#“your pyramids are not to be torn down because they are old”

[theartofdreaming1]

Slightly paraphrased, but Peeta talking about that moment he developed his crush on Katniss is just too sweet 😊

As usual, my thoughts regarding this week’s prompts and random thoughts on chapters 22-24 are below the cut (sprinkled in some psychology thoughts again).

heart

Honestly, I think the people in Panem would perceive the whole everlark storyline the same way we perceive and react to our ships on tv (desperately wanting to reach through the screen, shoving the characters forcefully together, screaming “And now, kiss!”); especially the Capitolites who barely recognize the tributes (or people in the districts, in general) as people. The people in the districts would definitely view the whole thing more under a “reality tv” kind of lens, questioning how much of the relationship is real or not (we know that Finnick certainly thought that the entire thing was just a spiel, until Peeta hit that forcefield). The time spent in the cave must have been pretty convincing, though.

mind

I think that Katniss is still torn here - On the one hand, she kind of wants to believe that Peeta is actually into her (remember the happiness she felt when Peeta told her how his crush on her began, and it all added up and seemed so real), but on the other hand she’s terrified of that possibility because A) lingering trauma from her mom’s depression in response the Mr. Everdeen’s death, B) Katniss never even considered falling in love, so that’s a sudden unexpected thing to deal with, and C) maybe it’s just for the sake of the Games; and wouldn’t that hurt, getting your hopes up only to learn it was only for show? (How about we ask Peeta about that?)

soul

Yeah, that quote about Peeta only eating stale bread also struck me as quite sad. It just further adds to his understanding how there should be more to life than just survival, though. (One day, I’ll make that post about Peeta, Katniss, and Maslow’s pyramid of needs, I swear! I’ve already gathered some research material)

Chapter 22

My mother’s hand strokes my cheek and I don’t push it away as I would in wakefulness, never wanting her to know how much I crave that gentle touch. How much I miss her even though I still don’t trust her. - Ugh, I can’t... Katniss misses her mom, misses being cared for😢 I’m so glad we’re going to see her patch up her relationship with her mom in CF... On a different note, Katniss craving that gentle touch just perfectly illustrates why she’s so drawn to Peeta, who is generally such a gentle soul (I mean, he’s literally the person stroking her cheek here 😊)

He [Peeta] doesn’t seem angry about my tricking him, drugging him, and running off to the feast. Maybe I’m just too beat-up and I’ll hear about it later when I’m stronger. But for the moment, he’s all gentleness. - As I was saying... 😉

“I’ll go hunting soon,” I say. “Not too soon, all right?” he says. “You just let me take care of you for a while.” - I love them so much😊🥰 And then Peeta makes sure she’s well-fed and hydrated, he rubs her cold feet and tucks her into the sleeping back... and she let’s him! 💗

“He [Thresh] let you go because he didn’t want to owe you anything?” asks Peeta in disbelief. “Yes. I don’t expect you to understand it. You’ve always had enough. But if you’d lived in the Seam, I wouldn’t have to explain,” I say. “And don’t try. Obviously I’m too dim to get it,” he says. - Oof. This exchange here is interesting in many ways: 1) it highlights their different experiences, tied to their different socioeconomic backgrounds, basically, and 2)  that Katniss is very much aware of this difference, but we also see hints of her own ignorance here - because Peeta didn’t have to starve in his childhood, she thinks that he can’t possibly understand this level of hardship; but there are other ways in which one can suffer/lack fundamental needs, which brings us to 3) Peeta’s response about being “obviously too dim to get it”; I think this is a clue to his mom being also verbally abusive towards him: she called him “stupid creature” when he burnt those loaves of bread for Katniss and when he’s losing it in the attic of the Justice Building in D11 in CF he is mad that Katniss and Haymitch keep things from him “like [he’s] too inconsequential or stupid or weak to handle them”, which - to me - sounds like he’s tired of being treated that way (i.e. the way his mother treats him)

“I want to go home, Peeta,” I say plaintively, like a a small child. - God, this is a teenager in a murder-arena who feels like wanting to go home is a childish notion instead of a totally legitimate wish for anyone in that situation, regardless of age 😢

It’s not that Peeta’s soft exactly, and he’s proved he’s not a coward. But there are things you don’t question too much, I guess, when your home always smells like baking bread, whereas Gale questions everything. What would Peeta think of the irreverent banter that passes between us as we break the law each day? Would it shock him? The things we say about Panem? Gale’s tirades against the Capitol? - Geez, Katniss, give Peeta some credit here! A) It’s not like Peeta can walk around District 12 talking publicly about the injustices happening there - she and Peeta hadn’t even talked with each other before the reaping, whereas Gale is her best friend who rants to her while they are outside the confines of D12 and B) Peeta is literally the one who introduced the whole “not a piece in their Games”-idea to her; why would he be clutching his pearls over Katniss and Gale’s irreverent banter?! Just because Peeta didn’t live on the brink of starvation (she again brings up how his house smells like bread and - at this point - still thinks that the family running the bakery actually gets to eat what they produce just like that), doesn’t mean he doesn’t see how shitty life in D12 is - he can still want better conditions for those who are worse off than him!

“I did do the right thing,” I say. “No! Just don’t, Katniss!” His grip tightens, hurting my hand, and there’s real anger in his voice. “Don’t die for me. You won’t be doing me any favors. All right?” - Well, we’ll see this song and dance again in CF...

And while I was talking, the idea of actually losing Peeta hit me again and I realized how much I don’t want him to die. [...] And it’s not about what will happen back home. And it’s not just that I don’t want to be alone. It’s him. I do not want to lose the boy with the bread.” - I wish CF Katniss would remember this moment when she is questioning her motives about saving Peeta’s life in the arena - You. Care. For. This. Boy! You. Value. Him. For. Who. He. Is!!!

This is the first kiss that we’re both fully aware of. [...] This is the first kiss where I actually feel stirring inside my chest. Warm and curious. This is the first kiss that makes me want another. - Whoo! Is it hot in here or is it just me? 😉

I’m struck by his immediacy now. As we settle in, he pulls my head down to use his arm as a pillow; the other rests protectively over me even when he goes to sleep. No one has held me like this in such a long time. Since my father died and I stopped trusting my mother, no one else’s arms have made me feel this safe. - He makes her feel safe in a murder-arena!!! 😭 This is the kind of stuff that makes everlark just a top tier romance, tbh

Peeta telling Katniss about his crush starting on their first day of school 🥰😭 - and her reaction to it... For a moment, I’m almost foolishly happy - yes, because you have a crush on him, too! - and then confusion sweeps over me. Because we’re supposed to be making up this stuff [...] So, if those details are true... could it all be true? - YESSSSSSSS!!!

“You have a... remarkable memory, “ I say haltingly. - as a severely socially awkward person... I felt that lame response in my bones 😅

“You don’t have much competition anywhere.” And this time, it’s me who leans in. - God, this would be such an amazing moment if it didn’t get tainted by that immediate sponsor gift, which just serves to muddle Katniss’s feelings with her sense of survival, further complicating her relationship with Peeta... *sigh* 

Chapter 23

“What was that you were saying just before the food arrived? Something about me... no competition... best thing that ever happened to you...” “I don’t remember that last part,” I say, hoping it’s too dim in here for the cameras to pick up my blush. “Oh, that’s right. That’s what I was thinking,” he says. - Peeta is the master of being a cheeky little shit and adorable flirt at the same time

“So, since we were five, you never even noticed any other girls?” I ask him. “No, I noticed just about every girl, but none of them made a lasting impression but you,” he says. - I appreciate that while Peeta has had a crush on Katniss forever, he clearly didn’t spend the entire time pining after her, oblivious to the rest of the world - he has a life outside of Katniss Everdeen, but ultimately, it all lead back to her

A disturbing thought hits me. “But then, our only neighbor will be Haymitch!” “Ah, that’ll be nice,” says Peeta, tightening his arms around me. “You and me and Haymitch. Very cozy. Picnics, birthdays, long winter nights around the fire retelling old Hunger Games tales.” “I told you, he hates me!” I say, but I can’t help laughing at the image of Haymitch becoming my new pal. - Laugh all you want, this is going to end up being your future anyway 😄

He [Haymitch]’s at something of a disadvantage because most mentors have a partner, another victor to help them whereas Haymitch has to bready to go into action at any moment. Kind of like me when I was alone in the arena. I wonder how he’s holding up, with the drinking, the attention, and the stress of tring to keep us alive. - Katniss is already worrying about her “new pal”, I see ;)

Maybe he [Haymitch] wasn’t always a drunk. Maybe, in the beginning, he tried to help the tributes. But then it got unbearable. It must be hell to mentor two kids and then watch them die. - Honestly, that sounds absolutely awful...

Poor, Katniss, when she learns of Thresh’s death :( - But no one will understand my sorrow at Thresh’s murder. - It’s horrible how compassion and basic human decency gets construed as ‘weakness’ in the world of Hunger Games (esp. the Capitol)

Then I escape into sleep, comforted by a full belly and the steady warmth of Peeta beside me. - Honestly, I think a word analysis of THG-series could be interesting; how often does Katniss mention “warmth”, “steady/steadiness” “safe/safety/security” in connection with “Peeta”?

“We make a goat cheese and apple tart at the bakery,” he says. “Bet that’s expensive,” I say. “Too expensive for my family to eat. Unless it’s gone very stale. Of course, practically everything we eat is stale,” says Peeta [...] Huh. I always assumed the shopkeepers live a soft life. And it’s true, Peeta has always had enough to eat. But there’s something kind of depressing about living your life on stale bread - Katniss is starting to realize that the lives of the merchants isn’t a cushy as she thought; also, in a way, we see a “prettier” version of how Panem treats the districts overall -> feeding the districts just enough that they can do their work (plus/minus a couple of people who’ll die of starvation, but at a small, for Capitolites insignificant margin), but not so much that they are in good shape to rebel; here, the merchants of D12 have just enough that they can live a “decent” life (they know it could be worse -> the Seam), but they don’t have enough to live a free, comfortable, self-determined life either. This also just further drives a wedge between the inhabitants of D12 (the merchants won’t want to rebel because they don’t want to get ‘demoted’ in their lifestyle, starving like the people from the Seam, and the Seam folk feel resentful towards the merchant people, while also not having the resources to rebel, due to their awful socioeconomic conditions)

What would be my life like on a daily basis? Most of it has been consumed with the acquisition of food. Take that away and I’m not really sure who I am, what my identity is. - It’s so sad who Katniss has been so consumed with ensuring that her most base needs are fulfilled that she barely has had the time to really figure out who she is and what she wants from life (If we’re talking Maslow’s pyramid of needs, Katniss would primarily be stuck on the lowest tier 😢)

At least, we’ll be friends, I think. Nothing will change the fact that we’ve saved each other’s lives in here. And beyond that, he will always be the boy with the bread. Good friends. - Honestly, Katniss counting on being good friends with Peeta after the Games is the highest honor she can bestow on him at that moment (she’s so into him, lol); of course, knowing that their relationship is going to be a bit rocky once they’ve come back makes this thought a little sad... but we also know they’ll make up (and out ;) in the future

Peeta licking his plate and blowing a kiss out to Effie is such an adorable goofball-moment 😊

I cover his mouth with my hand, but I’m laughing. “Stop! Cato could be right outside our cave.” He grabs my hand away. “What do I care? I’ve got you to protect me now,” says Peeta, pulling me to him. - This moment would be so cute (also, Peeta’s so confident in Katniss’s skills to protect him, which is adorable - toxic masculinity who?) but... Ugh, he’s just so giddy here, it kind of breaks my heart for when he learns later that (at least some) of Katniss’s reactions were just for show

“If we want food, we better head back up to my old hunting grounds,” I say. “Your call, Just tell me what you need me to do,” Peeta says. - Love how Peeta’s always ready to follow Katniss’s lead :)

Ideally, I’d dump Peeta now with some simple root-gathering chore and go hunt [...] “Katniss,” he says. “We need to split up. I know I’m chasing away the game.” [...] “Show me some plants to gather and that way we’ll both be useful.” - Teamwork! If it weren’t for Katniss worrying for Peeta’s safety, they’d be on the same page here

“What if you climbed up in a tree and acted as a lookout while I haunted?” I say, trying to make it sound like very important work. “What if you show me what’s edible around here and go get us some meat?” he says, mimicking my tone. - I really like how Peeta’s challenges Katniss here; he doesn’t just go along with everything she says, while still being quite reasonable

I feel like I’m eleven, again, tethered not to the safety of the fence but to Peeta, allowing myself twenty, maybe thirty yards of hunting space. [...] I allow myself to drift farther away, and soon have two rabbits and a fat squirrel to show for it. - I don’t know, but Katniss feeling tethered to Peeta makes me think of Mary Ainsworth’s attachment theory, according to which children with a secure attachment to their primary caregiver use  their “attachment figure as a safe base to explore the environment”... Of course, Ainsworth’s Strange Situation was conducted with young children, but attachment styles are supposed to influence the relationships we form with people in our later lives as well (including romantic relationships)... I dunno, just a random association that popped into my brain 😅

Chapter 24

Peeta’s a whiz with fires, coaxing a blaze out of the damp wood. - Heh, Peeta sure knows how to handle fire, huh, Katniss (or should I say: Girl on Fire?) 😏

I order him into the sleeping bag and set aside the rest of his food for him when he wakes. He drops off immediately. I pull the sleeping bag up to his chin and kiss his forehead, not for the audience, but for me. Because I’m so greateful that he’s still here, not dead by the stream as I’d thought.  - Aww, this is so sweet (and domestic)!

It’s funny. I feel almost as if it’s the first day of the Games again. That I’m in the same position. [...] But no, there’s the boy waiting beside me. I feel his arms wrap around me. - They are a team! Katniss doesn’t have to face the horrors of the Games alone anymore! It keeps boiling down to this.

[neonponders]

I never thought I’d write a court jester!Steve x King!Billy fic, but here we are. I entirely blame @ghostofjellyfishforgotten and @drinkingbeerfroma for this 💋

The original king!Billy and jester!Steve fics are here~ (this is a gift for Ghost and meant to be read in tandem with their fics 🌹)

Drinkingbeerfroma’s fanart is here~​​ (the enabling source, send them some love 🌹)

P.s....you can probably tell how much of The Witcher: Blood and Wine influenced this for me lol Ch. 2 coming soon! Or, you know, some time!

Read on ao3.

• • • • • • •

Billy strolled into his royal chambers with a tune on his lips. Usually the rustle of clothing, the scoot of furniture, reacted to his whistle so that he could meet his jester right at the door. Or by the bed.

Then again, Steve did wander. Perhaps that’s why he worked as a jester: always the desire to move, to fidget, and it had lent into a natural proclivity for acrobatics.

Billy had never much cared for the athleticism of the job. Not that it wasn’t impressive, but the stunts were the bottom of his jester’s abilities. His Steve.

Steve, who was nowhere in the expansive rooms. Billy huffed a sigh through his nose. He began loitering around, investigating what his jester had left behind and what it could mean for where he’d gone.

Except…he’d left everything behind. Billy’s gaze locked on the sapphire and green velvet of the suit he’d gifted Steve himself, now left in a rumbled state on the bed. The gleaming silk fibers moved with the midday light of the window as Billy circled around the bed to touch them, as if to test that they were real. The fool as good as lived in the king’s royal chambers by this point, so he opened the dresser beside the large writing desk and—

Steve’s original suits and garments sat in the drawers, untouched. The yellow shirt Billy had torn—twice—until Steve left it in disrepair, tired of mending it. The red and purple suit which he’d first strolled into court wearing. His blue boots. The red boots. The god-awful yellow boots to go with that shirt apart from how stained they were from daily living.

What the hell is my fool wearing? Billy mused in disbelief, his amusement only checked by worry.

Amusement that snuffed out under the weight of a paper he finally saw on the desk itself. Both of Steve’s jester hats stood on either side of it, crowning the white square to garner Billy’s attention. More than once, Billy had marveled at his jester’s ability to read and write. This was not one of those times.

Majesty,

An emergency called me home. Nothing to worry about. I’ll return soon.

Yours,

Steve.

Billy read those four lines over and over again, worry tussling with indignant rage, and then confusion. He wanted more out of a note from Steve, which ought not be the prior concern in his mind, but there it was.

Why not address me by my name? This note is for me, nobody else. Who did you fear seeing it? In my own chambers? We’re far past courtly manners.

Largest understatement of his entire reign, but whatever. More annoying and concerning details eclipsed Billy’s focus.

He had no idea where ‘home’ meant for Steve. His Steve. Billy’s pride ordained that Billy is his home; what other place—or person—could have the audacity to yank his fool right out from under him?

Billy’s voice roared down the corridors outside his chambers. His staff was certainly used to making haste in their duties, but this was something else. The king had lost something precious to him, and hell would shiver until he had it back.

It is both a blessing and a curse that the lesbians in his court did not fear him.

“Would you shut the hell up?” Heather barked, swinging out of her room fully dressed in robes but hair a disaster. “Some of us like to do our own fucking now and again.”

“Where is Steve?” Billy growled, damned note in hand. “When did you last see him?”

“This morning,” she sighed with a tone that Billy did not understand until she added, “When he left with Robin. He warned me that you might be grouchy—”

“Grouch—” he began to seethe, but Heather took the paper right out of his hand to give it a look.

“He said he left you a note, your majesty,” she purred through a voice he now noticed to be quite raw. Overused. Her eyelids hung low like she was drunk, or three orgasms gone to the wind.

This only abated Billy’s nerves slightly. Steve genuinely left on his own?

“Where is home?”

Heather frowned at the lines. “For a musician, he isn’t great with words.”

“HEATHER.”

“Same home as my lady, Robin’s. They complain about their corner of the kingdom often enough,” she retorted while surrendering the note as if it had caught flame. “Good grief. How many months has it been? You really don’t pay attention. Your majesty.”

He grimaced pointedly at her lackadaisical manners this morning, but snatched the page up. The sour expression did not fade as he asked, “Who are you fucking if Robin’s not here?”

Heather’s groggy eyes rolled. “I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself many times over. You’re not the only one around here with an abundance of energy.”

Fuming and feeling too hot for his clothes, Billy marched back to his chambers, yelling orders about a horse.

* * *

More than one person urged against this decision. The more people who tried to talk him out of it, the more disheartening the whole point of secrecy became. Then again, roaring for the whole castle to hear, might not have been the wisest start.

So he sent a rider in one direction, on some pointless “errand for the king,” while he road in another.

It had been a long time since Billy wore commoners’ clothes. He also did not usually go clean-shaven, but he was a different person now. A lone rider on the king’s road, journeying his way to the edge of the kingdom. Two advisors had urged him to take an entourage, at most his best guardsman—but Billy is the best guardsman. First knight and crown prince under his father, The Tyrant. Every dawn stolen from him until the late king’s passing, utterly devoted to training hard, practicing consistent, and never, never losing.

Until the old bastard finally croaked from pneumonia. How simple. How mortal. And ironic, considering his playboy—rat of my blood—heir paraded around with open shirts whenever he was off duty. Constantly challenging gods and climate to do away with him whenever they wished.

The gods took a different king, though. Billy is the monarch now, and for a while, he will be nobody. A fool searching for his fool, and it was not lost on him how ironic his own death might become. But traveling alone on his own roads did not deter him. He’d been on these highways many times—hell, he’d even been assigned to designing and monitoring the reconstruction of the kingdom’s infrastructure.

His last steps on these roads occurred during the funeral tour for his father. An obnoxious tradition, but he’d made the journey in his first month as king. He wondered if anyone would recognize him now. He’d grown his hair out, and so often adorned his face with nothing less of stubble; often indulging in his own shaving kit to manage his facial hair himself and styled it differently whenever he wished. He liked the way lovers shivered against him when he touched their skin. When the lion pressed his lips against the lamb’s pulse.

He liked applying creams to Steve’s inflamed, beard-burnt skin.

He sighed over his horse’s even, medium paced trot. He was a fool, indeed.

* * *

The only thing keeping Billy from scolding himself for knowing so little about his jester, was the fascination of where he came from. Lady Robin entered court to jeers and teasing over her humble, bumpkin origins—before she rightly debated and venomously talked her way around every gnat who dared flaunt a lower intelligence over her.

Billy knew she and Steve got along, but not how much they had in common. Originating from one of the farming districts was one thing, but specifically the dairy and vineyard region proved a fascinating piece of information.

As well as a gorgeous journey. It took a day and two nights, but forests soon exhaled into rolling hills for lines of grape trees, pastures for cattle, sheep, and goats. Billy knew he was getting closer to the center of it all because grapevines began to line the road, with signs every couple of miles encouraging travelers to eat their fill, along with a number informing how far they were to more accommodating civilization.

The smell of shit and manure dampened the experience, but Billy could not claim ignorance over how his own city smelt during the summer. Even under royal decree that half the fleabags leave the capital in order to minimize summer fever and pestilence, the place still reeked.

The road began to veer down into a lush valley of hills; below was the bustling city of this region, and above stood a number of large homes. One ought to have appeared bigger than the rest, but such shared opulence suggested a wealthy middle class instead of one lord standing above them all. Economically, this was healthier. Socially, Billy felt utterly foreign to this hierarchal shape. His court was an uneven, pyramid hourglass. With himself standing on its point, a bloated pool of lords and deceit, then a strangled middle class before an even bigger pool of lower class just trying to feed themselves. It is a shape which cannot hold itself up, and yet he tirelessly managed it.

It’s not my fault, he defended to nobody. It’s what I inherited.

He pat his horse’s neck, feeling the silken grey fur that drew passersby’s glances. He had a beautiful mount: a grey so vibrant she looked blue under storm clouds. His saddle and bridle were humble; couldn’t very well walk around with his embossed leather saddle or a bridle glittering with the king’s golden medallions on every buckle.

When a woman gazed a little too long at him instead of his horse, Billy eased to a stop and smiled charmingly. “Excuse me, where might I find the House of Buckley?”

She adjusted the basket in her arms to hold it on her hip while she swayed coyly. “Peach-colored house on the hill, sir. May I ask what business you have there?”

“Visiting a friend.” Unless she’s in disguise too.

“Best to wait until evening time. Everyone’s in the market or out in the fields right now.”

Billy tilted his head at her. “Buckley is a noble house.” Nobody is working in the fields from that family—

Then she laughed. Laughed. “Are you from the capital?”

Billy’s charm faltered on his face, but he picked it back up easily enough. “Thereabouts. Why?”

“Because people from the capital believe everyone’s rich. Rich enough to sit or poor enough to not own a chair. We all work here, and we’re all in the market or the fields. I can tell you which are Sir Buckley’s, though.”

The little twit liked being a know-it-all, but it served Billy a great deal to be given the tour. Here, property decided who reigned, and property came in the form of land, livestock, or both. With that came a handful of useful names: Buckley, Hagan, Harrington, Wheel—

Billy’s eyes widened like a cat’s pupils dilating on prey. “STEVE!”

