#I did not select this passage ahead of time or plan this in any way

[deadbirdlife]

Quick audio clip from the book I'm reading.

[dialovers-translations]

Diabolik Lovers LUNATIC PARADE ;; Ayato Route ー Chapter 1

Yui: ( I have to retrieve my heart no matter what…! )

ー The scene starts in the carriage

Ayato: Oh, take a look, Chichinashi! The castle has come into view!

Yui: Eh...?

*Rustle*

Ayato: Heeh...Guess it’s to be expected with the ongoing Parade, but things seem pretty fired up in the surroundin’ city as well.

Hehe. I think we’re in for a good time...!

Yui: ...Hold up!

( A good time...? I thought we were going to look for my heart...? )

Ayato: Hm? Why are you frownin’...?

Ah. I bet you think that I’ve completely forgotten ‘bout your heart, aren’t you?

Yui: Uu...

Ayato: Hmph. How could I forget? I remember it very well!

But you know, we have to gather some information on this Walter guy first.

So I see no harm in enjoyin’ the Parade a lil’ while we’re at it?

Yui: Eeh...!?

( Can we really afford to take the slow approach...? )

...

Ayato: ...Are you that worried ‘bout your heart?

Yui: ...Well...

Ayato: Oi, listen up.

I’ll ensure you get your heart back.

So don’t worry. Trust me!

Yui: ...Yeah...

( ...Right. I’m the one who chose Ayato-kun after all...So I can’t lose faith... )

*Rustle*

Ayato: ...Puttin’ that aside, guess I’m take a lil’ break before we arrive at our destination.

That bein’ said, I’m gonna borrow your lap for a bit.

*Rustle*

Yui: ...! A-Ayato-kun!?

( He laid his head down in my lap...! )

*TIMESKIP*

Yui: ( Count Walter...I wonder why exactly he has stolen my heart...? )

( Um...I think it was called a ‘Kleinod’? )

( Apparently I’m still alive because one of those has been put inside of me to replace my heart but...Still... )

...

( ...Let’s not think about that now. Worrying myself sick won’t get us any further anyway. )

( It’s just like Ayato-kun said. I shouldn’t make myself unnecessarily anxious... )

Ayato: ...Zzー ...Zzー...

Yui: ( Fufu. Ayato-kun seems to be enjoying his nap... )

ー The carriage suddenly comes to a halt

*Rustle*

Yui: Kyaah...!

Ayato: Uwah!?

*THUD*

Ayato: ...Ow!!

Yui: ( ...! Ayato-kun was sent flying from the rebound...! )

A-Are you okay...!?

Ayato: T-The fuck!? I was sleepin’ so comfortably too...!

*Rustle*

Ayato: Oi, Familiar! Where did you learn to drive like that!? Cut the crap!

Familiar: M-My sincere apologies...! Someone suddenly jumped onto the road from behind the shadow of those trees...

Ayato: A person...? ...What? Who the fuck’s that bastard dressed in all black...?

Yui: ( ...A black-clad figure riding on a horse is blocking the path... )

( On top of that, he seems to be staring our way... )

Ayato: I don’t know what’s goin’ on but I don’t like this one bit...Fuck! Imma go give him a piece of my mind!

ー Ayato gets out of the carriage

 Yui: A-Ayato-kun...!

Ayato: Oi, don’t come down. Sit still and wait for me inside the carriage. ...Capiche?

ー He runs off

Yui: ( There he goes... )

( I wonder if he’ll be okay by himself...? )

ー The scene shifts to the outer area around Bernstein castle

Black-clad figure: ...

Ayato: Oi! Mr. Man in Black! You sure have some nerve to get in my way!

Who the fuck are you!? Get off your horse and name yourself!

*Thud*

Black-clad figure: ...I’m the gatekeeper.

Ayato: Gate...? Hmph! Strange name you’ve got there, mate!

Gatekeeper: I have no name. Gatekeeper...In other words, the one guarding the gate of the Demon World.

It is my duty to ensure that no unwanted intruders enter the Demon World...

I simply cannot allow that tainted woman who is neither demon nor human to set foot inside.

