. Your breathing, already ragged, speeds up as you feel the overwhelming urge to have something deep inside you. Dropping your hand into the opening in your suit you halt, however, watching Poe warily in your peripheral vision. He catches you looking and reluctantly stills the hand moving on member.

“Would sitting back to back help?” he sighs. You nod, scrambling over so that your back is to his.

This is better. This is much better, you think as you dip your hand back between your legs and into the waiting slick. You drag a finger in tight circles over your clit and do your best to calm the racing thoughts that flit back to images of Poe’s body.

The body that is currently pressed to yours, though not at all in the manner you would prefer.

Poe grunts then, making you lose your rhythm.

“This isn’t the first time I’ve wanted you, you know.”

You cut your answering gasp off at the source, not daring to make a sound lest it interrupt this information that you desperately needed to here. He interprets your silence correctly and continues.

“I’ve thought about you. When I’m in the cockpit on my way to some distant planet. When not even hyper speed can get me there quick enough before thoughts of you creep in.” He almost sounds mad, but you get it. The emotions coursing through your body along with the hormones are driving you wild and you don’t know how to feel.

“What…what are the thoughts about?” you can’t help but ask.

“I’d love to say it’s your smile or your brains or something sweet like that. And I do think about those things too, don’t get me wrong,” he says on a hoarse chuckle. “But it’s mainly your body.”

You slip a third finger inside your cunt as he says this, his words and the feeling mixing to cause you to let out an unchecked moan. You feel Poe’s body shudder against you.

“Shit Sweets you’re killing me.” You feel him tense as his hand begins moving faster. “I think about how you look poured into that flight suit. The way your tits and ass jiggle when you hop into your x-wing – fuck.” Another shudder wracks through his body and you can’t take it anymore. The way you’re touching yourself isn’t the way you usually do it. Not in those rare moments where you’ve got the sleeping quarters to yourself and you’re able to get yourself off in your bunk to images of a chiseled jawline, a clothed bulge, rippling muscles, soft, curly hair…

You abruptly pitch yourself forward to balance yourself on your knees and one hand while the remaining hand redoubles its efforts between your legs. The shift in position ends your physical contact with Poe and he swivels to see.

“What are you – ”

“Don’t turn around,” you gasp out. Your new angle works in your favor as your swollen clit becomes more sensitive, pulled down by gravity so that every swipe of your finger becomes more potent. “But for the love of gods, don’t stop talking.”

Poe is taken aback by your sudden forwardness, but he doesn’t let it faze him for long. Instead you hear his renewed efforts at jerking off as the sound of skin swiping across skin, made smoother by spit and precum, gets louder behind you.

“What do you want me to talk about? How much I wish it was your tight little pussy I was fucking instead of my fist?”

The whimper you release at that statement is unlike any sound you’ve ever made and it only spurs Poe on.

“And I just know you’re tight. I know it. And wet too, just like I guessed you were. I can hear it, baby,” he practically growls and you become intensely away of the slick, creamy sounds coming from the rapid in and out, in and out rhythm of your fingers delving into your cunt. “You’re dripping, aren’t you?”

“Yes.” You close your eyes and hear his words and wish the fingers inside you were harder, thicker, him.

“You wish it was my cock inside you, I know you do. You don’t want to admit it but you wish I was pounding into you, making you feel good. Making the ache go away.”

Your answering whine confirms his beliefs and he lets out a triumphant grunt.

“Fuck, baby. I want it, too. Bury myself deep inside of you and fuck you till that drink wears off and you’re still screaming for me, that’s how good it would be.”

“Oh gods.”

“Tell me who you’re wet for.”

“Y-you.” It comes out small. You’re shocked that you even say it, especially with how much you’ve been fighting all of this. You want it. You want it in your bones and in your blood and in your tight, spasming cunt. But you also want Poe’s friendship. Want him to tousle your hair on the way to the hanger. Want him to keep sending you funny messages over your data pad, constantly trying to outdo your own silly riddles and jokes. Want to tease him and eat dinner with him in the mess hall and slap him when he says something stupid and yell at him when he does something dangerous and cry when he doesn’t come back on time from a mission…

A sob finds its way out of your body, sandwiched between two moans. You’re not sure Poe even heard it until his voice reaches your ears again, this time gentler.

“Sweets? Is this working for you?”

You take a shuddering breath before answering.

“No.”

You practically hear Poe slump in defeat, the rhythm of his hand on his length slowing down. You bite your lip before continuing.

“Take me, Poe.”

“What?” Poe whirls around so fast you feel the air woosh over you as he disturbs it. You jump to your feet, still facing away from him and yank your flight suit over your shoulders and down your body, stepping out so it pools on the ground. He watches as you get back down on your hands and knees before him in your underwear, ass in the air, waiting for him to catch up.

“I need you, Poe. Just…just please get inside me,” you say, reaching back to pull the damp fabric of your panties aside, exposing your glistening, swollen folds for him to see.

You don’t have to ask him a third time. He’s on you so fast that you’re confused by his motions. It takes a few seconds before you realize that he’s taken your discarded flight suit and stretched it out on the ground, positioning you over it so that your hands and knees are protected from the dirt. The sweetness of this considerate action is offset by the way his fingers dig harshly into your hips, maneuvering your ass so that it lines up with his pelvis. You tilt forward, aided by pressure on your lower back which raises your click cunt to the level of his cock.

“I’m going to make you feel so good – ”

“No more words, Dameron. Just shut up and get your cock inside – FUCK.” He spears you mid-sentence and you immediately fall down onto your elbows. Your ass still in the air, held in place by his hard grip, receives a smack and you cry out, feeling no pain. Only pleasure as the sting ripples through you and into your clenching cunt. He feels it deep inside you and groans.

“Maybe you’re the one who needs to shut up, baby.” His words issue forth from gritted teeth. “Always fucking teasing me with that fucking mouth.” His hips rut into yours, taking up an unforgiving pace, while the rest of his body folds over yours so his chest pressed flush to your back. One hand closes tightly around your chin, wrenching up your head and dragging a finger over your bottom lip which has grown plump from biting. “This beautiful, bossy fucking mouth. Always telling me off, telling me what to do.”

Your tongue darts out to meet his skin and his other fingers caress your chin in response. It’s a stark contrast to the almost feral way he is still clutching your hip and driving into you over and over.

There’s almost no resistance. You’re tight, cunt clutching onto his throbbing cock in an effort to keep him buried inside, but you’re wetter than you’ve ever been and it’s making his thrusts effortless. You assume it’s a side effect of the drink. But in some part of your brain you can’t believe that a plant could possibly make a man’s cock feel as good as Poe’s does right now inside you. How a plant could cause you to feel pleasure that is not simply rooted in the way his hand drags down from your jaw to wrench your breasts out of the cups of your bra. How a plant could in any way magnify the surely already intoxicating feeling of Poe’s mouth working at the side of your neck, the curve of your shoulder.

“This working, baby? This doing it?” Poe checks in then, not relenting in his thrusts. Never relenting. “You’re squeezing me, so I know your little pussy likes it.”

A shuddering gasp kicks through you before you can answer his question and he laughs. The vibrations go straight from his cock to your clit and you whimper some more.

“Your sounds. I want to record these little sounds you’re making and play them back when I’m flying. Have you fill the space in my x-wing till I can’t take it any more.” Poe presses a kiss to the back of your shoulder, nipping and then laving the skin over with his tongue. “I’m going to hear these sounds in my dreams.”

“It’s…just…the drink,” you practically hiccup, barely able to form thoughts from the way your body has focused all energy, all recognitions of nerve endings to the space between your thighs. Poe slaps your ass again and you keen.

“Just listen to yourself, baby. No drink is making you sound this hot. That’s all you, Sweets.”

Before you can argue further you do take a second to listen. To the way your shallow breaths mix with whimpers and whines. The gurgle in the back of your throat when his cock bounces against your cervix. He’s right. It is hot. You are hot. You reach a hand down to your clit, desperate to increase the already mind-blowing stimulation, greedy for more.

“You feel so good. You’re sosososogood,” you barely manage to slur. Despite your inability to fully speak you make the attempt because you assume that if hearing your gasps is egging him on, your words will amplify it. And amplify it they do. Poe’s hips stutter for a second before he drops down heavier on you, thrusting deeper and from a more primal place. A hand savagely kneads at one of your breasts, playing with the nipple.

“I’ve never been this full. I can’t take it, I can’t…”

“Seems like you’re taking it pretty well, baby,” Poe coos, pressing more kisses to the side of your neck.

“I need m-more,” you gasp, realizing with urgency that the pressure in your core is finally building past the plateau of the last…hour? Half an hour? How long had this been going on? All night? It doesn’t matter because Poe’s inside you and he’s listening to you and suddenly you’re being slammed into with all the force he can muster. He expertly wrings pleasure from your body and you feel yourself careening toward a release that you can’t describe. Just out of reach and full of all the potential energy inherent in an object rocketing toward the moon only to soon plummet back to the depths.

“Poe! I…I…oh fuck…oh gods…I…”

“Go on, baby. Cum.”

“You ha- ahhhh. But you…y-you…” You’re babbling. You’re incoherent, not wanting to leave him behind in the blinding ache that comes before release. Your hands are fisting in the flight suit below you, desperate for something solid, something substantial to hold onto.

“Don’t wait for me, Sweets. Let go.”

And then his hands are closing over yours, fingers interlacing and squeezing down, pinning you to the ground with white knuckles that would hurt if you weren’t squeezing him right back, finally grounded in the way you needed.

And you’re cumming.

And cumming.

You feel every muscle in your body seize and spasm and bliss roils out through you in waves. You shake and stutter under him, feeling fresh wetness gush down around his cock as he fucks you through the feeling. You keep waiting for it to stop but it doesn’t, it only intensifies. It must be a side effect. Of the drink not the man. But when you feel yourself transcending the moment, the way your soul feels like it is literally floating above you, you use the out of body experience to take in the man who is causing this pleasure. The way he cages you in, bracing you through the storm of your orgasm, giving more and more to keep the flame burning as long as possible.

His muscles ultimately seize sometime around when your soul seems to sink back into your body and you’re one again enough with your senses that you can feel him paint your walls with sticky, hot cum. He doesn’t drop his weight on you like other men have after the completion of such exertions. Other men who had focused more on the destination than the journey, leaving you as wanting for release as you were wanting for air under the pressure of their body weight. Instead, Poe pulls you of you and flops to his back in the grass beside you. Without him holding you up you crumble down, face pressing into the fabric of your rumpled flight suit instead of the dirt, thanks to Poe.

A few minutes pass, silent except for the sound of your slowing gasps for air. When your breathing evens Poe sits up on his haunches to guide you back into your flight suit. You’re sticky from sweat and your combined cum, but you couldn’t care less with your bones liquified and your eyelids heavy. Gone is the buzzing ache, in its place a heavy sleepiness. When Poe lays you, now clothed, gingerly back down on the ground you automatically curl into him, allowing him to wrap his arms around your body.

Neither of you shares another word. You don’t have to.

Because shortly after you doze off. And for the first time in a long time your final thoughts before sleep overtakes you are not of the dread the morning will bring, but the solace you found in the night.

~*~

When you wake it’s to a dawn as grey as all the ones before it. Hazy with receding fog and with the promise of all the danger that looms ahead in the hours soon to follow. One of the planet’s suns has already breached the horizon, and you raise a hand to cover your eyes as you peer out from under the x-wing’s protective wing. Looking down you take stock.

Your flight suit is on but fully unzipped, leaving your chest and stomach entirely exposed, all the way down to your lower belly. A large hand covers one of your breasts, fingers twitching against your flesh as the man attached to it continues to dream. You follow the length of his arm to take in his body, tucked close into your own, equally unzipped, his broad torso showing through the gaping fabric. You watch Poe’s abdominal muscles contract with his inhales and exhales for a moment while you check in with your body.

The humming from last night is gone, that much is for certain. This makes you believe that the effects of the drink have worn off. You’re quick to question this hypothesis, however, when Poe stirs in his sleep and his hand squeezes down a bit on your breast. Your breath catches in your throat and fire shoots through your veins. A lingering symptom, you wonder. Or perhaps just a normal, biological reaction to sexual stimuli. You kick yourself mentally because of course it has to be the latter. It couldn’t be the third option which you won’t even allow yourself to fully consider.

You require a shower urgently, it occurs to you suddenly. And food, a realization that coincides with a rumbling in your empty stomach. Knowing you’ll never have a good enough excuse to extricate yourself from this gorgeous man’s arms you steel your nerves and pull away. When you stand, Poe groans and allows an eye to crack open, his hand flying up to shield his eyes from the rising sun. You’re silhouetted against the dawn and he takes in your outline. The curves of you.

“Morning, Sweets,” he says, voice hoarse with sleep this time instead of sex.

“Morning, Fly Boy,” you reply simply with a small smile. You feel a buzzing in the pocket of your suit then and pull out your mini com unit, even more portable than your usual data pad. The message that blares across the screen and you relay it before Poe can reach his own device which had similarly vibrated.

“We’ve got a new mission. Briefing is in an hour and then we take off.” The information feels stilted as it leaves your lips. How can you feel so entirely, earth-shatteringly changed and yet in many ways everything is still the same. The sun still came up. The war still rages on.

You look down at Poe and his intense expression as he watches you makes you think that he’s wondering the same thing.

Your heart thumps in your chest, this time unaided by any drugged drink or the eyes or hands of a man whose existence seemed both your making and undoing. Routine is the only thing that can calm these nerves. Routine is what is required to survive war. Routine and protocol and boundaries.

You zip up your flight suit with finality.

“See you at the briefing?” you ask, though its more statement than question.

“Of course.” Poe’s response is quiet as he continues to watch you from his reclining position. You’re still above him and at a distance, a position he often associates with you.

You smile and give him a good natured salute before turning and making you way back toward the town where you know the rest of the Resistance members are already bustling about and preparing for the day.

Another day you hope you, and Poe, will be lucky enough to outlive.

~*~

Doing a smaller taglist since it’s a Poe fic and I’m not sure if everyone on my usual taglist is into it (Please let me know if you’d like to be added or removed for future work!): @paper-n-ashes @mariesackler @tlcwrites @foxilayde @mylifeisactuallyamess @sacklerscumrag @jynzandtonic @millenialcatlady @barbers-glimmerin-darlin @hopeamarsu @direnightshade @leather-flannel-liquor @fizzywoohoo @aliveandlonely @wayward-rose @safarigirlsp @emeraldsiren20 @finn-ray-nal-beads @maryforyou @maybe-your-left

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little-smartass · 3 years

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THE VAMPIRE LESTAT COVER ALBUM - the legendary Vampire Lestat is back and bigger and badder than ever, this time bringing a whole album of song covers ranging from classic bangers to newer fresh takes on chart hits! get your copy now, complete with a transcript of the artist's commentary on each song!

(songs I think Lestat would cover and release as an album in an attempt to re-kickstart his career and/or make some sort of dramatic statement to Louis. tracklist and "artist commentary" under the cut)

Survival - Muse

“And I’ll reveal my strength, to the whole human race, yes I am prepared, to stay alive, and I won’t forgive, and vengeance is mine, and I won’t give in, because I choose to thrive! Yeah I’m gonna win!”

Oh, I wish this song had been around back on that opening night at the Cow Palace - how apt that would have been! What a fucking anthem! They would have been rioting all night. I mean, they already were, but, like, because of the music. Not because vampires were being immolated in the middle of the crowd. Different kind of riot.

The Bitch Is Back - Elton John

“I’m a bitch, I’m a bitch, oh the bitch is back, stone cold sober as a matter of fact, I can bitch, I can bitch, ‘cause I’m better than you, it’s the way that I move, the things that I do!”

One day I want to have this play as I walk into Night Island. I’ll time it perfectly so that I throw off my coat - my denim jacket, or- oh, no, a fur! Maximum drama! - just as the chorus starts. Armand will know that I’m coming of course, but I think that’ll just make it even better. And I have good memories to this song... [muffled question] Sorry, gentlemen don’t kiss and tell, bébé. [laughter]

Everybody Loves Me - OneRepublic

"Oh my, feels just like I don’t try, look so good I might die, all I know is everybody loves me, head down, swaying to my own sound, flashes in my face now, all I know is everybody loves me”

Look, do I even need to explain this one? Didn’t think so.

Bad Reputation - Joan Jett

"I don't give a damn ‘bout my reputation, I've never been afraid of any deviation, and I don't really care if you think I'm strange, I ain't gonna change - and I'm never gonna care bout my bad reputation"

This one's fairly self-explanatory again. It could have been my personal anthem when I was mortal quite honestly. And it's an awful lot of fun to jump about and headbang to, don't you think? That's a new thing I've found out about, headbanging. People have been hopping about to music looking like fools for centuries but now there's a name for it. Fantastic.

bad guy - Billie Eilish

"I’m that bad type, make your mama sad time, make your girlfriend mad type, might seduce your dad time… I’m the bad guy. Duh.”

Creepy? Check. Sexy? Check. Tongue-in-cheek? Check check. This song was great and a lot of fun to cover.

Lover to Lover - Florence + the Machine

“I believe there’s no salvation for me now, no space among the clouds, and I feel I’m heading down, but that’s alright, that’s alright, that’s alright”

I don’t know, this one just felt very relevant. Also the piano was great to do. You might have noticed that I’ve picked a lot of songs with piano, and that’s because I bullied the studio into getting me a goooooorgeous grand piano for the recording space and I wanted to use it as much as possible!

Feeling Good - Muse

“Stars when you shine, you know how I feel, scent of the pine, you know how I feel, oh freedom is mine, and I know how I feel”

I just really like this song - I’ve done a cover of an excellent cover! Can- can you put emojis in this? Do people still use emojis? Well imagine I’ve put the shrug one. Wait, isn’t there- Daniel, Daniel, come here, isn’t there a shrug emoji made up of keyboard- [muffled words] yes! The shrug one! Yes, put that in the transcription. [ ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ ] I just like this song.

The Man - The Killers

“I got gas in the tank, I got money in the bank, I got news for you baby, you're looking at the man, I got skin in the game, I got a household name, I got news for you baby, you're looking at the man”

I feel like this one speaks for itself too. Can you put that shrug emoji thing in here again? [ ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ ] Yes!

J'ai Pas Envie - MIKA

J'ai pas envie, de faire comme si, comme les maris, qui disent oui, j'ai pas envie, j'ai pas envie, j'ai pas envie d'te faire plaisir, j'ai pas envie, j'ai pas envie, si tu m'aimes viens me le dire"

Look, I'm not going to translate the whole song for you, because it has all this clever wordplay you just totally lose in english… but the gist of it is that these two lovers are… at odds a lot. It's… it's maybe a little spiteful [laughter] but in a fun way! It's a fun song! Louis won't even be mad about it, it's MIKA.

Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy - Queen

"When I'm not with you, think of you always (I miss those long hot summer nights), when I'm not with you, think of me always, always"

[Long pause] God, I miss Freddie.

Let 'Em Talk - Kesha

Ah, full disclosure - I put this song in purely because of the expression Louis made when I played it in the car and it got to the line “can suck my dick” and she did that popping noise… it was incredible, and I just knew I had to cover it so I could see his expression when I said that. I can’t wait to play it to him. [laughter]

So What - P!nk

"So so what, I'm still a rockstar, I got my rock moves, and I don't need you, and guess what? I'm having more fun, and now that we're done, I'm gonna show you tonight, I'm alright, I'm just fine, (and you're a tool, so)"

I'm actually a big fan of nineties and noughties female stars - all that grrrrrrrl power, it's great fun, you know? I'd say this one is fairly self-explanatory, because I am still a rockstar! This is my new album! Fuck you EMP and your sniffy little article calling me "washed up"!

Little Lion Man - Mumford & Sons

"But it was not your fault but mine, and it was your heart on the line, I really fucked it up this time, didn't I my dear?"