Because…there he was. His Steve, strolling right up the cobbled road from the hills and into the market with a donkey loaded with grape baskets beside him. He hadn’t heard his name, giving Billy the time to absorb every new detail about the man who vanished from his castle.

The white, puffy shirt held close to his body with a waistcoat. High-waisted trousers made his legs look long and lean over workman’s boots. He shoved up the colorful fabric ties around his biceps, holding up the shirtsleeves but failing due to all of the sweat from a day in the sun. A belt sagged a little diagonally around his hips, on which such things as pliers, shears, a garden knife, and a pair of leather and canvas gloves waited for use.

Steve took off a large sunhat and set it on the donkey’s head, combing both of his hands through his voluminous, brown hair—

“Steve!”

Billy began to walk his horse in that direction, having long since dismounted for the courtesy of his guide, but now the latter gripped his arm in warning. “That’s Lord Harrington to you.”

Billy blew a raspberry right into the air, scoffing, “Excuse me?”

The woman rolled her eyes so hard, she would have been thrown into a stockade for behaving like that to—well, to a king. But she let go of him and went on her way, leaving him to his fate.

So off he went. Billy walked his mount over to where a collection of people were attending to the donkey and the grapes, and Steve nodded in discussion with an older man.

“Lord Harrington, I hear?” he crooned in greeting.

Two heads rotated toward him, and Billy felt rather smacked in the face by the matching eyes and nose. Father. This is Steve’s father.

Lord Harrington. Twice over.

Steve’s features opened with shocked eyes and a dropped jaw. His eyes darted to his father’s frown, and Billy quickly backpedaled, “I apologize. I know the younger, but not the older. My name’s Billy Hargrove.”

He’d bowed his fair share as a knight, though the gesture felt far removed since he was out of practice. Never the less, Steve gaped at his king bowing slightly at the hips and extending a hand for Lord Harrington to shake.

Thing about being king, not many people actually know the monarchy’s family name. They knew William the Second. William of the Grove. Some whispered the Second Tyrant, but only because Billy was still young and new to being king. They were waiting for him to prove them right.

Lord Harrington shook his head with a glance at his son. “You didn’t say anyone was coming with you.”

“I didn’t think anyone was,” Steve answered bluntly, but he picked up the gist of Billy’s disguise easily enough. “Billy’s been a big help to me in the capital.”

“How so?”

Billy’s brows lifted, but before he could provide a veiled innuendo, Steve chirped, “Roommates. Got me a job. Kept me fed.”

“I did my best,” Billy crooned. He watched Steve’s apple bob in his throat.

Lord Harrington, with his similar, albeit shorter and silver, hair and weathered skin opened his arm to gesture Billy up the road. “You’ll be our guest, then. I’ll show you along. Are you staying at the inn?”

“No, my lord. I’ve only just arrived.”

“Very good. This way. Steve, remind Roger about the textiles. We’ve sheared the animals twice already this season. He needs to either wash it or sell it. We can’t hold onto it or else it will mold and be useless to barter.”

Billy peeked at Steve, who similarly veered to go on his separate way. He met Billy’s gaze for the briefest second, and he looked…not entirely happy to see Billy.

The king did not like that at all.

* * *

Billy looked around the Harrington estate, taking in every detail that Lord Harrington granted him. He had yet to see an inkling of whatever this emergency could have been to rush Steve out of the capital. Out of Billy’s bed. It made sense, now, why he had left everything behind, since he had a home and full wardrobe waiting for him here. Billy had not seen a glimpse of Lady Buckley, though.

People are supposed to ask my permission to leave, damn it. Or at the very least, inform him first. Not skip town like bandits.

The Harrington house looked out over the estate’s vast hills of grapes, goats, and sheep. It would have been endearing, the farmers using their canes to nudge the goats along the alleys of vines so they could snack on fallen grapes. Endearing, if Steve had been the one to show him all this. Billy wanted Steve next to him on this veranda—if it could be called that. The house and its balconies overlooking the city and hills were much smaller than his castle’s, of course.

Billy did not stay long in his rooms—room. Just a room. You certainly acclimated to luxury, he reminded himself. One of his first orders in the castle had been a complete renovation to his chambers. He would not live in his father’s rooms. Those were turned into a storage branch of the castle, and Billy had several walls knocked down to make way for the new royal apartments. Let the old bastard haunt the broom cupboards.

Billy trotted down the narrow stairs into what felt like an abrupt arrival at the dining room. Further down in the house would be the kitchen but there was a smaller, stewards’ pantry, of sorts, in which a woman stood and rotated upon hearing him. It took a second, but Billy remembered to bow.

“Am I correct in addressing the lady of the house?”

“You are,” smiled Lady Harrington. It came as no surprise that she looked at least ten years younger than her husband, but the blonde hair did catch Billy off guard. She offered her hand, which he took and kissed its back.

“For some reason, I didn’t think Steve took after his father so much.”

“In looks only. He has all his personality from me.”

Billy rocked a little on his heels, humming an acknowledging sound. He certainly did not voice his amusement that she might’ve just revealed more about her marital bed than she meant to. He simply replied, “I believe it. May I ask: Steve and Lady Buckley rushed out with hardly any explanation. Is everything all right?”

“Oh, everything’s no more out of the ordinary than it usually is,” she began, returning to her task of preparing what looked like a fruit-soaked wine for their dinner. She sliced up apples and peaches with a curved blade and a practiced hand. “However, our ordinary can be quite sudden and busy.”

A different hum came from Billy’s chest at that. “I understand. Is there anything I can do?”

“Well, if you’re offering, you can half those grapes right there.”

Billy sent the wooden bowl of fruit a dubious glance and then laughed breathily, “I meant—”

“I know what you meant,” she smiled. “For now, you can help me prepare the wine.”

A long dead growl moved through Billy’s mind. Woman’s work—

Stay dead, tyrant, Billy hushed with finality. He accepted the spare knife from her and did the task he was given. She couldn’t know that he was who he was, after all. No one in this town apart from Steve knew that Billy could supply the money, machinery, and manpower at a moment’s notice for whatever reason they might need—

Chatter and laughter moved like a reverse echo outside the house, blooming quickly until, of all people, Robin Buckley herself clapped on the stoop of the Harrington’s side door. Open as it is for the breeze to come and go, she waltzed right in, and stopped at the sight of Billy. Her laughter cut off only to be replaced with, “You!”

“Me,” he threw right back. He raised a brow at a woman of the royal court wearing trousers and boots.

Lady Harrington chimed, “Oh, so you are friends.”

Billy peered back at her. “Was there any doubt?”

“Oh, dear, you look like you’ve never worked a field in your life.”

Billy had never heard his jaw hit the floor until that moment. Robin’s chuckle arrived beside him as she ripped off a handful of grapes for a snack. “When did you get here?”

“Not an hour ago.”

“You could’ve stayed put.”

“You’re enjoying this,” he growled, hoping that she heard his meaning through the words. I’m still your king even if no one here knows it.

She smirked, hearing loud and clear. “Steve gave me the heads up.”

He matched her smile, tone dripping with charming venom. “And where is he?”

She shook her head at him, cooing a tone that was both soothing and condescending. “He’ll be around. You’re in…his house, after all. Thanks, Anne.”

“You’re welcome, dear,” came Lady Harrington’s reply, but Billy hardly heard it.

He was in Steve’s house. A lord’s house. Lord Harrington’s house…and Billy was just some nobody.

Robin really was enjoying this too much.

[lunarkreatures]

So did this a while ago, did everything by hand cause i didn't know i could download templates from storytellers vault. I wanted to do a fake cover just to test out CSP. 

So the idea of it is something like the rage across books from werewolf the apocalypse that are supplements for many places in the world. rage across worlds would be completely different scenarios and worlds for werewolf the reclaimed that would basically be a tweaked version of forsaken that I am working on. 

That aside I even wrote a full story that would be the introduction to the scenario of the red pyramid. you can read it after the read more.

The chronicles of the red pyramid

This is a tale from the old times, ages ago. A time when the red pyramid, the palace of the god king wasn't the nest of horror it is today, it's red shine would invoke adoration not fear. People would look at it's red light and feel safe, protected, but people sleep turned away from it's light, it's said that just sleeping looking at it is enough to give nightmares, or even invite the dark presence to from that place come after you. 

There are many variations of this tale, many different interpretations, though the true story only the cursed heir and the warriors who decided to commit the first act against the gods know the truth. And I will tell you a tale, that you probably heard before...

The first slaying took place during the night, under the watchful eyes of the two moons, inside the red pyramid. Right after dinner, people tell stories of how the heir to the throne and her warriors just suddenly started attacking the soldiers in the castle one by one. Until it was only them and the king, the attack inside the castle was sudden, brutal, the hallways inside the red pyramid are still red to this day from the bloodshed. The bodies of the guards completely torn apart in pieces, the work of a true beast. 

The savage warriors and their leader arrived at the top of the pyramid, the throne room, where the king awaited. The king pleaded to his child to stop this madness but the heir didn’t hesitate, she raised her blade stabbing the king, her warriors watched everything happen, all quiet. 

The king fell unmoving on the floor, blood pooling around the unmoving body, the scene illuminated by the lights inside the chamber and the moons covered by the clouds. The heir however, was not satisfied with the death of the king, her blade went down one more time, this time cutting off his head, blood came out of the severed head, pooling around it.

She raised her blade towards the moons in victory. At that time the clouds stopped blocking the moons view. You know, many say that the small red moon was actually the previous queen's ascended form. Some say she is the direct daughter of the nameless god, the huge moon in the sky, and she was granted a flesh body to protect us from the spirits and once her duty was done she went back to the sky, others say she was mortal and due to a great sacrifice she ascended. Though that's not important for our tale, what is important is what happened when the clouds covering the red moon cleared. The light shone into the chamber, filling it with a red ominous glow. 

Many things happened in seconds, the direct rays of moonlight changed all those in the room. It's said the moon went mad from the scene she witnessed, and cursed her child to take a bestial form. The heir, once a proud warrior, became a monster. Her loyal knights were also punished becoming animals. The dead king, it is said that the moon tried to bring her lover to life but something went wrong, something that was never alive was born out of this, a paradox itself. Something not made of flesh and yet it bled, could pass through walls and yet it was solid, was not of its world, and yet, it merged with it. 

The now monstrous heir fought that, made it bleed and  tried to kill that once again. The warriors also fought and suddenly the presence vanished along with the king’s severed head. When the guards arrived they saw the animal knights and the heir, and the dead king body. They prepared to attack but the animals vanished, the heir escaped through the window and to this day roams the land, cursing others to its same fate.

The red moon went mad from grief, cursing all who she felt deserved to be punished with the same curse she did to her child. Since then weird creatures roam the land, not the cursed, but incorporeal beings, abominations of flesh that hunt anything alive that they can find, twist the world around to grotesque things. It is said this is all the work of the cursed heir and her minions so tell me are you ready to spread the horror in the world and feast upon your loved ones? 

...Uhm? What is with that face? HAHAHAHA I am joking with you, you feel deep down that this story is not true, right? Well that's the story many believe, but there is another version, like i said many versions. But because of this story we are monsters, the culprits of what has happened to the world, we are the cursed. We are always being hunted, and yet we are hunters of our own, we have a purpose.

You see, let me tell the other side of this story. First the heir we don't even know if she was cursed in the first place, just that she exists and almost seems to avoid us...i don't know why. Where i come from we refer to the heir as the moon’s daughter but others refer to her through other names. 

And what could have caused her to do what she did? It is said that the king made the unthinkable, he opened a gateway between our world and another place, a place that is the reflection of our own, where the abominations live. He was able to break the protection the gods put in place, they sacrificed being able to talk to us to protect us from the creatures that come from the shadow, in many places the barrier between these worlds is weakening and things are changing. However it's not just monsters that live in the shadow the gods envoys usually talk to us and help us, teaching us the power of gods. 

They say the heir to this day regrets what she had done, but there was no other way, the king was not himself anymore, he died long ago and something else was in its place, it said when she served his head, a black liquid oozed from it, taking form and shape ready to escape, the heir then pleaded the moon for power to fulfill her destiny, to give her a weapon capable of killing whatever that was that was when she changed, her blade merging with her, claws and fangs getting the power to slay even a god. And she attacked, giving a permanent injury on that thing that to this day bleeds, but was not able to kill it … heartbroken from what she had to do and feeling the pressure of her failure she ran away. Her loyal knights understanding her pain ran after the dark presence to not lose track of it.

That was when the moon trying to help her daughter kept a watchful eye one those she deemed worthy of helping, that's where we come in. We are blessed by the moon with a cursed responsibility. We need to hunt the creatures that cross to our world, kill the root of all evil, and restore the barrier. Only then we will be free of this curse, or so legends say. I hope you understand this, the moon chose us to be the protectors of our world, the fierce hunters of the shadow, some deny the hunter nature and their duty, and pay a high price by denying that, I hope you are different from the fools I met before.

What is this?

The umbra, the spirit world, a reflection to the world shuddered in darkness that we know. Still even to those who enter the umbra it's a complete alien place where things might or might not make sense, many planes and pocket dimensions, who can say that it's just the world we know that has a reflection there? 

Rage across worlds is a collection of scenarios about other worlds, sometimes worlds similar to what we know and others completely different. However The primal fear, the beast, the hunter, the warrior is a reflection in many words, each have their own version of a werewolf. The umbra is a nexus to many worlds, with many stories to tell. 

The chronicles of the red pyramid is a scenario of a different world where gods are much more closer to the world of flesh, where gods are much more flesh than spirit, where normal mortals can ascend to godhood. Where the werewolves were cursed into existence to roam between two worlds never belonging to any. The chronicles tell the tales of what happened, the current state and ways to break the curse.

[akurathereaper]

An insignificant rant on HoT&PoF

As everyone knows, yady yady ya, everyone prefers HoT, whatever

I’m one of those people and I’m about to rant about this too.

THIS IS NOT A SPOILER FREE RANT

I will be talking about story elements and stuff that happens in both DLCs.

I like Path of Fire, I really do, it gave me Elona, it gave me agent Kito whom I wholeheartedly pity cuz he has to deal with the Commander, it gave me more of Aurene (and it gave me Joko on whom I can shit on when I feel bad)

But, it didn’t give me maps I like (and I will tell you why) (please note I am no game designer, or designer in general. In fact, maps designed by me would be probably shit, but I still believe my opinion is valid, because I am a person with eyes that can see)

This is going to be a small rant when it comes to maps, now mark, english isn’t my first language so there may be nonsensical sentences, and I am no professional critic so all of this is coming from my heart, not my brain.

Ready? Let’s go

So I’m going to do a little comparison (nothing too much in depth) of the four maps from each DLC (plus Domain of Vabbi but I don’t have much to say on it if I’m honest).

 We have Verdant Brink, Auric Basin, Tangled Depths and Dragon’s stand from Heart of Thorns, and Crystal Oasis, Desert Highlands, The Desolation, Elon Riverlands and Domain of Vabbi. 

Let me start with HoT, because it makes logical sense.

When you first start the Heart of Thorns campaign, you’re told to go from Silverwastes to... Verdant Brink. You get a small taste of it right before you enter it, in that cave where the injured pact members are talking about it. And then you load in (hopefully, if your pc doesn’t reenact an atomic blast), and first thing you see, when you walk in on that VERY SPECIFICALLY DESIGNED LEDGE

is absolute carnage.

Ships are strewn about, hanging in pieces torn apart by Mordremoth’s vines, smoke and fire is everywhere, that part of the jungle is ravaged not only by Mordremoth, but also by you. Your Pact. And in that moment you exactly realize what happened (if it wasn’t obvious from the cutscene that played before it *cough cough*)

But now you see it. The map tells you a very obvious story, and you don’t need to be a genius to figure it out. It tells you and SHOWS you exactly how strong and dangerous the Dragon you’re hunting is. It shows you what you have to overcome.  (And if you’re me, you’re crying cuz Trahearne got kidnapped)

I’m going to skip the storyparts of this map, but will instead focus on the meta of it (since i’ve done it like trillion times). There’s five main crashpoints. Each has to bring their all to successfuly make this map “safe”. The nobles, the Pale Reavers, the quaggan and her soldiers. Everyone. I’m guessing that after you kill all the five champions, the area becomes safe enough for you to move on, after all, you’re the Commander, and you cannot leave everyone to die in the middle of the Jungle. Once again, the map tells you a story through the gameplay)

And then you move onto Auric Basin (I’m guessing it’s a lot of people’s fav map)

Oh, Auric Basin... The map instantly breathes “something”, something different. You KNOW you’re somewhere else, the whole atmosphere tells you that you’re somewhere forgotten, somewhere where the touches of humans, sylvari, charr, whatever main race, have not reached. 

Your first instance of it is most likely the story instance, so you get introduced to the place pretty quickly. I don’t have to say how gorgeous the city actually is, right?

The whole place is an archaeologist’s wet dream. And again, the map tells you, it shows you, it’s story, it’s history (the Priory people are wetting themselves over the whole thing), and sometimes it’s the Exalted themselves who tell you the story. But you can gauge a lot of it just from observing. It’s not the most effective of cities, I’ll be honest, but it’s a damn impressive one. After all, Tarir was build for Glint’s scion.

And the meta? It’s about PROTECTING the city. Protecting it from Mordremoth, from destroying it, from destroying the safe place for a dragon’s egg. You stop Mordremoth from leaching the place with Octovines (or an exalted does it for you. Kudos to you, immortal and endless exalted), and you don’t rly realize the importance of this place until the whole Aurene thing happens.

And oof, Tangled Depths. 

Tangled Depths, one of the most hated maps in the entire expansion, a thing (imho) that can be very much blamed on the map limitation (I’m talking about your map, where you see where you are and where the waypoints are, etc.) Like, honestly, wouldn’t it be a WHOLE lot easier to traverse if your map made actual damn sense? But I digress.

Tangled Depths is probably one of the lesser impressive maps? Overall, I very like it, although it’s story has to be unearthed and explored actively. It’s more of a bland looking pie with delicious filling.

Tangled Depths is quite...a good map. In a way. Don’t throw trash at me, please. I also hated it when I had to walk through it, but I learnt the shortcuts and then traversed with relative ease, so I stopped seeing the whole map as a nuisance and started seeing it for what it was. 

Such an untouched piece of history... The Rata Novus? Rata Novus? Hello? Asura lived here?

The Ogres, making their village there? The Nuhoch, fighting for their survival with the Zintl hyleks and the Chak? The Chak? Such new and interesting creatures who literally eat magic! In the middle of the jungle, you see such life, such vivacity, even in the midst of Mordremoth’s reign of terror.

And the story of the meta is tying in so nicely to the overall thing! You’re literally tunneling into Dragon’s stand, to reach old Papa Mordremoth, and you’re doing it with the help of everyone on the map! The Ogres, the asuras (well they dead, so their robots lol), the Chak (yeah, Chak bois be helping, not rly it’s just the lane lol), and the useless easy line! You’re charging a thingimajig that blasts a hole through the ley-line empowered wall and bam, you’re in DS. (Excuse me it has been a while since I was in TD) And Chak bois are on your ass trying to eat it cuz magic but that’s so the meta is interesting.

And then... My favourite map. Dragon’s stand.

I played this map... probably more than I should’ve, but... the way it is structured is simply so interesting! Three lines, for three leaders, each battling their way through the jungle to get to the Generals, to get to the Mouth of Mordremoth. And along the way, you gain more and more allies, more and more people to help you fight this noodle!  You get the ogres, the itzel, the nuhoch, the skritt(!), the exalted, the... THE NIGHTMARE COURT? *cough cough* cut content *cough cough*. Yeah, some don’t get an explanation, but you see everything that you have done, everyone you have helped in the previous map, go help you out in this one? You see them and protect them at the last island (and the whole map is just one giant meta and I LOVE IT (it can be a point of criticism as well, since it’s quite hard to explore if the meta ain’t done and the last few pois are impossible to get if MoM isn’t dead)) and it’s just so epic

Everything you did was leading up to this moment, this last battle, this last stand, the DRAGON’S STAND. And the battle was just... epic. Epic, is all I can say about this map and it’s story. (Shame the Commanders/Generals were cut out, as we have no clue who they were, and knowing something about them would make it a bit more meaningful in fighting them)

To conclude.

HoT is focused as hell. You got a goal: Pop a cap in Mordremoth. And you’re going to do it. You got twice the motivation if you’re a sylvari. Each map is designed to give you the build up of the fight, first you see what Mordremoth can do, then you see what’s at stake, and then you gotta fight for it. The fact the maps are gorgeous (If a little (bit a lot) laggy) only helps the overall feel.  Anything and Everything can and will murder your ass, and you gotta be ready for it.

Now onto PoF maps. This segment is going to be shorter, because in all honesty? PoF, I like you, but you’re just... well, you’ll see. Hopefully. This is after all just my opinion lol.

Oh and if you got this far? Kudos lol I ramble a lot. <3

Anyway, PoF maps.

So the opening to PoF is... quite good? It’s a bit out of your control but it does it’s job imo.

You come in on an airship, and you see the land spread before you. You see a pyramind, and you think “Oh hell yeah, pyramids.” I would LOVE to just be able to explore the area, you know, have a chill opening, but PoF is about FIRE and FIGHT so, you fight and try to save the people and it’s very chaotic and everything is on FIRE OH GODS.

So you chase this mysterious person, you get introduced to the raptor village, all goes well or bad, and then you are directed to the city of Amnoon (since we’re still in a story instance), so you go. Amnoon is very pretty, and following the tradition of MMO cities very impractical, but hey, rule of cool. The whole time you’re not rly allowed to explore anywhere or look at anything, you’re focused, sure, but you’re also very distracted, you get me?

You want to look around, you want to explore, but you’ve just been attacked by this Herald woman and you’re tired of politics. The opening of PoF isn’t bad, but it is very different from HoT, as in HoT you first SAW the carnage Mordy did and THEN you went on down to help the remaining survivals, whereas here, in Oasis, you kinda.. live through it? You see it first hand what Balthy is doing, while in HoT you only chased the aftermaths of the massacres. This works differently for everyone, and I personally prefer the HoT approach. 

PoF is very open when it comes to the story, as in you are not AS limited to instances as it was with HoT, sometimes it works to its advantage, sometimes.. it doesn’t. 

The way PoF maps jerk you around is very confusing to me. You explore Crystal Oasis, then you go to Desert Highlands, then to Elon riverlands, and you gotta go back down through the Oasis to get there, so you are already trudging through the land you already know (and since you have mounts they took full advantage of making the maps bigger, but it makes them feel... emptier? Like I get it, it’s the Desert, but still...) so you get to Elon riverlands, you do your thing there, then you go to Desolation, then to Vabbi. Nice. Okay.

In none of these maps, there is a story meta. None. No impressive whole-map meta where you gotta all cooperate to keep the map stable. Nothing. There is no use in me trying to analyze these maps, for they are just... backdrop to what’s happening.  Balthazar this, Balthazar that. Oh no Kralky is awake, and oh look we met Vlast for like 2 seconds and then he immediately ded. 