Ayato: Aah!? Oi, say that one more time?

She’s a tainted woman!? Imma send you straight flyin’ if you speak that sorta crap again!

ー The scene shifts back to the carriage

Yui: ( ...Oh no! I have to stop him! )

ー Yui rushes out of the carriage

Yui: Ayato-kun! Calm down!

Ayato: ...! Chichinashi!? Idiot! Why did you come out!?

Yui: Because...!

( At this rate, it’d turn into a fight... )

Gatekeeper: Hmph. I knew it...Oi, woman. You are under arrest.

*Thud*

Yui: Kyah...!

Ayato: ...! Not in my book! Let her go!!

*Rustle*

Gatekeeper: ...!

Ayato: You really think I’m gonna hand her over to some creep like you!?

Let’s go, Chichinashi! Run!!

Yui: Y-Yeah...!

ー The two of them start running as the scene shifts to Glimmer Main Street

Ayato: Haah...Haah...Seems like we got away somehow.

Even if he chases after us, we should be fine amidst this large of a crowd.

Yui: Right...

( Still...I wonder if we should have ran away...? )

( What did that person mean with ‘a tainted woman who is neither demon nor human...? )

( He must have been talking about me, right...? )

( Being here might be more dangerous in my current state than I thought... )

Ayato: ...Oi, what’s wrong? Why do you look so glum?

Yui: Eh...?

Ayato: ...Listen, Chichinashi. You are mine.

I definitely won’t let someone else have you.

So you’ve got nothin’ to worry ‘bout.

While I’m lookin’ for your heart, you can look ‘round the Parade and take it easy for a bit.

Yui: ( ...Ayato-kun... )

( Right. Ayato-kun’s with me after all...I’m sure everything will be fine. )

( I’m sure he’ll save me no matter what happens... )

Okay. I will.

Ayato: Mmh! Let’s go then.

Male Vampire A: Oi, did you see it? The poster on the plaza...

Female Vampire A: Yes. one of Karlheinz’ sons is on the wanted list, right?

Male Vampire A: Yeah, it’s Sakamaki Ayato...

Yui: ...!?

( Ayato-kun’s a wanted criminal...!? )

Ayato: Ah? What did you say ‘bout Yours Truly?

Male Vampire A: ...’Yours Truly’...? Could you be...Sakamaki...Ayato...?

Ayato: ...? I mean, yeah?

Yui: ( ...! Ayato-kun just revealed himself! I have to cover up for him!! )

Let’s go over there!

*Rustle*

Ayato: Aah? The fuck you doin’ all of a sudden...?

Yui: ( Either way, we have to get away from here...! )

ー Yui drags him away as the scene shifts to Aizen Alleyway

Ayato: ...Hmm, I see. I’m an outlaw, huh?

Well, I’m sure that ‘Gate’ guy or whatever his name was is behind it, right?

Hmph! He’s challengin’ me, huh? He’s got some balls then.

Yui: Anyway, that’s our current situation, so we should probably avoid crowded areas for now...

Ayato: ...Well, you might be right but...

...Say, Chichinashi?

Yui: Eh?

ー He pins her against the wall

*Thud*

Yui: ...Kyah!

Ayato: Aren’t you just makin’ up excuses ‘cause you want some private time with me...?

Yui: Eh...!?

Ayato: You should just be honest ‘bout it then. ...I don’t mind.

I was just ‘bout in the mood for that as well. Nn...

Yui: Nn...!

Ayato: Nn...Haah...

Yui: Haah...! Gosh, Ayato-kun! Now’s not the time for this...!

Ayato: Oh shut up. You’re the one who enticed me.

Come on, look this way. I’ll give you one more. Nn...

*Smooch*

Yui: ...

( ...It’s no use. I can’t push him away... )

ー Footsteps can be heard in the background

Male Vampire A: I could have sworn they went that way...

Ayato: ...!?

Yui: ( ...!! Somebody’s coming!! )

Ayato: ...Che. Seems like somethin’ got in the way. We’ll continue later. Come here!!

*Rustle*

Yui: Kyah...Ayato-kun, wait...!