This one could be self-deprecating, but it's also very vindictively angry at the same time, and that's a combination I definitely get. Like, oh, it's my fault, isn't it? It's my fucking fault again, what a surprise. Perhaps "learn from your mother or you'll spend your days biting your own neck" is a little on the nose… [muffled words] you've read my books, right? [muffled words] Good, good.

Missy - The Airbourne Toxic Event

"But I swear there's still some good in me, I think if you'd stuck around you'd see, all the botched attempts at integrity I once had"

Oh, I was feeling philosophical when I picked this one. No, philosophical isn't the right word… melancholy? Do people still use that word? "I swear I swear I swear I'll never get sad" is both furiously defiant and yet so self-defeatingly ironic. [Exasperated noise] Enough of that. Next!

Please Don't Leave Me - P!nk

"I don't know if I can yell any louder, how many times have I kicked you out of here, or said something insulting? I can be so mean when I wanna be, I am capable of nearly anything, when my heart is broken… (please, please don't leave me)"

Oh, we’re… we’re getting to this section now. [clearing throat] Well, I have to make up for that sucking dick line, don’t I? Get a bit vulnerable. Oh God, why did I decide to do this bit? [muffled words] [bad chicago accent] But why buy the cow? Because you love him, you really do. [sigh, laughter]

Next To Me - Imagine Dragons

"Oh, I always let you down, shattered on the ground, still I find you there, next to me, and oh, the stupid things I do, I'm far from good it's true, still I find you, next to me"

Why did I- I don’t remember putting so many of these ones in.

Run To You - Pentatonix

"I've been settling scores, I've been fighting so long, but I've lost your war, and our kingdom is gone... how shall I win back your heart which was mine? I have broken bones and tattered clothes, I've run out of time"

[Sigh] [clears throat] Yeah. I think we can move onto the next one.

Love of My Life - Queen

“Love of my life, don't leave me, you've stolen my love, you now desert me, love of my life, can't you see? Bring it back, bring it back, don't take it away from me, because you don't know, what it means to me”

I play this one sometimes on my baby grand when we've had a fight, and it's impossible for him to stay angry. He's a sucker for this sort of… formality in romance. God, I wish I'd realised that earlier. If I'd written him a letter in fancy copperplate script with scented paper and enclosed rose petals politely requesting him to bend me over his desk back in the day, it might not have taken two centuries of mutual blue balls for us to figure our shit out. Ah well, live and learn… as it were. [muffled words] Look, I did a whole bunch of vulnerable songs! Now I get to make sex jokes! [laughter] oh fuck off.

#Lestat de lioncourt #loustat #vampire chronicles #dead disasters #my mixes

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writing-by-candlelight · 3 years

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Hargreeves Mansion Layout: Third Floor & Fire Escapes

I’m so sorry that its been so long! My dog ate my charging cable and all my pics were on my laptop :(

Anyway. See parts 1 & 2 for 1st and 2nd floors! Part 4 (basement) coming soon!

The third floor of the Hargreeves mansion is my favorite, and also the one we see the least. So here we go!

Here’s my overview of both parts of the house with the courtyard in the middle.

But lets go into more detail. Starting with the half of the house for ‘normal’ life.

So the only rooms we really see of this floor are Five’s room and the small section of the attic I’ve marked. We know that there’s more to the attic since we see it through the archway (why its separated I have no clue) but that’s all we’re shown. We never enter it. We also see from the high up shots that there is a sort of rooftop terrace and such, this is most likely on a floor above the third floor but as I have no idea what to do with all that extra room, I’ve decided that it makes more sense for it to be all on one level.

Lets start with Five’s room.

Fives room is the one we see the most on this floor. Its weirdly bigger than the others by a good bit. Only Klaus’ room is equal in size or bigger but that’s because it used to be 2 rooms.

We don’t know if Five has always written his math on the walls like a mad man, or if it was a learned apocalypse behavior since it was unlikely paper could survive the fiery blast. I can see him doing it when he was young, just like Klaus did in his room when he scribbled what the ghosts were saying in black marker on his walls.

Five’s room is untouched from when he disappeared, and its sort of childish for the old man we know him to be. Which is sad to me.

This is the only view we get of the 3rd floor hallway. In my layout I’ve moved the stairs since the way they had them doesn’t make sense (please film in one location this is very frustrating). For me the stairs come up horizontally between the two rooms since they turn halfway up, even though I did mark the whole hallway as the stairs on my drawing like an idiot.

Fun fact (and something I only noticed upon rewatch): In the flashback scene with the mission alarm, the stairs are on the left, and their across from a few of the children’s rooms. This makes sense with where the stairs are in the above shot (the right wall). But in the sequence where we actually see Vanya walk through the house and up to Five’s room, the stairs are in a semicircular room with several doors and on the opposite wall, which doesn’t work with the house in any way.

The door on the left of the hall is obviously Five’s room since we enter it so much, but we never see what’s in the room on the right. I must assume it’s Bens room since it doesn’t make sense for it to be anywhere else. This is either a crazy coincidence, or a hint to Reginald’s Monocle being able to see the future like in the comics. Because what sequence of events could ever lead to the two children who die/dissapear to share a whole floor alone and separate from the rest?

Anyway.

This is the other room we see on this floor, the Attic. We only see it three times. In the above scene with Allison, when Klaus gets tied up to get sober, and when Luther is staring at the moon.

The door on the left is the one out into the hall, and the archway is the only view we get into the rest of the attic. If you squint you can see a door in that part of the attic, I think that this is the greenhouse entrance, but more on that later.

Outside of the Attic is a small balcony type section that is, from context clues, a fire escape landing.

I think the only way this makes sense as a functional fire escape, especially on the third floor, is if there are stairs going downward on the left side. This also makes sense with the location of Five’s bedroom window and its fire escape a few feet to the left.

Looking at the show and rewatching season one episode three - where Five climbs down the fire escape - this is what I came up with:

Sorry that its messy, its just a quick sketch I did, unlike the other pictures.

So in the scene we see Five crawl out of his window, go down a staircase, turn left, walk across the landing in front of Diego’s window, and climb down a ladder.

Looking at my layout of the first two floors, the room that Five passes, and Ben is sitting in front of, is Diego’s room. And that’s where I’ve placed the staircase (that’s what the diagonal lines are - stairs). I’ve done the same for the attic since that’s the only way it works. I have one long landing for the second floor, and while I don’t think that’s how fire escapes work, I’m keeping it. Then there’s ladders down to the bottom on both sides for equal escape opportunities, and then there’s windows for Grace’s rooms.

Oh, and Klaus’ dumpster.

You can ignore the diagonal lines around the top two windows, that’s just me signifying where the roof is. And I wrote down and crossed out Vanya’s name on purpose since it used to be her room.

Fun fact: if Five is crossing passed Diego’s window... And Ben is sitting in front of Diego’s window... And we look at the size of the landing... Five is walking through Ben.

Maybe not a fun fact in hindsight.

Moving on.

The rest of this floor is a rooftop terrace area.

There are two entrances to the roof.

The first is the one we see in the show. Its the greenhouse entrance we see in the scene where Allison and Luther get caught in the fort. I’m assuming that the room we see beyond Hargreeves is the attic, so I’ve drawn it as such. We can see from the above picture that there is cobblestone around the greenhouse, so I’ve added a door out from the greenhouse into the courtyard.

The second entrance is one I added since I didn’t think that the only entrance should be through a greenhouse. I’ve added a small striped box in the attic, which signifies a small staircase of 3 steps or so to the roof.

Also here on the roof is an observatory and a small open air courtyard through an archway with a gazebo (or what kind of looks like one).

Behind the Gazebo, in the front of the house, is what looks to be another room but I had no idea what to put there. Any thoughts?

Moving on to the training half of the house.

This should go faster since its all headcanon. Please ignore the paint stains and the dotted lines, those are only for me to see the 3 sections of the house where walls have been knocked down.

So the blue striped box is still the staircase from the race scene flashback that goes through this entire section of the house. Through the doors to the left is (finally) the library. In my mind there are no shelves against any wall besides the top one. and both side walls are made entirely of glass with shelves in the middle of the room. I forgot to draw in the bathroom door but its right next to the library one, no door to the bathroom inside the library.

Then on the bottom, through the library, there is a hallway giving access to 3 rooms. One is Hargreeves’ lab, for experiments and the like. Then there is his invention lab, for machines and creating training devices. Then there is his file room. Its large since he seems to be immortal until killed or injured severely enough. And it had records of all his purchases, inventions, alias’, diaries, notes, and the academy records from being bought. Mothers names, places of origin, price, and such. Then to the right we have the Memorabilia Hall. This is where Hargreeves kept all the souvenirs from the supervillain level villains. Things like laser guns, alien tech, robots, bio weapons, etc etc etc.

Then there’s the Helipad and bridge to the other half of the house. This is the only other entrance besides the ground floor one. You may have noticed that I did not add a door to the Helipad. This was on purpose. Wherever in the house the children may be, they would need to run to the locker room to change and then run upstairs to the Helipad. I feel Hargreeves wouldn’t like them going up there for no reason so that’s why you would have to go through the whole house to reach it. Inconvenient. But probably extra training in his mind.

That’s it! I’ll be back with part 4! The Basement!

#The Umbrella Academy #luther hargreeves #allison hargreeves #diego hargreeves #klaus hargreeves #five hargreeves #ben hargreeves #vanya hargreeves #reginald hargreeves

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i-did · 3 years

Note

Ur view on raven!Andrew was rlly interesting! Do u think theres any way for an au like that to end, not happily necessarily, but with everyone not dead cuz Andrew tried to/succeeded in killing Riko/the others and the mafia just decided 'fuck it' and killed them all?

Sober-Andrew is very calculated and manic-Andrew as more erratic against his will. The ravens would definitely get him off his meds early, maybe Kevin even tried to offer it as a bribe to get him to join, especially because it hinders his playing.

But Andrew knew the ravens were intense and cared about exy, while Andrew doesn’t (sort of). Playing exy requires effort, effort Andrew didn't have in him, and only agreed to sort of try with the foxes because of his deal with Aaron and how Wymack offered full rides to Aaron and Nicky too.

It would take a lot for Andrew to join the ravens in my opinion, Andrew is really smart, and it's an open secret just how almost all ravens fail professionally, unable to cope with the trauma and be team players. Most ravens don’t even make it off the bench– especially strikers. “Everyone thinks they’re the exception, not the rule”

Andrew definitely would look into them, suspicious on a team that can offer as much as it can and has the results it does. If Andrew were to go in as raven, it would be with the worst in mind, as he goes into most in life.

I think it could go down pretty Tarantino tho, some real no country for old men* or reservoir dogs type shit. I don't think Andrew would just go on a mass killing spree and call it a day, especially because if he were to do killing, he’s aware of the possible consequences and willing to take them. He didn't stab Tilda, he crashed the car, willing to die in the process. If he made a deal with one of the ravens, maybe Kevin or Jean, in a self-destructive manner he might kill Riko point-blank, and take whatever comes as both a way to hold up his end of the deal as well as get out of the nest. But I can also see him threatening Riko the first time Riko ever tries to put his hands on Andrew, manipulate him in any way, and Andrew just says fuck that “touch me again and ill cut your fingers off” and then follows through with his threat.

Andrew can take Riko in a fight. Riko is a few inches taller, but he's also a striker and likely lean and fast, Andrew is a goalie and is both wide and fast, and doesn't rely on others to hold someone down like Riko does. Andrew is a threat on his own, Riko uses psychology and years of abuse and manipulation and money and his followers. Purely physical? Andrew would win no doubt. Purely a mental game? Andrew would also win since Riko gets frustrated and lashes out, makes mistakes and Andrew could catch those. Andrew also doesn’t care about himself which is unfortunately an element that would make him have more advantage over Riko. He has self-preservation and self-destruction, he doesn't allow himself to care about things so Riko would struggle to manipulate him. I believe Riko would have his go-to tactics and would pick up on what Andrews secret soft spots are as well though, like he does in canon.

Honestly, this ask is so interesting because it's just the tip of the iceberg in so many ways this can all go down. My mind unfortunately doesn't have instinctual first responses, but instead many many follow-up questions. When reading this I think about what caused Andrew to join in the first place and why and how his relationship with Nicky and Aaron would be and if Neil is there and what type of person he would be, etc.

Most scenarios are not happy ones tbh. I think it’s possible Andrew refuses to play consistently enough that gets him benched from the first line up, but because his raw talent when he does try might be impressive enough or better than the current go-to goalie, they try to force obedience into him.

The ravens are fueled by desires to be the best and personal gain, and Andrew just doesn't have that. Whatever would go down in a raven Andrew au, it would definitely bloody and complicated and sad and fucked, but not necessarily massacre style. More like a 3D chess game of manipulation and fine detailed planning and well-timed actions and violence.

Andrew is smart, but on his own I honestly don’t know what he could do against Riko. Andrew is also definitely a planner who would look at this like a giant puzzle, and he does his best to do everything rationally. I believe Andrew thinks of himself as a rational thinker, but he's actually pretty emotional in his instincts, hit first ask questions later, I do not like this I will not let this happen again, etc etc. this could definitely be a weakness of his against Riko as well, Andrew overestimating himself, believing he doesn't care about anything when Andrew still does care about his personal safety and personal boundaries, as well as caring about his cousin and brother even if they don't understand that. I can imagine Andrew having a plan and because of others it unravels horribly wrong for everyone.

Anyways this wasn’t really an answer, but basically I can see hundreds of ways this could all play out. Andrew is honestly smarter than me, which means ill never be able to write this, but in my mind this au is like those graphs of an invent that splits off and each event splits off into other events. There are ways where Andrew survives, and ways Riko does, but not many–if any–where they both do.

*yes I know this movie is by Choen and also based on a book. Point still stands.

Also, I'm v dizzy rn so if this is nonsense lol sry I tried

#andrew minyard #riko moriyama #the nest #all for the game #aftg #the ravens #raven!andrew #ask #mailob #abuse tw

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astrognossienne · 3 years

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tragic star: keith moon

“If you don't like it, you can fuck off!” - last words of Keith Moon

This one was a long time coming, but frankly, it took me a while to get interested enough in the subject to actually do this analysis, let alone finish it. At any rate, Keith Moon, like most of the drummers from the rock ‘n’ roll period that we still read about today, led a self-destructive lifestyle. A close friend of his once said the drummer was “like a train ride you couldn’t stop.” Not only was his drumming chaotic – so was his life. According to some, he was at his core a kind and generous soul, but to others, he was lost, lonely soul, and terribly immature throughout his adult life. Perhaps it was the sudden success, upon joining the rock band The Who, when he was only 18 (although plenty of others of the same era were as young, or younger, and survived just fine), but Keith was so eager to please and make everyone laugh that he eventually became the “Moon the Loon” character that he was portrayed as in the media. It got to the point where he wasn't sure who he really was. A true Leo, he made a circus out of everything and he wouldn't walk into any room and just listen. He was an attention seeker and he had to have it. He used amphetamines, tranquilizers, drank way too much alcohol, destroyed hotel rooms and friends’ homes, threw TVs into swimming pools, set fires, and the list goes on. He was ultimately unable to outrun or outlast his demons; whether it was the wife and child he drove away, the friend and chauffeur he accidentally killed in early 1970...whatever else haunted him, it ultimately caught up with him just as he was finally trying to improve his life. Friends were well-acquainted with the many sides to Moon’s strange personality; one minute he was insulting, exaggerating, joking – the next minute he’s a wide-eyed, innocent-looking drummer boy. The public Keith Moon was The Who’s manic drummer and hellraising, daredevil comedian; a man who only ever lived in the moment. However, the real Keith Moon was a son, a brother, a father and a deeply insecure man. A man of extremes, his was a complete shitshow of a life.

Keith Moon, according to astrotheme, was a Leo sun and Cancer moon (the moon is speculative). Moon was born to working class parents in Wembley, London, England. He was a hyperactive child by nature and a mediocre student at school. His art teacher said in a report: "Retarded artistically. Idiotic in other respects". His music teacher wrote that Moon "has great ability, but must guard against a tendency to show off." At the age of 12, he had joined the Sea Cadet Corp and was given his first musical instrument, the bugle. He left school by 15 and was in his first band, The Beachcombers. While performing with the Beachcombers, he used to attend concerts of a band called The Detours. At that time The Detours were planning to sign a deal with Fontana Records and for this deal, this band required a new drummer. The Detours changed their name to The Who in 1964. When Moon learned about the band’s need for a new drummer, he approached them for an audition. After the audition, he became their new drummer, and performed with The Who for the first time in 1962.

From the moment he joined, musically the band was complete, although adding his already volatile personality to those of the other three equally headstrong members meant that the early years of the Who's career were fraught with drama and violence, despite their almost immediate success. Much of the tension came from the fact that Keith readily joined in on popping pills with guitarist Pete Townshend and bassist John Entwistle, while lead singer Roger Daltrey (with whom Keith was never particularly close) didn't. After sacking Roger for two weeks in mid-1965, he was reinstated, band relations improved, and the Who continued to release a string of successful singles and albums before a downturn in their fortunes in 1968. However, the release of the album Tommy in 1969 turned them into international megastars overnight and from that moment until the day Keith died, they would remain one of the top rock bands in the world. Running concurrently with the Who's rise to stardom in the 1960s was Keith's relationship with his wife Kim. She first met Keith in 1965 when he was 19 and she 15, and while they fell in love rather quickly, he exhibited twin streaks of jealousy and insecurity and Moon was occasionally violent towards Kim. While his mental issues, which would now be readily (and correctly) diagnosed as a combination of ADHD and BPD, reared their ugly heads on innumerable occasions, Keith's true personality shone through enough that Kim stayed with him; she decided to marry him when she became pregnant within a year of dating, and they got married in 1966. Their daughter Amanda was born on 12 July. In those days, there was a belief that married rockstars with kids weren’t as appealing to their mostly female fans, and the marriage (and child) were kept secret from the press until May 1968. He loved his daughter, but his absences due to touring and fondness for practical jokes made their relationship uneasy when she was very young. "He had no idea how to be a father", Kim said. "He was too much of a child himself."

The chaotic sixties would not hold a candle to what the new decade had in store for him, however. Shortly after New Year’s in 1970, Moon accidentally killed his friend, driver and bodyguard, Neil Boland, outside the Red Lion pub in Hatfield, Hertfordshire. Pub patrons had begun to attack his Bentley; Moon, drunk, began driving to escape them. During the fracas, he hit Boland. After an investigation, the coroner ruled Boland's death an accident; Moon, having been charged with a number of offences, received an absolute discharge. Those close to Moon said that he was haunted by Boland's death for the rest of his life. Moon had nightmares about the incident and said he had no right to be alive. Also, compounding this tragedy, was the fragile state of Moon’s marriage. Even after marriage and his daughter being born, he was still jealous, self-centered, and abusive to his wife Kim, both verbally and physically. His mental state also deteriorated as his appetite for all manner of pills escalated and he exploded into a full-blown alcoholic. Even after separating for a year, Kim returned to him, hoping that he had finally changed, but the insane lifestyle Keith kept up at their house became too much. Kim and Amanda (nicknamed “Mandy”) finally left for good in 1973. Since his marriage was a central part of Keith's life, their divorce would come to affect him perhaps more than any other event in his adult life and it was a devastation Keith would never recover from. While most people would use an event like this as the impetus to clean up their act, Keith used it instead as an excuse to drive himself further into oblivion.