I’ll be honest... I don’t remember much of PoF before chapter 9 The Departing (because that chapter was fire. Lol. get it), which saddens me immensely. I remember most of HoT. Where what happened when it happened how it happened, I know, and if I don’t know immediately, in few minutes my brain serves me the entire instance. I could probably play HoT blindfolded. 

This is a very shallow look into why I probably don’t like PoF as much as I like HoT. 

To try and conclude my very messy terrible rant essay:

Heart of Thorns used its maps in a way that showed you with gameplay what’s in store for you. It used maps in a way to help you build that anticipation of the fight, of everything you sacrificed along the way. The maps are smartly connected in a way where with each map you delve deeper into the jungle, deeper into the mouth of the beast. Sure, they lag as fuck, but the PoF maps do so too, don’t lie to yourselves. With each map you meet new allies that help you along the way.

In Path of Fire I just... don’t get that feeling. I run from map to map, mindlessly following the green star, hoping I will stumble upon something interesting on the way. In Heart of Thorns it was the opposite. I was walking around the map, breathing in the atmosphere of the place, and stumbling upon the green story star. I feel like the Elona desert did not get such justice as it deserved. I trudge around the maps, I complete the maps to get the reward, then I move onto the story. My interest in the whole thing only started to pick up once I freaking DIED for gods’ sake. 

My hopes for the End of Dragons, which is happening in Cantha, is that I get more of that focused map design. That story in gameplay, that map-wide meta that will have me grind my teeth at 10pm on a work/school night. I don’t need Drizzlewood metas (an inferior Dragon’s stand, mind you) that are like 2-3 hours long. A 30 min prelude and 30 min metas are fine. An hour long meta if you have the idea for it, but... give me map stories, Anet.

Feel free to share your own feels about the different feels between the DLCs. I will GLADLY take in PoF preferrers. What did you prefer in PoF? What did you like in it? Give me your opinions, give me your take on everything. 

And thank you for reading my overly long rant essay, hah.

[augurhound-a]

The scarred old man wrinkles his nose and huffs. "I have no idea what that means, but it sounds as peculiar as you look."

See, 02 knew he came to Dust with a point. Something about the black pyramid in Unova and a need for backup. Something about that, he knows that that's certain. What he meant afterwards however is absolutely unclear; because 02 talks a mile a minute and his sentences don't always meet up, even if he always knows that he means what he means. And carried away is indeed what happens.

When Dust talks, 02 gets dragged back down to Planet Earth as quickly as he left it, eyes snapping back to reality and suddenly getting extremely self conscious about every single bolt in his body. Oh god, he does look like a mess doesn't he? Ragged hair, twitching optics, sluggish jerky movements from frozen latex, frostbitten synthetic skin he hasn't replaced.

The outfit's bad too. Raggedy black combat jacket, his old torn up boots shredded from miles of rock and ice, he's waving his hands around gesticulating while he talks but nothing's really getting out of substance. A weird coldness floods through his body and it's a bizarre feeling.

Dust thinks you're stupid and he's right!, 02 thinks and he stammers out a string of syllables that mean nothing. The other synthetic must hate him for wasting his time with pointless bullshit.

Why are you here again? Dust is looking at you, oh my god, you fucking idiot, you absolute maroon! He's judging you! Open your stupid dumbass idiot mouth and say something!

"Um-- I--" Um you I you I you--WHAT idiot? Those aren't words! "I wanted to ask if. You could lend me. A drone."

His voice slips back to comfortable monotone. Okay. He's alright.

"I need something quick and fast and quiet. For recon. Can you help. You were always better at building them than me." Frustrating to admit, but it's true. The drones were his (boredom fueled) idea a couple years ago, but the progress they've made since was astounding. And that's what science is about, in the end.

God this is painful. Is he still here? Why is he still talking?

[in-tua-deep]

What are your thoughts on Vanya’s book? I’m torn between knowing it was an empowering thing for her and being like damn girl, you were all abused, not cool putting that out there without their consent. The lines I’ve seen from it were about how Vanya’s siblings treated her but I don’t see how she can talk about their childhood without the abuse coming up. Do you think Vanya would have to apologize for the book as part of improving the siblings relationships?

I think that Vanya’s book was very important for her to write - for herself. I don’t think she should have published it without the consent of her siblings, because Vanya does not exist in a vacuum. If you think Allison was not absolutely grilled over the contents of that book in interviews and it didn’t continuously pop up in her world you’re wrong. And anyone who both knew the other siblings and read the book might make comments or ask questions or make assumptions. Vanya wrote an entire book about how terribly she was treated and then pointed the finger at her siblings.

Because the issue is this: Vanya was abused. Horrifically and terribly abused and neglected. She was drugged for the majority of her life against her consent, frequently emotionally abused and belittled, and isolated from the rest of her siblings. She has a right to be angry. BUT. That does not erase the fact that her siblings were all also abused and victims. And Vanya was so wrapped up in her own pain she couldn’t really see that. 

Of course, the reverse is also true. The others were all wrapped up in their own trauma to the extent that they never considered Vanya’s point of view or the ways that Vanya was being abused.

But imagine for a moment that you father raises you as a child soldier. You and all your siblings except one. While you’re running drills and learning to fight and gathering bruises and the only time you’re allowed to yourself is half an hour during the weekend - the life of the one sibling who is allowed to pursue her own passions (violin) and is generally ignored by your drill sergeant father seems to have it pretty darn good wouldn’t you think? You’d give your left leg to be invisible or not be forced to do the training. You’d give your left leg to have her freedom.

And then she publishes an entire book painting you the bad guy because, what, you didn’t include her in your half an hour of freetime? You had better things to do trying to survive your father’s regime than take a few to play happy family with her? You look at this book and ignore all the emotional abuse and gaslighting that she’s highlighting because you think she had it easy, and she’s saying in here that she was jealous of the attention your father gave you. Jealous. As if gaining your dad’s attention was ever a good thing. 

She spills a whole bunch of family secrets. Discusses your brother’s death, something you find very private (maybe you even witnessed it and she didn’t), with the entire world. She drags up all the shitty things you did as a child. A child raised in an emotionally and honestly probably physically abusive household from which your only adult human role model was your asshole father. He built you a robotic mother who obeys his orders and parrots his words. The only other person is a chimpanzee who also only ever seems to regurgitate Reginald’s ideas and always defended him even though he was hurting you. Abusing you.

Vanya deserved to write down those thoughts and discuss them. With a therapist. Or friends. Or anonymously!  Maybe a blog and give everyone pseudonyms and work through it that way. Because like it or not, her siblings did hurt her. They probably gaslit her about how bad things were, blowing her off because clearly her life wasn’t that bad. And they’d probably roll their eyes and call her lucky that she wasn’t included in training anyway. And Vanya would have to grit her teeth and smile and agree because it’s six against one.

Vanya was abused. But that doesn’t mean her siblings weren’t equally abused. Honestly I bet if Vanya had called up Diego and was like “hey I’m writing a whole book about how much growing up with old Reggie fucking sucked, thinking about publishing, wanna help?” Diego would be the first one on board like “HELL YEAH let’s ruin dad’s whole career I have like, seven stories about child endangerment off the top of my head let’s go”

the book we deserved to have was a collab by the whole family offering different points of views and discussing the trauma their siblings didn’t get to see - like private training. 

So what I’m saying is that Vanya does write a sequel to her book. Except this time it’s with everyone sharing. That’s the apology. The opportunity to set the record straight with what they’re comfortable sharing with the world. 

Luther can talk about never feeling good enough, can talk about his isolation at the top of the pyramid and his relationship with Allison who was also there. He can talk about impossible standards and his father never using his name. Strained muscles and terrible testing. The nonconsensual body modification and the isolation on the moon. The realization that four years of his life had been wasted because his dad never even bothered to read the reports - he didn’t even care enough to try. He can talk about the fact that he was so raised up as a child that he feels like a failure at everything he does now. 

Allison can talk about her father forcing her to rumor her sister when they were both four years old. She can talk about the training, having to rumor her siblings and then later the random people Reginald would bring to her. Delivery men and door to door salesmen and girlscouts who were always rumored to forget after. (And then the homeless people, the people no one would miss. The ones who weren’t rumored to forget after because they didn’t go home. She doesn’t write about them though). She can talk about rumoring her way through life and never learning how to get anything without forcing people to give it to her. Constantly on the offensive. The way that’s impacted her career, her relationships.

Diego can talk about never being good enough. His stutter that Reginald had no patience with. The training, being forced to throw knives at the one person in the world he really truly cares about as she smiles at him with her plastic smile. Trying desperately to keep Klaus from drowning under the weight of Reginald’s expectations when he was barely treading water himself after Ben’s death. Leaving the first chance he did and never looking back. The way he still tried to prove himself by joining the police academy, and when he failed at that by becoming a vigilante. 

Klaus can talk about his father throwing him in a fucking mausoleum. Being scared of the dark and claustrophobic. The ghosts he sees screaming behind his eyelids and sometimes even when his eyes are open. The one escape that he found being looked down on by everyone around him when he was only doing his very best to survive because the sad truth is that he could not live that way. Not how it was. He can talk about Ben showing up after his death, and nobody believing him. Being homeless. Living on the streets with no one but a ghostly follower for company. Every moment of sobriety in that house was one of fear - and Klaus is just so very tired of being afraid. (Maybe he can bring himself to talk about Dave, the one person that made him feel safe and protected and loved and how he lost him. Maybe he can’t.)

Ben can talk through Klaus about his own life. He was forced to kill people against his will with a power he couldn’t really control and that he was afraid of. He ended missions covered in blood that he never wanted to shed. Then his death which was reportedly very bad. Then showing up again and only being able to talk to Klaus. Not being able to hug him or stop him or intervene - forced to become a spectator to his brother overdosing over and over again. Loving him but being so angry that he’s squandering the chances Ben wishes he could once again have. 

Five can talk about growing up pushing the boundaries and the way the others only seemed to notice when Reginald praised him and never when he was punished. And he was punished. Reginald tried over and over again to get Number Five to come to heel and never quite succeeded. Every point Five gained in his own personal score was gained through blood and bruises and willpower. There’s all that to talk about, and then there’s the time travel and forty years of isolation and Dolores and becoming an assassin and his plethora of issues regarding that he doesn’t even need to get into to make a whole book of his own. Coming back and seeing that cold portrait sitting on the mantle and knowing that Reginald used his presumed death in order to further control his siblings. 

And they write it together, sitting in the living room and contradicting each other’s memories of events (”No, Dad caught us because you tripped on the table!” “Nuh uh! It was because Klaus was whispering too loudly!” “Actually guys looking back I’m pretty sure Dad just checked the cameras and noticed us leaving.”) and maybe they don’t publish it! They don’t have to! Or maybe they do, taking out all the bits about, you know, murder and all of that sorry Ben they could probably just downgrade the language to ‘hurting a lot of people’ though I mean. He’s dead it’s not like they can charge him with excessive use of force at this point. 

And it’s a bonding experience. And they all come out of it better understanding that they were all traumatized and abused and groomed and gaslighted and neglected and just overall their childhoods were shit. Five will defend Vanya’s book with his fucking life and probably is instrumental in making the others see that just because her abuse looked different doesn’t make it less valid. And he’s also instrumental in making Vanya see that just because the others abuse looked different doesn’t make it any less valid, either. 

Do yeah, have enough material for a sequel? There’s enough material for a fucking series. 

Honestly though genuinely do you know what I think would have been a way better and more empowering move on Vanya’s part? Writing a fiction novel about an ordinary child in a world of magic and superpowers who saves the world. Writing about her own life through the lens of fiction. Basing her characters on real people, yeah, but not writing a tell all book about people whose lives it would very much still affect. Plus, I bet the others would actually read the book at least and recognize it. 

I mean, if they read an entire book about a character who was excluded and belittled and ignored and told she wasn’t worth anything because she wasn’t special in the context of this fictional world, I think they would sympathize. And then if Vanya told them hey, actually this is me projecting and I really did feel this way a lot then it might go over a sight better than hey I’m writing about our childhoods and all your friends are going to read about it

and honestly?? I think that’s a story that needs to be told to other little girls as well. Maybe they aren’t literally being told they’re ordinary because they don’t have superpowers, but there’s a lot of girls who are told they aren’t special and can’t do things and having an ordinary character save the world is an important and inspiring narrative. And it might help Vanya get some closure, because she gets to come up with an end to the story. Wish fulfillment. She gets to write about an ordinary little girl who saved the world. Or maybe she didn’t save the world. Maybe she saved her piece of the world and left the rest up to the people with powers. Small acts of kindness that change everything, for some people.

(and it would reach more people than whoever reads autobiographies and memoirs)

I have a lot of feelings about the book as you can probably tell lmao

I just think the book could have been handled better on Vanya’s part. But I also think she had a right to write it because she had a LOT of stuff to work through. Honestly I think the book originally began from an exercise her therapist gave her and took on a life of its own until it reached the publisher. But like I said, she doesn’t exist in a vacuum and her actions have effects on other people - specifically her family. 

Granted, it’s not like I’ve read the book in its entirety and can’t judge it because of that. But the others had a right to their privacy and I don’t blame them for feeling angry and betrayed because of that invasion of privacy I mean damn. And I doubt Vanya put any of the good stuff in there really, mostly bad. Because that’s how she was feeling.

(If I wrote a book about my childhood with my brother - I could talk about how he sold our joint runescape account without consultation despite all the hours I put in. I could talk about him chasing me through the house or eating my chocolate that I was saving. I could talk about some of his shitty views and his self-isolation, how he would call me stupid and never let me play with him. When he purposefully ditched me in Mini-Amsterdam when I was six and I had to find someone to call my mum for me. Maybe the time he left me on the school bus when I fell asleep next to him. When he pushed me into a bank of nettles, ouch. Or I could talk about how when my balloon popped when I was seven, he gave me his balloon. Or the time he won me a toy starfish on a crane machine. Or when he took me to school after my surgery so I could pick up my homework and when I went back before I was ready he was the one to pick me up again. Or the time when my sister and her friend were being horrible and he let me hang out with him and his friend in their secret base even though he usually didn’t give me the time of day.)

At the end of the day, you can frame people any way you want, and Vanya was going for the bad stuff. Because she was hurting. And she hurt them. And she needs to acknowledge that, so yeah I do think she needs to apologize for writing the book without asking or consulting in order to improve their relationship. I think the others need to apologize to her as well for what little shits they were as kids, because their own abuse is a reason but it doesn’t excuse what they did, either. Vanya was abused and they hurt her and they need to apologize for that. But that didn’t give Vanya the right to hurt them back, so she has to apologize as well if that makes sense??

I dunno this ended up longer than I thought it would oof but I hope it answers your question!!

[o-neillwith2ls]

You better leave now

Prompt number: 14

Fandom: Stargate SG-1

Rating: T

Warnings: None

Now for your viewing pleasure… what happened before number 13! Possibly… probably--- you know this is all Stargates fault for not giving us a getting together scene, they left it to our imaginations--US! the people watching and loving a show about aliens using the pyramids as landing mats and big circular gates to travel to other planets! It's entirely their fault!

He had been promoted again. This time to Head of Homeworld Security, which means he would be based in The Pentagon, and therefore would be far away from Colorado Springs and his team, the family that meant so much to him. 

So, SG-1 had come over for a final ‘Team Night’ during his last night before hid big move. It was a bit melancholic as they reminisced and laughed about old missions, lost comrades, and the infinite possibilities for their futures. Daniel and Teal’c had both left over half an hour ago, he and his second in command were all that was left. 

He supposed that there was some poetic justice to the fact it was just the two of them now. Her being the last person he would say goodbye to.  Somehow, he knew that it would be the case, but he’d always thought it would be on a battlefield and he would die in her arms. He’d say goodbye to her, maybe finally tell her that he loved her before slipping happily into eternity. Maybe share that single kiss that they would always remember. He never thought it would be like this. The Goa'uld defeated, and him getting a promotion and leaving. Untold secrets and dreams unfilled.

When a slow song came on the CD player, she had stood and asked him to dance. He told her no, he doesn’t dance but in the end, she pulled him up and he didn’t resist. He placed hands around her waist, hers reached up to his shoulders, their feet moving tentatively to start with, but as she relaxed in his arms something had changed.

Their bodies slid closer, and he was sure she could feel his heart racing in his chest. She was so close. Her left hand had slid into his hair and played with the silver white hairs at his nape, the other hand had wrapped around his neck keeping him close.

At their own accord, his hands had slipped from the safety of her waist to the curve of her hips. When she tucked her head into the curve of his neck, he swore he heard her hum. 

His resolve was quickly melting. He knew he couldn’t hold on to both his sanity and the woman he loved. He thought they were tempting face since he knew could never have both at the same time. Reluctantly he pulled back to look into those hazy relaxed blue eyes, he hoarsely whispered to her, “You better leave now.” The words were a cross between a warning and a plea.

She hesitated for a second, her head moved slightly away from his neck so she could study his face closely. He could almost see her thoughts. This was the part where she would say, ‘This was a bad idea. I shouldn’t have stayed. Good luck in your new job, Sir’. 

She would say words and then his heart would break, because he knew she was the last woman he would ever love, and they could never be together. But that’s okay because she could go on to have a wonderful career, she’d marry that cop and have two point five beautiful children with him. The cop would take her for granted because he’d never really know just how wonderful his wife was, just how much his wife meant to the world, to the galaxy, he’d never be able to appreciate it, but she would be loved at least. He was prepared for that answer, nothing could sidetrack it, no, nothing would—

“No.” She told him.

He looked down surprised at her and his eyebrows went up in shock. “Excuse me?” 

Her gaze didn’t waver. She licked her lips briefly before she reached up and kissed him with such enthusiasm, it took him by surprise.

He try to pull back in protest when he realised he couldn't, her hand was holding his neck and his head in place and now her lips had parted and her sweet tongue which still tasted of beer slipped slickly into his mouth. 

He felt his body humming as his tongue responded, her mouth was so warm and inviting, especially when she tilted her head for better access and he moved in, impossibly closer than he had been before. 

His heart was mended and shattering into a thousand pieces at the same time, beating fast in anticipation and certainty. His mind raced and time stopped and he was scared to let go, scared the dream come apart at the seams and leave nothing but the torn fabric of the soul of the man he was eight years ago, before he met her. 

The lack of air caused them to pull back from their kiss. She pulled back only a little and looked into his eyes. “No more chain of command.” She stated as he stared at her in shock. “I’m making clear my standing if you don’t want--” but she didn’t have the chance to finish her sentence as he understood. With that, she pulled his head down into another mind-blowing kiss.

Jack was a master of multitasking as he deepened the kiss.

No more chain of command between them meant … that there were no more obstacles. That they were free! He was in DC and, yes, as head of Homeworld Security he wasn’t in a command chain, therefore the curse which had held them back for eight years had finally been broken. She could kiss him and he could kiss her, more importantly then that they could --  His thoughts were distracted by the sound and feel of her moan in his mouth, which only made him weak at the knees. 

He pulled back so they could catch their breaths. HIs nose rubbing hers as she returned the gesture, one hand came and stroked over his t-shirt. Before the matters went further, he had to know. 

“What about him?” he asked her.

“Over.” she said, her head shaking a little bit to confirm the negative message. “Wedding is off. We’re no longer together.” She looked at him and suddenly worried. “You?”

“She ended it; said I have issues.”

Sam looked at him confused. “Issues?” She asked before Jack looked at her again, telling her with his eyes and a quick nod of the head. “Oh.”

“Yeah.” he nodded. They stood silent just holding each other for a few seconds before he asked her, “Are you sure you want this banged up old General?”

She giggled and kissed him again. “This is what I want, what I’ve always wanted.” She said, looked him directly in the eyes. “I want you, Jack. I want you because I love you. I need you and only you. You were always the one.”

Jack didn’t need telling again. He took her by the hand, led her down the hall and to his bedroom, he was going to be sure this was a night to remember. The first of a lifetime to come.

[snarkwriteswrasslin]

FFT : p.s I lo-; jon moxley

Notes:

so this originally came from @vonschweetz​ on my main’s asks... and it gave me yet another chance to play around with Jon and Jane, which is something I personally enjoy doing a lot. Perhaps I’ll get inspired to sit down and actually re-work their entire universe at some point, who knows.. until now, it’s here.

Summary:

Jon and Jane have been apart for years until finally... They’re not. Jane decides that she can’t take it anymore and she’s tempted to do something about it, but as per usual, Jon beats her to the punch...

Warnings:

uhh, alcohol tw - bc takes place in a bar.

Pairing:

Jon Moxley x OFC, Jane - from my vast universe for the two of them.

The paper fell out of his locker backstage, and before Mox could bend and pick it up and shove it back inside where it belonged, Sami was grabbing it off the floor and reading it, leaned against the door of the adjoining locker, using a cheesy narrator voice to really call attention to the good parts.

Mox snatched for it but Sami dove out of his way, snickering. “What’s your deal, man? It’s just an old note.”

“It ain’t just an old note. Give it back before I knock ya teeth down ya damn throat, Callihan.”

Sami eyed his friend and then the paper in his hand and a realization hit him. About a forgotten drunken conversation when they were both talking about regrets and things they’d do differently.

The letter in his hand was a break up letter, so it begged to question, why would Mox hold onto the damn thing?

Unless it belonged to Jane, the source of his friend Mox’s  one regret. “Jane wrote this, didn’t she? The night she packed up and left while ya were gone to a show in the next town..”

“Give me the fuckin note.”

Sami thrust it at him. It was either that or Mox bust his nose and frankly, Sami wasn’t into a trip to the ER that night.

“Still say ya oughta find her. You guys are gettin time off after this pay per view.. maybe ya head back to Ohio a few days, hmm? I can take ya, since I’m goin back after I watch your ass win this pay per view… Not like I got anything else goin on right now.” Sami offered his friend.

“And I said it’s in the past. I keep that to remind myself that this really is all I got, okay?”

“You got me.”

Mox snorted and Sami pretended to look hurt. For the time being, he dropped the subject.

It’s just too bad Mox’s mind didn’t. Instead, he found himself doing it again, just like he did a lot lately, and he found himself wondering what might have happened if he’d just… Tried a little harder, stopped fighting her so much and keeping her at arms length back then.

He thought she’d left because he was always gone. He was only just really realizing that it wasn’t him always being gone that had driven her away. It was him, keeping her at a distance, picking fights, doing stupid shit, making her doubt how he really felt. He was older now, so he could see the situation for what it was and he knew he was totally at fault.

Before, he kept the letter as a reminder that he’d literally given up everything for wrestling. Now, he kept the letter because it reminded him that he’d come a far cry from the guy he used to be. He was better, because of her.

And tonight, he kind of wished he’d be leaving the arena and going home to her. All the other guys had someone waiting. Mox was only going to have his empty Vegas apartment.

Maybe that dog who hung around the alley waiting for someone to throw food down.

And Sami’s simple question nagged at him again.

Why not reach out to her?

It was worth a shot, right?

He found himself opening and reading the letter again, furrowing his brow over the bottom of the page where the paper had gotten old and torn away at some point.

“Ps I Lo..”