ー They run off again to an underground passage

Ayato: Fuck...That Gate guy totally ruined our plans to enjoy the Parade...

Oi, Chichinashi. We’re takin’ a break. Now!

Yui:  A-A break...? Right here?

Ayato: ...Let’s see if there’s any good spots ‘round...Well, guess we can just open one of these doors at random...There!

*Thud*

Yui: ( ...! He’s opening doors without permission...! )

Ayato: Oh. Better than I expected. We can take a seat and rest here.

Yui: A-Ayato-kun...Couldn’t this be the basement of someone’s home...?

( He just invited himself in...We’ll get yelled at if they find us! )

ー The scene shifts to an underground room

Ayato: ...Heeh. Well, it’s a lil’ dusty in here, but I guess it’s more comfortable than the place we were at before...

Well thenー... Guess I’ll kick back and relax for a bit.

*Thud*

Yui: ( Ayato-kun totally made himself at home... )

Selection

→ Call him out (☾)

Yui: ( I should probably tell him... )

...Hey, Ayato-ku...

Ayato: Come on, you should sit down here with me. I’m sure you’re tired from runnin’ ‘round, right?

Yui: ( Is he looking out for me...? It’s kind of difficult to call him out now... )

→ Keep quiet 

Ayato: Come on, you should join me here as well.

Yui: S-Sure...

ー Yui takes a seat next to him

Yui: ( It can’t be helped...If the resident of this house were to come down here, we can just explain the situation to them... )

( ...However, if this person has seen the wanted poster...What will we do...? )

( Perhaps we should explain the circumstances to the Gatekeeper instead, )

( and have the wanted poster taken down...? But... )

ー A flashback ensues

Ayato: ...Listen, Chichinashi. You are mine.

I definitely won’t let someone else have you.

So you’ve got nothin’ to worry ‘bout.

ー The flashback ends

Yui: ( I truly felt happy to hear those words from Ayato-kun... )

( He got upset when the Gatekeeper called me a ‘tainted woman’ as well... )

( Despite some of his statements, I can tell he properly looks out for me... )

( I’ll stick to his plan for a while after all... )

( ...Wait, huh...? )

ー Ayato opens one of the cupboards

Ayato: Oi, Chichinashi! Check this out! There’s so much interestin’ stuff to find in this room!

Yui: ...Ayato-kun!?

( He went ahead and opened one of the cupboards...! )

A-Ayato-kun...! You’ll get scolded for looking through other people’s belongings...!

Ayato: Haah? Who cares? It’s not like I’m tryin’ to steal anythin’.

Anyway, look...You should join me here as weーー

*THUD*

Ayato: ...!? Uwah...!!

Yui: ( The cupboard...!! )

*CRASH*

Yui: ( O-Oh no...! It fell over...! )

Ayato: S-Shit...

ー Somebody rushes downstairs

???: ...Is someone there!?

Yui: ( ...! We’re busted! )

Ayato: ...Yeah. We let ourselves in for a bit, ‘kay?

House owner: ...! Who are you two!? What are you doing in someone else’s basement!?

Ayato: What do you mean...? Can’t you tell we’re takin’ a lil’ break here? Got a problem with that!?

House owner: Of course I do!!

Yui: A-Ayato-kun...!

We’re on the wanted list, so we have to somehow talk our way out before things escalate...!

Ayato: Che, shut up. I don’t need you tellin’ me that! ...There!

*THUD THUD*

House owner: Uwah!

Yui: ( He knocked over a different cupboard this time...! )

Ayato: Oi, Chichinashi! Now’s our chance! We’re gettin’ out of here!!

*Rustle*

Yui: Kyah...! W-Wait, Ayato-kun...!

ー The scene shifts back to Aizen Alleyway

Ayato: Haah...That was close...

Yui: ...Gosh, you definitely went too far just now!

Ayato: Aah!? Fuck off!

If we just stood ‘round there twiddlin’ our thumbs, we would have both gotten arrested!

Yui: ...Even so...!

Ayato: Anyway, we can’t return to the underground now...

...Guess we have no other choice. Okay, this way. Let’s go.