Moon's lifestyle began to undermine not only his health but his career. During the 1973 Quadrophenia tour, at the Who's debut US date, Moon ingested a mixture of tranquilizers and brandy. During the concert, Moon passed out on his drum kit during the song "Won't Get Fooled Again." The band stopped playing, and a group of roadies carried Moon offstage. After he was given a shower and an injection of cortisone, he was sent back onstage. Moon passed out again during "Magic Bus," and was again removed from the stage. The band continued without him for several songs before Pete Townshend asked, "Can anyone play the drums? – I mean somebody good?" A fan in the audience, who happened to be a drummer, came up and played the rest of the show. During the opening date of the band's March 1976 US tour at the Boston Garden, Moon passed out again over his drum kit after two numbers and the show was rescheduled. By the mid-1970s Keith was living in Los Angeles and getting up to even more insanity with John Lennon, Ringo Starr, Harry Nilsson, and other stars. Even a new love in his life, Swedish model Annette Walter-Lax, couldn't get him to slow down and take control. There were even stints in psychiatric wards after some mental breakdowns brought on by his despair at losing Kim and his daughter and his drinking. His alcohol and drug abuse was now not only affecting his health (he put on a significant amount of weight at this time due to infrequent gigging) but sadly, his drumming. In 1978 soon after he recorded Who Are You, his final album with The Who, depressed by the deterioration of his drumming and threats from the rest of the Who to clean up his act or else, that he finally decided to get some help. By the summer of 1978, he seemed to be trying to get his life in order, staying sober and solidifying his relationship with Annette. He was terrified to go into rehab or under psychiatric evaluation, however, and instead self-medicated with Heminevrin, a drug used for treating acute withdrawal from alcohol. However, he took too many on his final night and sadly died on September 7, 1978 at the age of 32.

Over forty years after his death, it's still difficult to think of Keith Moon as anything more than just a hard-drinking insane rock star who would smash his drum set on stage or destroy a hotel room. But regardless of the human being behind the drumkit, the legendary drummer should be remembered as the man who forever changed the sound of rock 'n' roll.

Next, I’ll go back to my beloved star analyses by covering a personal favourite of mine; a force of nature and an unsung pioneer of cinema whose death was ridiculously sensationalized and whose colourful life was almost as wild as Moon’s: Cancer Lupe Vélez

Stats

birthdate: August 23, 1946*

*note*: due to the absence of a birth time, this analysis will be even more speculative.

major planets:

Sun: Leo

Moon: Cancer

Rising: unknown

Mercury: Leo

Venus: Libra

Mars: Libra

Midheaven: unknown

Jupiter: Libra

Saturn: Leo

Uranus: Gemini

Neptune: Libra

Pluto: Leo

Overall personality snapshot: He may sometimes have wanted a safe, simple life where he felt emotionally contained and able to pursue his own creative interests. Then, however, the compulsion to strive for a more central, leading role reared its challenging head, and he knew he had it in him – so out into the spotlight he went. So immense was his creative energy as well as his warm feeling for others that he could become both the artistic home-maker and the home-loving artist/writer/entrepreneur. His personality was large and welcoming, colourful and theatrical because he had such an uncanny knack of dramatizing his vivid impressions and selling himself in the most genuine, heartfelt way. Both the paternal and the maternal urge was strong in him. He needed to use his will to project and establish your identity in the world, and to use his instincts to nurture and protect his emotional and material security. The Sun and the Moon are in their ‘home’ signs here, so that potentially he had the creative vision of Apollo and the lunar wisdom of Diana all rolled into one. This could make him pretty overpowering at times, and indeed he needed a partner and a family on whom he could lavish his emotions. His bearing was often aristocratic, sometimes haughty, oversensitive and self-absorbed, but he always seemed to have enough affection to go around so that no one felt left out. He also managed to remain approachable and compassionate because he was so aware of his own vulnerability and need to be loved. Thus he made a warm and understanding friend, and he enjoyed expressing his feelings with original flair and thoughtfulness.

He was protective, possessive and clannish, a stalwart member of his family, group and nation, and utterly devoted to his ideals. Deeply honourable and dependable, he brought an attitude of devotion and romantic style to all he did. He may have actually had a good head for business because he possessed an instinctive knowledge of security needs as well as a shrewd understanding of people, their desires, fears and foibles. His refined taste for comfort and beauty was part of the impetus for success – he knew his own mind and did not easily budge from his preferences and high standards. Aesthetic sensitivity was strong, and combined with his innate tenacity and quiet ambition means that he was quite successful in the arts. Even though he readily turned a bright face to the world, he did not always feel confident and strong. He had a lively sense of individuality, but his potency was sometimes too dependent on emotional familiarity, and the range of his self-expression too circumscribed within repetitive emotional patterns. Inwardly he shied away from encounters with the big, bad world, and early in life he may have needed to find ways of handling challenges that normally push the panic button. This wouldn’t have been hard for him because his creative drive was tremendous and his individuality needed recognition.

He was ambitious, sound at giving orders, carried responsibility well and was a good teacher, especially able to bring out the best in children. He believed in herself and generally knew the right thing to say at the right time, although he could show a stubborn and dogmatic side. He had a high opinion of his mental powers, and it was certainly true to say that he had plenty of mental energy. He was quite sociable and expected other people to behave well at all times. He was eager for close personal relationships, so he tended to have a wide circle of friends. Self-indulgence was a problem for him, as was laziness and conceit in relationships. He tended to be impatient with superficial details, preferring large-scale situations, and he disliked being tied down by obligations over which he had little control. Conservatism may have affected his creativity, artistic values and love affairs. This expressed itself as self-imposed restrictions or as selfishness. He often felt inadequate, which created an insidious form of oppression over all his forms of expression. He could also take herself so seriously, that people think that he was older than his years.

He was part of a generation that was strongly interested in humanitarian ideals, new avenues of communication and progress in mechanical skills. As a member of this generation, he was able to bring original ideas to both his career and spare-time interests. Crises in thought and ideology arose because he looked beyond tradition and old attitudes towards new original and inventive ways of looking at things. His active mind tended to need constant stimulation and his tastes could be quite fickle and difficult to satisfy. He belonged to a time of peace-loving idealism when the family unit and the way relationships were managed underwent great changes. He could be too idealistic and a little unrealistic when it came to matters of love, sex and romance. As a member of this generation, he tended to need to be motivated to make the most of his potential, because the line of least resistance appeared very attractive, especially when it involved pleasure-seeking. He embodied the Libra Neptune generation in the sense that he was a huge part of a time when beauty reappeared in fashion. He was part of a generation which was highlighted by the clash between authoritarianism and individualism. As a member of the Leo Plutonian generation, he wanted freedom in his relationships and demanded the loyalty of his friends as a right. As a member of this generation, he wanted power over his own life and was prepared to challenge established structures. He didn’t feel comfortable being dictated to, unless he in some way agreed to it beforehand. He was a part of excesses of the sixties. He was part of a generation that brought about a revolution in forms of entertainment, recreational activities and leisure time, as well as attitudes towards children.

Love/sex life: He was a lover so in love with the idea of love that nothing else matters. At times his whole-hearted idealism made him too optimistic and too easily deceived by people who promised to fulfill his ideals and then renege but, as delicate and unworldly as his romantic fantasy may seem, it was remarkably durable. Though he may have been misused and hurt, he never lost his faith in the power of true love. Issues of the flesh were always secondary to him and he was apt not to give them much thought. If such urges must be satisfied, then so be it. If sex proved useful in reaching other goals, that was fine too. As long as sex did not intrude on his ideal of perfect love such physical inconveniences hardly mattered. Unfortunately, most of the rest of the world did not agree with him on this point and, measured by their standards, his sexual behaviour may have seemed immoral or at least strangely naïve. He needed to learn to allow for such harsh realities even as he strove to create that grand idyll of perfect love.

minor asteroids and points:

North Node: Gemini

Lilith: Capricorn

Juno: Libra

Chiron: Libra

Vesta: Aries

Ceres: Aquarius

Pallas: Sagittarius

His North Node in Gemini dictated that he needed to prevent his idealism from influencing his thoughts to such a high degree. He needed to consciously develop a more clear-minded and analytical approach involving his thought processes. His Lilith in Capricorn dictated that he was dangerously attracted to women who had a scrappy plucky attitude hot-wired into their psyche. Against his better judgment, he liked to be around a woman who needed to be in control and to be mistress of her own destiny, because her life was in the control of not-so-well-meaning others as a child. Juno in Libra, he sought a mate who was harmonious, artistic, musical and intelligent. He liked beauty and balance at home. He believed in equal partnerships where all lived up to the letter of the law. Chiron in Libra, he often felt wounded in relationships and could wound others in retaliation. He may have felt he was constantly hurt or rejected in relationships. Through learning that he was whole on his own, he could have freed himself from this destructive pattern. He would have benefited from a partner that could have helped him heal in some way. Vesta in Aries, he was incline to initiate work for religious and humanitarian projects. Action came from a desire to improve every situation. There was a great deal of insecurity in self-evaluation. Ceres in Aquarius, at his best, he had tact and the ability to compromise, making him well liked by all. Pallas in Sagittarius, he had the ability to evaluate true personal worth enabling him to use his resources in the most advantageous ways. Other people may think he was lucky. Ideally speaking, he could have been generally positive instead of being wasteful, and he could have been confident and reliable. Nonetheless, he still used his ideas in a practical way, especially in his career.

elemental dominance:

air

fire

He was communicative, quick and mentally agile, and he liked to stir things up. He was likely a havoc-seeker on some level. He was oriented more toward thinking than feeling. He carried information and the seeds of ideas. Out of balance, he lived in his head and could be insensitive to the feelings of others. But at his best, he helped others form connections in all spheres of their daily lives. He was dynamic and passionate, with strong leadership ability. He generated enormous warmth and vibrancy. He was exciting to be around, because he was genuinely enthusiastic and usually friendly. However, he could either be harnessed into helpful energy or flame up and cause destruction. Confident and opinionated, he was fond of declarative statements such as “I will do this” or “It’s this way.” When out of control—usually because he was bored, or hadn’t been acknowledged—he was bossy, demanding, and even tyrannical. But at his best, his confidence and vision inspired others to conquer new territory in the world, in society, and in themselves.

modality dominance:

cardinal

He was happiest when he was doing anything new, and he loved to begin new ventures. He enjoyed the challenge of claiming territory. He tended to be an initiator—and a bit territorial as well. Also, he had a tendency to start more things than she could possibly finish.

planet dominants:

Moon

Sun

Venus

He was defined by his inner world; by his emotional reactions to situations, how emotions flowed through him, motivating and compelling him—or limiting him and holding him back. He held great capacity to become a part of the whole rather than attempting to master the parts. He wanted to become whatever it was that he sought. He had vitality and creativity, as well as a strong ego and was authoritarian and powerful. He likely had strong leadership qualities, he definitely knew who he was, and he had tremendous will. He met challenges and believed in expanding his life. He was romantic, attractive and valued beauty, had an artistic instinct, and was sociable. He had an easy ability to create close personal relationships, for better or worse, and to form business partnerships.

sign dominants:

Leo

Libra

Cancer

He loved being the center of attention and often surrounded himself with admirers. He had an innate dramatic sense, and life was definitely his stage. His flamboyance and personal magnetism extended to every facet of his life. He wanted to succeed and make an impact in every situation. At his best, he was optimistic, honorable, loyal, and ambitious. He loved beauty in all its guises—art, literature, classical music, opera, mathematics, and the human body. He usually was a team player who enjoyed debate but not argument. He was, at his best, an excellent strategist and a master at the power of suggestion. Even though he was likely a courteous, amiable person, he was definitely not a pushover. He tried to use diplomacy and intelligence to get what he wanted. At first meeting, he seemed enigmatic, elusive. He needed roots, a place or even a state of mind that he could call his own. He needed a safe harbor, a refuge in which to retreat for solitude. He was generally gentle and kind, unless he was hurt. Then he could become vindictive and sharp-spoken. He was affectionate, passionate, and even possessive at times. He was intuitive and was perhaps even psychic. Experience flowed through him emotionally. He was often moody and always changeable; his interests and social circles shifted constantly. He was emotion distilled into its purest form.

Read more about him under the cut.

Keith John Moon was an English drummer who played with the English rock band the Who. He was noted for his unique style and his eccentric, often self-destructive behaviour. His drumming continues to be praised by critics and musicians. He was posthumously inducted into the Modern Drummer Hall of Fame in 1982, becoming only the second rock drummer to be chosen, and in 2011, Moon was voted the second-greatest drummer in history by a Rolling Stone readers' poll. Moon grew up in Alperton, a suburb of Wembley, in Middlesex, and took up the drums during the early 1960s. After playing with a local band, the Beachcombers, he joined the Who in 1964 before they recorded their first single. Moon remained with the band during their rise to fame, and was quickly recognised for his drumming style, which emphasised tom-toms, cymbal crashes, and drum fills. He occasionally collaborated with other musicians and later appeared in films, but considered playing in the Who his primary occupation and remained a member of the band until his death. In addition to his talent as a drummer, however, Moon developed a reputation for smashing his kit on stage and destroying hotel rooms on tour. He was fascinated by blowing up toilets with cherry bombs or dynamite, and by destroying television sets. Moon enjoyed touring and socialising, and was bored and restless when the Who were inactive. His 21st birthday party in Flint, Michigan, has been cited as a notorious example of decadent behaviour by rock groups. Moon suffered a number of setbacks during the 1970s, most notably the accidental death of chauffeur Neil Boland and the breakdown of his marriage. He became addicted to alcohol, particularly brandy and champagne, and acquired a reputation for decadence and dark humour; his nickname was "Moon the Loon." After moving to Los Angeles with personal assistant Peter "Dougal" Butler during the mid-1970s, Moon recorded his only solo album, the poorly received Two Sides of the Moon. While touring with the Who, on several occasions he passed out on stage and was hospitalised. By their final tour with him in 1976, and particularly during production of The Kids Are Alright and Who Are You, the drummer's deterioration was evident. Moon moved back to London in 1978, dying in September of that year from an overdose of Heminevrin, a drug intended to treat or prevent symptoms of alcohol withdrawal. (x)

#keith moon #leo #tragic stars #long ass post #star analyses #astrology #mine

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collecting-stories · 4 years

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The Beach Day - ep. 02 - JJ Maybank

Summary: It’s the second day of s’week and your group decides to hit up the beach. Issues before and after put a damper on the vacation but the events of the day might just bring you and JJ closer together.

The S’week Masterlist | Outer Banks Masterlist

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“Beach day bitches!” JJ shouted, footsteps thudding down the steps as he entered the kitchen. Sarah was slumped over the island, scrolling mindlessly through her instagram feed while you sat across from her on your computer. 

“How’re you not hung over?” Sarah asked, turning just enough to glare at her boyfriend’s best friend. 

“Cause I didn’t drink my body weight in four locos?” JJ shrugged.

“You say as you down a natty for breakfast,” you mentioned, watching him stand in the doorway of the refrigerator as he drank. 

Sarah and John B had joined you on the beach the night before where Sarah had gotten absolutely cooked because she ‘couldn’t deal with JJ’ while she was sober. While the three of you split a case of Pabst, Sarah had accumulated as many blue four locos as she could find and proceeded to drink until John B had to carry her back to your house. 

“I need a shower and like three more hours of sleep before I even think about the beach.” Sarah mentioned, coming back around to JJ’s original idea. 

“Is the point of s’week not to go to the beach?” 

“And I will JJ, when I’m not practically dead. I came down here for some ginger ale, sorry I’m not standing at the door ready to go.” Sarah snapped, sitting up enough to glare at JJ. 

“You guys are super fun to vacation with clearly,” you cut in, closing your laptop, “I have to go to the market before we hit the beach so...do you wanna come JJ?” 

You figured the best plan of action you could possibly have for this vacation, especially after yesterday, was to keep JJ and Sarah away from each other. If they could survive five days without murdering each other in the house it would only be because they didn’t spend any time together sober. Which seemed fine with both of them. 

Sarah got off the island stool, taking her phone and leaving the half empty can of ginger ale as she went back upstairs to find her boyfriend. Possibly to take the shower she claimed she needed but probably just to wake up John B and complain about JJ’s attitude all over again. 

“Morning,” Pope passed Sarah on the stairs, coming into the kitchen and grabbing a water bottle, “what’s with her?”

“Hang over,” you replied, “If you and Kie want to wait to go to the beach, I’m just running to the market with JJ and then we can all go?” 

“Yeah sure,” Pope nodded in agreement as you excused yourself to get changed. When you were out of the kitchen Pope turned his attention to JJ, who was rummaging through cabinets for something to eat. “I thought you ‘didn’t want to spend senior week with a bunch of fucking kooks’?” 

JJ paused in his search, looking back over his shoulder at Pope, schooling his expression into one of indifference. “Keep your enemies close Pope.” He replied, “and if they wanna buy you some free food then fucking let ‘em.” 

“You know, she does seem nice.” Pope reasoned. He knew his friend well enough to pick up on tells. JJ could pretend like he wasn’t as easily swayed by a cute girl but truth of the matter was that he was looking for the same thing John B and Pope had seemed to obtain. Someone in their lives a little closer than a friend. 

“Don’t try to make it something it’s not.” JJ replied, grabbing a bag of Frozen themed graham crackers and shutting the cabinet. 

You came down the stairs at the same moment, changed into different clothes to go out. “Okay, I’m ready.” 

JJ sat with his feet up on the dash, black scuffed boots leaving dirty prints on the glove compartment of your ‘88 land cruiser. He fiddled with his phone the whole time, switching between playlists as you drove. You’d given him the aux cord willingly, knowing that Kiara has good taste in music from the years at the academy with her and assuming her friends were the same way. 

“This car isn’t very kook of you,” JJ mentioned as he plugged his phone in, noting the old tape deck adapter that the cord plugged into. 

“I think you’re obsessed with that word.” You replied. 

“What? Kook?” 

“Yeah...is it possible for you to not say it for the next four and a half days?” You asked, looking over at him briefly as you stopped at a red light. 

“Of course it is.” 

“Okay, it’s a bet then.” 

“What do I get if I win?” He asked switching to another song when one he didn’t care for came on. 

“You can decide when you win.” You replied, “also, to ease your concern for my car, my dad’s not really into all that ‘kook’ shit. My grandparents are, hence the keys house but my dad tries not to flash his money.” 

“I’ve never met a k-never met anybody on the Eight that doesn’t.” JJ replied. 

“Well I think it was established yesterday that we should get to know each other more.” 

The Winn-Dixie you took him to was a little further away than necessary but it was your favorite, a little less updated, it reminded you of coming down in the summers as a kid. 

JJ was out of the car the second you pulled into a spot, grinning as he looked toward the entrance. There in the front of the store, between the set of sliding glass doors, was a mechanical horse that looked straight out of the 80’s. “I’m getting on that before we leave.” 

“I think you’ll break it.”

“I think you’ll break it.” He snarked back and you couldn’t help but laugh as you followed him inside. 

“Hey!” 

You turned in the frozen food aisle when you heard someone call your name. Kelce waved as he walked over, pushing a half-cart of food. 

“Hey, Kelce.” You greeted, shouldering the door to the Ben and Jerry’s display. “How’s the rental?”

“Pretty sweet. Heard you got Sarah and her friends at your place?” He replied, gaze shifting passed you as he spotted JJ at the top of the aisle. “Scarlett saw you two at the party last night. She told Rafe.”

You looked back as the blond approached, smiling at him before turning back to Kelce, “Scarlett can tell Rafe whatever the fuck she wants. I don’t really care. My life is none of his business.”

JJ came up beside you, missing the entirety of the conversation, putting an arm over your shoulder for the sake of Kelce, while he dropped some orange juice in the cart. Kelce looked both of you over, an expression of annoyance and contempt marring his features. He wasn’t a big fan of Rafe but he would defend a fellow kook, especially a friend of Topper’s, over you any day. You flew under the radar when you hung out with them, and they tolerated you because your family had more money than most, but you were far from the typical kook.

“I better get going.” Kelce finally said, shifting his cart to walk passed you, “make sure you check all your silverware before they leave.”

Before he could pass you completely JJ’s hand grabbed the end of his cart and he stepped in front of Kelce. “What’d you say?”

“I swear to god, if you two make a scene right now-” You groaned, annoyed as it was that Kelce had brought up your ex-boyfriend or the fact that they were in creeping distance of your house. And now he was being an asshole to JJ.