( LE TIME SKIPPE)

The bar was playing his match tonight. The owner, Phil, he had a thing against WWE, but when he found out that hometown boy Jon Moxley switched over to AEW, he said he’d start showing their pay per views, so now, every few weeks, Jane found herself sitting at the same old bar her old man had when she was a kid on football weekends, nursing a Guinness and watching a sport that she only kinda loved because it made the man she loved happier than anything.

… sad part of it is, it made him happier than I did… the thought surfaced and Jane rolled her eyes at herself, ordering another beer and more hot wings. “Extra blue cheese this time, Phil. I see you skimping on it, I’m not stupid.”

As she dug into the plate of wings once they got bought out to her, she stared at the tv, watching Mox in his latest PPV match, yelling at the screen, prouder than anyone could possibly be of a man that while not hers, she still very much considered her man.

If she thought he’d have her back, she’d reach out. She was older now, she realized just how childish she’d been back then, how much she tried to force him to be and do things that he wasn’t and couldn’t at the time.

… if I had a chance to do it over… i’d just be happy he was mine… if he walked through the door right now, I’d go to him so fast…

What happened next shocked her.

The owner came out, walking towards the door.

Jane was torn between watching the Pay per view and watching where Phil went for some reason. When she saw who Phil was talking to, and saw both of them looking her way, she quickly turned her attention back to the television, busying herself with the last of her hot wings and the remainder of her beer, waving over a server for another.

She already had the beginnings of a decent pyramid in front of her.

The chair across from her own screeched as it was pulled out. Her heart was hammering in her ears. When she looked up, her eyes got lost in the endless baby blue of his and she swallowed hard.

“You’re on…”

“They film ‘em a day or two before they show ‘em, doll.” Mox explained calmly. Well, as calmly as one could be, given what he was doing on a whim.

Everything changed, and yet.. She was still as devastatingly beautiful as she’d been the day he spotted her dancing in the dance studio down the hall from the room he’d been sparring with Sami and some others in.

“Mox..”

Jane was still shocked. She pinched herself, swearing when it hurt. And then her thought from ten minutes before came rushing back and she didn’t think, she reacted.

Leaning in, she grabbed hold of the collar of his leather jacket, pulling him across the table and over the remaining plate of wings. Her lips crashed against his greedily and all she could do was this bizarre mixture of crying and apologizing and telling him over and over that she still loved him and she regretted leaving every single second since the night she’d done it.

The kiss broke and Mox smiled. It felt foreign, wearing a smile. He hadn’t really smiled in a long time. “Had a little time between shows and I happened to come back.. I had to see ya.”

“You did, hmm?”

“I… wanted to tell ya I was fuckin dumb. I shoulda come to ya the night ya left and went back to ya dad’s place. I shoulda fought harder. We… we coulda made it work. I coulda tried… something.”

“It’s my fault too.. I was putting too much pressure on.”

“No, all ya wanted was to know ya were loved. I guess that’s why I came… Wanted to tell ya I never stopped.”

“I never stopped loving you either.”

“You wanna get outta here, maybe take a walk?”

“I’d love that, actually. Your match is the only reason I came down to watch tonight. Fuckin cable is out at my place. Guess my post dated check of Fuck You didn’t go through.”

Mox snickered and stood, holding out his hand, pulling her off her seat and against him as they walked out of the door.

[i-love-charles]

I don’t wanna ask you for too much but you did such a wonderful job with the last request that I would love to read a mini fanfic version of the Arthur Charles and Javier falling in love with a female friend. You wrote this so freekin good! It’s rare to get invested in something you read let alone watch these days. You’re very talented :)

[i’m sorry it’s taken so long, it took me a while to figure out how to lay this out, the alternative endings for Arthur are here and Charles here, enjoy]

History, Old & New

Notes: Fluff, Slight NSFW, Javier Escuella + Female Reader, Request, Mini-Fic

Wordcount: 1,813

His eyes followed your every move as you worked. Each bounce of your feathery hair, the rhythm of your delicate fingers, the swaying of your rounded hips with each step you took towards him. His heart pounded a panicked beat from beneath his prickled skin as you approached, bowl of hot stew perched across your palm, a freshly brewed coffee mug in the other.

He smiled sincerely as you placed the bowl on his lap, returning the genuine smile before sauntering off to serve the others as they completed their mundane chores - always thinking about others: a trait that he had always admired deeply about you, among a catalogue of many others.

Throughout all of this, he simply couldn’t remove his gaze from you as you chopped away at more vegetables; the sharp knife inching uncomfortably close to your delicate skin with each slam down against the wood of the chopping board. The anxiety was unbearable, and he silently prayed your beautiful frail fingers would remain intact before he mentally scolded himself for being so protective over a grown woman, but also for the feelings he had tried, and failed, to suppress.

After all, for the past few months, being so protective towards you became his nature - part of his makeup - and two other men at camp gave him good reason for it. With that thought his eyes sharpened into cautious slits, like the eyes of a sly snake about to catch its scurrying prey, and he drifted his gaze to the men in question. Each had their eyes planted on you, and he followed their line of sight to the curves of your body as his blood began to boil. Unlike him, other men rarely saw you for anything other than your looks. Your empathetic generosity, strong-will, many talents, beauty and charm - he took note of all of them, favouring each moment he caught a glimpse.

His mind wandered briefly as the stew on his lap cooled below him. He secretly liked to pretend you didn’t share a tent because you were close friends, or because you often hunted together and got back to camp late - you shared it because you were meant to be together in one way or another. The possibility that it could lead somewhere so beautiful gave him hope; if only briefly. Whether you even felt the same way back was still unknown. What if he confesses and it pushes you away? Into the arms of one of the others? Was it worth the risk of your friendship? Maybe you’d feel betrayed, like this whole time his aim was to get you in bed with him? No, it wasn’t worth it.

“Friend. Not lover.” He reminded himself under his breath with a solemn sigh, inaudible to those around him. The mantra brought a silent sorrow to his mind as he lifted the spoon to his mouth, pushing the bitter broth to the back of his throat to avoid its taste. Afterwards, he threw the bowl to the side of the fire, along with the other dirtied dishes, before making his way back to your shared tent - praying you’d return soon too.

Javier

The unforgiving rain paraded down around the wagon, splashing loudly against the boar skin canopy above you. Your eyes drifted to the muddied ground as it swilled around from the rains current, thanking God silently that you’d managed to find shelter from the harsh weather until it relented.

Your eyes drifted back to the man before you, his legs stretched out beside you as the soles of his boots rested firmly against the wooden walls of the wagon. Your own legs did the same, long dress resting down upon the curves of your legs as your feet reached beside him. The slight shadows from his dark finely shaped facial hair set against his brown lips, a lit cigarette perched beneath them as he listened to you speak.

“You’re thinking of the pyramids, Javi.” You giggled, drifting through the pages of your hardback ancient Egyptian history book. Your eyes delighted in the small glimpses of the cryptic hieroglyphs and puzzling wall paintings as each page flipped over; drifting in awe across the architectural masterpieces that monument the reigning of each pharaoh in all of their glory.

“So which ones the gato - the cat?” He questioned, correcting himself quick from his default Spanish - although you wished he wouldn’t, something about him speaking in Spanish made you feel comfortable, probably because he felt comfortable speaking it. Your head perked sideways at the question, clearly confused. “You know, the man cat?” His brows furrowed in playful frustration and chuckle escaped your chest at his words before it hit you what he meant.

“You mean, the Sphinx?” You managed through your laughter as you flipped to a painting of the monument in your book. He nodded, his face reddening. “Well…” you started, tracing the outline of where the structures nose should be. “…it was built for Khafre, an old Egyptian Pharaoh in the 2000 BC’s…” Javier’s eyes softened as he watched you babble on about the statue. Truthfully, he didn’t care very much, just cherished hearing you talk to passionately about things you were interested in. After all this time of being your best friend, your knowledge still never seizes to amaze him.

He brought his fingers to the cigarette and inhaled before pulling it away. “What happened to the nose?” He questioned, pointing at the missing outline.

The truth was, he had flipped through your book momentarily some weeks ago when he couldn’t get to sleep, also because he liked the thought of maybe one day impressing you with his knowledge. Therefore, knew a lot of these things already, just took quiet solace in hearing you speak so passionately.

He smiled as you explained, puffing contently on the lit tobacco as you carried on, the sound of the pattering rain complimenting your sweet voice. His eyes followed the flowing movements of your hands as you spoke, flailing them around as you told him to dramatic past of the ancient Egyptian peoples.

“Cleopatra was the last Pharaoh, probably the most well-known, too. Then came the Roman Empire.” You explained, closing the final chapters of the book together on your lap before placing it to your side. Your gaze wandered absent-mindedly out to the rain as the rest of your campmates huddled away in the other wagons and larger tents from the weather. A slight shiver racked through your body at the bitter cold and Javier responded quickly by lifting the poncho from around his neck before placing it gently around yours. The wool huddling lightly down against your shoulders and chest as you huddled into its warmth, and you sent a thankful smile his way.

His heart sank slightly as you quietened down, the unfamiliar silence taking over. His mind racks for a solution, anything to hear you speak again. “Want some?” He questioned abruptly, offering the cigarette out to you. He internally scolded himself, knowing full well you don’t smoke, but it was the first thing he could think of.

You were torn from your thoughts, turning to meet his gaze before shaking your head politely at his question. “You know me, Javi. I’m straight-edge. Boring.” You chuckled, whisking away strands of escaped hair from your eyes sheepishly at your confession.

His demeanour softened at your abrupt vulnerability. “You’re not boring, ____. You’re one of the smartest people I know, querida.” The familiar pet name and sincerity brought a warmth to your already rosy cheeks. He threw the cigarette out into the rain, the ash melting into the muddy ground.

“I mean-I know irrelevant things, Javi. Not the things that really matter, like sex-or kissing-don’t know a thing about that.” Your voice cracked slightly on the last sentence; cheeks now practically tomato’s. Part of you wanted him to teach you, the other part wanted to cling onto your friendship, and you fought indecisively with both sides in your head.

“I think you’re amazing.” He mumbled. Javier shifted silently near you, adjusting himself to the thick tension in the air, bringing a palm down to what he thought would be the wagon floor but instead was your cotton clad thigh. He let out a rushed apology before quickly lifting his hand away, bringing it to his lap - such a gentleman.

Your own hand reached out to his, bringing it back on your lap, clutching his fingers as they intertwined with your own. “Thank you, Javier.” You spoke softly. You watched his pouty lips as a flattered smile began to form at the corners. A moment of madness took hold of you and you leant forward, pressing your own lips to meet his softly and sweetly. You anxiously awaited a sign to stop, or for his lips to retrieve, but instead his tongue licked daintily against your lips, begging for entry. You obliged happily, bringing your own tongue to whirl against his passionately as you lifted yourself to straddle his thighs; moaning into each other’s lips as your centre came to press against his. The taste of tobacco and Pearson’s stew lingered on his breath at you fought with his tongue for attention.

He broke away suddenly, his arms caging around your hips to distance himself. His words came out breathless from his chest. “Wa-was that your first kiss?” You nodded sheepishly at his question, dipping your head slightly to shadow the blush across your plush cheeks. “Then-then we shouldn’t do this-not now at least.” His eyes sought your own to comfort you. “Not because I don’t want to-trust me, I really do- this is all I’ve wanted to months now and it’s been driving me loco, but we should take it slow. I didn’t even know you felt the same way, but I’m really fuckin’ happy you do.”

“Ok, Javi.” You say calmly, planting a sweet kiss against his before retreating from your position to sit beside him, head resting against his shoulder as you listened to the peaceful puttering and pattering of the raindrops. His arm wrapped your shoulder, clutching you closer than ever before, as if you’d run away given a moments notice.

“Hey.” He interrupted, reaching across you to retrieve the book once again, opening the last chapter. “You didn’t tell me how Cleopatra died.” He chimed, nudging you to continue. He lit another cigarette with a match strike against the heel of his solid leather boot before bringing the tobacco stick to his swollen pink lips.

“Well, there was a Roman general named Marcus Antonius, and they were madly in love…” Javier listened to you babble on contently as he sucked away at his cigarette, body perched against yours. Everything he’d ever wanted was right here in front of him, just for him, not Charles or Arthur, and the rain became an afterthought.

Charles [here]

Arthur [here]

[scarletgardensrpg]

LIVING ♦ THIRTY-FIVE ♦ HOUSE OF EDEN

KAZIMIR WOJCZIK is the Prime Minister’s current Senior Advisor, referred to by most as simply “Doctor” for his rehabilitation practices, which have raised the House of Eden a formidable army of Undead soldiers, many of whom he personally recruits and trains. As a high-ranking member of the House, Kazimir holds the rare privilege of traveling in and out of Amsterdam on recruitment missions, accompanied by House Resurrectors Julian and Neeve.

BIOGRAPHY

tw: corpses, scapels/needles, implied child abuse, implied suicide

Come here, Lady Wojczikowa said, and waited until her apprentice finally crept closer to her. She put her hand to the small of the young boy's back, perhaps so Kazimir would not move away again. Look, mój drogi, do you see? Unwillingly, Kazimir slid his gaze to the table before them, to what—who—lay upon it. Today, it was a girl, no older than Kazimir himself. Earlier, he'd heard snippets of conversation upstairs, exchanged in murmurs between Lady Wojczikowa and the girl's family. Wolves. Torn to pieces. Nothing salvageable. In the dim, sickly glow of the basement lights, Kazimir had to agree. Lady Wojczikowa, who often studied him while he studied the corpses, made a sound of disapproval. Nie bądź niegrzeczny, she snapped, and Kazimir flinched, half-ashamed and half-afraid. The dead were once just like us. And in time, we all become just like the dead. Now hand me the scapel.

- ❀ -

His keeper, the Lady Wojczikowa, was a skilled mortician and known wariatka; the sort of pale-faced, cadaverous creature one might find dancing barefoot by the Solokiya, or singing nonsensically to the dead, or robbing cradles like a mad witch of night. It was said that Kazimir, her apprentice-son, was one such case—though from which cradle he was taken, not one person in their village could say. He resembled nothing and no one, all milky white skin and almond eyes, but looked as all children of winter did in other ways: too thin, too rough, bearing the sharp, beady features of someone perpetually braced against impact. His keep—two meals a day, a bed in the attic, and one hundred złotys a week—was earned by working with his mother. Sometimes the bodies they carried in were elderly; those who had passed on in their sleep, or found their bodies succumbing at last to a lifetime of cigarettes and bone-aching cold. Other times, it was the battered bodies of wives and daughters, every bruise a violent, haunting sorrow. Worst of all was when it was children: stillborns, urchins who never stood a chance, orphans left to fend again disease and starvation in a village rife with both. Kazimir, under his mother's careful instruction, had become adept in all arts of embalment by sixteen, but could not often separate himself from the very bodies he cut and cleaned, drained and painted with cosmetics. When Lady Wojczikowa showed him how to push a needle in, Kazimir felt the bite of metal under his own skin. Carotid, axillary, brachial, he rehearsed, though he already knew anatomy like intimate clockwork. Femoral, ulnar, radial, tibial.

In youth, Kazimir had been ugly and strange—a knobby, underfed thing with a crow's scavenger gaze and the unsettingly tendency to linger in doorways like a child phantom. But in burgeoning adulthood, he grew into a strong jaw, ebony hair, deep red lips: and in possessing such a harrowing, odd strain of beauty, instilled more fear than love in those who found him desireable. Eventually, Lady Wojczikowa, who so adored the dead it bordered on lunacy, died herself: her waifish body carried down by the icy currents of the Solokiya, a pair of wooden shoes left by the riverbank. No note, no will, no body. It was as if she'd never existed at all. When Kazimir left for school, it was with the intention of never returning. And yet, at Oxford, he had stuck out like a smudge of dark in a kingdom of light: for whatever life it was that so afflicted his university classmates, in all their expensive suits and watches, their ten-year plans and generational wealth and material fantasies, it could not have possibly afflicted Kazimir. He, who shared his house with the dead, who knew exactly what it felt like to cut a human open at his navel, who could think of nothing else when it got late enough: no, he suffered a different sickness. So when the rotbeesten arrived, legions of them cutting a scarlet path westward, and the world descended into madness, Kazimir felt nothing more than a sense of quiet wash over him. A sense that, madness be damned, something made sense at last. The dead, who seemed to terrify all, felt like kin to him instead. Were they so different from the hundreds of bodies he'd bathed and cared for? Had he not brushed their hair, arranged blooms in their caskets, studied them for stretches of hours in a basement in southern Poland? Were they not, in fact, old friends come to say hello once more?

Eventually, though he would not have preferred it, they found him in Warsaw. Agostina, tight-lipped and wan, asking in broken Polish: Thalia mówi że możesz je wyleczyć? Kazimir shrugging: Thalia says a lot of bullshit. Oni mnie lubią. And Nikolaas, handing him the vial of crushed blood lilies, which gleamed like powerdered rubies in the light. Apocalypse had originated from this vial, Kazimir knew. Barberini, van Houten, even little Yamaguchi: blood was smeared on the hands of all three of them. Now, if he agreed, it would be four. Do your best, Doctor, Nikolaas said into the silence. The creature is downstairs. All the world hangs onto your efforts. We certainly do. It was a cheap attempt at flattery, Kazimir thought, but it might've also been true. The dead liked him. Maybe because he smelled a little like them, sweet and chemical and heavy; or maybe because he had always harbored a little death within himself—that dark spark, which spoke of an empyrean wilderness Lady Wojczikowa must have sowed in him. He was a ponury żniwiarz: a harbinger of death as much as a decorator of it. The creature—it—she said her name was Kisara, Agostina said suddenly, and almost sounded sorry. Kazimir pocketed the vial. Take me to Kisara, then, he said.

CONNECTIONS

SASHA – THE GIRL FROM THE MOUNTAIN.  She had come to him in a blaze of light: clear-eyed, sun-skinned, the corner of her pretty mouth pulled permanently into a smirk. Вийди з мого погляду, she'd tease, knowing he couldn't understand her, and shove him hard enough against the Carpathian rock that he'd push away from it with scraped hands. He'd never met anyone so alive. The Solokiya, before it became the place of Lady Wojczikowa's death, was first where Kazimir met her: she, who spoke a different language from him, who refused to give her name, who mocked him endlessly by laughter and touch alone. The river which divided Poland from Ukraine also divided them; so that he only ever saw her once, twice—every occasion something rare and to be treasured. He would carry the sound of her voice in his heart for years after: two children deep in the woods, making baleful faces at one another, too young to act bashful and too stupid to understand it was love. Kazimir never imagined meeting Sasha again, and sometimes, he wishes he hadn't at all. She has grown into unspeakable beauty—but every searching look she sends his way pierces him. For all her prowess and strength, he can sense the ribbon of sorrow that runs through her. Where once she tore through forests with him in ferocious joy, she now only floats, a rootless phantom. Julian may have pulled her from the ice and given her a new life, but Kazimir knows just how much was left behind: a language, a name, a warmth. 

AGOSTINA, NIKOLAAS, & THALIA – FOUR HORSEMEN. The problem with power is, always, that it corrupts. And here were three figures drenched in it, endless and obscene: a politician seated at the apex of her pyramid, a manic doctor gone to raise new hell, and an heiress to crime whose beguiling face concealed something far uglier deep down. Kazimir understands why he has earned a place among these creators and destroyers of history: a gift for fishing the needle of humanity out from the frozen waters of every soul they've brought before him. And yet, he cannot share in any other piece of their ambitions and obsessions—for they play war games and chase divinity, spilling whoever's blood they need to in the red streets of Amsterdam. Kazimir does not. Nonetheless, he will raise them their army, even as he does not crave the way they do. Call it misplaced loyalty, call it sadistic spectating, call his willingness to indulge in their nightmares a bad habit picked up from a lifetime spent listening to the instruction of a madwoman—even Kazimir himself doesn't know what to diagnose his passivity. All the same, he knows the four of them will remain tied to one another no matter their paths, as all gods of the same pantheon are forced to exist within the same mythology. 

JULIAN & NEEVE – HEAVEN AND HELL. To attain salvation, one would need to go through either he or them. This is law. More often than not, the Undead are treated by him, clinically delivered closer and closer to consciousness with every dose of PM-GRNT 197 injected into their bloodstream—but those who display, ah, potential may be offered a second path. Hellish Buchanan and ethereal Bishop: they are the twin overseers of life and death who accompany Kazimir wherever Agostina sends him, burdened with the rarest and most terrible gift of all. Resurrection. The Hague, the ruins of Eastern Europe and Central Asia, islands and mountains, even the occasional gala event Kazimir finds himself forced to attend, all protestations ignored: Julian and Neeve have acted as his second and third shadow through it all, steadfast as Death itself. He would find the constant company annoying, if they weren't so entertaining to observe—one with a heart steeped in ten feet of ice, the other chipping away at it with excrutiating precision. Maybe he's a little fond of them. He tries his best not to show it. 

OPEN ♦ FC: QI JUNKAI

[feelingfredly]

Tea for Two, part 2

Summary:            

Never underestimate the capabilities of a guinea pig.

Or, what happens when Ichigo gets even.

Notes:    

So, my brain refused to let the plot bunny go and now we have part two, from Ichigo's POV.

This bit qualifies for its E rating a little more than the last one, but it's still just a fun, cracky ride.  Enjoy!

                Kisuke’s ego was monumental.

Ichigo was certain that if it had a physical form it would be visible from space.  He could just imagine the conversations on the space station. Oh look, there are the Pyramids at Giza, the Greenhouses of Almería, Urahara Kisuke’s ego…

The problem was that it wasn’t undeserved.  The man was ridiculously capable, whether he was applying modern insights into resurrecting lost kidō or making curry, there was nothing he set his mind to that he didn’t have a better than average shot at making work. Then, add decades of training in the Onmitsukido and you had a hyper-vigilant, paranoid genius with a tendency towards manipulation and an almost preternatural ability to sense deception from others.

It was incredibly sexy when it wasn’t making him want to bash his head into a wall. Or bash Kisuke’s head into a wall.

Ichigo also knew that he, on the other hand, had a negative ability to lie, a terrible tendency to just steam-roll through the niceties of social situations, and a total—some would say suicidal—disregard for rules and regulations when he thought they were stupid, or wrong, or, Gods forbid, both. It was probably why Kisuke loved him.

Sometimes, though…. Sometimes he just wanted to take that competence and shove it down Kisuke’s ridiculously long, smooth, sexy, ahem… well…  just make him choke on it.

Like now.

“Let me make sure I understand you.” He tried to keep his tone level. “You’re saying that the only way I could ever drug you was if you allowed it.”

Kisuke tilted his hat a little so Ichigo could see his eyes and grinned. “Exactly, Ichigo-kun.  I knew there was something in the tea and went along with it.  You’d never do anything permanently damaging, and it was only fair after you’ve been so…” the eyes crinkled around the edges a little and Ichigo frowned, “accommodating.”

“You make me sound like a kagema,” Ichigo groused.  Accommodating. He’d show the old pervert accommodating.