*Rustle*

Yui: ( ...But that’ll take us back to the plaza from earlier, no...? )

Ayato-kun, wait...! Where are you...?

Ayato: I’ve got an idea. ...Lend me your ear for a sec.

*Rustle rustle*

Ayato: There should be a dress shop right across the plaza. We’re gonna get ourselves some costumes there.

Yui: Costumes...?

Ayato: There’s plenty of people walkin’ ‘round dressed up as part of the Parade.

If we mix in with them, we’ll be able to proceed without gettin’ our cover blown, right?

Yui: ...I see! Way to go, Ayato-kun...!

Ayato: Heh! How’s that? Let me tell you, try and keep your head high. 

Bein’ all sneaky and trying to keep low will only make you stand out more in these kinds of situations.

Yui: ...Yeah, gotcha!

*TIMESKIP*

ー The scene shifts to the dress shop

Ayato: ...Phew. We made it to the store somehow.

Yui: ( Thank god... )

( I’m sure it’s because my heart is missing that nobody took notice of me, unlike the previous times I’ve been here...Right? )

( ...However, we can’t rest assured just yet. We have to make sure the employees don’t recognize us... )

Dress shop owner: Are you looking for something?

Ayato: Yeah! We want costumes for the Parade. For me...and for her as well.

Dress shop owner: Understood! In that case, I would highly recommend these outfits which came in just earlier today!

Ayato: Oh! Show us then!

Yui: ( ...Ayato-kun’s acting completely normal... )

( I guess nobody would suspect we’re wanted outlaws like this... )

Ayato: Hm...There’s quite the collection. Oi, Chichinashi. Which one do you want?

Yui: ...Hm, let’s see...

( If we want to conceal our faces, a mask might be good... )

*Rustle rustle*

Ayato: ...Hey, look at this one.

Yui: Eh?

*Rustle*

Ayato: You over there! Stop fooling around and make your choice already! Your sense of danger is severely lacking! 

Yui: ...!

Ayato: ...What do you think of these nose glasses? All I gotta do is part my hair differently (1) to complete the look!

Yui: ...Ayato-kun...Just now were you trying to...? 

( Imitate...Reiji-san...? )

Ayato: Hehe. Whatcha think? I sounded just like him, no?

Yui: ...Pfft....

Ayato: Ah! Why are you laughin’ your ass off!?

Yui: I-I mean...!

Ayato: ...You finally smiled. 

Yui: Eh...?

Ayato: You’ve had a frown on your face ever since we came here. 

Don’t blame me if it gives you wrinkles. (2)

Yui: ( Ayato-kun...He was trying to make me laugh on purpose... )

*TIMESKIP*

Ayato: ...’Kay, guess this will have to do for now...

Yui: ( We got masks and costumes for the both of us...I guess we’ll be okay now. )

( We kind of got caught up in the flow and spent quite some time inside the store. )

ー They leave the dress shop

Yui: ( Ah...! We accidentally walked out without our disguises. We have to get changed somewhere... )

Female Vampire A: ...Ah, hey...Aren’t they...? 

Male Vampire A: ...I’m positive! It’s those two from earlier...! Seize them!

Yui: ( T-Those people from earlier...! T-This is bad...!! )

Ayato: Oi, we’re makin’ a run for it, Chichinashi! Come here!!

Yui: Y-Yeah!

ー They run towards the wagon area

Male Vampire A: They went that way!

Yui: ( They’ll catch us at this rate! )

Ayato: Fuck! No way I’m lettin’ myself get caught so easily!

Female Vampire A: They went that way!

Ayato: Oi, Chichinashi! We’re takin’ a shortcut! This way!

Yui: Eh!?

Crepe vendor: Crepes! Who’s in the mood for a fresh crepe?

Ayato: Get out of the way!

*THUD*

*CRASH*

Crepe vendor: Uwaah! My stall!

Yui: ( H-How terrible...! )

Ayato-kun, you can’t do such a thing...!

Ayato: Whatever, just follow me! Do you want to get caught!?

*Rustle*

Yui: Kyaah...!

( Even if he says that, this is messed up!! )

ー The two of them flee to Aizen Alleyway

Ayato: Haah...Haah...Che, a dead end...