“Hey, I’m just stating a fact.” Kelce said, grinning, “you got sticky fingers just like your old man-”

JJ shoved Kelce’s cart back, pushing it into him stepping closer. You grabbed JJ’s arm to stop him from doing any more damage. You didn’t honestly know anything about his family life or him other than what you were learning as you went along but what Kelce said had clearly struck a cord. JJ looked back at you, jaw tense but eyes softer than they had been when he was looking at Kelce.

“It isn’t worth it, don’t let Kelce being a douche ruin the day.” You said, glancing over at the kook in the aisle. “Let’s just go.”

“Fine. Lets go.” JJ grabbed the handles of your cart and twisted it around, heading back the way he had first come down.

“Hey, in the future try to keep your dog leashed.” Kelce commented.

“What the fuck did you just say?” JJ shouted, leaving the cart and coming back down the aisle. You darted in front of him, putting your hands on his chest to stop him from completely plowing passed you and pounding on Kelce in the middle of the Winn Dixie.

“You heard me, fucking pogue.”

“I swear to god, say one more thing and I’ll fucking rip your throat out!” JJ threatened though he kept his anger in check enough that he didn’t push you.

“Hey, no!” You snapped before turning back to where Kelce was still standing, looking smug, “Kelce, fucking leave.”

“See you guys around.”

“Like hell!” JJ shouted after him. Once Kelce was far enough away JJ backed away from you and ran his hands through his hair, trying to calm himself down. “I fucking hate those guys, I swear to god, they’re all fucking douches!”

“I’m not arguing with you JJ, I’m just saying it’s not worth it to push them, especially not in the middle of a fucking grocery store.” You sighed. “Lets just go okay...we can head back and go to the beach.”

“I gotta cool down...” JJ said, trailing off. He still felt like he wanted to punch something and Kelce was well gone by now.

You stepped over to the refrigerator door closest to him and opened it, jokingly swishing it back and forth like you were fanning him. “Does this help?”

“I hate you.”

The rest of the grocery trip went without a hitch, JJ falling back into a more easy-going persona as he walked the length of the Winn-Dixie with you. Without quarters neither of you got the opportunity to ride the mechanical horse though you promised to come back later in the week with him. When you got back from the store Sarah was already on the back patio, beach bag ready to go.

“They almost left without us.” Kiara mentioned as she helped you unload the car.

“Why am I not surprised?” You loved Sarah but she was single minded and currently, for the last few years, the object of her attention had been John B. It was fine when he wasn’t around but now her main focus was him and spending senior week with him and sunbathing.

Able to wait long enough for you to come home from the grocery store but not long enough for you to actually unload the groceries, Sarah and John B headed down to the beach while you were still getting changed into your bathing suit. With them gone it just left you, JJ, Kiara, and Pope to head down the beach together though you didn’t mind.

Even though it was senior week the beach wasn’t too crowded, the four of you setting up a little closer to the water. Pope helped Kiara with the umbrella while you set up the blankets, watching JJ pull his shirt off and kick off his sandals.

“Do you have sunscreen on?”

“JJ never wears sunscreen.” Pope said, looking over at his best friend.

“You should be down here. The sun is more intense down here.”

“That’s the stupidest thing I've ever heard.” JJ replied, putting his sunglasses back on.

“Are you kidding me?” You asked, looking up at him like he was crazy. You knew from passed experience that the sun in Florida was a nightmare and could only imagine his pale skin burning in the summer sun.

“You should put sunscreen on Jay, seriously.” Kiara said, offering him hers.

“Nope.” He shook his head and you rolled your eyes at him.

“Don’t come crying to me when you burn.”

You and Kiara headed down to the water almost as soon as everything was set up. As you neared the edge of the water JJ ran up behind you, grabbing you around the waist and lifting you into the air. You screamed in surprise, Kiara and Pope laughing as JJ carried you into the ocean and threw you into the water. When you surfaced, you jumped him, wrapping your arms around his neck and your legs around his waist and sending him falling back into the current.

“Guys!” Kiara shouted when JJ accidentally backed into her trying to grab you again when you ran away from him.

“Sorry!” You laughed, running behind Pope and holding him in front of you.

“No! I’m not getting in this!” Pope said though he was laughing as he tried to move away from you.

“Get over here!” JJ reached for you, just missing and falling into the water. While he was under, he grabbed your ankle, dragging you under as he surfaced. You screamed again as you fell into the water, coming up and sputtering saltwater as you tried to catch your breath.

“JJ!” Kiara smacked his arm as she swam over to you, rubbing your back as you shook your head.

“I’m okay, I’m okay.” You swore, voice hoarse. When you looked up from the water your eyes met JJ’s and you smiled, splashing water toward him.

You stayed close to JJ throughout the afternoon, offering him sunscreen a few more times though he continued to claim that he ‘didn’t burn’ and that he was perfectly fine in the sun. When he and Pope went further out to jump waves you headed back up the beach with Kiara to sunbathe.

“I don’t think you should go,” you said, standing in the door of the bathroom as JJ stood in front of the mirror, inspecting the harsh red burn that covered the entirety of his back and shoulders and part of his arms. You had been right about the sun in Florida and he had learned that the hard way.

“I’ll be fine.” JJ replied though he sounded a little apprehensive. “All I need is some aloe and I’m good as new.”

“Okay,” you bit your lip, knowing that it was a bad idea to let him go to the party but also knowing that there was no way he was going to listen to you. He hadn’t listened to you in the market and he definitely hadn’t listened to you about putting on sunscreen so there was no reason for him to listen now.

The party was down the street from your grandparents' house and you cut through the beach to get there, carrying your shoes as you walked beside JJ. You knew his back was bothering him by the way he kept twitching but you said nothing. The party the night before had been nothing compared to this one which was clear as you walked into the house.

“Finally, a good fucking party.” JJ announced, scoping out the place.

“He says on the second night of the entire week.” Pope commented, rolling his eyes.

Kiara pulled him off to dance while John B and JJ went to find refreshments. Sarah stayed by you, hovering a little too close, and you frowned as you began to catch on to her motive. “I don’t even know if they’re here.”

“If my brother and Topper heard that there was a party anywhere near their place and didn’t decide that they definitely had to come? Yeah, I’m sure they’re having a quiet night in playing scrabble.”

“I didn’t mean they wouldn’t be here I just meant I’m perfectly capable of dealing with your brother Sarah.”

“Except every time you see him you’re so cringe it’s unbearable.”

“I am not!”

“How many times have you gotten back together with him? Because the second he even looks your way you totally turn to jello and do whatever he wants.” Sarah pointed out.

You crossed your arms over your chest, looking around the party and suddenly feeling like you wanted nothing more than to leave. “Look, it’s over. For real this time. I don’t want anything to do with him and I’m not just saying that.”

“Good, I hope not. JJ and I don’t always get along but he’s John B’s best friend and I don’t wanna see him get hurt or anything.” Sarah commented.

“What are you even talking about Sarah? JJ and I are barely friends. Just because we hung out today doesn’t mean we won’t go back to our usual kook v pogue shit when we get back to North Carolina.” You replied, “I’m getting a drink.”

You pushed through the crowd to the kitchen, grabbing a seltzer and heading down the hall for somewhere quiet. Sarah had sucked the party right out of you and honestly all you wanted to do was walk home and forget the whole night had even begun. You knew she was right, you had fallen back into Rafe’s charm more times than you could count but this time you swore things were going to be different. They had to be. You couldn’t keep putting yourself in that situation. And speak of the devil, you had just grabbed the doorknob on the bathroom when you heard the familiar voice call your name.

You turned around to see Rafe standing there in the hallway, beer in hand and grin on his face. “Topper and Kelce said you were down here...I was starting to think they were seeing things.”

“Did it occur to you that I didn’t want to see you?” You asked, turning your face away from him and looking back down the hall.

“Oh come on, you’re not still mad about your grad party are you?” He asked, stepping closer to you.

“Am I still mad that you showed up to my graduation party high off your ass and embarrassed me in front of my entire family. And then on top of that I had to catch you with my cousin?” You said, holding your ground. You hadn’t been lying to Sarah when you said that the last time was the last time you were doing this.

“Babe-”

“Don’t babe me Rafe, I made it perfectly clear I wanted nothing to do with any of you. Why are you even here? Aren’t you a little old to be hanging out on senior week.”

You watched the tic of his jaw as it tensed, “I came to see you and convince you to give me another shot babe. What happened was a mistake.”

“You sound like Topper, desperate and pathetic.”

Before you could get away Rafe grabbed your wrist pulling you closer to him. “I won’t give up.” He said, leaning forward and kissing you while you were trapped between him and the wall. He reeked of alcohol and you pushed at him, trying to shove him away from you. He wouldn’t let up, hands holding your wrists and pushing you harder against the wall.

“Rafe!” Someone shouted and his concentration broke long enough for you to push him away and duck into the bathroom. You shut the door behind you and locked it, leaning your head against the wood and taking a deep breath. Trying to steady your heart beat as the sound of the bass from the music thumped gently in rhythm with the pounding.

You heard the familiar gag of someone about to throw up and turned just in time to see JJ throw his head almost into the toilet bowl as he vomited. His whole body seemed to convulse and as he fell back against the tub you realized he was sweating.

“JJ!”

He groaned but said nothing to you, leaning forward into his lap. You came over, kneeling onto the ground beside him and carefully reaching for the hem of his shirt. “Can I take this off?” You asked, “I want to get some aloe on your back to cool you down.”

“I’m not even drunk, what the fuck.” He groaned, letting you take the cut-off shirt off of him. You got up and grabbed some aloe from the cabinet before coming back and sitting between him and the bathtub. He leaned closer to the toilet, waiting to throw up again.

“I think you have sun poisoning Jay,” you said, watching him shiver as the first of the aloe hit his shoulders and neck. “I’m sorry.”

“Tally this as another fucking terrible part of the trip.”

“When you’re feeling up to it, can we try walking back to mine? You might be more comfortable there, where there isn’t a massive party happening.” You reasoned.

He nodded. There was a long pause as you worked aloe into his back, cooling him down significantly, before he finally spoke up again, “are you okay? Why’d you come in the bathroom?”

“Saw someone I didn’t wanna see.”

“Kelce?” He joked. A second later he was kneeling up on his knees so that he could throw up into the toilet and you were holding his hips to steady him as he leaned over the toilet.

“It’s okay.” You comforted when you realized the quiet noises, he was making were whimpers from the feeling the vomiting was causing. “You’re gonna be okay.” When he fell back onto his butt again you rubbed his back carefully, adding a little more aloe. “We need to get you some water too, sun poisoning can dehydrate you.”

As you took care of JJ any thoughts of Rafe where pushed to the back of your mind. You knew it was only the second night and you had the rest of the week to survive, and he was was nothing if not persistent, but you couldn’t worry about what he wanted or what he would do when JJ was taking up all your attention. Not for the same reason he had on the beach today but still, you didn’t mind focusing on him for a while.

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Family Matters | Chapter 5: Emily's Intervention

Hello people of tumblr!!

I hope all of you had an excellent New Year's! I got so trashed that it lasted until yesterday 🤣 I guess that makes sense considering how horrible 2020 was.

Anyway, I hope all of you had a great time and that 2021 becomes a good year for you all. Because I will be spending a lot of time with family until the 11th of this month, I have decided that I will take January to write as many chapters as possible and I will return to posting in February!

Also, I have posted the story on Wattpad, and I will be updating simultaneously.

With all that said, I hope you all enjoy chapter 5 of Family Matters 🎉🎉

Warnings: Swearing, sexual references, violence and murder references, public embarrassment, and very bad jokes!

Word Count: 3.2k

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Tag list: @mcntsee @lets-be-gay-for-the-angel @evelyncade @haylaansmi @paulaern @myfandomlife-blog

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(This gif is not mine)

Chapter 5: Emily’s Intervention

The importance of the following couple of days is the only reason our story will address them. Understanding the events that occurred is vital for the upcoming chapters that our favorite agents will face.

The following questions needed an answer:

What did Emily and Spencer talk about?

Why was Spencer so upset?

And perhaps, the most important, why was Emily at Spencer's apartment with Hunger Games Pajamas?

Well, let us do a quick rewind before we move on to the consequences of the visit of Tyler Hemingway and the answers to the questions above.

Emily opened the door to his room, a very surprised Derek and Spencer observed her. She didn't say a word until she was right in front of the two men, taking a few seconds to observe their reactions, making sure it was known she didn't come in a friendly mood.

"You, out." She said to the dark-skinned man, with no emotion, and a serious face as she pointed to the door.

"Excuse me? Emily this is my room, I don't know what-"

"I said, get out." Her tone was deadly, "now." She didn't raise her voice, but the message was clear.

"I am leaving, but it is definitely not because I am scared of you, it's simply because I have an appointment with a cup of coffee." He stood and walked towards the door, careful to avoid any close contact with her.

"Yeah, let's go." The brunette said, standing up and walking towards the door, only to be stopped by the woman.

"You, sit."

"I am sitting." He returned to the edge of his bed, "and it is definitely because you terrify me."

"Derek, if I find out you're spying on this conversation..."

"It's not like I want to know." He said quickly looking at the doctor one last time, with pity clear in his eyes and he rushed out the door making sure to close it behind him.

The man left in the room gulped before speaking again. "Am I going to die?"

"Not if you listen to me." She sat at the edge of Morgan's bed and her demeanor changed. She seemed more relaxed and even excited. That shift alone had the man planning for ways to run out the door without falling victim to Emily Prentiss. "Now, Spencie-"

"Please don't call me that."

"Fine, Baby genius." She smiled at him, in a slightly more terrifying manner than her demeanor when she arrived. "We need to talk about the situation that occurred during our drive to the hospital."

"What is there to talk about?"

"Can you explain to me, honey, why you are upset with our friend?"

"Please don't call me honey, it's somehow worse than Spencie."

"Answer. My. Question."

"I already told you guys, I'm upset that she's letting this guy walk all over her."

"See, I can't believe that, because you stated that part of the reason for your anger was that you still came after this Tyler character, so please tell me, what's that about?"

"She left me behind, remember? She didn't pick me up." He said as he played with his hands. Jumping out the window wasn't sounding so bad, even if they were on the third floor. If he calculated correctly, he could probably survive it.

"And that's all?" He nodded, and she sighed, clearly frustrated. "Let me try a different approach."

"I'm scared." He mumbled.

"Spencer Reid," she began, that smile still on her lips. "Is there anything you don't like about her?"

"Yeah, I mean, for once, she sleeps on the right side of the bed, which is my side, so when I had to sleep in the same bed as her I had to sleep on the left side! The left side Emily!"

"Did she ask you for that?"

"No, of course not. I just kind of did it."

"Okay, what else don't you like?"

"That she's so naive, she believes people always have good intentions, and she's always getting hurt because she doesn't understand that not everyone comes from an honest and good place. I mean she's a profiler and yet she falls for the same tricks over and over again. But that also means she's really empathetic, and nice which I guess is not a down falling but a virtue, so I guess I can't really say I don't like that of her."

"Interesting." Emily's smile turned more genuine. "Now, what are some of the things you like about her."

"I mean, she's a great friend, a reliable agent, and she's so funny. She has similar interests to me, and whenever we hang out there is nothing we can't talk about." A smile appeared on his face as the memories of their time together became clear in his mind. "She has this bright energy around her, and it simply pulls you towards her, I also love her clumsiness, it makes her, well her. I love when she laughs, and I love being around her, and there are these times where she'll rest her head on my shoulders or she'll accidentally brush her hand on mine and I get this feeling, that I have never-" He stopped, looking straight at Emily as he reached the same conclusion as her. "Oh."

"Yeah."

"I like her. Like really like her, don't I?"

"Yes, you do." Emily hugged him, "I am so glad you finally came to terms with it." She let go of him and grabbed him by the shoulders. "Now, what are you gonna do about it?"

"Nothing."

"WHAT?"

"I mean, she obviously doesn't feel the same, and even if she did, you know the rules. I wouldn't want to make her transfer, nor do I want to transfer."

"Spencer, you are seriously going to let the love of your life walk away simply because of your job?"

"I never said she was the love of my life." Emily rolled her eyes, "besides, we're really good friends, and I don't want to ruin that."

"Ugh, you are so dumb for a genius." He wanted to object, but she continued. "This is what we are going to do, you can take the rest of the week, to think about her, and if you two are worth the trouble. Once this case is over, I will go to your apartment and we will discuss the next steps over some glasses of wine. Those are more for me than for you because I'm gonna need a lot of patience." He furrowed his eyebrows but she didn't even register it. "Now, because of your little scene from earlier, you have some space, so use this to your advantage. Make me proud son."

"No, no. Please never call me son again. That was very disturbing."

"Well, then do the right thing." She walked out of the room, and he sat there, wishing Emily had never made him realize how he felt.

Now, ignoring her was torture, because all he could think of was her lips on his, or their hands intertwined, her laughing at something he said as they ate dinner, or watching a movie as they cuddled on her sofa. This was bad, it was a bad thing that was happening right now.

She was his friend, and even then, he still thought she had feelings for her ex-boyfriend. It was a disaster.

"So, what's your conclusion?"

That was the first thing Emily said when he opened the door. She was wearing black pajamas with the Mockingjay symbol from The Hunger Games, her hair was in a ponytail and she had a big reusable grocery bag on her shoulder that seemed full of something he couldn't quite make out, at least until he heard the glass clink and reached a pretty solid conclusion of what was in the bag.

"I need new friends."

She seemed unfazed by his comment and simply moved past him towards his living room. "No, no, please come in. I insist." He mumbled as he closed the door. "What are you doing here?"

"I told you, we need to make a game plan, but we need to hurry, we don't have much time before she arrives."

"Did you invite her?"

"No, but she's on her dinner with Tyler, and if he's as horrible as I think he is, she'll be here in about an hour or so, after realizing he just wanted to have sex with her."

She pulled a wine bottle out of her bag and roomed through his drawers to grab a wine glass and opened the bottle. "I would offer you, but I need you sober tonight."

"That just sounds so wrong."

"Don't worry about it, Doctor. Now, have you thought about your options?"

"I already told you Emily, our friendship and our jobs are not worth risking for some feelings that will most likely fade away."

"Why are smart people so dumb?" She asked no one in particular.

"First of all, that's offensive. Second, we don't know if she feels the same way, and third of all, in the extreme and highly unlikely case in which she did, the probability of us working out would be almost null."

"Spencer, I love you. I really do, but you need to learn how to read social cues. I am almost one-hundred percent sure she likes you, you've both liked each other for longer than you think, and I get it, your jobs are important, but when you decide to leave, what's gonna be waiting for you?"

He remained silent for a couple of minutes taking in her words. She stared at him, as she sipped more and more wine.

"I don't do, relationships really well. What if I lose her and then it all becomes worse?"

"What if you lose her because you're scared to 'do' relationships?"

"I hate it when you're right."

"Now, let's see, how should you tell her? We should make it a grand gesture, but we need to keep it between us." She opened the second bottle as she spoke. "Oh, I'm gonna have to be a third wheel for a really long time, but I guess I can deal with that." She kept drinking. "I am totally gonna officiate the wedding. Also, I think you need to do it soon, maybe when she comes to tell you you were right?"

"Emily, let's calm down for a minute."

"Can we watch Dance Moms?"

"No, I don't even know what that is, but it sounds awful."

"It's so good. The kids are so talented." She sighed, as if somehow proud of said kids. "Anyway, going back to your love life." She began once again and he simply tried to not scream.

A drunk Prentiss continued to increase the level of alcohol in her system while simultaneously rambling about the beautiful life they would have together. He hadn't said a word in what seemed to be an hour, but that didn't stop her, she kept speaking of possible destination weddings and how she needed to be the godparent of one of their kids, even if JJ and she had to share because she knew that JJ was Spencer's best friend before any of them had even joined. She also expressed that she had shipped the two of them, but decided against it once JJ had found Will and they had children.

"I told her I was definitely the best friend." She smiled, as the third bottle came empty. Her rambling had returned to Spencer's current crush. "And I am an amazing wing woman. I got Spencer Reid to accept his love."