“Don’t be like that, Ichigo-kun,” Kisuke was trying for soothing, but it just set his hackles up further. “You know how much I value your trust and willingness to…”

“To be your guinea pig?” Ichigo finished for him. Kisuke didn’t press the point.

The hat came back down a fraction.  “Human testing is always the hardest part of biological experimentation.”

“I can imagine.” Ichigo could feel the flush on his cheekbones.

“Ichigo,” Kisuke leaned forward and put a hand out, “I only meant that after all my years of training it would be impossible for me not to notice if someone was attempting to drug me.  I wasn’t saying that I didn’t trust you.”

Ichigo shrugged that off with a huff. “Oh, I know that. That’s not the point.”

Kisuke looked completely confused, now.  It was oddly endearing.

“Then what has you so distressed?”

Ichigo threw an exasperated look at the stupidest genius he knew.  “The fact that you truly believe I couldn’t do it.”

***

“Dinner was lovely, Ichigo-kun.”

Ichigo hid his satisfied smile with a little bow of thanks as he took the dishes to the sink to wash them.

“I especially liked the addition of valerian to the soup.  It wasn’t enough to make the bonito bitter, but it was very relaxing.”

Fuck.

***

“I would never turn down a massage, Ichigo-kun, but next time could you skip the wolfsbane?  I would much prefer to be able to feel your hands when they’re on me, rather than this numbness.”

Ichigo shook his hands, silently cursing the tingling in his fingers.

“Yeah,” he agreed sheepishly. “Definitely no more wolfsbane.”

“Whatever you say, Ichigo-kun,” Kisuke smiled slowly as he rolled over onto his back, sliding his hands up Ichigo’s thighs where he was straddled, and the heat of him between Ichigo’s legs awakened a deep desire beneath the pleasant relaxation left by the massage, “Luckily, my lips aren’t numb.”

Fuck.

***

The glass hovered an inch below Kisuke’s lips and then was lowered to the table with an audible click.

“Ichico-kun?”

“Yes, Kisuke?”

The blond tilted his head to one side a fraction. “Are you aware that the amount of tetradoxin in fugu required to kill a man is measured in micrograms?”

“Here,” Ichigo reached over and removed the glass, “let me get you a new drink.”

“Thank you.”

Fuck.

***

“Look, for the last time, I don’t have a drug problem.”

Isshin frowned and held the prescription pad even more tightly to his chest. “That is exactly what an addict would say.”

Ichigo scrubbed his hand through his hair.  “It’s for Kisuke, not me. I need to knock him out. Again.”

Isshin’s eyebrows rose even higher.  “You’re drugging your boyfriend? Is he mistreating you? Do we need to have an intervention?  I told you he wasn’t to be trusted before you allowed him to sully your innocence, but you wouldn’t listen.  I should call Karin and Yuzu, maybe the other Captains…  we will save you from your perverted lover, my son.  I swear!”

Ichigo groaned.

Fuck.

***

Six weeks.

He’d been trying to dose Kisuke for six weeks.

He’d researched more plants, drugs, and poisons in the past month than most med students do in their entire careers. Add to that trying to extrapolate how those substances would work on a gigai relative to how they worked on humans.  It was insane.

Weirdly, he was having a blast.

“I think I understand the drugged tea experiments better now.”

Kisuke looked up from the notes he was working on and quirked a silent eyebrow.  His hat had been lost earlier in a bout of athletic kissing, and his lips were still puffy and pink in a way that did strange things to Ichigo’s heartrate.

“I mean, I’m no mad scientist, but there is definitely something about setting up the experiment, having your expectations, and then watching how it all plays out.  Even if it doesn’t turn out the way you want, it’s still quite…  exciting.”

Something shifted behind Kisuke’s eyes and Ichigo could feel his heart kick up a pace.  He knew that look.

“You may not have reached mad scientist status yet,” Kisuke’s voice was low and Ichigo had to focus to hear it, “but your attention to detail has been…  admirable.”

Ichigo had been the center of Kisuke’s attention to detail on more than one occasion, and he wondered if the blond was enjoying it as much as he typically did.

“Hmmm,” he stretched forward and crawled into Kisuke’s lap, allowing himself to go back to those addictive pink lips, “I’ve always strived to be admirable.”

Kisuke’s hands wrapped around his waist and then slid lower.

Fuck.

***

He was covered in dust.  It was the worst part of Hueco Mundo.

“How was your visit with Grimmjow-san?” Kisuke sauntered out of the storeroom, his eyes trailing over Ichigo’s destroyed shihakusho, hovering over the two still sluggishly bleeding cuts on his side where Grimmjow had landed a couple of lucky shots.

“Oh, he’s just great.  Vicious as ever.  He asked when you were going to come and let him fight with your crimson bitch again.”

Kisuke nodded once. “I promised that Benihime would slice him in two the next time they met.  He was oddly pleased by that.”

Ichigo stretched and groaned.  “Yup, sounds just like the big blue psycho.  I swear, I can’t tell if he’s a sadist or a masochist.”

Kisuke smirked.  “Why not both?”

Ichigo snorted.  Kisuke would take the both option.  Hell, he was the both option.

“I don’t want to admit that he might be that complex.  It just makes the whole thing easier if I think he’s one or the other.”

Kisuke nodded again and reached out to help him shrug out of his kosode.

“Either way his first goal is to try to kill you,” he said, “so best not to waste mental processing space on the why of it.”

Ichigo hissed as the black material pulled away from his wounds, the fabric tugging a little where blood had dried and made it stick. “Careful Kisuke,” he said with a huff, “let Grimm do his own dirty work.”

The blond head lowered and Ichigo shivered a little at the light drag of lips across injured skin.

“Grimmjow-san can, indeed, do his own dirty work, but that doesn’t mean I don’t love it when you are so delightfully dirty.”

In the time they’d been together, Ichigo had learned at least one thing.   Nothing got Kisuke worked up faster than seeing him either mid or just-post-battle.  Something about the torn, worn, sweaty look of him after a fight pushed every one of the blond’s buttons.

“Kisuke,” he said, shoving the taller man away a little, “come on.  I’m gross.   Let me grab a shower and then you can take advantage of my weakened state all you want.”

Kisuke’s fingers dug a little deeper into the meat of his hips and Ichigo couldn’t help his stuttering inhalation. It was easy to forget how strong the other man actually was.

“Shower Kisuke. You can join me if you want.” Ichigo pried his hands away, and grinned up at him. “Maybe then you could make me another one of those curare teas if you still have some lying around. I wouldn’t mind the view.”

Kisuke’s eyebrows rose comically and Ichigo took the opportunity to dodge free, leaving the blond grinning behind him as he made for the bathroom.

Ichigo stripped the remains of his shihakusho away and climbed into the glass cubicle, only then reaching out to turn on the water.  Kisuke was naked behind him before it even began to warm.

Hot lips latched onto the sensitive spot at the base of his neck, teeth worrying the skin until Ichigo knew he’d have a violently purple mark when he was done.

“I swear you have your own Hollow,” he said on a groan, “there’s no other way to explain your obsession with biting me.”

Kisuke huffed out a laugh that sent waves of goosebumps rippling along Ichigo’s back, “Don’t blame me because you’re delectable.”

“At least you don’t blame the whole strawberry thing,” Ichigo said arching into the biting kisses, not bothering to stifle a moan when Kisuke hit a particularly good spot.

“No,” the blond agreed, “your skin is many things, but ‘sweet and fruity’ wouldn’t be on my list of adjectives.”

There was a pause, and Ichigo smiled silently into the water falling in his face.  Gotcha.

“Normally bitter wouldn’t be on that list either,” Kisuke’s delivery was as bland as plain rice, “but clearly something is different today.”

“It’s just the dirt, I told you I was gross,” Ichigo was so proud that he didn’t laugh, but it still wasn’t flying.

“No, I know what Hueco Mundo dirt tastes like, more’s the pity, and this is decidedly different.”

Ichigo turned in Kisuke’s arms and pressed their fronts together. “Maybe it’s my new soap?”

The taller man shook his head and smiled, “No, I got a mouthful of that this morning when I was...” the grin widened into a smirk, “No. This…   this is decidedly new.”

Ichigo tilted his head back allowing the water to rinse the dust and dirt from his hair.  “Hmmm.  I can’t imagine what it could be.  I mean, if Mr. I-could-never-be-drugged doesn’t know what it is.”

Kisuke let out a groan and dropped his head into the crook of Ichigo’s neck and shoulder.  “Will you never let that go?  I told you it was just because of my training…”

Ichigo snorted. “That wasn’t about training.  That was about ego.  Yours.  The size of Mt. Fuji.”

Silver-gray eyes peeked out at him. “Just Mt. Fuji?  You aren’t going to go for, say, Everest?”

Another snort. “See?  Ego.  Can’t even settle for your that being smaller than something else. Shall we continue this discussion or move straight on to the penis measuring?”

A water-slick hand shot out and grasped his cock and gave a tantalizingly slow pump. “I would have figured you’d have memorized that by now.”

It was true.  Ichigo had everything about Kisuke’s cock memorized—size, weight, texture, taste—but this wasn’t the time to get side-tracked.

“Regardless of my knowledge of your junk,” Kisuke choked on a laugh and Ichigo couldn’t help but smile, “Before it becomes impossible, I would like you to admit that I have, in fact, successfully dosed you with something that you were unaware of, don’t recognize, and would have no way of combating.”

Kisuke sighed and leaned forward, pressing a light kiss on his lips.  “So admitted.  Now, are you going to tell me what I just licked off your shoulder, or am I just going to be your guinea pig for the evening?”

Ichigo reached down and trailed his fingers across Kisuke’s semi-hard length, reveling in the full-body shudder that accompanied the motion.

“I really wanted to figure out how to dose you with the hypersensitization stuff, but I figured that anything you’ve tested on me was out.  You’d have familiarized yourself with all the information about it.”

Kisuke hummed in agreement.  “That was a logical assumption.”  He busied his hands soaping Ichigo’s back. “So that means this isn’t something we’ve, ah, investigated before?”

“No.” He turned to let Kisuke rinse him.  Oh well, getting a mouthful into him was enough for his purposes. “Although, knowing you I’m surprised that you didn’t recognize it immediately.  People call you an old pervert often enough.”

Gray eyes widened a fraction. “So, it’s that kind of evening I’m in for, hmmm?”

Ichigo nodded. “You’d have been in for that kind of night whether you discovered my trick or not.  This way it’s just going to be a little more…  interesting.”

Kisuke dropped his head and nibbled along the long tendon that stretched along his jawline. “Interesting.  I can work with interesting.”

They didn’t speak for a few minutes, hands and mouths exploring each other under the falling water.

“Let’s move this into the bedroom before the warm water runs out,” Ichigo said, breaking up Kisuke’s lamprey imitation where he was attempting to leave “Kisuke was here” in love bites along Ichigo’s shoulder.

They tripped and dripped their way down the hall, drying each other haphazardly with towels in between breaks to kiss and touch and leave each other breathless, until they finally dropped onto the futon.

“So,” Kisuke said, his voice a little rough around the edges, “are you going to tell me what you used?”

Their hips were slotted together and Ichigo rocked his hips, rutting against Kisuke.  A pool of wetness gathered on his stomach as his foreskin pulled back exposing his glans, the skin a shiny red, sensitive and oh so tempting, and the blond moaned at the feeling.

“I used what any young lover uses when he wants a good hard fucking from an older partner.” He leaned up and nipped at Kisuke’s earlobe. “Sildenafil.”

Kisuke reared back a stunned look on his face. “You dosed me with erectile dysfunction medication?”

Ichigo bucked his hips up again, sliding their cocks together once more, and answered a little breathlessly. “I did.  Ryuuken thought it was hysterical. And remember, ah,” he tried to focus on the words, “an erection lasting more than four hours may require further intervention.”

Kisuke rolled them to where Ichigo was straddling him and dragged his hard-on through the cleft of his ass and along Ichigo’s sensitive entrance.

“If I have an erection for more than four hours,” he said, his voice full of promise, “I am not the one who is going to be needing assistance.”

“Fuck, Kisuke,” Ichigo couldn’t have stopped the words if he’d tried. He wanted so much.  Screw the whole drugging contest.  He just wanted Kisuke. “Please.”

Long fingers ripped open the bedside drawer with more haste than grace, and Kisuke grabbed the new jar of lubricant he’d placed there earlier. He slicked his fingers generously before returning to Ichigo’s ass, pushing slowly, inexorably, against the dark pucker there.  

“Oh, I will,” he said, beginning the long, drawn-out process of taking Ichigo apart before the release of putting him back together again. “In about three and a half hours.”

Fuck.

[atopearth]

Liar! Uncover the Truth Part 3 - Office Deception Spin-Off

New series (?)!! Let’s hope it’s interesting~ Prologue plays out pretty similarly to the first one where the heroine discovers that her boyfriend is cheating on her and so she kicks him to the curb. Crappy thing is that he cheated on her with her best friend at work, who is actually a bitch that likes to steal people’s boyfriends, so yeah that sucks. And even though she successfully catches them with the evidence, she still gets the losing end of the stick since the girl is the daughter of some chief executive or whatever he was, so the heroine ends up being shoved off into a crappy team as their team leader so that they can get her to mess up and then force her to quit. Cool thing is the janitor giving her a mop divination saying that 9 of them will be crappy co-workers but one of them will be a lifelong work partner I guess hahaha. Now it’s gender neutral! We’ll see who is the best co-worker!

1st Liar Personally, I like Keisuke’s and Mayu’s looks the most but I think Kohei might be a cool guy hahaha. I feel like this Twinkle Twinkle that leaks confidential info (their rejected Olympic emblem design), complains about the heroine and other stuff is probably Shiori, she seems pretty stupid and irrational tbh. She’s also quite rude, every time the heroine tells her to do something, she always tries to delay it somehow with a joke or whatever and it’s so obvious that she’s being disrespectful with her. Otherwise, Yusei is nice to give her a book on leadership and Guy seems quite dedicated to drawing designs.

Honestly, I think I’d die if I had to deal with someone like Shiori that leaks company info, gets caught for it, says it’s because FindFriend (Facebook I guess?) is her life and she needs all these likes etc to survive, and then even after the heroine lets her off so easily by just telling her to get rid of all the problematic posts, she’s still not repenting and is complaining about her page being blank now? Omggg, I’d kill her lol. Just wondering, but do the accusation portions not have voice acting anymore? That’s kinda saddening, I liked that :(

2nd Liar You’d think that since we’re dealing with adults, bullying and harassment shouldn’t occur but it does :( But omg though, I feel so sorry for the heroine, when she tried to present their project, her slides were replaced with porn, absolutely great… If it’s someone jealous of her this time around, then maybe it’s Chisa? Don’t feel like she really respects the heroine so… Sakurako (traitor friend) and her dad that’s the chief are so eugh, especially since the latter touched her without consent! Disgusting!

As for the person sabotaging the heroine. I find it hard to believe that even if Keisuke was a guy who felt like men are superior in life, he wouldn’t do something like this, and Chise just seems to go with her own flow or something lol. Minoru seems the most suspicious just because he tries to take over her leadership role, thinks he’s the best, tries to make it as if she’s so useless and is obviously cocky.

Wow, can’t believe Minoru was such a guy, steals people’s work, ruined someone’s career and thinks that others are so stupid compared to him, the heroine was right to demote him!

3rd Liar So.. Someone is having an office love? But eww leaving torn pantyhose on someone’s desk is pretty disgusting. Gotta admit that Daikichi seems the most sketchy, he’s way too forward and flirty. On the other hand, Yusei is so cute! I’m surprised he actually isn’t the black coffee type and actually drinks chocolate milk instead haha! I also think he’s great leader material considering how capable he is, but if he thinks supporting others is where he shines, then fair enough. He was so adorable when he admitted that he took the heroine to a fancy restaurant before because it was her, when he usually goes to dingy dirty places hahaha. I think I’m warming up to him the most right now, so I think I’d be so sad if he’s a liar later😣

Not surprised that it’s Daikichi since the others seemed to be just there to make you doubt your choice, especially Chisa lol, just because she likes to do Tai Chi with older men doesn’t mean she’s sleeping around with them lolll. Anyway, Daikichi is pretty eugh, sure, the girls are the ones who are all over him, but he accepts them, even in the most inappropriate places like the office. It’s disgusting. Lmao at the true end though, the heroine was the one who spilt coffee on his old suit and helped him pick out a new one, so really the one who pushed him into having a style change was her, and so really, she started his playboy days lollll.

4th Liar So, this time around, it’s side jobs! They’re not allowed especially after some employee created his own business and it failed and he stole money from the company to pay off his loans, so yep. So cool that Keisuke just outed Sakurako on her BS, she’s so fake🙄 In terms of employment though, I feel like Guy has the best prospects just because he’s always drawing designs, so it’s not like another skill, he can keep doing his thing at work and be honing his skills at earning money for both this and his side job imo. But then omg at Chisa lol, bringing so many products to the office and then even bringing the heroine to a party that’s introducing these products?? Sounds like a pyramid scheme lol.

Which it pretty much is.. Scary thing is that it’s brainwashed Chisa so much since all she really wanted was friends but they made her buy all these products and join in selling them etc and threaten to kick her out and not be friends with her anymore if she stopped. It’s honestly pretty depressing… The older you get, the more difficult it is to make time for friends and to make new friends, sigh… I kinda feel sorry for her.

5th Liar HAHAHA omg, when the title of the episode was the Shuto Matsuki affair, I was wondering whether it was really THAT Shuto Matsuki from the previous season and it is! Guess his soccer career is still kicking haha. Just an FYI, but the early clear bonuses have become ridiculous, I need to finish 35 episodes/tickets in 2 days, and you only get 5 free tickets a day, which means I’d need to use an extra 20 tickets to make it to the threshold. Yeah… I’d rather not read the true ends then.

Omgg, she accidentally pushed Kohei down and then called him beautiful without his glasses and her heart even thumped when he smiled hahaha. He is pretty cute though, I like him. Not surprised that someone has stolen Shuto’s watch that the heroine took off him in order to not interfere with the photos but hmmm, who could it be, who’s the crazed fan?! Reina is my guess for now haha. I didn’t think it would be Guy tbh, he doesn’t even seem to have a proper reason, he’s just into the thrill of it all which is so…boring? Pretty disappointing reveal.

6th Liar Leaking the project information to an opposing company? That’s the worst thing for an employee to do, especially when they all worked so hard on this together. Sigh, the heroine can’t catch a break. Yusei seems to know his way around ladies~ He’s a dangerous guy imo hahaha. Surprised the heroine was okay with going to Keisuke’s house to watch Office Battle and in the dark too! Lol. Anyway, super disappointed that Yusei was the spy by Daito (rival company) and he was doing it all along because he wants money and has always been a guy like that ever since he got dumped by his girlfriend that went with a rich guy. Like okaaay, just dump any morals you have for money you have no use in having now since the girl dumped you anyway so… Yeah, whatever, sigh.

I’m starting to think that May is probably the workmate that will be like her best partner at work. The president called to get rid of Kaneyama from the team and May was meeting with some guy I assumed to be her dad in the beginning, so maybe the president is her dad?

7th Liar Well…. Sending a company wide email of a photo of the heroine and her father claiming that she’s in an affair? Yeah, these guys are sure unprofessional. But wow, kidnapping the heroine, taking photos etc??? That’s so crazy weird…. Thought it was Reina, but dang didn’t think it was because she in love with the heroine and crazy obsessed with her lol, so random… Yeah didn’t like this one, didn’t think the evidence part was interestingly solved either…

8th Liar It’s cool that both Keisuke and Kohei are into the heroine, and omg when they offered their hands so that she could walk down the stairs in her heels with their support~ so cute~ But May is definitely the best to save her from that awkward situation of choosing one haha.

LOL at Kohei being a pervert that likes to listen to voices hahaha. Why are all the recent liars obsessed with the heroine in some way or another lol, so random and weird. Although I do have to admit that some voices do sound amazing hahaha.

9th Liar Aww, if it’s supposedly the President of Daito’s child doing the spy thing, I feel like it’s probably May then… But I like her so much more than Keisuke. She’s considerate, nice and fun! So sad that I was right though, all the evidence did point to her and the rest against Keisuke were so flimsy, but sigh, I don’t like Keisuke lolll. I don’t want him to be the one aiyaaa. Oh well…. I am SO SHOOK. So shocked that May is actually a guy! The scarves she wears all the time are to cover her Adams Apple!! What!!! Shocking!! I guess that’s why there’s rumours the president has a daughter or son… Wow… Still shocked. Especially when the heroine accidentally grabbed her crotch when May tried to run away lolll. Omgggg.

Omggggg that the janitor was Keisuke’s grandpa which is the CEO of the company, and so Keisuke’s dad is the president, and Keisuke has been looking for the spies all this time too, and now he’s finally got the Kaneyama father and daughter. So glad Sakurako is done. Well, now she can fully trust Keisuke now and the team has been reformed so everyone is happy lol. What a long ride.

Overall, didn’t like Office Deception as much, felt like it was a bit bland and the characters were rather boring, but I think the main problem was that their reasons for lying were so fickle and uninteresting, maybe it’s because it’s limited by an office setting. But yeah, first one was definitely much better.

[smolbiotic]

Flowers and Thorns Ch. 3

The sound of her alarm going off just a few short hours after drinks with Avinthus had Molly growling out a string of curses so colourful it would have made her salty old grandfather blush. If he was still alive. She was about to slam the snooze when an awful, insistent voice in the back of her head reminded her how close she was to finishing her program and how critical her last few exams were. So instead of sinking back into sleep she stopped her hand just in the nick of time, whining into her blankets and kicking her legs like a petulant child. She wanted to sleep, damn it, but she couldn’t, so she squirmed out of bed and grabbed a quick shower, tossing a splash of peppermint oil on the wall so the smell would mix with the steam and help wake her up.

Once she felt ready to face the day Molly twisted the water off, wincing at the loud clanging in the pipes as the knob squeaked into place. She wrapped her hair up in a pink towel and slipped into a matching, fluffy robe, then padded into the kitchen to make a quick cup of instant coffee.

Okay, she smacked her cheeks to get herself into the study zone while steam bloomed from her cup, Go time. 

Except it wasn’t. No matter how hard she tried to focus it felt like her eyes were sliding over the text on her datapads without actually taking any of it in. She read, re-read, then re-read again, until eventually she had to admit defeat. After tossing her studies aside she screwed up her face, drumming her fingers restlessly against the small kitchen counter she was leaning on. Normally Molly was a model student; she never procrastinated, never wasted her time, and never struggled to study or absorb knowledge. So what the hell was it with this morning?

She frowned over her coffee cup, swallowing back the instant brew like it was medicine. In a way it was medicine: it was bitter and helped energize her, making it hideously unpleasant but functional. Medicine. Bleghk. It wasn’t like her budget allowed her to splurge on real beans, though, so she accepted her miserable lot in life and sighed, setting her cup down and twisting it round and round. She felt so uncharacteristically bird brained this morning. Molly Thorne was not a bird brained woman.