It can’t be helped...I’ll just jump up in the air the...Uwah!?

*Flip*

Ayato: The fuck!? ...Wait, this is...

Yui: ...! Could this be...

( It’s our...wanted notice, right? But...these portraits... )

( ...They look nothing like us...actually... )

Ayato: ...Hahaha....Ahahaha!

What’s this? Who made these sloppy drawings?

Yui: ...But in this case, we probably wouldn’t have gotten recognized even without dressing up...

Ayato: Well, you do have a point...

ー Somebody walks up to them

???: ...I have finally found you two. No more of this useless game of tag.

Ayato: ...! You’re...!

Yui: ( The Gatekeeper... )

Ayato: ...Chichinashi! Grab hold of me! We’re takin’ off!

Yui: ...Ayato-kun, let’s not...

Ayato: Ah? The fuck you sayin’!?

Yui: Even if we do that, it’ll just bring us back to square one...

Let’s go with this person and explain the situation to them?

Ayato: Haah!? What are you sayin’!? Why should we let ourselves get arrested when we’ve done nothin’ wrong!?

Yui: ...Exactly. We have to start by explaining why we came here and clear our names.

Ayato: ...Why should we...!?

Gatekeeper: Hmph. For being a tainted woman, you seem rather reasonable.

Ayato: Tsk...Try sayin’ that one more time, you punk! I’ll send you flyin’!

*Rustle*

Yui: Ayato-kun! It’s fine! Just calm down, okay?

*Rustle rustle*

Ayato: How can I stay calm!? That bastard talked shit ‘bout you bein’ tainted again...!

Yui: Please! Listen to me right now...!!

Ayato: ...Fuck!

Yui: ( Ayato-kun...I’m sorry... )

Gatekeeper: So? Have you made your decision? Well, you only ever had one choice from the very beginning.

Yui: ...We will come with you.

Gatekeeper: ...Very well. Come with me then. I have a carriage waiting for us on the main street.

Yui: ...Yes.

*Rustle rustle*

Yui: ...Let’s go, Ayato-kun.

Ayato: ...

ー They get in the carriage

Monologue

And so,

we were taken suspect,

by the Gatekeeper.

The place we were taken to by the carriage,

was Bernstein castle.

The home of Count Walter,

and the exact same location we were headed ourselves...

It turned out that the Gatekeeper,

had been looking for us,

upon Count Walter’s direct order.

ー The scene shifts to the throne room in Bernstein castle

Ayato: Che. Tell us that right from the beginning next time!

That Gate-something is actually one of Walter’s underlings!

???: ...Well, well, my sincere apologies.

Ayato: ...! Walter!

Yui: ( ...! This man is Count Walter...! )

Count Walter: So you are Ayato, son of the world-famous Karlheinz?

Ayato: Hmph! You bet! Altho I don’t give a damn ‘bout the Old Man.

Count Walter: Please, don’t say that. And you must be...

...I see...You are, huh? ...Fufu...

Ayato: Aah? The fuck’s your problem...? Stop ogling her!

Count Walter: Fufu, don’t get so upset. Well then, let us use this opportunity to have a nice, leisurely chat. Take a seat.

Ayato: Oi...I didn’t come here for no chit-chat.

Give her heart back. Right now!

Yui: ...Ayato-kun...!

Ayato: I mean, I’m not wrong, am I!? All of this happened ‘cause this freak stole your heart...!

Count Walter: ...I see. Ayato, it appears to me that you have quite the temper.

I have actually been testing you two.

Yui: Us...?

Count Walter: Yes. Ever since I sent that card your way, I have been keeping a close eye on you from here the whole time.

To see if you, and your partner Ayato...

...are suitable candidates to possess a precious treasure of which only one exists in this world.

Ayato: A precious...treasure...?

Yui: Could that be...?

( Is he talking about my stolen heart...? )

Count Walter: Hence why I chose not to reveal my ties with the Gatekeeper in an attempt to observe how you would deal with him.

However, unfortunately, it seems like you two are simply not suited for this treasure.

Yui: ...No way!