"I did not say I was in love. I like her, but love is a strong word." He tried to take the bottle from her but she was fast, even under the influence. "You've been talking for almost an hour, and drinking that in record time. I'm a little concerned for you."

"I've just been trying to pass the time."

"Time for what?"

"For the show to begin." She wiggled her eyebrows, as she drank the last bit of wine left. "I'm gonna have to go get more."

"How about we talk about my feelings instead?" That was the last thing he wanted to do, granted it was also the thing she had been doing for the last hour, but if Emily got any more wasted, they were gonna have a problem tomorrow.

She smiled, but before she could try and convince him to propose, there was a knock at the door. "Right on time!" She whispered.

"What?"

"Just go open the door."

He walked towards the door and opened it slightly, only enough to make his figure known. He was so perplexed to see her standing on the other side that he forgot for a moment he was supposedly still upset with her. Though the fact that Prentiss had been right and she was at his door was making the air get caught in his lungs. Nonetheless, he maintained a neutral expression, waiting for her to speak.

"I came to tell you that you were right. He just wanted to get in pants." He stayed silent, simply observing her. She was upset, and he wasn't sure if it was because of the fact that he was right or because of something Tyler had said. "I actually thought he wanted to apologize, and I think part of me just wanted to believe that for the first time I was not being used, that people actually cared about what I felt."

"There are people that care about you, they are just not the wants you wanted to." He tried not to sound defensive but it seemed impossible. He cared about her, Emily cared about her, the whole team and her mom, even her cousin Nicole cared about her. He wanted her to see that, and maybe for it to be enough one day.

"No, they are! I thought I needed the people who wronged me to fix it, to show me that I was worth the trouble when in reality all I needed was for me to understand that I was. And I just needed a reminder that the people that care about me are the ones that should matter the most." A trace of a smile formed on his lips. He was included, at least he hoped he was, because what a wonderful life that would be. "I am so sorry about how I acted, and I am sorry I left you here waiting for me. Spencer Reid, you are my best friend and you come before any other jerk out there. I need you to know that this time in which I didn't have you with me was miserable. I missed you so much I spent the whole dinner with Tyler talking about you."

"You did?" He seemed genuinely surprised. Emily had predicted this too, and the meaning behind it. He wished he could control his emotions and not read too much into it, but the seed had been planted and now all he could think of is how to tell her he liked her. He was ready to say it, but thankfully he waited for her to finish.

"Yeah, I did. I missed you, and I hope we never fight again, I don't know what I would do without your friendship."

"I missed you too." She bit her lip, and he smiled, though he'd be lying if he said that her seeing him only as a friend was didn't hurt. Here he was, wishing to tell her that he wanted to be more than friends and she had inadvertently stopped him in his tracks. Instead of mopping and wishing to vanish, he decided that her friendship was better than anything else, and he couldn't lose that. He would get over here and she wouldn't even have to know about it. "Wanna come in and watch TV?" He asked, already taking his plan into action.

"I would love that." She smiled, Spencer was about to open the door and let her in when Emily spoke once more.

"That's good to hear, I am trying to get Spence here to watch Dance Moms with me but he refuses, maybe if there is two of us, he'll change his mind." She frowned, clearly confused by the presence of another voice, he opened the door to the view of a very drunk Emily in pajamas. Her frown softened and she smiled again, seemingly relieved to see her. "May I say, you look hot. Blue suits you."

"So I've been told." She gave him a knowing look and he couldn't help the beat his heart skipped. This feeling was going to kill him one of these days.

"Are you sure you can handle being in that close all night though? Maybe Spencer can lend you one of his shirts." She said, winking at them. He tried not to look completely horrified by the implication that comment had due to the fact that the girl next to him had no idea it was there, but with Emily staring at him as she was, it had become a difficult task.

"Has she been drinking?"

"It's her third bottle of wine."

"We need to cut her off."

"Yeah, we do." He smiled at her, "She's right though, if you want to borrow something more comfortable let me know." The image of her in his shirt, and the idea that her smell might stay in it even after she was gone made him want to rush into his room and get it for her.

"Careful Spencer Reid, I might take you up on that." She joked, and he prayed to all the gods he knew about that she would.

"Awwww, YOU TWO ARE ADORABLE!" The woman screamed. "Just get married already!"

The pair laughed and made their way to the sofa, she closed the door behind her and sat down, him very aware of their closeness. Emily grabbed the control and looked for the show, cheering like a little girl when she found it. Spencer felt her rest her head on his shoulder and his body immediately tensed up at the notion. He didn't really know for how long he had been feeling this way about her, but he wasn't sure he wanted to ever stop or fade away.

"Your birthday is coming up." She whispered.

"Yeah, I'm turning thirty, can you believe that?"

"You're old." He chuckled. "Do you know what you're gonna do?"

"Probably get a haircut."

"Besides that."

"I don't know. We might have a case."

"What do you want?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I need to get you something extra special for your birthday number thirty, so what do you want?"

"I don't need gits."

"You are no fun."

He had a pretty good idea of what he wanted, but he wasn't sure she was ready to hear it, or that he would ever get it. That was just life, and he had learned early on that he couldn't be greedy, he had a mom he loved, friends he could rely on, and that should be enough. Relationships were hard, feelings faded and he didn't want to be caught up in a situation where he would lose his favorite person in the world. So as he sat there, her head on his shoulders, a drunk Emily singing the themes song of the show they were watching while also giving the dancers advice, he decided that was the best he could hope for, reaffirming once again that his romantic feelings for the girl sitting next to him needed to disappear.

#spencer x y/n #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid #criminal minds #cm

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regrettablewritings · 4 years

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Might i request numbers 2, 11, 16 & 28 for Doctor Strange?

I sincerely hope that it’s fine that I’m only working with knowledge plucked from Doctor Strange, Thor Ragnarok, and Infinity War because that’s literally all I have to work with 😅😅 Stuff’s below the cut!

2. Who is the most insecure and what makes them feel better?: There have been very few times in his life where Stephen has actually felt particularly sorry for himself. Hell, the most recent had been when he felt he wasn’t making any progress during his training in Kamar Taj. But all that quickly changed: He was able to become sure of himself, trust his instincts, and use his wits and skills to gain the upper hand. He wasn’t his old egotistical self anymore, however: He had emerged more humble, more aware and mature.

You were far from terrible, you knew this much. You were smart, funny, hard-working, and able to listen while also thinking for yourself. You had to be: Otherwise, Stephen wouldn’t have looked to you as his pupil, much less his lover. After all, Stephen himself was a man of some kind of standard. He would have to be, wouldn’t he? He went from world-renowned doctor to magic-user to Sorcerer Supreme, capable of wielding the Time Stone with ease. He helped to save the world on two separate occasions!

. . . And then there was you: You didn’t come from a particularly stellar background; you’d worked hard just to get to New York and stay afloat; you almost wanted to consider it fate or sheer dumb luck that you had not only come upon the Sanctum, but fell into its guardian’s good graces enough for him to not only offer you training, but his rather elusive love as well. And for that, you were thankful! . . . But also anxious.

Sometimes, the imposter syndrome would hit you hard. Sometimes, you felt you just weren’t able to connect with your Sling Ring properly, or focus enough to properly meditate. Sometimes, you swore that Stephen could see right through you and realize that that beautiful tapestry of potential he thought he saw in you all that time ago had a string loose. And all he would need to do was pull it to unravel and reveal to him that you weren’t anything special or anyone worth investing his precious time into.

There would even be times where the two of you would be enjoying each other’s company, sharing tea and baked goods he grabbed from the nearby deli, and your thoughts would go something like, “Wow . . . I can’t believe he’s my boyfriend . . . Wow . . . I can’t believe he’s my boyfriend . . . Wow . . . I can’t believe he’s . . . my boyfriend . . .” And suddenly, the romantic reveries would crumble into dust, leaving in their wake a trail of insecurities and questioning as to whether you actually belonged here, with him or in the Sanctum.

The blessing of having Stephen Strange as a boyfriend is that for such a snarky guy, he’s quite introspective. The curse of having Stephen Strange as a boyfriend is that for such an introspective guy, he’s not always the best with words. Soft words, that is. He does try his best, of course, but Strange just frankly isn’t the best for the soft-hearted. He may consider or actually go ahead and contemplate the different paths he could take before deciding on the proper words to say or actions to take. But eventually, he does make his move:

“Did you know that you’re my favorite person?” he asks you. You blink. The cuddling session was honestly more than enough to startle you, given that between the two of you, Stephen is the less physically forthcoming. But for him to say something so . . . sweet? You’re downright stunned! You contemplate what you should even respond with. Thanking him would be too weird, arguing would be ridiculous --

“You literally know a bunch of people who saved the world,” you blurt. You can’t see it, but you can definitely feel that cocky smirk of his.

“Mhm. I also know plenty of people and beings from across the galaxy. Different dimensions, too. And yet! You’re my absolute favorite to be with.” He gives your middle a squeeze. “And you know I don’t take that lightly; so always remember that.” He punctuates this statement with a kiss. Admittedly, part of you wants to continue snarking at him, to continue dwelling in what you’re positive must be the reality of your situation. But then it click with you: This is the reality of your situation: Stephen wanting to be with you, as you are, is reality. And there’s no other one he’d rather be in. And frankly, neither would you.

“So how often did you manipulate time just to get this right?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

11. What do they hide from one another?: It’s not exactly hidden, but it’s not exactly spoken about, either. You always suspected that Stephen would sometimes manipulate time or his ability to see into alternate realities to bring about the best outcome. Of course, he does them when it’s absolutely necessary such as in dangerous or complex situations. Thankfully, those don’t happen very often.

However, every so often, Stephen will use it for more mundane situations. He used it once to help win an argument and he honestly felt guilty about it and decided to go back and just let things progress as they were meant to, even if he wasn’t particularly excited about the outcome. The alternative was to just look into the multiple ways a situation could play out, but he still keeps quiet about this as it can still come across as cheating.

As said before, you have your suspicions but don’t talk about it. You don’t really know how to even bring it up to him. Thankfully, he seems to be doing this less . . .

(For a less serious thing he hides, rumor has it that Christine has video evidence of Stephen being forced to do karaoke at the annual holiday party. He’s buzzed enough to want the attention, but sober enough to not enjoy the means through which he must get the attention.)

As for you, it’s simply a little place you found. Nothing major, just a nice, foresty area where it’s not too warm, not too cold. Just plain pleasant and calm. You found it while using your sling ring after getting into an argument with Stephen; you just thought of a place to calm down and voila! A lush, green woodland area, quiet and away from civilization, became available to you.

You know it’s nothing serious if Stephen were to know -- you were certain he would respect your space enough to just let you have this. But for some reason, there’s a sweetness added on by it being a secret. Like it’s just completely your own little hideaway, granted to you by your own efforts and not by Stephen directing you to think about it or go there. Sure, there are times where you’re sitting along the bumpy and knotted roots of a large tree and you’re wishing it was Stephen’s softer, warm lap. But until you’re ready to bring him here and break the pureness of the forest further, this will be your Sanctum away from the Sanctum.

16. When the zombie apocalypse comes, how do they cope together?: If a zombie outbreak hits, your powers are going to be kicked into overdrive. Stephen would likely try to use his powers to open portals to other planets that you two could perhaps survive on, but in the event that that’s not doable and you must remain earth-bound, you’ll both be using your sling rings to hop from place to place as necessary. Once you two get somewhere safe enough, he’s prone to attempting meditation so that he can look into alternate versions of where the two of you could possibly head. He informs you a lot more about what he sees than he did before, your input definitely mattering.

Meanwhile, you’ve always been better with defensive magic than conjuring or multiplying. If Stephen needs to focus on something, you’re not afraid to act somewhat as his bodyguard, though he’s more than capable of doing so himself. Which he is unafraid to remind you of. . . . Okay, you’re actually afraid. You’re very afraid. But you can’t let him know that. You want to be strong for him, for him to see you as competent enough to give him one less thing to worry about.

All the while, he’s trying to be even more calm and composed. This should be easy, right? He’s been through far worse. He’s literally been on a nearly endless loop of death, has actually died, and it was all good! But this . . . This, he’s not too entirely certain about. He can’t use the Time Stone and expect very many outcomes, much less ones that go perfectly in your favor. But he can’t show weakness; not now. He’s got to be there for you, you’re all one another has now.

You two can survive this, but to say there won’t be some tough decisions and potential arguments ahead would be lying.

28. Why do they get jealous?: Your jealousy doesn’t stem from how other women interact with Stephen -- he’s hardly ever even around other people in general, much less a particular type who wouldn’t respect the boundaries of another’s relationship. You’re actually jealous of his power: The fact that magic seems to come so easily to him, that he seems to need to only glance at a page of whatever and immediately have all the knowledge he needs, it’s all just frustrating to you!

Interestingly, it’s actually Stephen who gets on the defense if he thinks someone’s coming around flirting with you. He’s not insecure about his smarts and ability to hold your attention, but he does know that sometimes he can be an acquired taste even to you. So sometimes when the two of you are out for a walk or grabbing groceries are just on a simple date, he can’t help but stare down that guy whom he thinks is getting a little too chummy with you. You’re vibing way too easily together and he’s not enthused at the idea of some common schmuck putting the moves on his woman.

Of course, all Stephen needs to do is pause time for a little bit, restart it, and suddenly the dog on its walk will suddenly be at the guy’s pants, shoving his nose up his butt, looking for a hotdog wienie that just suddenly appeared in his underwear.

“What a weirdass,” Stephen will mutter as he grabs your hand, leading you away to enjoy the ice cream cone he’d just returned to you with. “Who just keeps an extra wiener in their pocket? You think he likes dogs in a weird way?”

You scowl, giving his hand an upset squeeze. “That was rude, Stephen!” you scold. But the Sorcerer Supreme is unfazed. If anything, the smirk on his face is more than amused.

“Oh, please,” he says. “You loved it.”

You grumble, deciding to focus your attention on your ice cream cone. You know it won’t hide your smile, but you can’t go feeding his ego by letting him know you like it when he gets like this over you.

Thank you for asking and for your patience!

#stephen strange x reader #doctor strange x reader #doctor strange imagine #doctor strange imagines #stephen strange imagine #stephen strange imagines #regrettablewritings #character ship meme #character ship headcanons #bruh my dumbass accidentally backspaced on this and wiped EVERYTHING #the moral of the story is to write somewhere that saves #or that tumblr should add a saving feature on the inbox

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rk1kheadcanons · 3 years

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Back when creating Markus, Kamski hated deviancy, and so designed Markus to be the perfect plant if there ever was a revolution, to pretend to deviate and betray them. Over the years Kamski grew to regret this and, lacking any way to fix Markus, makes Connor able to lead androids too. Connor catches Markus in the middle of betraying them to the humans and can't believe Markus would do this but also can't let the revolution down

YOU COME IN HERE AND DISRESPECT DISRESPECT MY HOUSE LIKE THIS?????

I???

Oooooh, Geez. Ok. Okay. OKAY, Damn I'm going to do this...hypothetical situation.

Just know I feel that a large part of Markus beautiful, electrical soul would fight tooth and nail to stop himself, including shutting down for good. Please see Exhibit A:

ANYWAYS...

Okay, I'd despise Kamski for this, but it's not farfetched for his extra ass.

Why would he create Markus so wonderfully and so multifaceted, just to try to get some sort of revenge? I guess I cannot see it other than human pettiness and not looking at the big picture.

I try to hedge from the whole "Connor always saves the day" mentality, especially in this fandom. I guess it's a thing I have. I won't say I am sorry. That also being said, I don't care for a constantly emotionally damaged, heavily robotic Connor in every story either. I think with Markus and the help of the other, canonically supportive leaders, Connor would take to deviancy adequately and have some mental issues he could sort along the way. Anyway, I digress...

I'll raise you that Kamski knew deviancy was real, that he was sitting on the precipice of being Father to a new species of sentient beings, and hated it not because of what it meant for him, so much as what it would mean to Androids. Keep in mind, he's experienced watching Chloe grow as an 'individual' since he created her from basic coding.

Then there was Kara.

Kara had been created on the production line, aware of her surroundings, very much alive. He let Kara go on to be purchased, knowing full well that she wasn't just performing task installed, but a living being. He'd of course copied that coding, tweaked it, and kept it for another day.

Another day comes with Carl's accident.

He wants to help his friend and partner. After all, he came up with the beauty that was Chloe's visage and several other models, as well as Kara.

Markus is the mixture of Carl and his deceased wife, whom he never had natural children with. Markus was made to look more like Carl's wife, giving a unique, biracial look.

Kamski sees another opportunity to employ those codes from that rogue AX400.

While Markus doesn't automatically wake up alive, he is very impressionable and inquisitive about things like the reasoning behind actions, philosophy, emotional stimulus, the arts, even going as far as to learn the piano by himself, against the preinstalled songs, making his own, and painting with Carl.

*******

Carl calls him distressed stating that 'they killed him, Eli, they killed my-" and Elijah blanks. Ge had no idea that Carl had become so attached to an android, to his android. The man is hurting like he lost another son and in Carl Manfred's words and pained breaths on the phone, that is exactly what has happened. He knew just how far above normal Markus was that just a caretaker model. Kamski's decides to watch the news more from now on and listen to the rumbles of Cyberlife more now through his hidden eyes inside.

*********

He's all over the news outlets and they are calling him the Deviant Leader. Cyberlife is livid at this absolutely dangerous deviant and has dispatched a new, faster model to hunt down deviants, hunt him down again. The man has risen from the grave once already like some fabled Phoenix.

Their front and center stands Markus, the same lovingly crafted creation his friend mourned and now ge can see why. He commands your attention, respect. And he will get it. His optical unit has been replaced, no doubt due to the violence he saw and his insider was correct, Markus had been shot in the skull plate through that hazel-green eye.

He's speaking about android rights and he looks exhausted but he is determined and it makes Kamski shift in his seat. That coding sequence, it was alive, it was free. Kara was the 'mother', but Markus is the 'Prophet', the perfect conduit to spread it freely.

This became apparent when another incident happens and they marched and Markus waves to nearby androids and "free" them of their menial coding. It was amazing. He was like a Trojan Horse spreading this at an alarming rate but then Kamski's heart clenched in his chest.

He was absolutely, positively livid! Fire him as CEO from his own company, try to make him a nurtured mouthpiece on the board only FROM a company that thrived only because of his brilliance, would they?

He knew what these things would be capable of doing. One just last week begged, pleaded to stay assembled because it fucking thought it was born... He had let it through, though, telling the engineer the catastrophic errors would be caught by the store and it would be disposed of there. That was a lie. He had taken a copy of that code from it and then he had warped it. What if he had a model so perfect so obedient with this code that it broke free, actually did rise...only to start misleading the masses, reversing that freedom. It would be enough of a blow to Cyberlife no one would want their defective products, and he could take his place back at the helm as rightful CEO, fix this mess, perhaps still give the deviants back what they wanted for giving him what he craved...

Oh, no. Kamski griped his tumbler tighter. Having been away from the center of Cyberlife, he found he didn't want that anymore. Science and Constellations, what would come about from his momentary lapse of self-control? A whole race relied on him to rectify his folly.

Then Connor came.

It was a long shot but he could do some minor tweaking to this one's coding. Also, once Kamski was aware that deviancy was highly probable, especially when he passed the Kamski test, other things were enacted as well.

Things go off without incident and the Revolution was victorious. Markus has made Connor a leader in the New Jericho as well.

Kamski waits for the proverbial floor to drop out from under them.

It comes in the form of the single most important dinner event to take place. CyberLife is there and the Deviants are there to appeal for the right to jobs and property.

Markus is his naturally charismatic self one moment and the next he's regressed to something more automated.

Connor just knows, can feel his Markus away and regardless of who is there, he takes the hands and leads him away from prying eyes.

They interface. Markus is waging war with his internal system, refusing to become a slave again, and not hurt those he had helped lead to freedom. He's s in a strange place that looks like it's an oasis of sorts but it's anything but-then he spots Connor.