Another sigh. Between sleeping in after her late night and her current lack of focus, she was beginning to suspect she wouldn’t have a chance to get out of her apartment at all. Normally on one of her rare days off she would go for a little walk around the wards after studying. It gave her an opportunity to break away from the books and let her mind process the endless formulas, dosages, and details she buried herself in. 

Not today if this keeps up. 

Best to make the most of her idle time, then, and use the most precious gift her family had given her since she left Earth: a priority bandwidth subscription. How they managed to afford it she had no idea, but it meant she could call and mail them whenever she wished with very little delay. 

Fingers tapped across the surface of her omni until a steady ringing tone began to sound through her cramped little home. It wasn’t long before the ringing stopped and a screen she had set up on her counter flickered on, revealing the smiling faces of Heather and Lucas Thorne. 

Her father’s smile twisted into a teasing frown the moment he took in her tired appearance. 

“When was the last time you slept, bumblebee? You look awful.”

Heather elbowed him. Hard. Molly, however, just rolled her eyes. Apparently a simple hello was too much to ask for.

“Around the same time someone last laughed at one of your jokes, dad.”

Mock-concern flooded his expression and he gripped his chin, stroking the salt-and-pepper stubble, “That long, huh...you really should have one of you professors check you in as a patient before you drop dead.”

“You should note, my darling daughter,” Heather chimed in, “That the fact that your father is an idiot is not genetic. Thankfully your brains come from me.”

Molly grinned and watched her parents start to bicker. All in good fun, of course. They were a family that showed affection through playful jabs, and their back-and-forth was something she sorely missed. 

“But really, what’s happening? It’s a little early for you to be calling us on a study day.”

She shrugged, “I can’t focus, mom. Figured I could use a dose of dad humour. I’m doing some research to see if rolling my eyes hard enough can generate study power.”

“Everyone’s a critic,” Lucas pouted and folded his arms over his chest, earning a sympathetic pat on the head from his wife. 

“Don’t worry, love, we adore your humour. Having you around makes us look and feel so much better about ourselves-”

Heather was cut off by a torrent of fluttering fingers all around her sides, shrieking with laughter under her husband’s relentless assault. It was a well-known fact in the Thorne family that Heather’s greatest weakness was her ticklishness. A jab of homesickness punched Molly in the gut while she watched on, the chill in her apartment that much harder to keep out with her mood so low. She hugged her robe around herself a little more tightly. A lonely idiot who can hardly read a paragraph of text. I’m really doing my parents proud. A knock on the door interrupted her grumpy thoughts.

“Expecting company?” Molly tilted her head, narrowing her eyes at her parents’ kitchen door in the background of the vid call.

Her parents exchanged a look.

“That wasn’t our door,” Heather shrugged. Lucas was in his glee, however, and while Molly pardoned herself to answer the door, wild with curiosity, she heard him call out, “Did you make friends and forget to tell us?”

Right. Like Vinth would be knocking on her door this early. It was probably some door-to-door pyramid scheme. Molly tightened and secured the belt of her robe and pulled the towel from her head, shaking out her damp hair in a failed attempt at looking a little more presentable for the stranger at her door. There was no time to deal with the bags under her eyes or the eyesore of a scar on her lip.

When the entrance to her apartment finally slid open with a pneumatic hiss, she found herself blinking down at a very pale and very large figure crouching on the floor. 

“Uh,” Vinth blinked right back up at her from where he was trying to scoop scone crumbs into a torn bag that had split open next to a very large cup of coffee, real coffee judging by the smell, “You weren’t supposed to catch me. I was going to leave this and go so I wouldn’t interrupt your studying, then uh...the bag tore after I knocked, and...Sorry?”

“Wait, is that actually a friend? Who is it? Bring ‘em in already! It’ll be a real thrill to see myth come to life!”

Molly looked from the comm screen to Vinth, whose curiosity had spiked judging by the raised brow plates. 

“Vid chat with my folks,” Molly explained, running her hand a little awkwardly through her damp hair, “If you don’t come talk to my dad I’ll never hear the end of it, so please?  And, er, thanks. For the coffee.”

She knelt to help him with the mess of scones, offering up an apologetic grin as she swept the crumbs into the torn bag and folded it in to prevent any more spills. He seemed hesitant, but when they were done Vinth followed her into the apartment with her coffee in one hand and a dextro drink she knew by smell and not name in the other. They barely had time for him to set down their cups before her dad was buzzing with questions. 

“So who’s this? Where’d you meet my daughter? Is she giving you trouble? Let me apologize on her behalf because she hasn’t made a proper friend since she moved to the Citadel, so there’s probably just a pile of dust where her social skills should be-”

“Lucas,” that was Heather, hissing at him and driving an elbow into his ribs, “Let the poor man breathe before you interrogate him.”

To Molly’s great relief her father’s antics had Vinth chuckling instead of offending him. Confident that he could hold his own, she gave his arm a friendly pat and nodded towards her tiny bathroom. 

“I’m gonna get dressed, so I’m throwing you to the wolves for a moment.”

The turian looked from her eyes down to her hands, then finally took in the fact that Molly was wearing a fluffy robe and little more, the lay of the fabric showing off ample cleavage. His plated nose scrunched. 

“Yes, yes, I’ll hide the flesh sacks for your delicate turian sensibilities,” she muttered low enough so her folks couldn’t overhear. Vinth didn’t do so well at hiding his chuckle, however, and her mother cleared her throat loudly just as Molly slipped away to change. 

“Now that you’re done keeping us out of the loop, love, bend down a little so we can see your face won’t you?”

Grinning at Vinth’s bumbling response while he scrambled to lean lower on the counter so her parents weren’t just staring at his torso, Molly slid the bathroom door shut behind her. She hauled on a black bra and a knitted, long-sleeved sweater dress that she had hanging on the wall, the mustard yellow colour an excellent match to the subtle red tones in her hair. Next she wiggled her way into a clean set of black panties, smoothed the wrinkles out of her dress, then grabbed a comb to pull through her hair and smooth it out . 

Vinth was trying his best to answer all of her father’s questions when she joined him in the kitchen again, deftly weaving her hair into a loose braid over her shoulder. It sounded like they had moved straight from introductions to an interrogation. Typical - her parents lived to poke, prod, and tease.

“We met at, er, well-”

“Work,” Molly finished, grinning a little, “We met while I was working, but don’t worry, I already vetted the guy. For someone who kills time at a skin bar, he’s not much of a creep. Shocking, I know.”

Molly, too, lived to poke, prod, and tease. 

“Spirits, Moll.”

Her grin just grew wider as she wrapped her hands around her paper cup and sipped her coffee, completely ignoring the disapproving shake of her mother’s head and her father’s snickering. Poor Vinth’s mandibles were flared open so wide it was a wonder they didn’t just fly right off, his fidgeting hands relentless enough in their worrying that the cuffs of his sleeves stood no chance. His talons had already made short work of the fabric. Poor thing had no idea what he had walked into; Molly’s parents were fairly young and her relationship with them was more akin to friendship than anything else. She was completely open with them and vice versa, which meant she didn’t hide any aspect of her life, work, or studies from them. Although she did play down just how dangerous Red Nova could be.

Vinth was probably the only part of her life she hadn’t immediately shared with them, come to think of it, but that was more due to the fact that she had spent all of her recent conversations with them babbling over how excited she was to start working at Huerta Memorial.

For Vinth’s side of things, she hadn’t really told him much about her parents or the strong friendship she had with them. Nothing in any of the conversations they had before could have prepared him for how open she could be with her folks or how they all carried on. So here they were, torturing the poor guy with their total lack of boundaries. If he could blush she was certain he’d turn a violently embarrassed hue thanks to the way she was talking. 

“Please, dear, don’t mind our little bumblebee,” Heather apologized, “Her teasing is a sign of affection and we’re much too clever to think poorly of you because of her ridiculous sense of humour.”

“Y-yeah, uh, thanks?” “We can make it up to him pretty easily, dear.” The fox’s grin her father wore had Molly’s stomach dropping. She gripped her coffee cup hard enough for the lid to pop off while Vinth blinked cluelessly at her side, but before she had time to ask what he meant Lucas had already cut the video for their call. When the feed came back it was no longer her parents they were looking at, but a large picture of a very awkward and very knobby-kneed young girl smiling through a mouthful of braces from atop a handsome bay-coloured gelding. 

In a matter of seconds Molly had turned a furious shade of ruby-red. 

“Dad,” she whined, “Why the hell did it have to be that one?”

On top of the ridiculous braces, young Molly was sporting one of her sparkly leotards that she always wore for lessons at freak school and a healthy peppering of hormonal pimples. It had to be one of the ugliest photos they had ever taken of her, bad enough that it had Vinth buckled and sputtering with laughter against the counter. It started out as a quiet trembling then hit him with full force, forcing him to clutch his waist with one hand and the counter with the other, all while gasping for air.

“What?” her father asked, feigning innocence, “It’s a good photo! You were so happy when we brought Chester home to you, just look at that smile!”

“What smile?” Vinth chimed in breathlessly, “All I see is a mouth full of metal.”

All three of them fell into fits of laughter, leaving Molly standing there with a crooked scowl on her face. 

“You’re lucky you brought me coffee, snowball,” she huffed, or I’d blast your ass with a singularity.”

“Wait, what? You’re a biotic?”

Curiosity cut his laughter short and left Molly with a smug little smirk, at least until her mother finally added her two cents. 

“Don’t worry, love. She’s just barely biotic, and definitely not strong enough to create a singularity.”

“Strong enough to knock him on his ass, though,” Molly grumbled, knowing without even looking at him that her turian friend was far from intimidated. She could hear him chuckling again. 

The picture on the comm screen was switched out for a home video of her playing with spaghetti and meatballs as a toddler. She groaned while her mother’s cooing voice sounded softly in the background of the vid. Vinth was captivated, yet more chuckles rolling out of his wide chest every time little Molly squished a meatball in her tiny hands. 

“And this is our little bumblebee when she was about three,” Heather informed them all, “Wasn’t she just the cutest?”

“Really, mom, what’s to stop me from hanging up on you right now?”

“You’d never hang up on your mother.” Shit. It was true. Molly would never, no matter what happened between them, hang up on either one of her parents. Her threat was completely empty, even when the comm screen flickered back to reveal both of her parents looking like the cat who got the cream. All she could do was cross her arms over her chest and huff. She wanted to keep grumbling at them but Avinthus had finally relaxed next to her, no worrying his cuffs and no nittering subvocals. How could she be mad when a bit of laughter at her expense helped break the ice? I’m far too magnanimous.

“So what’s with the bumblebee thing?” icy blue eyes moved from the comm screen to fix Molly with a curious look, his brow plates raising slightly, “Isn’t that some sort of earth bug?” “It certainly is, love. Has Molly told you what I do for a living?” When Vinth shook his head, Heather took that as an invitation to keep talking. Lucas, for once, kept quiet at her side, stroking his scruffy chin. “I’m a botanist with a focus in palynology. My parents were farmers and when they passed they left us their land,” she faltered for a moment and Lucas reached over to squeeze her shoulder. After a steadying breath she continued, “I turned it into a playground for research, and it became a real playground when Molly came into the picture. From the minute she started walking she’d toddle around from flower to flower, making sure to sniff each and every one. If we didn’t pull her inside she’d probably fall asleep in the dirt every night.” Funny. Heather was the one talking to Vinth, but Molly could feel Vinth’s eyes on her. Again she had that feeling that he was staring straight into her, and it took a moment for her to work up the nerve to look back at him. For a guy with such a soft personality, his eyes were unsettling in how intense they were. She felt gooseflesh raise on her skin, far too aware of how close they were standing and how much heat was rolling off of him, chasing away the chill in the air. “So we started calling her bumblebee,” Lucas finished, pulling both Vinth and Molly’s attention back to the screen, “Because bees...well, they bumble from flower to flower, collecting nectar and spreading pollen.” For the cherry on the cake of this conversation, Heather and Lucas were once more replaced by a home vid of Molly. This was another toddler video, one where she was buck naked and stomping around in the dirt sniffing every flower she could reach. “Hey Moll?” Vinth’s gaze was fixed on the screen, his voice low enough to keep her parents from overhearing. She tensed, the low rumbling of his voice freezing her for a moment. “Hm?” she managed to reply, hugging her arms. “You’re never living this down, you know.” Hell. She could hear the smirk in his voice, and when she turned to face him the sidelong glance he cast in her direction with that obnoxious twinkle in his eyes confirmed it. “Laugh it up, snowball.” Her folks caught that one. “Aw, bumblebee, did we embarrass you? I’m so sorry, dear.” “Uh-huh. Thanks mom, you sound truly sincere.” “Anything for you, darling,” Heather chuckled as the screen cut back to her and Lucas’ comm screen, “But we’re going to have to let you go now so we can get ready.” Molly’s head tilted to the side. Ready..? “Oh! Book signing! Dad wrote a book, now he gets to sign copies and talk to his adoring public. Right.” “Yeah, yeah, Citadel girl,” her dad pouted, “Too busy and important to remember major milestones in your father’s life, I understand.” “Riiiight, it’s a major milestone. And how many other signings have you done this year?” “Alright, alright, go on with your day, space girl.” “Goodbye bumblebee, Avinthus. Have a lovely day,” Heather slipped in with a soft smile before the comm feed flickered out. Silence stretched between the two of them for a few long moments until the snowball’s ridiculous trembling started up again. Three, two… And there was the laughter. Manic, belly-clenching laughter that forced the massive lug to fall back against the counter and slide down the cupboards. It was obnoxious just how much he was enjoying the small peek he had into the life and times of Molly Thorne. All she could do was sip her coffee and ride it out, rolling her eyes at the very large turian having fits on her apartment floor. When he finally seemed to have it out of his system she reached a foot up to his shoulder and pushed him. Or tried to push him, rather, as he was exceptionally solid and heavy. Vinth finally came to his senses and he blinked up at her, a hand still hanging slack on his stomach. She was standing with one foot perched on his shoulder and her hands on her hips, an impressive scowl set into her otherwise soft features. For a moment she thought she had him feeling intimidated thanks to the way he whipped his head around to stare at the floor, but then she realized exactly what sort of view her current position was giving him. “Oops,” she dropped her foot to the floor and smoothed her dress, flushing slightly, “Sorry, big guy.” “I came to drop off coffee and leave,” he grumbled, the light and easy subvocals filling her apartment betraying his feigned sourness, “But I wound up coming in here for ten minutes and somehow shaving five years off my life.” Molly couldn’t stop the grin that twitched to life in the corners of her lips. She grabbed her coffee and Vinth’s untouched drink off the counter before joining him on the floor, leaning her back against his arm. He grabbed his drink from her and they both took a moment to sip in silence. “Are all your conversations with your parents like that?” Molly polished off her coffee and reached up to put the cup back on the counter, harrumphing when she realized her arms were too short and her ribs were still too sore to stretch easily. True to form, Vinth chuckled at her struggle and laid his drink down so he could take her cup from her, laying it on the counter above them with ease. “Pretty much, yeah,” she watched his hand travel up with her paper cup and fall back down by his side, “Rush straight into the jabs, no hellos, trade some stories, sometimes Chester pokes his head through the kitchen door, then a goodbye. And I could have gotten that back on the counter by myself, you know.” “Chester? Wasn’t that the animal you were sitting on in that picture? And I’m sure you could have reached...if you stood up.” “Yes, Chester, and he’s not just some animal, he’s a horse. A handsome one. He hangs around the house sometimes and if he hears me on the comms he comes running. I miss him.” “You miss him? But he’s an animal-”

“Horse,” she reiterated with what was meant to be a sharp elbow to the gut. Instead she missed and wound up cracking her elbow off his carapace and cursing, “Aaagh, damned carapace! And I totally could have reached it on my own without standing up.” “How do you manage being so graceful on stage when you’re so clumsy, bumblebee?” “Why did I let you in my apartment again?” “I brought you coffee, then you told me I had to come in to appease your parents. You said please.” “Huh. You’re right.” Molly wiggled to the side and let herself fall back on Vinth’s chest instead of his arm, turning him into her own personal recliner. It wasn’t lost on her how quickly she had gone from not trusting him to using him as furniture, but she wasn’t about to dwell on it. Talking to her parents had her missing home, missing a place where she was surrounded by love and friends and the kind of people who let you lounge on them without question. She was homesick after that call, like she was after every call to her folks, but this time it was hitting her harder than normal. Back on Earth when she was down she’d cuddle up with her mom and watch old vids, the kind of vids you had to access through museums, the kind that were shot on black and white film before humanity had ever reached the moon. Throwing herself on Vinth was no Casablanca night in the Thorne house, but she could at least admit that it was nice not to be on her own. It was certainly better than sitting in her chilly apartment and stewing on the fact that she couldn’t focus on her studies with finals just around the corner. “Ah, Moll?” Vinth sounded a little off, a little uncomfortable, concerned, or some mixture of the two. He was tense, too, but that was no surprise considering how she had just invaded his personal space. “Hm?” She could feel his breath skimming over the top of her head, warming her scalp and making her want to squirm. He had very warm breath. “You...doing okay? You don’t seem yourself.” Molly could feel how uneasy he was, could see the way his hands fidgeted before he dropped them. She realized that he was probably trying to worry the cuffs of his sleeves, but stopped when he realized that meant he’d be wrapping his arms around her. A part of her she was all too eager to leave in the dark was disappointed that he hadn’t. “You mean I don’t seem myself because I’m leaning on you and I’m not acting like there’s a big chip on my shoulder?” He made an affirmative whirring tone, a low sound that she could feel ringing through his carapace. “This is who I am when my guard’s down, snowball, so if you don’t like it I suggest running,” she sighed and drew her knees up to hug them close to her chest, “Besides, my family and all the people who care about me are about fifty thousand lightyears away right now. Let me sook without judgment, please.” “Well…” “Well what?” “Not all of the people,” he said quietly, and she heard him picking his cup up again. “What?” A long pause stretched between them with Vinth’s subvocals shifting up and down in a pattern that her ignorant ears simply couldn’t decipher. They were easier to feel than to hear, and understanding them? She might figure that out after one lifetime. “Not all the people who care about you are lightyears away.” His words were so quiet she almost missed them, so soft she felt her breath catch in her throat. It was disarming the way his voice could elicit such strong reactions from her. How long had it been since someone spoken to her like that? “I mean, well, there’s Len and-” “I get it, Vinth. Don’t ruin the moment.” She didn’t have to say it again. This time the lull in conversation was a comfortable one, leaving them in “silence but for the presence of turian subvocals. Molly was so comfortable, in fact, that she felt her eyes growing heavy the moment she adjusted herself into a comfortable position against Vinth’s rigid carapace. It wasn’t surprising considering how late they had both stayed up and how early their day started. 

The big lug of a turian must have been feeling it too. He hardly tensed when she turned onto her side and grabbed his arm, hugging it to her chest like it was some sort of teddy. Instead a sound she had never heard from him began to rumble deep in his chest. It was almost as if he was purring, a melodic sort of purr that sounded like a blend of avian and feline sounds. She could feel his carapace rumbling, could feel herself relaxing, and just like that something clicked into place. “Huh,” she drew her wrist towards herself, startling Vinth as the motion jostled his arm. A few quick taps on her omni and a sea of notes, formulas, and diagrams was projected before her. “Bright,” complained the sleepy turian, his alien purring cut short by her fidgeting, “Studying?” “Yeah,” her answer came just as she lowered the brightness of her omni’s display, “I couldn’t focus at all before I called my folks, couldn’t take anything in no matter how much I stared at my notes. I actually took a break.” The disbelieving huff from her companion had Molly rolling her eyes. “The call was the break. I can take breaks.” “Yeah. The defensive tone is really convincing.” “You can either stuff it and let me study or you can leave, snowball.” A grin twisted itself into place on her lips when Vinth kept his mouth shut and he grumbled low in his chest. She adjusted her position slightly so she could comfortably scroll through her notes, a little surprised that laying back on a guy with a carapace and rigid plates could be comfortable at all. Once she was settled, the world and everything in it melted away so that all Molly could see was a steady stream of notes and pictures. It felt good to finally be back in a normal study rhythm, even if it did require what amounted to a large, snowy-white body pillow with a hell of a lot of spikes.

She lost track of how many hours passed like that. Molly Thorne’s focus was laser-sharp and unbreakable in the right setting. In the quiet chill of her apartment, with Vinth acting as a heat source and the bustle of the ward outside creating the perfect white noise, she was in her element. It wasn’t until she had cleared through the chapters she had assigned herself to study that reality began slipping through to remind her of the basic necessities she required. Hunger was at the top of that list. Her stomach let out a loud, demanding growl, convincing her to swipe away her notes and throw in the towel for the day. Avinthus was still sleeping soundly and she was briefly tempted to join him in his napping, but her stomach growled again and she knew it was time to get up. There was no rush, though. She took a moment to close her eyes and let her head sink back into the warm crook of the sleeping turian’s shoulder, soaking in a moment of quiet peace with a deep breath. She never noticed it before, but Vinth had a surprisingly lovely scent, one that reminded her of churned soil after a rainfall. There was a slight hint of something metallic there too, and it took more self control than she cared to admit to stop herself from burying her face in his shoulder just to inhale and appreciate the way he smelled. Enough of that, now, she mentally kicked herself. Slowly, so as not to startle him awake, Molly slipped away and returned Vinth’s large and very muscular arm to his side. Now all she had to do was figure out how she was going to wake him, which was actually a very difficult situation to find herself in. After all, she could go for the high road and wake him gently, maybe by reheating the drink that was still in his hand, untouched and miraculously upright. Or she could be an absolute brat and wake him with loud music, or by dipping his hands in warm water.

Nah, that would be too far. Crossing her legs and pulling her dress down to make sure everything was covered, Molly sat on the floor in front of Vinth and stared up at his sleeping face. Up, because even while he was slouched over and asleep the guy dwarfed her. He was just so tall. Grey eyes swept over the sleeping turian and she had to chew her lips to keep from smiling. He looked like a different person while he slept, so serene and so still. There was no bumbling, no nervous fidgeting or restless drumming of his talons, just the steady rise and fall of his chest while he breathed. Before she realized what she was doing Molly reached up and brushed a finger over his face. Despite the body heat the guy radiated, the plates that covered his face felt slightly cool. There was a slight blue cast to them, too, if she tilted her head in the right direction. She knew there would be, of course, but she had never really paid attention to the reflective quality of his plated skin before. The hints of blue and violet were striking, a welcome burst of colour in his otherwise monochromatic look. He cut an impressive figure, that Avinthus Flos. Molly rested a small hand on the side of his face and watched his eyes flutter beneath closed lids as he began, very slowly, to wake. A slow smile curved its way into her soft features, round grey eyes crinkling in the corners just as Vinth began to blink awake. She swept a thumb across a plated cheek before pulling her hand back, realizing too late that he was already aware enough to realize what she was doing before she withdrew. “Morning, sleepy,” she laughed a little awkwardly, “Life for the unemployed must be really doing a number on you, hm?”

“Huh - what?”

Avinthus attempted to straighten his posture and get his bearings, too groggy to fully process what she had said. He moved his hand to touch the warm spot where her hand had been resting. More specifically, he moved the hand that had been holding his drink the entire time he slept, which meant that it was no longer miraculously upright.

“Shit!” Cold, indigo liquid with a slightly sweet scent began soaking its way through Vinth’s blue-grey pants. He cursed and started scrambling, looking for something to mop it up. Shaking her head, Molly hopped to her feet and grabbed a dish towel from her counter, tossing it down at her friend. “This is the truth at the bottom of your mystery, isn’t it?” she asked, completely deadpan, “You were kicked out of the military because you’re a disaster, right? At least tell me you didn’t spill anything on your commanding officer.”

“You’re exactly right,” Vinth let out a flanging sigh, “I was kicked out of the military because I’m a disaster. A disaster who spilled caldulsi on his commanding officer. Good guess, bumblebee.” 

Bah! Bumblebee my ass.

It didn’t seem right that the guy dabbing his drink off his pants still seemed to have the upper hand, and in her apartment, no less. She had forgotten just how easily one could weaponize the bumblebee stories. With a haughty huff she leaned back against the counter and started running her fingers through her now-dry hair. “I’m not living that down any time soon, am I?” “Spirits, no,” Vinth pushed himself up off the floor and moved to her sink, twisting on the water to soak the dish cloth, “I’ve got at least a year’s worth of material today and I plan on using it until it turns to dust.” “Don’t worry about the cloth,” she reached over him and turned off the water, pulling the cloth out of his hands to wring it dry, “You should be more concerned about your clothes, there, mystery man. That’s a pretty ugly stain.” Vinth looked down at his clothes and grumbled, leaning back against the counter, bracing his weight on his hands. “Yeah. Caldulsi is delicious, but...ah, shit.” “Language, language.” Whatever Vinth was going to bounce back with was cut off by Molly’s growling stomach. He looked from her waist to her round, deceptively sweet face and the raised plates above his brows smacked of a smirk. “Hungry?” “No, auditioning for a play. I’m learning to throw my voice.” “Well consider me impressed. I can take off if you want, let you get back to studying and feeding your,” he looked her up and down pointedly, feigning snooty judgment, “thrown voice.” Molly leaned forward a little, her hair falling around her in long curtains, and arched a brow at her massively tall friend. “You’re going to go out with a big blue stain on your crotch?” she smirked, her tone admonishing, “Or you’re going to hear me out?” Vinth looked down at the gargantuan stain, then folded his arms to await her proposal. “I figure it’s only fair for me to pay you back for the coffee and for your part time work as furniture while I studied,” she shrugged, “And I was sentimental when I left Earth, so I have a couple of my dad’s shirts here with me you can wear. Plus I have a pair of harem pants that’ll fit you. I’ll wash your clothes so they don’t stain permanently, order food in, and then we can watch a vid?” He regarded her for a moment, mandibles flicking as he sifted through his thoughts and finally conceded. Taloned hands fell away from her counter and poked at the wet spot on his shirt. “If you don’t need to keep studying then sure, yeah,” he shrugged, “But I’m washing my own clothes. Just tell me where to go.” Molly’s brow arched again, this time more in amusement than anything else. She, too, shrugged, then knelt by her cot to fish through the suitcase that held her clothes. After a few minutes of searching, she pulled out one of her dad’s old, loose t-shirts that was big enough to fit Vinth and his broad chest, shoulders, and carapace. It had been one of her dad’s too-large work shirts that he’d worn around the garden once or twice before her mother ripped it off of him and shoved something that fit in his hands. The mottled blue fabric featured a very cheerful cartoon dolphin, which made a truly stunning ensemble when paired when her soft, black harem pants. She tossed them at Vinth, whose mandibles practically vibrated when he stared down at them. Molly snorted. “You can get changed in the bathroom.” The sound Vinth made in the back of his throat when he trudged off was pretty indicative of how he felt about the outfit she’d put together for him. “Still want to bring your clothes to the laundry room? It’s on the first floor.”

When he emerged from the bathroom his subvocals were thrumming with irritation, dolphin t-shirt hanging loose on his carapace and the long, sleek horns on his legs creating a fascinating silhouette with the harem pants that were far too short and left his calves exposed. “This,” he grumbled, “Was payback, wasn’t it?” Two wide, grey eyes blinked twice, three times, and once more before Molly started shrieking with laughter. “That,” she coughed out between fits, “Was not the intention. But wow. Wow. I really came out of this in first place didn’t I?” “Agh.” He tossed his clothes at her and she caught them, her demeanour shifting gears quickly. She closed the small distance between them, hands on her hips, and scowled up at him. “Do I look like a maid service? Where do you get off throwing your dirty clothes at me?” He started sputtering until she smirked at him and bounced towards the door. “Gotcha,” she chirped, “I’ll be back in a couple of minutes. Order whatever you’d like and make yourself comfortable, I’ll set up the screen when I get back.” Miraculously there was a vacant two-in-one washer/dryer when she got to the laundry room on the first floor, and better yet there was nobody else from her building there, which meant no forced small talk or awkward silence to contend with. When she got back to her apartment Vinth was sitting on her cot, scrolling through menus on his omnitool. “Remind me why I’m here again,” he grumbled as he confirmed his order and swiped away the display. “Hey, if you recall I resisted your company very strongly,” she shot back as she flopped onto the cot beside Vinth, leaning against him as she made her own food order on her omni, “So this is all on you.” “Not the first bad call I’ve ever made,” he sighed, “Maybe the worst one, though. What is on this shirt?” “Why that’s Dappy the Dolphin,” Molly giggled as her grumpy turian companion shoved her off of him. She fell back on the cot with a bounce before continuing, “And I have to say, his blues really match the stark white thing you have going for you. It’s really quite fetching. Mind if I take a holo-” Vinth cut her off by covering her mouth with a very large, taloned hand and sighing. He fixed her with a tired look until she wiggled her eyebrows suggestively at him, which inspired a very amusing turn of events.

First: his brow plates dropped as the confusion set in, since he was clueless as to what her wiggling brows implied. Then when he moved his hand away, Molly tilted her head to one side and said, “So kinky.”

When he finally realized that that was what she had been getting at, Vinth jumped to his feet. He started apologizing and babbling about how that wasn’t what he had meant, that he was just trying to get her to stop teasing him incessantly and he thought he was being funny. Then, at some point during his worried pacing, the horns on his legs managed to rip clean through her comfy pants. That started the whole process of panicking and apologizing all over. He paced until he tired himself out and finally sunk back down on the cot, burying his face in his hands while Molly looked on and did her best not to burst out laughing at him. She figured he finally earned a break from her relentless prodding. “Okay, okay,” she chuckled, scooting back in the cot until she was leaning against the wall, “I’m done. For now.” Her grin faltered as Vinth turned around to fix her with a very ‘you better be’ sort of look. For a moment she was afraid she was going to burst into laughter at his ridiculous outfit again, but instead she found herself completely pinned in place when his gaze caught hers. She stared back at him, transfixed, as what was meant to be a levelling glare shifted into something she couldn’t quite place. Molly felt her chest pounding the longer she looked into Vinth’s icy, intense eyes, then felt her breath catch when he leaned in close to her. The scent of soil after a rainfall flooded her senses, made her cheeks turn pink. “Look, I have to tell-” Whatever he was going to say was cut short by a shrill, pulsing bell tone that cut through the tension to alert Molly to an incoming call. Startled out of her momentary entrancement, she tapped the screen of her omni to answer the call, lips turning down into a worried frown. It was Valla, and Valla never called her. “Hey Moll,” her voice was hoarse. Had she been crying?

“I know this was supposed to be a free day for you to study, but we need you tonight if you can work.” Exchanging confused glances with Vinth (since she forgot her omni was still linked up with the speakers on her comm screen and he could hear the conversation), she rubbed the back of her head and said, “Yeah, of course I can work, but what’s up?” “It’s Leore, she...she can’t work tonight,” the asari’s words were quiet, choked. Valla never got choked up, never sounded so...small. Worry pounded through Molly’s chest like a peal of thunder, “She can’t work for a while, actually, but she had a few big tables booked for tonight. The other girls can cover them if you come work the silks for a shift..” There was something she wasn’t saying, something dark and horrible hidden in between the lines of what Valla was asking her. The silks were meant to break up the raunchy performances, like a palate-cleanser. It was what she did to give the crowd something to look at while Red Nova staff cleaned the stage, something that was tame enough to keep them from getting rowdy but captivating enough to keep them entertained. Molly’s brows furrowed and she sat up straight, as if better posture could somehow make the situation a little less foreboding.

“You know I’ll help out however I can, Valla, but is Leore okay? She wouldn’t miss work, especially not a few nights in a row. What’s going on?” There was a long, horrible silence before Valla spoke. When she did, her voice broke in a way Molly had never heard before. “It was Briggs,” came the shaky response, “He was tearing through the place in a rage on his way to his office...Moll, you have to be alert when you come in. Keep away from him.”

Vinth leapt off the cot and started pacing, his subvocals flooding the room with a steady and heated droning. He was mad, really mad, but if he didn’t get a grip then there was a good chance that Valla would figure out Molly wasn’t alone and she wouldn’t want to share anything about Briggs with an outsider. She’d see it as too much of a risk. So Molly caught the restless turian’s eye and glared a warning. He paused, his eyes burning, but he knew just as well as she did that without the right tech to block it, turian subvocals at certain frequencies could be picked up by comms. They’d sound like feedback, sure, but Valla was smart as a whip and had lived on the Citadel long enough to be suspicious of comm feedback. “What happened, Valla,” Molly demanded once Vinth got his temper under control. She was trying desperately to ignore the fear that was creeping through her veins like ice, her fingertips pressed lightly against her neck as she recalled her last run-in with Briggs. Valla had kept a level head that night. Valla always kept a level head. Hearing her sound so afraid was beyond troubling. “L-Leore came in early because she left her necklace behind after her shift last night,” Valla explained, her voice quiet, “It was the one her father gave her when he was still alive so she was in a panic without it. She ran into Briggs on her way in, and- and another one of his deals was busted, Moll. I think there’s something more happening that he’s keeping to himself, because he’s gotten so paranoid. He won’t even clue in the thugs he’s always got flanking him. And, well, Moll is new, which to him means she’s suspect. So when he saw her...

“Moll, he beat her bad. Really bad. His guys had to pull him off of her, and her face...her- her face is just-” There was a loud sob, then another as Valla struggled to keep herself together. Vinth was pacing, his mandibles flared and his jaw hanging open, showing off his teeth. He was like a snarling beast pacing its cage, waiting to be set upon unsuspecting prey. She held up a hand, pleading once more for him to keep quiet when she heard a predatory rumbling in his chest. It took a few moments, but eventually he conceded. “Valla?” A deep breath sounded from the speakers, followed by a soft apology. “We don’t know if she’ll even make it, Moll, but one of Briggs’ guys brought her to a doctor they trust. One who’s under the LT’s thumb, and I don’t know what that means for her. I don’t know how to help her and it’s tearing me apart.” Molly opened her mouth to speak, to offer some sort of comfort, but Valla cut her off. “And look, I’m sorry,” the asari’s voice sounded tortured, “I’m sorry I’m asking you to come in with all this going on. You should be staying as far away from this place as you can. You’re so close to starting a real career, you’re so close to being free of this pit, but… well, we need you. He’s been going through the books, combing through everything to try to find some sort of clue as to who it is that’s spilling all his secrets. He’ll see the cancellations and go nuts from losing that much money. Every deal that gets busted costs him money, people, and trust. So just for tonight, Moll, please. If we start losing money, too, goddess knows what he’ll do to us. Just tonight, and then we’ll figure something out for you.” Fuck. It was a lot to take in. Her eyes stung and tears were starting to well. Poor Leore was the sweetest girl in that place. She was lovely and soft-hearted...fuck, she deserved better, but like every other girl dancing in Red Nova her options had been too limited and she was stuck as one of Briggs’ girls. And then there was Briggs himself, more violent and unstable than ever. Going to Nova would be like walking into a den of angry mutant varren, but if staying home meant putting Valla or anyone else at risk, then what could she do? She would never be able to live with herself if anything else happened to someone at Nova who didn’t deserve it. Molly looked up at Vinth, who knew what she was going to say before she opened her mouth. He looked as though he was about to argue with her but she held out her hand to silence him. His jaw snapped shut and he looked away sharply, skirting a hand along a hip before clenching it into a fist. It wasn’t lost on Molly that his hand had moved as though he was expecting to find a pistol on his hip. “I’ll be in. Just name a time.” There was a long pause before Valla sighed and said, “A part of me was hoping you’d hang up and never show your face here again. But, well...thanks, Moll. This means everything to us.” “Of course, V,” replied Molly, “If it means keeping the heat off of you guys, I’ll do anything to help.” Another muffled sob came through the speakers before Valla continued and said, “We’ll need you a little later this evening, just be ready to start at 1900 and be careful. I’ll try to have someone meet you at the entrance, and if we’re lucky that stalker of yours will show, too. I’m sure he’d shred someone to ribbons if they tried to lay a hand on you. He has that ‘I’ve killed before and I’ll do it again’ look to him. Find me as soon as you’re here.” The call disconnected after a brief but emotional goodbye and Molly sunk back against the wall, her skin numb and her heart thundering. She was terrified. For Leore, for the girls, for Valla, and for herself. What the hell was she thinking, agreeing to work on a night when she knew Briggs would be on a murderous rampage? She had already pissed him off once, had already gotten herself on his shit list. So why did she feel so compelled to do the right thing? Why couldn’t she just play coward and hide away? “You can’t go.” She looked up at Vinth, knowing full well that she was wearing her terror on her sleeve and that he could see it plain as day. Hell, her fingertips were still pressed against her throat. He’d have to be blind to miss the signs. “He’s a monster, Moll,” he snarled, pacing back and forth again, “A sick and twisted psychopath. You can’t go in, I don’t care if they need you-”

“I do.” He froze where he stood, hands curled into fists as he stared down at her, trying to suss out the right thing to say. The buzzing presence of his subvocals filled the silence, indecipherable but incessant nonetheless. “I care if they need me,” she continued, hugging her knees close to her chest and doing her best to put on a brave face from her seat on the cot, “I know it’s crazy to consider going in, and I don’t want to go, but I’ve known Valla since I first moved to the Citadel and I’ve known most of the girls there just as long. They’ve all helped me get to where I am now. Sick calls, switching shifts, covering my tables whenever I panicked about an exam so I could go home early to rest or study. That is the foundation I’m building my career, hell, the rest of my life on. I owe them every bit of success I’ll ever have, and I’m going to go to work tonight to make sure I don’t get another call tomorrow telling me that Briggs has beat someone else I care about bloody. “Fuck.” He hissed between his teeth, subvocals charging the air in her apartment with anxious energy. Molly watched as her furious companion leaned over her counter, gripping it hard so he could force himself to keep still, his talons scratching into the finish. “I know I can’t tell you what to do, but I hate this,” he continued, staring hard at the blank comm screen with his mandibles wide open and showing off rows of sharp teeth once more, “I hate knowing you’re going to walk in there with that fucking lunatic, Moll. I could do something, I could-” “That makes two of us,” she cut him off, her words infused with a bitter laugh. She sounded as miserable as she looked with her tears finally spilling over and soaking her cheeks, “I hate it just as much as you.” “It’s not funny-” His voice was raised when he whipped around to face her and tell her off, but he lost his steam when he saw her crying. The fight left him with each breath he took until his mouth and mandibles eased shut and his shoulders sagged. Looking at him like that, seeing him so utterly defeated made her feel like a cold fist was clamped around her heart. “Shit Moll, I’m sorry,” said Vinth finally, his voice soft, “I just...I don’t what I’d do if he got his hands on you again, if he-” He cut himself off again when fresh, hot tears slid down her cheeks and she balled her fists so tightly her knuckles turned white. She was scared, so she turned her head away and stared hard at one of her potted plants. Molly could feel the intensity of his gaze cutting into her, could sense his worry and the hungry way he was searching for a way to fix things. It made her want to hide. Quietly, with her voice shaking, said asked him, “Are you going again tonight?” “You couldn’t keep me away if you tried,” came his growling response. She finally looked back at him and offered a weak thanks by way of a frail smile. She was terrified, yes, but knowing he would be close by made her feel a little better at least. For a moment she felt the weight on her chest ease off, but then she thought about Leore and it crashed down again. “She’ll make it, Moll,” Vinth closed the gap between the counter and the cot in one stride, sitting down on the edge and wringing his hands in lieu of worrying his cuffs since her father’s shirt left his arms bare. Her gaze traced over every inch of his arms. They were long and muscular, the snowy-white hide peppered with blue and purple scars. Many of the scars she recognized from the rounds she’d tagged along for in her program. There were gunshot wounds, knife wounds, varren bites and gouges that only turian claws could cause. How had she not noticed it when he first put on the shirt? With long sleeves on, Vinth had always appeared so pristine, so untouchable. Yet there he was, a veritable encyclopedia of battle wounds proving that even one as large and as strong as he was could never truly be invulnerable. So then what chance did a sweet girl like Leore have at surviving Briggs’ wrath? A pitiful sound escaped the back of Molly’s throat and Vinth’s hand moved to one of her balled fists. He grabbed hold and tugged her gently towards him. At first she resisted, afraid that if she moved she might fall apart. When he tugged again she looked up at him and trembled at what she saw. There was a powerful anguish there, a misery that had her coming undone, so she caved and let him pull her into his arms. And just like that the seal was broken. She didn’t have to shoulder this alone, didn’t have to put on a brave face or force herself to stay level-headed for once. Vinth was practically inviting her to let it all out and lean on him both literally and figuratively, and that was all it took for her to bury herself in him. She gripped the low edge of his cowl on one side of his keel bone while she pressed her face against the backs of her hands and sobbed. Avinthus, sweet and bumbling Avinthus, just held her while she fell apart and that strange melodic purring started rolling through chest again. His cowl acted almost like an echo chamber for the sounds he made, something she hadn’t noticed before, and the more she focused on it the easier it became to breathe and steady herself. She could feel the way it rumbled through his carapace, reminding her of the barn cats that skulked around her family’s farmland back on Earth, the ones who eventually warmed up to her and would curl up and purr in her lap. They stayed like that for a while, until a little alarm tone sounded in Molly’s omni to remind them that Vinth’s clothes were ready. She pushed away from him, drying her cheeks with her sleeves so she could head back down to grab his things until he insisted he could grab them himself. “But the clothes you’re wearing,” she reminded him, her voice straining around the lump in her throat, “If someone sees you-” “Then they’ll notice how the blues really match the stark white thing I’ve got going for me,” he reminded her gently, “I’ll be back in a minute.” It took him a moment to finally release her so he could head downstairs. When he did, he had to gingerly pluck each one of her fingers from his cowl to get free. She watched him do it, partly because she was in shock and partly because forcing him to move her hands meant delaying the moment he left her alone. Vinth must have had his own apprehensions about leaving her, too, because when he finally moved her hands from the ridge of his cowl to her own lap, he hesitated. Bleary grey eyes blinked up at him when he reached his hands towards her face and chased her tears away with the rounded backs of his talons. Molly whimpered and looked away, snatching one of his hands and squeezing it, trying not to think about the scars that she felt in his rough skin. “Thank you,” was all she could manage before releasing him and watching him head out the door. Alone once more in her apartment, Molly’s stomach churned and her mind raced through all of the horrible things happening at Red Nova. It wasn’t the first time things had taken a dark turn there, but out of everything that had happened during her last five years on the Citadel, this was by far the worst of it. It took every shred of willpower she had to keep herself from spiralling into panic again, and the moment she heard a knock at the door relief washed over her. She tapped her omni and the doors hissed open, revealing Vinth balancing an armful of takeout, his clothes hanging from the crook of his elbow. “I ran into both our delivery guys on the way back up,” he explained, stepping in and dropping the food on the counter, “I know you’re probably not feeling too hungry, but at least try to eat. Please. Even a weak biotic shouldn’t go this long without food.” She nodded and watched as he disappeared into the bathroom, noting that the front of the Dappy tee was completely soaked with tears. All she could think was that he must have been humiliated facing two complete strangers dressed in the clothes she had given him. A wave of guilt crashed through her.

Finally Molly got off of her cot, but instead of heading to the food she headed to the bathroom, crashing into Vinth’s chest with a fierce hug the moment the door opened. “I’m sorry,” her voice was muffled from the way she had her face squashed into his carapace, the slightly floral perfume of detergent mingling with his own scent and tickling her nose, “I was an ass when we met and I’ve been an ass all day. I was relentless, like I was making up for years of having no friends to tease. I’m so sorry, Vinth, I really am. My dad was right about my social skills. I promise I’ll-” Two very strong hands gripped her shoulders and pushed her back. Vinth held her in front of him, his piercing blue eyes fixed on her once more, but this time she had to look away. She felt so awful about how incessantly she had picked on him when all he had tried to do was bring her some bloody coffee. “If I accept your apology will you stop beating yourself up?” She looked back up at him for a moment before nodding weakly and wrapping her arms around herself. “All is forgiven then,” he released her shoulders and stepped around her to reach the food, grabbing a container from her order and putting it in her hands, “You really should eat, then get some more sleep before you go to Nova. But, Moll…” She looked up at him, drinking in the intense eyes and the flicking mandibles. She suspected he was about to insist she reconsider her choice and felt herself getting defensive. “I’m not going to fight you on this, Moll,” he finally said, much to her surprise, “Spirits, I want to, but I know there’s no point. And to be honest? I admire the way you’re looking out for the people you work with. Just...be careful. Be careful and call if anything happens. I’ll make sure to be close by when you’re working, so call and when I see your number I’ll come find you.”

“I will, Vinth,” Molly popped open the food container and stared down at steaming, delicious noodles and veggies and wished she could work up an appetite. Her traitorous stomach was lurching just looking at it, enough so that she had to set the container down and sigh.

“Thanks,” she added, “For looking out for me I mean. The more I get to know you the more humiliated I feel about how I treated you when we first met. I really am sorry.” “That’s enough,” he crossed his arms and cocked a hip, shaking his head at her, “Kicking yourself like this isn’t a good look for you.” A faint smirk twitched in the corners of her mouth and Molly felt herself starting to relax. With her arms still hugging her chest, she looked up at her turian friend and asked in a teasing voice, “So you think I look good otherwise?” Vinth breathed out a laugh and shook his head, reaching out to hook a talon around a stray lock of her hair, letting it slide over his finger before he gingerly tucked it back behind her ear. “For a human, yeah. Sure.”

When he pulled his hand away again, Molly was left feeling...rattled. There was too much going on in her head. Worries for Leore and whether or not she would ever see the girl again were forefront in her mind, followed closely by that humming thread of fear that wound its way through her chest. Add the way Vinth was acting into the mix and she was exhausted just from feeling. And Vinth definitely had her feeling something, she just didn’t know what and didn’t want to unpack it with everything that was going on, because there was a lot to unpack there and it had all come on far too quickly.