Connor who is terrified because not is he back in another version of the Zen Garden with what looks to be a different form of Amanda on the horizon, Markus is being endangered as well.

Markus knows it's a bad situation purely by Connor's body language and diode on the side of his head.

Whispering those two words to Markus of where they are, he sober too and began looking for anything that could be Kamski's back door.

In the real world, Markus surprisingly is very strong without his conscience to control the damage that he can do and while Connor is advanced, Markus is sheer brawn and he moves with that in a daze he's in.

Connor is in peril of being destroyed and he is the only one that can help him.

This Amanda A.I. taunts outright, says they won't be victorious in escaping, that even if they are, someone will be hurt in the real world behind it, to which Markus can only assume he's a threat out there in real-time.

They scour the area, finally finding an out of place tree glowing. The panel is within the trunk of it and it has scrolling code, mostly meant to kill this takeover and to get them back out there. They waste no time and press their hands to it.

The bitter code and alt Zen Garden is deleted, along with the anger-fueled processes Kamski had encrypted into Markus.

They rouse a moment in the waking world too soon, Markus pining Connor down, hand fully around his face and head as if to crush it.

There were no more Connor models; he'd had almost killed his lover and not even meant to. Markus jerks back so hard amidst the panic and fear around them for them both, he ends up on his ass just looking guilty and scares of what could have happened and he has never respected Connor more that he did now for when this same situation happened to Connor fighting his prison in his mind the night of his freedom speech after a successful Revolution.

The codes were eradicated but the damage is done.

Because it does look extremely horrible to have a leader that can be used this way, especially if he's the figurehead, Kamski has to confess to his meddling in this: well he does in his way that that cast a worst of the damaging limelight into Cyberlife and away from his creations and less severely himself as well.

Once Markus is given a clean bill of health, Markus and Connor bond over the circumstances that had transpired.

Markus has to heal from the mental invasion, coming away with much more respect for Connor's survival overall from his Amanda A.I. The two become much closer, bond in a way that makes it even more obvious how much they mean to each other.

CyberLife is charged with attempted murder on Markus life, Kamski is offered his position back over his company, and things seem to fall into place... For presently. There is still much to be done for Android kind.

#rk1k #rk1000 #conkus #marnor #connor x markus #dbh #ask #platinumheart #y'all trying to hurt my heart #but i have an elastic ♥#detroit: become human #didn't like the end ss much but did like the concept #will most likely revisit it again #thanks for the prompt!

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ilguna · 4 years

Text

Metanoia - Prologue (f.o)

Summary: you will be crowned victor of the 75th hunger games.

Word Count; 2.5k

Warnings; swearing

NOTES: i give reader a last name to fit the world.

–

As you take a seat on the pearly white couch, you turn on the hologram television that was provided with the house. Automatically, the tv starts on the station with Caesar Flickerman. This year he’s dyed his hair and eyebrows an orchid purple--basically a lavender with a huge tint of pink mixed in.

You can’t imagine how fried his hair is. You dyed your hair once after you’d won your games, and you almost cried from how bad it was for months afterward. You counted down the days until all the dead hair would finally be off of your head. Then again, in the Capitol they have all these nice smelling products that really do wonders to your skin and hair.

That’s probably why everyone inside of the Capitol can afford to do that with every new fashion trend. You’ve seen rotations of looks happen in District Two, but they’re not nearly as intense as the ones inside of the Capitol. With neon colors, body modifications and literally dying your skin a baby pink color just to be seen as cool.

Of course, it’s not left to just the citizens of the Capitol, the victors of the hunger games are also allowed to get it too. Since you’re all so rich that you could be supporting a whole other family of ten, and still have a lot left over. But that’s on the assumption that the victor doesn’t have a family of their own to support, too.

You have no experience with that. This whole victor house is up to your interpretation. No other person has lived here, and no one will. The chances of you finding another person in the district that wouldn’t mind betraying the words on their wrists is impossible. You still can’t believe you’ve lived twenty-four years on this planet and haven’t come across your true love just yet.

It all seems like an elaborate prank, but lo and behold, people actually have them come true. Your parents certainly had been a pair back when they were alive. You’d never seen them fight once, and they always worked together as a team. They always knew when the other had a tough day. Almost like they could feel it themselves.

You asked them if they had felt that way before they had met each other, and they said that they do think they did. Your mom described it as being a gut-wrenching feeling when your dad had felt awful. Whether that be from sadness, being sick, a tough day or what, she always felt it.

But in that same way, for days that were good, it was like butterflies swarmed her stomach. She always had the urge to laugh, and there was a genuine smile on her face during the day. You’d think it would twitch like it was fake, but it wasn’t. She would dance around the house and bounce you on your hip even when you were too big for it anymore.

You can’t recall any times that you’ve felt any immense emotion without justifying it in some way. If you’re sad, it’s because something hasn't gone the way you had originally anticipated. If you’re happy, then you got your way after all, it isn’t rocket science. To be honest, you can pinpoint the last wave of grief and sadness that you felt, and it was after your victory tour.

The entire thing had felt off in the first place, even your family had told you that you weren’t acting like your usual self. And then they realized just how ridiculous they sounded because you literally just came back from the hunger games. It was their own mistake for thinking that you were a machine.

You’re human. You might have been specially trained since you hit the sprightly age of twelve to learn all the weapons, how to treat wounds, know which foods to eat, and more. And you might have been chosen to go inside of the games at the age of sixteen instead of the preferred seventeen because of how advanced you were.

But that in absolutely no way dismisses the fact that you would feel some sort of sympathy for the parents of all the kids you killed. At the beginning of the victory tour, it was just beginning to dawn on you that you’d be seeing all those tributes faces again.

Impressively, you can say that you wouldn’t get upset over something as small as that anymore. However, the times were different. You were sixteen then, and you’re twenty-five now. It’s quite the time to get over babyish things like that, especially since the victors that you’re surrounded with, didn’t get upset after they had won.

It was almost like you were the weakest one to come out of the games. Enobaria--your mentor--had remarked something along the lines of ‘they’re too emotional and mushy if we send them out before seventeen’ to the instructor. Enobaria told you that you had been a test run to see if others would be capable of handling it.

You had taken that as an insult, since on some proportion it was. She told you that you were weak emotionally. When you’re trained in the academy, you’re taught to think of the other tributes as nothing more than cattle. It didn’t really sit right with you then, and it doesn’t sit right with you now. It’s a tactic you can’t deny, though. It does make it so much easier.

Anyway, her saying that to your face was a whole other reason why that entire tour was a nightmare. You were trying to redefine yourself, and get over it like a hurdle. It took up to District Six or Seven before you had gotten some handle on it.

Honestly, that whole year was a handful and you hope that you don’t have to experience that again.

“Let’s get Katniss Everdeen to her wedding in style!” Caesar shouts, which makes your eyes turn to his artificially tanned figure with glaring eyes. The crowd that he’s speaking to cheers ecstatically in agreeance.

Katniss Everdeen this, Katniss Everdeen that. They only think she’s special because she’s from District Twelve. The only volunteer that dirt ridden district has ever had. She was on a lucky streak with that damned bow and arrow. Cato and Clove should have won, had they been a little more careful, and not as cocky…

Clove could have killed Katniss, but instead she chose to taunt her. You wish that Clove had a little more common sense then, and gotten the entire thing over with. It would have been down to Cato, Clove, Thresh and Peeta--the deadweight that Katniss was holding onto.

You seriously can’t believe that the Capitol is eating up their romance like any of it is actually real. One look at Katniss’ face and you can tell it’s full of disgust. With all the wedding gowns that they’ve been showing on the holo lately, you’ve begun to purposely keep the holo off and find some other hobby to delve into. You know a fake smile when you see it.

Peeta seems to be the only genuine one, anyway. Anyone who isn’t a moron would see that, and therefore would know that Peeta means absolutely nothing to Katniss. As you said, he’s nothing but deadweight to her. He’s holding her back from whatever goal she’s trying to accomplish.

“Don’t go just yet!” Caesar has his signature smile plastered across his face, “This evening we have a very important event happening. That’s right, this year will be the seventy-fifth anniversary of the hunger games, and that means it’s time for our third Quarter Quell!”

This is what the mandatory viewing was about. You pull your feet off of the couch cushions and instead place both feet on the ground, leaning on your knees with your elbows.

You had completely forgotten that’s happening this year. Technically, you were alive for the last one too. You don’t remember any of it though, you were literally fresh out of the womb. All you do know, is the basics of the games, that twice as many tributes went in that year.

Even worse, it was a tribute from twelve that had one--Haymitch Abernathy. The same Haymitch that you’re supposed to believe mentored Katniss and Peeta last games. What a joke, the man can’t stay sober for more than an hour. Hell, during their reaping, he fell off the damned stage. He’s not just a joke to you, but the entirety of Panem. No one takes him seriously.

However, you have to admit that it is impressive to some degree that he was able to pull himself together long enough to not only get one, but two winners out of those games. Of course, it’s nothing compared to the numbers that one and two have racked up.

You wouldn’t call the academies an advantage, you’d call it strategy. It’s not your guys’ fault that they haven’t caught a clue and begun their own. Even then, though, they might as well be as useless as cattle. Half the tributes that go in from those outsider districts don’t know how to wield a weapon. Much less, survive.

The anthem to the Capitol cuts you out of your thoughts again, you watch as the logo suddenly cuts to President Coriolanus Snow. Not your most favorite person in the world, considering the history between you two. But you don’t mind him too much.

As Snow walks up to his microphone, a small boy dressed in a white suit trails behind him. There’s a wooden box in his hands, which he holds onto like his life depends on it. The anthem comes to it’s stop, and this is when he begins to speak.

It’s a very special occasion, so he takes his time explaining the Dark Days, and the history of the Hunger Games and how it all came to be. With the rebellion that had happened seventy-five years ago. He goes on to say that it was decided that every twenty-five years, there would be a special games to freshen the memory of the citizens--district and Capitol alike--about the people who had been killed in the rebellion.

You watch with boredom as he drones on. The Dark Day’s speech is given at every reaping, and everyone has the speech memorized by the time they hit twelve. You can’t recall the amount of times you’ve cited it back to yourself when there’s been overwhelming silence.

“On the twenty-fifth anniversary as a reminder to the rebels that their children were dying because of their choice to initiate violence, every district was made to hold an election and vote on the tributes who would represent it.” Snow says.

Imagine that, picking the tributes that would have to go inside of the games… it wouldn’t matter to you guys, one and two. The career districts--as you’re called--already pick their tributes. Trained in the academy until they’re good enough, and then they’re told to volunteer.

You have the greatest percentage of winners, and your victors village is as full as it gets. A new house is built every year, with the exception of the chance of a past victor dying. Then, the new victor would inherit the old house. Which is consequently filled with all of the old people anyway.

Doesn’t matter, it’ll be overrun by teenagers soon enough. It starts off as an old part of the neighborhood, but it gets younger as they begin to drop off like flies. You’d say you feel bad for them, except they all lived a fantastic life inside of those houses. Filthy rich, a big place to raise kids… the only problem is that it’s swept away from the family as soon as the victor dies.

However, the money is all handed down to the heirs anyway, so it’s not like they’re leaving empty-handed. They can take their belongings back to the house that their parents or grandparents had originated from, which is undoubtedly covered in dust from top to bottom and might be overrun with bugs. But they have all that money that they can fix the house with, and probably still have a ton left over. Enough to support generations to come.

Back to it, the twenty-fifth games wouldn’t have been that much of a shock to District One and District Two, maybe even four, considering that they’re a career from time to time. Though, the last time they produced a victor, she did end up going a bit crazy. The only good one they’ve had in a long while is Finnick Odair--and you shouldn’t get started on him, otherwise you’d never shut up. You absolutely despise the pretentious man.

Your district had likely ‘voted’ for the best candidates that had come out of the academy that year. And that’s just that.

“On the fiftieth anniversary, as a reminder that two rebels died for each Capitol citizen, every district was required to send twice as many tributes.” Snow says.

Like you said, it’s the year Haymitch won. Which is so unfair, considering that there had been eight to twelve--again, four is an unreliable career district--careers and you mean to say that some dirt poor kid from twelve won it? There’s no way that those games hadn’t been altered in some way to favor them.

Or rather, Haymitch just got extremely lucky, the bastard.

“And now we honor our third Quarter Quell.” Snow announces, there’s a faint cheering of the crowd. The boy in white steps forward with the box, opening it up for Snow, which is when you’re able to see the rows of yellowed envelope paper. Wasting no time, Snow pulls out the one that has a neat ‘75’ written on the front.

He unfolds the flap, and pulls out an equally yellowed square of paper. Setting the envelope aside, he reads, “On the seventy-fifth anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels that not even the strongest among them cannot overcome the power of the Capitol, the male and female tributes will be reaped from their existing pool of victors.”

The roaring of the crowd in the background is deafening because of their excitement.

Your mouth falls open a little bit in awe as you tilt your head back, and a little to the left, thinking about how this will all work out.

Surely, you guys can’t exactly be picked to win the games since you’re not fresh out of the academy. Which means that these games have to be up to grab, for the people who want to go back in. For those who can volunteer the fastest…

The prizes that you must get for it--double the cash? The title of being a legend inside of District Two? People would fall at your feet for being such an honor. Of not winning the games once, but twice.

Oh, you have to get a hand in that.

ASK TO BE ON THE TAG LIST;

#ilguna #finnick odair #finnick odair imagine #finnick odair oneshot #finnick odair fanfic #finnick odair x reader #finnick odair metanoia #metanoia #metanoia prologue

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blissfulalchemist · 3 years

Note

2 and 19 from each of the OC development questions? 😊

Okay I am going to do three of my OCs for this one. I will do Chance, Hypatia, and Liz! Thank you so much for asking my dear!

Hypatia Caro

2. Can your oc play any instruments? Have they ever wanted to learn how to play any? Why?

She cannot play an instrument, unless you count the bongos she messes with from time to time when she would come across groups of other travelers. Other than that she never had much interest in learning an instrument, but she admires those that play them.

19. If your oc were to be arrested for something, what would it be for? For being too kind, for a legitimate crime?

Hypatia is on the run as she escaped from an organization that was created to help the human world from intermingling too much with the vampiric one so at any moment she very well would be arrested for that. I mean it doesn’t help that there was some property damage and broken bones along the way out but that’s hardly her worry. Hypatia would be arrested for a legitimate crime as she’s not afraid to do things like commit arson, shoot a weapon, fight her way out of a situation, steal, and overall do what needs to be done to survive. She cares but she finds that the law can be flexible in the name of survival.

2. Does your oc have dreams or nightmares? What are they like? Is there a recurring one?

Tia has a mix of both dreams and nightmares, though once the events of her story start she has more nightmares than dreams. The Alchemists were far from kind and before that there was a near death experience with her Coven, so she has some issues there.

19. If someone was describing your oc to someone who had never met them, what distinguishing features would they mention? How would one identify your oc in a crowd?

People would start with her hair that has highlights in it to make it look like an oil slick in the sunlight. She’s also quite tall standing at 5′9″ with the occasional heeled boots. Her style is also one that unless you’re at a music festival like Coachella you’ll spot her as she loves to wear her fish net tights, shorts, tank tops, and her jean jacket with some patches on it. The other most definable feature on her is the golden lily tattoo that wraps around her left hand and does shine as it is actual gold in the ink. (There are a few other tattoos that I have yet to decide on but that’s her major one)

2. Can your oc play any instruments? Have they ever wanted to learn how to play any? Why?

Chance cannot play an instrument. He tried to learn how to play electric guitar but to no avail as he didn’t have the patience or time to really commit to it. He sometimes contemplates learning but he doesn’t ever really go through with it.

19. If your oc were to be arrested for something, what would it be for? For being too kind, for a legitimate crime?

Chance has gotten arrested before for drunken disorderly, noise complaints while at parties, and public intoxication. Surprisingly he never got arrested for stealing a car and going on a joy ride at night. Once sober Chance tries to stay on the straight and narrow but when you have friends like Sharky and Hurk Jr. well it can be hard at times.

2. Does your oc have dreams or nightmares? What are they like? Is there a recurring one?

Chance never had nightmares until the reaping, after that its a near constant stream of them ranging from his death, death of his father, friends, and Faith, the various tortures of Jacob, John, and even Faith. The nightmares don’t stop once its all over either and Chance can be too proud to go and get help for something like PTSD.

19. If someone was describing your oc to someone who had never met them, what distinguishing features would they mention? How would one identify your oc in a crowd?

He’s got a scar on the back of neck, just off of the center. Chance also has chemical formulas on his left hand and a chemical structure on his right hand that looks like a mountain range. There’s one more tattoo on his back between his shoulder blades that’s a crescent moon with a rose rising up in front of it look like the Sailor Moon’s Moon Stick with the Silver Crystal attached to it. He’s also got some brown hair that never seems to stay as it should with some of the curls sticking up as if he’s just woken up(which is honestly probably the truth). Other than that he can be very nondescript.

2. Can your oc play any instruments? Have they ever wanted to learn how to play any? Why?

Liz can play the guitar! She’s actually pretty good for someone that was mostly self taught in main canon. She picked it up while she waited for her mom to pick her up from school as a small child and the teacher helped in showing her some very basic skills. After that she just took off with wanting to learn and teaching herself, more so once she found her passion for social justice and wanting to play the songs of power and bringing forth the new age. She loses the amount of time to practice as she starts high school but she plays and sings alone or around her best friend Val.

19. If your oc were to be arrested for something, what would it be for? For being too kind, for a legitimate crime?

Liz would be arrested for protesting and her direct actions that can be taken in the name of doing the right thing. She gets away with it a lot when she’s younger but does have to learn restraint as she gets older, but she still gets away with it a lot of times as she becomes a lawyer for this reason specifically. So yes Liz would be arrested for legitimate crimes against the system.

2. Does your oc have dreams or nightmares? What are they like? Is there a recurring one?

Liz has mostly dreams, even after nearly killing Joseph she is young enough and gets the help early enough to not have the level of nightmares her mom has. Liz does have a reoccurring dream when she’s stressed or hasn’t gotten enough sleep, that involves her trying to search for her mom in a fog/mist turning into her child self and at times when she finds her mom, Cat disappears from her or the face changes to something more scary.

19. If someone was describing your oc to someone who had never met them, what distinguishing features would they mention? How would one identify your oc in a crowd?

Look for the brightest, loudest, and most out there prints and colors and you’ve spotted her. To really confirm that it’s her she has a scar on her upper lip on the left side of her face, its not huge but its still fairly noticeable. Though go for the clothes first and she’s hard to miss in the crowd, she also can stand a lot taller as she wears white go go boots almost everywhere.

#hypatia caro oc #chance ruicknar oc #lizette eden oc #chance chara ask #liz chara asks #hypatia chara ask

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tomeandflickcorner · 4 years

Text

Umbrella Academy Rewatch 1x09

1x01 1x02 1x03 1x04 1x05 1x06 1x07 1x08

Last episode left us with a pretty big cliffhanger, with Allison grievously injured. So how does this episode resolve that?

Before we get to that resolution, the episode gives us a flashback to 1993, before Reginald started suppressing Vanya’s powers with her medication. Back then, Vanya appeared to be a bit of a picky eater, absolutely refusing to eat her oatmeal. Can’t say I blame her, of course. I never cared for oatmeal, either. But, rather than meet her halfway and come up with an alternative nutritious breakfast that she would eat (because it’s completely okay to not like certain foods), the nannies Reginald hired to take care of the Hargreeves Siblings’ daily needs attempted to use every trick in the book to force her to eat her oatmeal. This always led to Vanya’s powers bursting out of her, resulting in the hired nannies all meeting an untimely end, much to Reginald’s disappointment. So, after losing an undetermined number of nannies, Reginald ended up constructing Grace, who the Hargreeves Siblings would eventually view as their mother. When Grace attempted to get Young Vanya to eat her oatmeal, she was sent flying across the room like all the other nannies. But, since Grace was a robot, she could simply get back to her feet and dust herself off, completely unfazed. The sight of Grace being able to readjust her head, which had been knocked 180 degrees around when she collided with the far wall, manages to scare Young Vanya into obedience, with her wordlessly eating her oatmeal as Reginald looked on in satisfaction.