The last of their time together flew by quickly. Since Molly had to rest and get ready for a long night at work, they decided to eat and split so she could catch a couple extra hours of sleep. She could only manage half-heartedly picking at her food despite Vinth looming over her like a tall, spiky nurse, the intensity of her eyes judging her for her lack of enthusiasm for self-care. He eased off eventually, however, and when she was alone in her apartment again, she felt the last of her energy disappear in one large whoosh. What a rollercoaster of a day she had had. Molly fell back on her cot, curling up into a tight ball and hugging her knees close to her again. It felt like ages before the ache in her chest and the twisting knots in her guts eased enough for her to finally doze off. Her sleep was restless, though, and by the time her alarm went off she felt even more exhausted than she had before. It’s going to take a pound of makeup to cover this up. When she hauled herself out of bed and looked in her bathroom mirror her suspicions were confirmed. The bags under her eyes were dark purple, and there was this pinched look to her brows that she tried to smooth out with her thumbs but it just wasn’t working. After a long sigh she set to work weaving her hair into a complex up-do with braids and a high pony, then began painting her face. By the time she was done you wouldn’t suspect for a moment that she was anything less than perky and energized but for the way her shoulders sagged. She packed a bag with her work clothes, hauled on a pair of kitten heels, and headed out the door after firing off a quick message to Vinth to let him know she was on her way to Red Nova.

He met up with her just outside the staff entrance, wearing fresh clothes (black from head to toe) and a look in his eyes so intense it was scorching. Molly tried to reassure him with a small smile but she knew she couldn’t convince him to be okay with her decision when she was trembling as violently as she was. She stayed very still when he reached out to give her shoulders a squeeze, keeping a straight face even when the buffed tips of his talons dug painfully into her skin. Twice he opened his mouth to speak and twice the words died on his tongue. It wasn’t until Molly stood on the tips of her toes to cup his face (which looked so large when she held it in her small hands) that he seemed to rein in the fury that was humming through him. His expression softened for the briefest moment before some kind of conflict overcame him again. It seemed like he wanted to tell her something, and hadn’t he tried to do just that before Valla had called her? Molly tilted her head to one side, curious, but Vinth just shook his head and decided against whatever he had been about to say. He placed his hands over hers and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. “I’ll be nearby, Moll. Count on it,” he spoke in a low growl, “You should leave now or I won’t be able to let you go.”

“Thanks, snowball,” Molly said with the best impression of good humour she could manage, “For being here, and for understanding that I have to do this. Promise me one thing?” He released her hands and folded his arms over his chest, waiting for her to continue. “Follow my lead. Even if you see something that makes you want to interfere, promise you’ll follow my lead.” When Vinth looked like he was about to argue, mouth and mandibles flying open all at once, she added, “I know these people. I’ve known them for years and I want to avoid things escalating into violence as best I can. Just trust me and follow my lead, okay?” It took a few agonizing seconds before Vinth nodded stiffly. Molly offered him one final, frail smile before turning on her heel and heading through the staff doors. She couldn’t look back, couldn’t risk losing her nerve before she went inside, but she could swear she heard the loud thud of a heavy boot slamming against a dumpster just as the doors closed behind her.

Previous Chapter // First Chapter

[rosaiel]

Octo Expansion Mem Cake Starters/Prompts! 🐙

I was trying to complete the Octo Expansion when I was inspired to make this because of the Tentakook Mem Cake poem! I don’t think anyone has done this before. Anyways, thought they’d make for some really great roleplay starters and writing prompts, so have fun! ❤

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“At last we meet, my so-called foe. But is our fate to spray this hate? Perhaps we'll learn in depths below...”

“With tresses pink and eyes a blank, A smile so faint, it hides your feint, You slip on past—outfoxed! Outflanked!”

“You paint the turf with graceful strokes. With watchful eye, I breathe a sigh. From sniper's perch, I go for broke.”

“The rolling column splatters all. A stray shot shakes the trees awake. The summer turns, here comes the fall.”

“You gaze seaward with azure hope. Between each blink you calmly think, As when you use a Splatterscope.”

“The world I knew seems like a trap. I'm drawn now to the strange and new. Would my old friends think me a sap?”

“The fat and heavy locks hang low They frame your face above a base Of stumpy leg and pigeon toe.”

“A hilltop picnic, friends and fruit. Your whirling blades provide us shade. I raise a hand in mock salute.”

“Destroy your troubles—bombs away! A tempting thought: bring all to naught. No wonder your friends tend to stray.”

“You face away, thinking me blind, Like I don't know what you won't show. Your love is still clear from behind.”

“So principled you might explode, But when you burst, who's really cursed? Your loved ones have to bear that load.”

“It seems to you a sly attack, But for your pains you make no gains. You only get shot in the back.”

“How loftily you float on high, Suspended there in starry air As you drip purple passing by.“

“How desolate this star-marked limb. Is what awaits me this same fate? I must not dwell; it's much too grim.”

“Though parted by the ocean deep, My oldest friend, we meet again. I touch your face; you rouse from sleep.”

“You overwhelm with crowds and throngs. At every turn, you writhe and churn. Why can't we simply get along?”

“Now nights grow long; summer abates. The tides recede as squids stampede. With fireworks, we celebrate.”

“Your motor whines; the ocean roars. No ink can halt your firm assault. Let these invaders know the score.”

“When problems stack too tall to see, Just chip away and, day by day, You'll grow to live a life carefree.”

“Where love could blossom, spite congeals. Faced with these thieves, I aim and heave A cluster bomb right in the feels.”

“The hunt leads down a winding path. Tightly coiled and well-oiled, These dirty squids could use a bath.”

“Erupting eel glimpses the sky. Its eyelids squint against the glint Of sun unseen by creatures shy.”

“A sudden drizzle bars my way. It's no hour for this shower, But light rain won't ruin my day.”

“Each glittered scale shines so bright. You're my last ditch to strike it rich And tilt my bank balance aright.”

“Finality's not what it seems. When your end comes, rise up and run. Don't let defeat dissolve your dreams.”

“I topple from the tower ledge And choke back tears to see the gears Eliminate our hard-won edge.”

“We're torn apart so many times; I must be bold and keep my hold To make their team pay for their crimes.”

“When four are one, they make a team. But one from ten? Uhh, come again? It's like some kind of fever dream.”

“You teach the virtues of the still, And yet I spurned the lesson learned. My problem is I have no chill.”

“Oblivious, adrift, and round, You hold inside a tempting prize. Who doesn't love that popping sound?”

“To plant a tree's its own reward After you're gone, it will grow on In memory, initials scarred.”

“The polished nozzle gleams and shines. Unblemished gun reflects the sun. A good day's match; victory's mine.”

“I shake the squeegee to and fro. As I do laps my color saps; A fair trade for a mighty blow.”

“Closer to pyramids than spheres— Let fly the bombs! A sigh, then calm. A pillow stained with ink—or tears.”

“Not everyone can be a scourge In tense combat. I toss this splat, A monument to my last surge.”

“Though it flies errant or amiss, Should its sly arc hit near the mark, Your fate is sealed with its kiss.”

“No stealth or guile, not for you. You pave the way as plain as day, Foreshadowing imminent spew.”

“Its friendly face, its easy stride— That's all a front. Let me be blunt; It leaves you with nowhere to hide.”

“The sickly sweet aroma spreads. Its stagnant arms bring only harm, Along with sluggish, looming dread.”

“"I rule," you said, "It's in my blood. Don't step to me — ESPECIALLY If you can't hang with my best bud."”

“They told me you had gone to ground, And your rad groove was concrete proof That you made it safe and sound.”

“Two friends who never are apart: One's always cool, the other stews. I love them both with all my heart.”

“I watch your tendrils undulate A blue bouquet that twirls and sways, As central mass swells and deflates.”

“Hmm, Slosher? Inkbrush? Curling Bomb? I'd gladly browse for hours and hours Your gushing ramble brings me calm.”

“Black, bulging eyes stare far inside. What does he see deep within me? From his sharp gaze, no one can hide.”

“How long must I wait in his line? Such tragic lack of Crusty snack... I'm almost there! It will be mine!”

“Behind his dour, one-eyed stare, Our urchin friend conceals a yen For making the most out of gear.”

“A patch of sun? A fresh-caught fish? No bribe will swerve your eye for turf, However desperately we wish.”

“Oh, what I'd give to be employed! Better, I'd say, to work for pay Than ride this subway through the void.”

“Our sweat dripping from every pore. The harsh, hot sun won't stop this run. We grit our teeth and ask for more.”

“I hate the sea but love the breeze. The sandy shore I will endure Just for that brisk, zephyrous tease.”

“A Skalop brand atop your crown Will turn some heads but really shreds When it is simply turned around.”

“Squids often wear this as they strike With bomb and brush. It's quite a rush. I wish I could know what that was like...”

“Your 'tude is righteous, as you say. Is your science as defiant? Prove that your battle rhymes can slay.”

“I see you standing in the rain. Within a storm—forever warm. Powerful as a hurricane.”

“Put down the phone go shelve your book. Get ready, champ—it's time to camp! We'll share a drink right from the brook!”

“Constructed of glass and concrete, A city stays in dull, drab grays Till we splash color on its streets.”

“Mistakes of youth teach us a lot. We skate too fast and have a blast And learn quickly not to get caught.”

“"When going through here, play it cool!" Or get a clue and don't go through! I won't bend on this! Them's the rules!”

“I pack my feelings in a box: A parcel stuffed with hope and love And trimmed with stamps unorthodox.”

“I've seen this, but I'm not aware Just what the splat I'm looking at! Is it a frog or a brown bear?”

“How I admire Li'l Max! The highest rank to be so swank That my rivals have heart attacks.”

“The tides go out and take the light. How will I greet you when we meet? It keeps me up on inkstained nights.”

“Your song inspired a blush of love. It gave my heart a fresh new start. Now I ascend to shores above.”

“I leave without ceremony. Don't be too sore; I wanted more. My sincerest apology.”

“When I get my hands on these fish I might exchange them on the range, Except that they look so delish...”

“A mystery rolled up and bound— Oh, what's the use? It's too obtuse. I'll dump it in the lost and found.”

“Beneath a summer sky I walk, Through valley, plain, and back again, Dreaming of what you might unlock.”

“The rhythm etched in little jolts Those idols sing and put a spring In my steps as I crank the volts.”

“Encased in a sturdy sphere of glass. It breaks my heart to see you caught With whiskers trembling as I pass.”

“Though slick with slime, I keep my grip. The chill seeps through my gift from you. I mustn't let this cargo slip.“

“I don't quite trust this stark white brand. It's more for squids or little kids... And where's the pop? It's oh-so bland!”

“This swells a stir of royal pride. In small or large, you lead the charge. The ink of nobles flows inside.”

“On colder days, I like these clothes. With other threads I'd stay in bed— It's too frigid to be exposed!”

“I see you walking down the street. You think you're slick in those lime kicks, But they'd look fresher on my feet.”

“The squishing footsteps trudge in muck. Their path revealed by heavy heel. My heart beats quick a stroke of luck!”

“Such devilfish-may-care couture— The colors clash and make a splash! Without a doubt, footwear du jour.”

“It keeps the elements away: No rain, nor heat, nor wind, nor sleet. But does it guard against ink spray?”

“No matter thickness, brim, or gauge, A well-done purl will awe the world. These handmade hats are all the rage!”

[sidpah]

Color Blind

Red socialist flags wave on recommissioned poles because even anarchists have a trademarked logo…  Sweet angels steal their wings from the spines of the poor…

Boasting red and white eyesores these houses rally as one set of bars and stripes, ambling across a distended tapestry – White door, red brick, white siding, red wood, white molding, red cheeks surveying the street through white window panes with unceasing paranoia, red blood, white skin, the rumble of distant red bomb skies and deep fried white potato freedom fries, and redcoats in red ties shooting because they can’t see the whites of their enemy’s eyes… Red flags in black basements mourning spilled blood, plotting how much more’ll need to be spilt –

While above, white women who wish they’d been born heiresses, blue striped scarves double wrapped around bronze throats in late August Sun sip burnt Starbucks under black anonymous glasses, shivering to each other because it’s never been cool to be hot – And they’re gone quick as they came ‘cause life’s about the entrance and exit – The stay’s the least climatic scene –

Left fingerprints on glass tables, toe prints clinking toe rings cast in pewter by an Indian tribe whose name they never cared enough to pronounce correctly, on glass floors where their skirts would’ve been looked up if they weren’t wearing jeans molded tight so every ghost of undergarment excised for sake of unsightly lines could be ogled by a red-eyed degenerate sucking thin white cigarette to pacify his oral fixation – It’s not lit. He doesn’t like the taste of smoke, but people look down on you when you suck your thumb or pens or cocks, but cigarettes still get the public approval for now, so he can hold his head up, as he looks up the skirts of little white girls carrying little white dolls with red blush on their high plastic cheekbones…

And they wear short white skirts, both the doll and the girl because the girl wants to grow up to be the doll and the girl’s mother waxes nostalgic about her days when she exuded the polymer mystique, fresh allure of that doll, lives vicariously through her daughter and her daughter’s sordid little doll, and her father sneaks covert glimpses at the doll and gets a little hard-on and he wonders why he doesn’t get one when he sees his wife who was once his pretty little consolation prize… A ribbon of white gold wrapped around the ring finger of his left hand reminding him of his duties to this little girl and her little blond doll and his miserable wife and their red and white house and Hawaiian blue swimming pool and jade grass and imported tropical flowers of ruby, amethyst, saffron, his black car and his white-washed office and his black secretary at his white-collar job with his black suit and white cuffs and his black caviar and white wine and the black eye he gave his wife after drinking too much white wine and the blackout that followed the same white wine and the red flush his ears take on when he lies, little white lies about not sleeping with his black secretary and not taking too many of those little white pills and not giving his wife that black eye as an anniversary present and not that he noticed the man with the oral fixation flipping a spare cigarette between his fingers, rolling it over and under each knuckle and thinking about nothing in particular other than panties and air –

He’s not so much thinking about them as seeing them superimposed on the rolled up screen of the coffin nail that’ll never seal his coffin because he had the good sense not to set it alight, and he doesn’t wonder who’s dying right now on the other side of the world, who’s dying in this city only a mile away.  Alone in hospice, alone in a motel, surrounded by family at a ski lodge, driving to a concert or wedding or peace rally…  Will they clear their mirror or cling tightly to their ersatz riches? – He doesn’t wonder who has a bomb strapped around his midriff and who’s making his peace with his god, or wondering is his god the same as the stranger’s god or who will be invaded tomorrow and under what false pretext, who makes up this shit, who rolled that cigarette, who picked that tobacco, who profited from that tobacco, how many people those poor tobacco pickers indirectly killed, how many dollars a year the white man makes who’s fucking his black secretary and snorting lines of white Go Powder, and whether he ever thinks about panties and air or whether that’s all trivial to him as the tri-colored ribbon stuck to his black Lexus trunk with a magnet that’ll be stolen by some privileged white teenaged suburbanite who’ll sell it for ten bucks to an old lady who’ll think it’s the most touching thing that this youngster is so patriotic and oh, how he supports his troops! And the kid’ll laugh as he spends the money on condoms and pot and searches for more ribbons to peel off to sell the geriatric population… (this only works in little old lady white neighborhoods…) The ones with the red and white houses flying tri-colored flags with yellow ribbons tied around their old oak trees and young maple trees and middle-aged pine trees (because it’s the thought that counts) –

Ribbons tied on in a red rush of commitment, the feeling that we need to do something even if it’s only this, even if it’s only putting a bowtie on local foliage, even if it’s only bombing the government infrastructure, even if it’s only assassination, only genocide, only nuclear warfare… The feeling that change must be made and that the red of muscle and carnage will be seen on nightly news, in papers, on the street, on the lawns of every little white house, every Big White House, every little red house until the blood stops being shed – it must stop being shed, there’s too much blood run loose of body, too much counterfeit innocence, too much manic sadness, these are the colors flying on every doorstep, up every flagpole, on every faded-out bumper sticker that proves these colors do indeed both fade and run… They fly on rooftops and car antennas and GOP rallies superimposed beneath a 9/11 two stories high, behind sloganeering defendants bullshitting the bullshitters, the blood, the fraud and the tears, and they say you can’t bullshit a bullshitter, so they cut you down to the ankle and suture your lips shut before you get the chance to try –

I must remember to have compassion, compassion for the seeds they sow, the seeds that may take millennia to sprout and bear fruit, but will form forests in the wake of their atrocities…  

They’re ignorant – a disease like malaria – and because they live life spiked on illusion doesn’t mean I can’t mourn their future incarnations, mourn their future pain I will feel next to them as their mother when they’re lying half dead on a battlefield fighting for the war they were close enough to start and too close to run away from…

All things seem safer from a distance – Until the bomb whistles its homecoming tune...  

Remaining shielded and safe in bunkers and resorts… Until they join the ranks at the fresh age of seventeen because of some compulsion they can’t enunciate – It’s deeper than in their genes, it’s in their karma – In the Alayavijnana – Even now they warn you not to mourn the dead, so don’t mourn them when their intestines are baking in the desert sun, don’t mourn them when you get the call saying your son has died in the line of duty, don’t mourn the collateral damage, don’t belittle their sacrifice. Could you imagine mourning the virgin who was given as gift to your Mayan god?  You’re not a red-blooded American patriot if you love your enemy, (or don’t fear your god) – you have to live and die in the knowledge of your enemy (who is your warlord god) – know his weakness, his hunger, his thirst, his dirty little secrets to exploit (both your enemy and your vengeful god) – and you know them well because they are your thirst, your weaknesses, your same dirty little secrets (you and your ignorant god are already one) – and don’t be angry – I try not to be angry but I am, there’s too much fucking red in all our eyes these days – History shows red streaks and great red oceans seemingly insurmountable by few awakened minds whispering calm to enraged toddlers hurling explosive toys across the living room...  

Great Mayan pyramids stained crimson, ropes bleed from mouths and draw holy glyphs of implication – Kings shed their own life for the gods, shed the life of the queen through her forked tongue, empty their sex and their humanity onto an altar for the servants, for the multitudes who will never climb those steps, the surrogate self left locked in sandstone tomb painted the colors of sunset, too much red in those historic eyes too…

So the torn yellow ribbon still flaps years later because no one sees it anymore, least of all the little patriot who tied it there. Part of the old familiar scenery stripped of meaning.  Those solemn days are gone and he did what he could do, she tied a knot, bought a ribbon, profited a charity, supported her troops, hoped they’d stay there until the job was done which means one side or the other is decimated to the point of collapse.  

The error is in the distinction.  We see inside those vehicles, those layers of Kevlar and camo and remember these are human creatures, people, stories, and not soldiers… But that’s our error, because they’re Troops, they aren’t mothers and fathers, sons and daughters, they are the Military Machine. Visceral extensions of the tanks they drive and jets they pilot, and it is offensive to think of them not fulfilling their assigned duty, the culmination of their twenty-some year destiny.  Imagine the disgrace they’d wear in place of their fatigues, the indignation sported like the Purple Heart they never had the opportunity to earn because a bunch of commie liberals stood in their way...  They did what they had to do, as we all do what we feel we have to to believe we’re making a difference. Whether we want change or fidelity to the status quo. We are driven to allegiances straight and crooked, broken and bloodied, hidden and garish – unaware that in reality, there are no fucking flags – there are no fucking colors – only a single unbroken spectrum stretching far beyond our perceptual limitations…

Illusion! Illusion! Oh, most Immaculate of Illusions – When will we at last be tricked no more?  

[bloojayoolie]

Children, Definitely, and Doctor: hieves household eleanet This all-purpose cleaner can be used on any surface in your home and it's safe to use around hic children&pets too many people clean their bath with bleach and ther send their little ones in it and totally skeeve???! Been there. Thieves household cleaner is all natural, none of that icky smell, and no chemical bleach that definitely penetrates the ittle ones skin. This right here is something I will never ever go without. Mobile Uploads 5 hours ago View full size More options Share 00 9 every time I would clean... come to find out it was all of those toxic chemicals that I was ingesting and that were sleeping into my pores. It still amazes me that those headaches are now gone since I switched over to this Thieves household cleaner! Coincidence? maybe #ithinknot re st bought this from a friend once but I wanted to look into it beforehand. I didn't know and had never hear about young living up until that point soI didnt know it was an MLM or the safety concerns and warning letters that the FDA put out regarding the Then I learned about the founded of Young lving Gary Young (he figured by abbreviating Donald to D Gary it would make him look like a real doctor). page http://bit.ly/1cliT7y Donald Gary Young He wasnt licensed in any way as a health profes sional like he lead on to the insane number of people that he illegally treated under the impression that he did have a license to practice medicine. In reality, he attended school ther apeutic massage but didnt even come close to completing. He also killed his newborn child by assisting his wife during childbirth in a whirlpool then submerged the child under water for almost an hour to prove his speculation that newborns could survive underwater for prolonged periods of time. He was arrested and later on he fought to try this again with his new wife but she refused to allow it Young living is sold under the guise of being founded by a doctor to make potential customers feel like it was a safer option than their competiors but the FDA has sent out warnings about the ridiculous amounts of false claims that they advertise including the clainm that it can "cure Ebola" here's the FDA's website and their warning about Young living http://bit.ly/2UcfXUb warningletters/ucm416023.htm This company also an MLM that makes a majority of their money by promising a certain amount of commission for recruiting. They tell the distributors to recruit more downlines and that's how you'll get to the next level but the lower and lower you go down the line, the less you make. The medan monthly pay Living p y states that the average annual income for this group is a whopping $312 And that's not your net pay after expenses, 74% of all distributors are making under $1000 a year selling Young Living. The reason Young living is considered by many to be a pyramid scheme is because the distrbutors aren't simply salesmen selling you this company's products and making the commission off of the sales.. No, you NEED to buy your own supply of their products before you can become a distrbutor. Most of their distributors barely break even. The fishiest part is that they have to spend money every month to even be eligible to receive a payment from Young Living. This is why they push the recruitment portion so hard because the little money these distributors do make is usually by getting people to sign on as their downlines. Most of these distributors have no idea what they're getting into until they're too far in the hole Worst of all is the completely unethical practice they use of lying about the "out of this world results their products produce. Unfortunately, they just can't produce any scientific evidence to prove the FDA and other health agencies wrong other than telling their distributors & customers that its all a "smear campaign" to ruin the great things they're doing. But that's as far as anyone can get with them. Why does the government want to go out of their way to smear them? Young living has no answer for that. They re basically a 5 year old child saying "because I said so Sorry for this long rant but I really don't like seeing people I know falling victim to pyramid schemes and MLMs when I've already seen so many other friends & family members lives torn to shreds because of young living & companies like them. And most importantly, because the doctors, scientists, and FDA know things that we don't and I trust them more than the particular groups of people pretending they 're in it simply for the satisfaction of bettering our lives which could not be farther from the truth on Donald Gary Young - Wikipedia 9 mins ike Reply More