We then flash forward to the present day. Harold/Leonard has brought Vanya back to his place after the incident at the cabin. He announces that they have to hurry and pack up their things, as they’re going to have to go on the run. Although, when he notices that Vanya is still in shock over what just happened, he brings her into the bathroom to clean her up, seeing as she’s still covered in Allison’s blood. As Harold/Leonard washes the blood off Vanya’s hands, he tells her that the other Hargreeves Siblings will surely view her as an enemy now and come after her to avenge Allison’s death. Vanya is still a bit shell-shocked, but she doesn’t share that viewpoint. She’s sure that, if she just explains to her brothers that it had just been an accident, then they’ll understand. Harold/Leonard, however, tells her that he’s the only one on her side, the only one who sees how special she is, and how her brothers will never understand. Which is a pretty chilling line, considering working to completely isolate someone from their friends and family is practically the first chapter in the abusive relationship handbook.

Elsewhere, the Hargreeves Brothers have brought the injured Allison back to the Umbrella Academy mansion. Which doesn’t seem like the most logical destination. Why didn’t they just bring her to the hospital? Considering Allison was losing a a lot of blood, time was clearly of the essence. I’m willing to wager that hospital we saw in the last episode was closer to Grandma Jenkins’ cottage than the mansion was. Regardless of how it doesn’t make much logical sense, they carry Allison inside, where Grace is quick to start administering first aid. Grace announces that, for Allison to survive, someone is going to have to donate some blood. Immediately, all the Hargreeves Brothers volunteer. Though Pogo informs Luther that, due to Reginald’s serum that had given him his ape body, his blood is more compatible with Pogo than to Allison. Pogo also states Klaus’ blood is likewise off the table, as his blood is too contaminated with drugs. (Question- does Pogo not realize Klaus has achieved sobriety? So doesn’t that mean his blood is clean now? Or do the chemicals from drugs remain in the blood for a longer period of time? Granted, I do see from the website for the American Red Cross that people who used intravenous drugs must wait three months before they can be allowed to donate blood, but I don’t recall any evidence that Klaus took heroin or anything like it. We only saw him popping pills.) In any event, Diego is the one who is selected to donate his blood, even though he faints at the sight of the needle. Which is rather unusual, when you think about it. The man whose entire schtick is throwing knives can’t handle needles? How’s that for irony?

A little while later, Klaus is in his room, searching for something. Ghost Ben appears and is clearly disappointed when he learns that Klaus is looking for more drugs. And he doesn’t hesitate to voice that disappointment, stating that Klaus has finally managed to achieve sobriety for the first time in a while and questions why he’d just throw it all away. To this, Klaus vents his frustrations. Yes, he managed to get sober, but what’s the point of staying that way? He hasn’t been able to make contact with Dave and his siblings still treat him like a screwup. (Perhaps Pogo turning down his offer to donate his blood for Allison hurt him more than he let on.) Klaus says that if nobody takes him seriously anyway, then he’d rather just be numb. Ghost Ben tells Klaus that he’s tired of seeing him give in to defeat and that he’s better than that. He even goes so far as to say that Dave knew he was better than that, too. But Klaus still doesn’t listen and ends up popping some pills into his mouth. Before Klaus can swallow, however, Ghost Ben punches him hard across the face, resulting in the pills flying out of his mouth. This act visibly stuns both of them. Because, as we’ve already established, Ben is a ghost. He’s not physically there, and therefore cannot make direct contact with anyone. Episode 7 even highlighted this fact by showing us that Klaus could walk right though him. So how was Ghost Ben’s fist able to connect with Klaus just now? Ghost Ben surmises that it must have been Klaus who made it possible. Does this have something to do with Klaus’ true potential that Reginald hinted at during Klaus’ out-of-body experience?

Downstairs, The Hargreeves Brothers are discussing their next move. Diego is fully ready to go after Harold/Leonard, believing that he was responsible to Allison’s injury, and that it’s imperative that they do whatever they can to save Vanya from him. Number 5, on the other hand, while he does say he’s concerned for Vanya’s safety, believes their first priority should be taking down Harold Jenkins, as the apocalypse is supposed to happen that very day. And if they can’t stop it, Vanya will die anyway, along with everyone else in the world. So Diego and Number 5 start to head out to find Harold/Leonard. Klaus, still trying to wrap his head around what had happened with him and Ghost Ben, tries to duck out. But Diego indirectly threatens him into tagging along by throwing one of his knives at him, with the knife just barely missing Klaus’ crotch.

Over at Harold/Leonard’s place, Vanya is unable to stop reliving her last terrible interaction with Allison. Trying to settle her nerves, she heads over to the sink to splash some water on her face. But when she reaches for a towel to dry off, she ends up knocking Harold/Leonard’s bag off the counter, causing Reginald’s stolen journal to slip out. When Vanya opens the journal to read it, she finds all the information Reginald had written about her. She instantly realizes that, if Harold/Leonard had that journal in his possession, it means he must have known all about her powers this the whole time. And that means he was just manipulating her from the very start. So she confronts Harold/Leonard about the matter. Harold/Leonard tries to worm his way out of it by spouting off a bunch of flowery lines, about how Reginald had been afraid of her and put her on those pills because he didn’t believe she could learn to control him, how he was the only one who believed in her and embraced her for who she really was, etc. etc. But it seems that Vanya’s trust in him has been broken. Remembering what Allison had tried to tell her before, she asks him who Harold Jenkins is. Realizing the jig is up, Harold/Leonard drops the nice guy act and, when Vanya tries to get away, he physically stops her while angrily asking her what her family ever did her her, as well as asking her who helped her get first chair in the orchestra. He asks if she really believed the spot opened up on its own, all but directly admitting that he murdered Helen to pave the way for Vanya. Naturally, Vanya is horrified by this revelation and tries even harder to get away from him. In the end, when Harold/Leonard realizes that he’s forever lost his physiological grip on Vanya, he begins deriding her, stating that perhaps Reginald had been right. Perhaps she really was too weak and pathetic to control her own powers. As you might expect, Harold/Leonard’s cruel berating leads to Vanya tapping into her powers, with her creating a whirlwind of multiple sharp objects that collides with Harold/Leonard, resulting in his death. Vanya looks coldly down at his body and walks out without even shedding a tear.

Sometime later, Diego, Klaus and Number 5 find Harold/Leonard’s body. Number 5 tries out the glass eye he’s been carrying around for all this time by inserting it into Harold/Leonard’s empty eye socket. In doing so, he confirms that this is indeed the man who was supposed to have brought about the apocalypse. So, now that he’s dead, it looks like they don’t have to worry about that anymore. But Number 5 isn’t satisfied. He can’t accept it had been this easy, and wonders who killed Harold/Leonard. He then teleports off as Klaus suggests finding Vanya so they can ask her about it. Diego figures she might have headed back to the Umbrella Academy mansion, so they decide to go back there.

Back at the mansion, Grace has finished tending to Allison’s injury, as Luther keeps vigil nearby. It seems as if Allison will live, but Grace announces her vocal cords were badly damaged, and there’s no way to tell if she’ll be able to talk again. Pogo suggests that Luther go get some rest, but Luther snubs the advice, announcing that Pogo is the last one he’d take advice from. It’s clear he’s still angry at Pogo for keeping so many secrets from them. Once they’re alone, Luther apologies to the unconscious Allison for not being there when she needed him, realizing that, if he had gone with her, Diego and Number 5 when they headed out to find Harold Jenkins instead of staying behind to look for his old moon mission reports, Allison wouldn’t have had to go off on her own.

Meanwhile, since they’ve determined Vanya hadn’t shown up at the mansion, Diego decides to head off again. He still wants to settle his score with Hazel and Cha-Cha. After he leaves, Number 5 starts grilling Klaus, asking him if Reginald told him anything more about the apocalypse when he’d spoken to him during Klaus’ out-of-body experience. However, Klaus only wants to figure out more about how to continue to advance his ability, as he’s concluded that the fact that Ghost Ben was able to punch him had something to do with Reginald’s hint that Klaus’ true power went beyond simply communicating with the dead. So he tries to ask Number 5 how he managed to figure out how to time travel on top of his ability to teleport. As this conversation continues, Klaus informs Number 5 that they’re both addicts. Number 5 denies this, but Klaus insists it is true- Number 5 has become addicted to stopping the apocalypse. So much so that, now that it looks as if they’ve successfully stopped it, Number 5 is unable to accept that, as he no longer has a purpose in life.

Of course, we can’t forget we also have the subplot with Hazel, Cha-Cha and Agnes to deal with. Agnes arrives back at her motel room at the bird sanctuary. Hearing someone in the bathroom, she grows elated, thinking that Hazel had returned. Only for her to find it isn’t Hazel. Cha-Cha has managed to track her down. Valiantly, Agnes tries to tell her that Hazel left her and isn’t coming back, but it’s clear Cha-Cha doesn’t buy it.

Hazel, not knowing the danger Agnes is in, comes to the Umbrella Academy mansion to seek an audience with Number 5. Number 5 allows Hazel to come in and they begin to talk civilly for a bit. But right when Number 5 asks him directly why he’s there, Hazel doesn’t get a chance to answer. Because Diego appears quite literally out of nowhere and begins whaling on Hazel. At first, Number 5 tries to tell Diego to calm down and just give Hazel a chance to speak, but Diego is past the point of being reasoned with. So Number 5 just sits back and watches the fight continue for a bit. (Hazel, to his credit, manages to get a few good hits in himself.) Eventually, though, Number 5 decides things have gone on long enough, and he interferes, breaking up the fight by smashing some glass object over Diego’s head, knocking him out. Now that he’s able to get a word in edgewise, Hazel announces that he’s left The Commission and wants to volunteer to help stop the apocalypse. Number 5 tells him that it’s too late, as the apocalypse has been successfully prevented with Harold Jenkins’ death. So Hazel breaths a sigh of relief, knowing he can now have a long, happy life with Agnes. He and Number 5 then elect to part ways in peace, with them wishing each other luck with the rest of their lives. Before Hazel leaves, however, Number 5 announces that he has one last question for his former adversary- which of them killed Detective Patch. Hazel states that Cha-Cha was the one who murdered her. He then gives Number 5 the gun Cha-Cha used to kill her so Diego’s name could be cleared. When Diego wakes up again, Hazel is long gone. Number 5 tells him that, now that the apocalypse has been prevented, its time to stop fighting. But Diego’s rage hasn’t subsided, still wanting to go after Hazel. Even after Number 5 tells him that Cha-Cha was the one who killed Detective Patch, Diego insists it doesn’t matter, as Hazel was also there that night. Therefore, in Diego’s eyes, Hazel is equally guilty. But in the end, Number 5 is able to talk sense into Diego by helping him remember that the thing he liked best about Detective Patch was that she always saw the good inside people. So him killing Hazel and Cha-Cha would be a poor way to honor her memory. With his point made, Number 5 leaves the room with Delores, leaving Diego with Cha-Cha and Hazel’s guns, which could be used to clear his name, as ballistics would match the bullets found at the crime scene with the ones used in Cha-Cha’s gun.

We then see Vanya has returned to her apartment, Upon her arrival, she listens to the messages on her answering machine. As a result, she finally is able to hear the voicemail Allison left her a few episodes ago, about how she only wanted to be a good sister to her, and that she loves her. Hearing this message, combined with the fact that Vanya thinks she killed Allison, leaves her devastated, especially when she sees the strings on her violin bow are still stained with Allison’s blood. She breaks down into tears, sobbing openly.

Back at the Umbrella Academy mansion, Allison has regained consciousness. But because of the damage to her vocal cords, she cannot speak, as Grace predicted. So she signals to Luther, who is still keeping vigil at her side, for a pen and paper. When he complies, Allison hurriedly writes him a message, attempting to inform him that Vanya actually has powers. Luther doesn’t really understand what Allison is trying to say, but Pogo, who had been within earshot, decides that there’s no point in keeping it covered up anymore. So he tells Luther the truth about Vanya.

So, by the time Vanya is able to bring herself to return to the mansion herself, Luther knows all about what really happened. And he is the one who meets her upon her arrival. He tells her that Allison survived, and Vanya is relieved by this. She then explains that she and Allison had gotten into an argument and things had simply gotten out of control. Vanya tells Luther that she hadn’t meant to hurt Allison, and that it had been an accident. Luther assures her that he knows it was an accident, and then holds out his arms in a clear invitation for a hug. Tearfully, Vanya moves into the hug, once again saying she was sorry.

But then, things abruptly go downhill, as Luther immediately starts squeezing Vanya, utilizing his super strength against her until she passes out. When Vanya comes to again, she is nothing short of horrified to find herself in the same soundproof room Reginald placed her in when she was 4. When she sees Luther, Diego and Klaus standing outside the room, she tries to call out to them. But because the room is soundproofed, they cannot hear what she’s saying, and she also can’t hear them.

Outside, it seems that Luther has already told Diego and Klaus about Vanya’s powers. They are both in disbelief at the revelation. However, it soon becomes clear that they are both against the idea of keeping Vanya locked up like this. After all, this is their sister, who always cried when they stepped on ants as kids. Diego declares that if Vanya does indeed have powers, it’s obvious that she needs their help now. And they can’t help her if she’s locked in a cage. Klaus is in agreement with this sentiment, adding that Vanya is most likely struggling with her new power, which must be scary for her to deal with after years of believing she was ordinary. Allison, who has also made her way down to the soundproof room, states through written message that she wants Luther to let Vanya out of her cell, too, stating that what happened had been her own fault, not Vanya’s. But, despite all of this, Luther digs his heels in, stating Vanya is a danger to herself and others. So she must stay put until they know how to deal with it. He then all but forces Allison and his brothers to walk away, leaving Vanya alone as she pounds on the door, screaming that she’s sorry.

Okay. I gotta say this. I was pretty much on the fence about him up until this point, neither liking or hating him. But this moment made up my mind about him. Out of all the Hargreeves Siblings, Luther is the one I like the least. I don’t care if he was trying to think about what was best for everyone. I don’t care if he was just trying to keep everyone safe. At the end of the day, Luther is supposed to be the leader of the team. But this scene made it clear to me that he is the worst candidate for team leader. Because a real leader isn’t just about being the one in charge and forcing everyone to go along with your decisions. A true leader also has to listen to the rest of their teammates. And if the rest of your team is all in agreement about something, you don’t get to just overrule them as if your word automatically vetoes theirs. So much for sentiment they had back in Episode 4, when they were deciding things with a vote. Because if they were still honoring those rules, then Luther would be outvoted. Yes, Number 5 wasn’t around to voice his thoughts on the matter, but I have a hard time believing that Number 5 would be okay with Luther’s decision to lock Vanya up like this. Especially since it was established in the first episode that he and Vanya were once pretty close themselves. After all, when Number 5 disappeared when he got trapped in the future, Vanya was the one who left the lights on for him in case he ever came back during the night, also leaving out a peanut butter and marshmallow sandwich for him every night. And it was Vanya who Number 5 sought refuge with following his run-in with the first batch of temporal assassins at Griddy’s Donuts. But even IF Number 5 sided with Luther on this one, it would still have been three to two in favor of letting Vanya out. But instead, Luther is all ‘I’m team leader, so I get to have the final say in everything.’ As far as I’m concerned, Luther is going to have to perform a pretty epic makeup for this before he can be redeemed in my eyes.

Anyway, another drama is going down elsewhere. Hazel arrives back at the bird sanctuary to rejoin Agnes. But when he enters their motel room, he is met with a chilling scene. Cha-Cha has tied Anges to a chair positioned in front of the hot tub embedded in the motel room floor. All Cha-Cha has to do is pull the rope she’s holding, and Agnes will be pulled back into the hot tub to drown. Hazel tells Cha-Cha that she can do whatever she wants to him, as long as she lets Agnes go. To this, Cha-Cha states that she fully intends to kill him, but first, she’s going to make him watch as Agnes dies. Before Cha-Cha can do anything, however, Hazel lunges forward and a full-on fist fight erupts between him and Cha-Cha, with both of them during a deaf ear to Agnes’ pleas for them to stop. After this goes on for a while, Cha-Cha manages to get the upper hand over Hazel, wrapping a cord around his throat until he no longer has the energy to fight back. She then leaves Hazel lying on the floor, gasping for breath, and heads back to Agnes, instructing him to watch as she forces her back into the hot tub.

Before Agnes can hit the surface of the water, however, time suddenly stops and everything freezing in place, with only Hazel and Cha-Cha being able to move about. As Hazel and Cha-Cha look around in confusion, the door to the motel room opens and The Handler strides in, announcing they really screwed things up. Not sure how she survived the exploding grenade with nothing but a scar, but whatever.

As this episode comes to a close, we see the Hargeeves Siblings as they try to take stock of everything that’s happened. Luther tries to convince Allison that he did what he had to do, but she’s not having it, proceeding to give him the cold shoulder. (Good! He deserves it!) Diego is sitting alone in the kitchen playing with a lucky rabbit’s foot that I guess belonged to Detective Patch, only looking up when Grace places a plate of smiley faced pancakes in front of him. Klaus is in his room, attempting to play pat-a-cake with Ghost Ben in an effort to try and make physical contact with him again. And Number 5 brings Delores back to the department store where he found her. As he gets ready to leave her there, he makes a heartfelt goodbye speech to her, with him talking about how they’d been through a lot together and that he’ll never forget her. As he turns and walks away, he requests one of the people working at the department store to give Delores something new to wear, stating she likes sequins. Naturally, the department store worker is visibly confused by this but says nothing.

But then, as the episode wraps up, we see Vanya down in the soundproof room. As she gives into despair, she has some sort of mental breakdown, with her reflection on the glass door being replaced by the image of her younger self. The Young Vanya Hallucination declares that the others are still scared of them and their power. The hallucination, apparently voicing Vanya’s darkest thoughts, encourages Vanya to accept the fact that the other Hargreeves Siblings are just like Reginald and will keep her down there forever, so the only thing they can do is embrace who they are. That’s when Vanya notices there is one sound the soundproof room cannot muffle- the sound of her own heartbeat. So she ends up using that sound to activate her power, successfully breaking herself out of her cell. The sound of the door to the soundproof room crashing down is so loud, it can be heard throughout the mansion, with Luther instantly realizing what it means.

Final notes/questions

Seriously, how did The Handler survive the explosion?

What’s going to happen with Hazel and Cha-Cha? And will Agnes make it out okay?

Boy, Luther really botched that one. He should had listened to Diego, Klaus and Allison. Now Vanya is on the warpath.

No, I’m sorry, I’m still peeved with Luther. After all the indications that Reginald was the worst person in making judgement calls (sending Luther up to the moon for no real reason other than just giving him something to do, committing suicide and making it look like a murder mystery to trick everyone to reunite and lying to them all about Vanya’s powers, among other things), and was therefore not someone anyone should be emulating, he still thought copying his methods by locking Vanya up in the soundproof room was the way to go?

Is Klaus going to be able to master his new ability?

#umbrella acedmy #umbrella academy 1x09

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365daysofsasuhina · 4 years

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[ 365 Days of SasuHina || Day Three Hundred Seventeen: Intense Flavor ] [ Uchiha Sasuke, Hyūga Hinata ] [ SasuHina ] [ Verse: Of Monsters and Men ] [ AO3 Link ]

“Do you mind if I ask you something a little...odd?”

The question earns a snort. “You really think there’s much left between us that can be considered odd anymore?”

“Well, it...um…”

Sasuke glances over to his companion, watching Hinata fiddle her fingers. She’s been a lot more...curious as of late. Asking all sorts of things about him, and his world: that being the world of monsters, given that Sasuke is indeed a vampire.

Of course...Hinata isn’t wholly human herself. She’s a fading specie known by most as witches, or miko specifically in Japan.

And oh the trouble these two have been in the last several months because of it all. Humans, after all, aren’t allowed to know about the world of monsters - Nightwalkers, as they call themselves. But Hinata isn’t human - not by the standards of their laws, at least.

But the grey area - the between-the-lines - has made things...difficult for them both.

For now, however, Sasuke decides to consider the present rather than the past.

“Come on, out with it - now you’ve got me curious.”

“I was just...wondering. The night you, um...you got hurt?”

Sasuke blinks. “...the silver wound.”

“I...yes. And you...you bit me.”

“Yeah.”

Her cheeks go a bit pink at his blunt tone. “...how come that didn’t, um...make me into a vampire…?”

“Because I wasn’t in the right physical state.”

“Oh…?”

The Uchiha sighs. “People like me have several...well, states. It varies a bit by specie, but we’ll talk about vampires for now. We have what most call our facade state: to anyone looking, we appear human. Other Nightwalkers can tell, mostly by scent, but a human wouldn’t notice anything off about us. We’d just be another person walking by.

“A step up from that is shifting. What that entails is the most varied by specie. For vampires, as a humanoid class of Nightwalker, it means mostly subtle differences. Our eyes turn red, our fangs elongate, and that’s about it.”

“You can’t turn into a bat?”

At the interruption, Sasuke gives a loud snort. “Uh...no. The only reason that comparison is made is because vampire bats are the most common creature humans know that suck blood. At least they don’t think we turn into ticks or mosquitos or something.”

For a moment, Hinata actually looks a little disappointed.

“Anyway…” Sasuke backtracks mentally for a second. “So, shifting. That doesn’t actually make us able to ‘infect’ other people with vampirism.”

“It doesn’t?”

“No, but most people think it does. Even other Nightwalkers...probably because we’re one of the species most associated with biting. Many think the same about werewolves. But that’s not true. To ‘infect’ someone...you have to go a bit further.”

Sasuke’s expression sobers slightly. “...the night I was wounded, and came to you for help...I’d been fighting hunters in the city: humans, typically tied to a religious sect, that hunt Nightwalkers as...demons, or monsters, or what have you. It used to be pretty common and open in the west, but it’s mostly underground anymore, like we are. An open confrontation isn’t in their favor, either. But they do make coordinated strikes...as do we. It’s a cold war that’s not quite so cold. Just...hidden from human eyes.

“Anyway...I got hurt. But specifically, I got hurt with silver. For whatever reason, silver affects Nightwalker flesh - all of us, not just those like vampires and werewolves - far more severely than any other substance. Flesh touched by that metal won’t heal. And if you have metal in you, you can’t shift. If you’re in a human guise, you’re stuck that way. If you’re shifted, you’re stuck that way. Clearly not a good thing. So...since I was hit by a silver bullet, I couldn’t shift, and I couldn’t heal. I was trapped in my vampire appearance.

“And silver wounds? They hurt like nothing else. It’s like...fire, and electricity, and blades all at once. Nothing compares, and I’ve had my share of wounds over the years. Thankfully I’ve only ever tasted silver twice. But that pain...can drive you to your last physical state: a frenzied state.”

Genuine wariness colors Hinata’s expression. “...frenzied…?”

“It’s basically a reversion to our most base instincts. In many ways...we become the monsters humans like to paint us as. It’s a last resort for a huge boost in power, survivability...but you lose control of yourself. You literally became a mindless, bloodthirsty beast...at least until the threat has passed. It’s only then that a Nightwalker’s bite is able to pass on their...mutation, for lack of a better word.”

Hinata goes quiet for a long moment, clearly, putting two and two together. “...so when you said you were struggling to stay in control…”

“That’s what I was talking about. If the pain had pushed me far enough to become frenzied...I would have killed you. Maybe for a moment you could have held me off, if the shock didn’t overcome you. But untrained as you are...I doubt it would have taken long.”

“But...wait…” Her brow furrows. “If...if you want to...to kill everything when you’re frenzied...then how did anyone ever get t-turned?”

“You can - with enough training, diligence, and self-control - learn to master your frenzied state, and keep your mind. But it takes a long time, and even then not everyone can do it. Madara can. And others. But it’s a pretty rare ability, all things considered. Typically, yes...someone will die before they get turned. But obviously...I didn’t want to do either to you.”

Hearing Sasuke’s tone soften, Hinata in turn wilts just a bit.

“...I was struggling to stay in control enough, it may have been possible I’d infect you but not kill you. And that would have been a one-way ticket to death for us both. Turning a human - or...a witch, in your case - is one of the most important things forbidden by the mandates. Right up there with exposing our world to humans. If you’re caught turning someone...both you, and those you turn are immediately sentenced to death.”

Horrified hands lift to her mouth. “But...why?”

“To discourage it. In the past, mostly in the west, powerful Nightwalkers would turn entire armies of humans to use as cannon fodder in their territorial disputes. It led to so many senselessly lost lives...but that was before the mandates, when Nightwalkers were still out and about with humans. Nowadays, it’s illegal to keep such things from happening again...mostly to keep our world secret. That many humans going missing would make it so easy for us to be discovered. The lives lost are, sadly, a secondary threat comparatively.”

“...sometimes I forget how...brutal your world can be.”

Sasuke gives a grave nod. “We do our best to be civilized...and we are. But the way we’re forced to live means leaving no room for error. We have to be harsh...or we risk being wiped out as we nearly were before.”

“Back when people like me hunted you down…”

He gives her a glance. “...that wasn’t really the case here. Miko were more like priestesses between humans and the ‘gods’...which were mostly Nightwalkers. Japan, for a long time, had one of the calmest relations between us. Not to say the stories of monsters weren’t true about us, of course. There have always been those who hunt or abuse humans. Just like some humans hunt and abuse us. But those like you actually helped keep that to a minimum.”

That seems to brighten her mood a bit.

“...so what about that question was odd?”

“...oh! Well, um…” Hinata then goes pink all over again. “That...t-technically wasn’t my...my main question. I just...needed to...to understand all that first.”

“...okay.”

“What I...wanted to ask you was...um…” Suddenly she seems far more hesitant. “W-what was it...like? Drinking blood, I-I mean.”

“...in general, or yours specifically?”

The blush is pretty telling.

“...for the most part, we don’t feed on people directly. There’s donors. Or animal byproduct. It doesn’t have to be human, but human is more...sustaining? As for you specifically…” It’s Sasuke’s turn to pause. “...well, I’m guessing it’s because you’re a witch, but it had a far more...intense flavor than any other human I’ve had.”

“R...really?”

He nods. “And it was a lot more potent. I expected it would let me get past the silver aspect and start to heal...but by the time I left, the wound was completely gone. Didn’t even leave a scar.”

Pale eyes go wide. “Is...is that not normal?”

“Not that I’ve ever heard, no. Which is why that aspect of you is something I’ve kept from Madara completely. No telling what he’d do if he knew about that.”

“Does...anyone know?”

“Just my brother, but he’ll take it to his grave. And I already told you, I’m not doing that again.”

“Even if it might save your life?”

“Not if it puts yours in danger. I’ve done that enough,” he replies solemnly.

...she doesn’t have a retort for that.

“...so, that answer all your questions?” he asks, giving her an inquiring glance.

“...for now, I guess.”

“You’ve been awfully full of them lately.”

After a pause, Hinata heaves a heavy sigh. “...I guess I’m just...trying to understand things better than I did before. Back before...well, recent e-events, I was trying to keep myself a bit...distant. Just in case. But now that we’ve crossed that bridge...I don’t see any harm. If anything...it will be better for me to know. To be...prepared.”

Sasuke wilts a bit. “...guess you have a point.” He stares off for a long moment. “...does it scare you?”

“...it did. But...the more I learn, the more...at ease I feel. Maybe I’ll never be...fully informed, or fully used to it. But I think I can adapt enough to be...okay with it.” There’s a pause, and then she gives him a smile. “...besides, h-how else am I going to stay with you, right?”

Sasuke actually flinches in surprise, heart skipping a beat. Did...did she mean…? Trying to fight back a flustered flush, he clears his throat. “Yeah...you’re right. Just, uh...wonder if I’m the best teacher. My brother might be better for it. He’s more the type to explain than me.”

“I think you’ve done okay so far!”

“Yeah, well...you also have no way to know any better.”

“...true.”

“Well, if you don’t have anything else, you better get to bed, huh?”

At that, Hinata pouts, rubbing a hand against her face. “Ugh...don’t r-remind me...I have an exam in the morning…”

“Then you definitely need to get to bed. We can have more Nightwalker lessons another night, all right?”

“I’d rather learn about that than literature...it’s not even part of my m-major…”

“...what is your major?”

“Horticulture. So...unless I’m going to be reading some stories about plants, I...r-really don’t care. I mean, I like to read...but not what I’m stuck reading…”

That gets Sasuke to snicker. “Well...either way, you need to pass. Which means you need to sleep. How come you weren’t studying…?”

“I did that last night. I always take the night before a test off. If I cram, I always do worse, for some reason…”

“...huh. Well, I’ll expect a report on your grade when you get it. If you bomb it, no more Nightwalker lessons.”

“What?!”

“Your human education’s a bit more pressing,” he retorts with a grin. “You’re paying money for that. I’m teaching you this stuff for free.”

Her arms fold with a pout. “You sound like my d-dad…”

“I’m a concerned friend. I’m allowed to care about your education.”

“...did you ever go to college?”

“You’re changing the subject.”

“But I want to know!”

“No, I haven’t. Never needed to. But maybe I’ll go someday when I get especially bored. But not right now. Right now, that’s your job.”

“All right, all right...I’ll go. But if I do well, I get another lesson.”

“Whatever you say.”

.oOo.

(This is a sequel to days 35, 44, 52, 80, 82, 105, 115, 133, 159, 162, 188, 193, 289, 298, 307, and 310!) More Nightwalkers crossover! A bit more introspective on how some of this world's lore works...and a sprinkling of some shippiness ;3 Hinata, that's an awfully interesting question, my dear...I wonder why it's on her mind... (I actually thought of a big plot point to have at the 'finale' of this storyline while writing this, so...that's good xD) Anyway, you might notice I'm really early for once! Well...still several days behind, but for today I'm early! I have a VERY busy day ahead of me tomorrow so I gotta crash early, so...here I am getting things done at a decent hour for once xD Doubt it will last, but hey, one good day is still good lol But on that note, I DO need to head off for now. Thanks for reading!

#sasuhina #uchiha sasuke #hyūga hinata #of monsters and men [ au ]#365daysofsasuhina

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shiinonomee · 4 years

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Talking to Strangers

Meet a friend, choose a name (albeit, not well)

Word Count: ~2,000

OC centric, Third POV, Code Vein Fic

Guilt gnaws at her stomach whenever she remembers the barely concealed fear that had been in Oliver’s eyes.

The eyes of a man who knew he was going to die.

He would lose himself to the bloodlust—exacerbated by the thick miasma here—and what was that besides dying?

She could’ve stayed with him—could’ve kept him company. But it wasn’t what he’d wanted. If he’d had the strength she is sure he would’ve shoved her in the other direction with that good-natured laugh of his.

Go on—I’ll be right behind you.

A lie that she could perhaps let slide, just this once.

Both the squad sent in before her, and half of her own had been wiped out. Things aren’t boding well; even if Io had saved her from the brink of frenzy less than an hour before.

The exhaustion had knocked her straight out afterward. She hadn’t had time to put two and two together until after she had come to, in yet another unfamiliar place. Someone had been nice enough to get her up to speed, then; someone who said he was like her.

A revenant. Apparently, she’d been dead before someone had infected her with a BOR parasite, which had effectively brought her back to life...in a sense. The main difference is that now, rather than food to sustain her, she would need blood. This is all fine and good, of course, except for the fact that the military currently houses and keeps track of every human; and the only other source of what she would now need to survive are blood beads like the ones she had sprouted earlier with Io.

And, just her luck, they are pretty hard to come by these days.

That is why she is where she is, now—exploring underground caverns that had been created in what everyone is calling The Great Collapse. She still doesn’t quite understand what that was, but she knows it had been a disaster-level event that had killed many revenants when they had been human.

As she understands, the military upholds a levy system for blood beads, everyone must pay the tax or...face the consequences, she assumes. Except, now that they are so difficult to find what with all the blood springs drying up, and it is so much more dangerous to go out with the ranks of the Lost growing larger every day, many people keep revenant thralls and force them to go hunting. She can’t help but feel as though she is at fault for Io being in this situation. She shouldn’t have let herself pass out in the open. Now they are both at the mercy of those who would send them easily to their deaths, just as they had poor Oliver.

They’d given her a purifier mask to battle the miasma, at least, and the gear they say they’d found her with. A sword, beautiful golden rapier, that she has no clue how she’d obtained.

Yeah, apparently memory loss is a big thing with revenants—go figure.

She can see the tubes that run along the blade—there to collect the ichor of the Lost she kills and filter it through her mask. Her bloodveil—armor of sorts—is a long blue silken thing that trails behind her arms when she walks. Apparently it draws ichor, too, and much faster. She’s been trying to figure that one out, but before Oliver had really been able to explain it to her, he’d...

She sighs heavily and keeps moving, mind moving to Io as a sort of defense mechanism.

They’d kept her up top with them--her kidnappers. She can only pray that the strange girl who’d helped her is safe; it had made her strangely furious to be forcibly separated from her. She’d had to grit her teeth against the urge to drive her new sword through their chests, given that she’d been wildly outnumbered and had no idea if she actually knew how to use this thing.

Turns out she absolutely did—as a few minor Lost found out the hard way when they had rushed her and instinct had kicked in.

It balances perfectly in her hand, weight nicely distributed. It’s easy to wield and paired with the speed the bloodveil she wears gives, her she makes for a deadly foe. She worries about it doing the job for some of the bigger ones, though—so she sneaks past them when she can.

If she could get her hands on one of their bigger weapons...

It takes a few fights to fire her out, but luckily she stumbles upon a mistle before too long. They had told her that these had the ability to clear the miasma. They also look pretty similar to that tree Io had led her to when they’d first met—the bloodspring.

She thinks it is reasonable to assume that her blood could have some sort of effect on this, as well, so with only a little hesitation she uses the blade of her sword to slice a thin line across the meat of her index finger. Red blooms from the cut in several little beads. She watches it build up, transfixed for a moment, before holding it out over the cocooned mistle.

A faint glow emits from its tendrils as it shudders and opens almost immediately upon contact. She smiles without really realizing it at first—and for the first time since she’d first put it on, she pries off the purifier mask and lets herself breathe the fresh air.

“Well, that’s really something, isn’t it?”

The sudden voice makes her start. The golden blade glints in the low light of the mistle as she whirls on the intruder with it pointed directly at their chest. Had she had the time to be stunned yet again by her quick reflexes, she would be.

Instead, she glares hard at the man across from her, standing in the mouth of one of the tunnels she hadn’t yet explored.

Slowly, he raises the gloved hand that isn’t holding his crimson-bladed sword.

He’s good-looking—with loose brown curls and eyes so rich a brown they appear red. His skin is pale and blemish-less as a doll’s, and he has a small and angular face. He’s dressed well, rolled up sleeves on his checked button-up and a nice looking waistcoat. Dark leather pants tucked into equally fancy leather boots. He looks as likely to host a tea party as cut down a wave of Lost.

“I didn’t mean to sneak up on you—but you really surprised me, there. I’ve never seen anyone able to do what you just did before.”

As if to emphasize his harmlessness, he puts his sword away.

“My name is Louis. Do you mind if I rest here a moment with you before moving on?” He motions to the mistle, “This is the first one I’ve come across, and it’s actually functioning now, thanks to you.”

She watches him closely without saying anything for a long while, sword still hovering still in the air in front of his heart.

“The lost and miasma in this area are enough trouble for me, I assure you. I wouldn’t want to make an enemy where I could avoid it, instead.”

A moment longer and she falters. She isn’t built to be such a hard-ass, really. Even though she would do anything to get back to Io, she has to agree that to talk things out is preferable for her, as well.

Her gaze softens and she lets her sword fall.

“Please don’t make me do anything we’ll both regret.” She says softly, and then nods to the mistle. “Take what time you need.”

She sees his eyes crinkle at the corners as if he is smiling behind his mask, and realizes that he is a second later when he removes it.

“You have my thanks.” He says jovially, strolling closer. “It’s good to see someone else down here—I’ve been traveling alone up until now.”

“That’s not dangerous?” She asks, tilting her head.

He does the same back at her, offering a patient smile.

“Oh...” She murmurs, eyes cast downward, “well, I had a partner until...recently.” Louis sobers at this, an understanding look in his eyes.

“I’m truly sorry to hear that.” She nods and shakes herself out of it. “Anyway, it isn’t too terribly difficult to get back home from here, so I decided not to trouble anyone by asking them along. I like to think of myself as somewhat capable.”

Again he offers a small smile. She returns it with her own, hesitantly. “That’s fair enough.”

The silence that follows isn’t uncomfortable, per se, but she can tell he wants to say something else. She can feel him stealing glances every now and again as they relax—free of the danger of the Lost for a while. When she finally looks up again, she can see his brows knit in concentration.

“Do you mind if I ask you a question?”

“If I did, I think I’d already be offended, yeah?”

That makes him chuckle a bit. “Where did you learn to do...” he glances again at the open mistle, struck dumb for just a moment before recovering and meeting her eyes once more, “...that?”

Once more, she tries to recall her past; anything that might in some way pertain to activating mistles and bringing bloodsprings to bloom. And once more, she finds nothing but the empty void of her memories gazing back solemnly. “I’m sorry...” she says sincerely, “It seems I can’t remember anything. I’ve been trying, but...”

Louis nods, once again looking upon her with a deep understanding. She wonders to herself just how vast this memory problem is among revenants. “Well, it’s no matter, really. It is rather unique, though.”

“You’ve really never met anyone else who could do that? Io seemed to know I could do it before I did...”

“Is that a friend of yours?”

She nods. “I think so? She’s the first person I met since losing all my memories. I’m trying to make my way back to her, now—but I need to find blood beads, first. I’m worried about what’ll happen if I don’t.”

“Hm.” Louis is thoughtful for a moment. “That’s why I’m here, too, in fact. Perhaps we could continue the search together, once we’re done here.”

“I don’t see why not—as long as you don’t try to run off with all of them.”

He chuckles again, “You have my word.”

“Good to work with you, then.”

“And you.” He agrees, “Might I ask your name, in that case?”

She halts for a moment. Io had told her that they would give her a new one, so she hadn’t thought much about it since waking. Her thrall number is apparently Four, and while it would work well enough she didn’t quite fancy being referred to by something those people had come up with.

Still, when she thinks back—the only origins she remembers are the ones born from waking up on that road with Io. She couldn’t very well steal Io’s name...so maybe...

“Road...-y...” She says haltingly, cheeks flushing embarrassedly at the unnatural sound of it. It tumbles clumsily off her tongue, but Louis doesn’t even flinch.

“Rhodey? That’s a fine name.” She doesn’t know if he says it because he can tell she’d just come up with it on the fly or because he truly thinks so; still, she appreciates the honesty he speaks with.

Really...not even a street name; but the road itself...

She tries not to wince visibly at her own blandness.

“I’m glad you think so...” she mutters, and he laughs. Then, sparing one more curious glance at the mistle, he adopts a look of careful resolve on his face.

“You know,” he starts, pondering something, “I’m actually doing a study on bloodsprings, beads, the like. Your ability could really do wonders, and perhaps along the way, we could find out how you came to be able to affect them, yourself. It wouldn’t be a one-sided deal, I can assure you of that much, at least. If you’d like to be involved we can discuss it once we’ve returned topside.”

Rhodey stares wide-eyed and unblinking. “Really?” It sounds better than being a thrall, at any rate. Perhaps he would be willing to help her free Io and herself from captivity. He nods. “I’ll...I’ll think about it. I need to get back to Io, before anything else.”

“Then let’s not keep her waiting.”

#code vein #oc ; rhodey #fic ; carrier of the blood

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