Ayato: What do you mean!?

Count Walter: I am sure you will agree with me if you take a second to think back to everything you have done these past couple of hours?

Ayato: Fuck off! Why do we have to get told all this shit by a frickin’ thief, huh!?

Stop spoutin’ this nonsense and hand back her heart!

*THUD*

Count Walter: ...That just cost you another five points.

Ayato: Haah? The fuck are these points...!?

Count Walter: While we may know each other’s names, this is our first time meeting in person. On top of that, I am your senior by many years...

Yet you choose to behave in such an outrageous way, which can only result in a bad score, no?

I cannot see someone like that as a fit candidate for this treasure...

Ayato: Aah!? You’re in no position to tell me that!

Yui: ...! Ayato-kun!!

Count Walter: Haah...There goes another five points. This is just sad.

As I thought, I don’t think I will be returning this treasure any time soon. Give up and go home. Gatekeeper! Show our guests the way o..

Yui: P-Please wait! J-Just one more...! Can’t you give us one more chance?

Count Walter: ...Hooh.

Yui: I’m begging you! Without that heart, I will...

Please...! Just one more chance...!

Count Walter: Hm...I see...

It seems that unlike with Ayato’s case, you seem worthy of retaking the trial.

Ayato: Aah!? Excuse me!?

Count Walter: ...Well then, Yui-san. Out of respect for you, I shall give you one more chance.

Yui: ...Really!?

Count Walter: Yes. Well then...You two will go and set straight all crimes you have committed here in the Demon World.

Yui: Set straight...our crimes...?

Count Walter: ...Exactly. In the meantime, I shall watch your every move from here.

If you can satisfy me with your approach, I do not mind returning your heart to you then.

Yui: ...Really!? Thank you so much!

Count Walter: Fufu. Being capable of giving a genuine response to someone’s act of goodwill is an admirable feat. I shall award you one point for that.

Ayato: Aah!? Look at you favorin’ Chichinashi this whole time! I’m not diggin’ this!

Count Walter: Oi, Ayato. If you do not watch your words, you will lose points again? Why not take a lesson or two from her?

Ayato: ...!

Count Walter: Well then, get going you two!

Yui: ...B-But...What should we do exactly?

Count Walter: Fufu. You will have to figure that one out yourself.

All I can say is that you should think long and hard about everything you have done so far and fix things appropriately...That’s it.

Well then, I have high hopes for you.

Yui: ...Yes. Please excuse us now. ...Ayato-kun, let’s go.

Ayato: Ah, oi! Chichinashi! Wait!!

*TIMESKIP*

Monologue

We returned to the city,

in a carriage which had been prepared for us.

The Count had been so kind,

to take down the wanted posters,

which meant we no longer had to hide ourselves,

while going from one place to another.

However, the real challenge starts now.

Let us take a deep breath and think first.

About the true meaning,

behind the task which has been given to us by the Count...

I have to somehow retrieve,

my stolen heart after allーー

While trying my best to explain the situation,

to Ayato-kun who seemed as grumpy as ever,

we settled in a waterside hotel.

ー The scene shifts to the hotel room

Yui: Ayato-kun?

( ...He’s not here...? )

( Could he be out on the balcony? ...He must still be upset, huh...? )

ー She steps out on the balcony

Ayato: ...

Yui: ...Ayato-kun. You must be thirsty, no? I’ve got some juice. I’ll leave it here, okay?

*Thud*

Yui: ...Um...I’m sorry...I was quite selfish back then...

Ayato: Che, my thoughts exactly! What was your problem? You just bent to that Count’s will like it was nothing...

He’s the one who stole your heart in the first place, remember!?

So why are we the ones who have to get tested!? It makes zero sense!

Yui: ...Yeah...

( I can’t blame him for getting upset...Still... )

Say, Ayato-kun? Listen?

Ayato: Aah? 

Yui: I don’t think you’re wrong...

When we came here and the Gatekeeper talked badly about me...

You got mad at him...Remember? That made me really happy, you see. 

Ayato: ...!

Yui: I was convinced you’d protect me no matter what. I told myself to have some faith in you.

Even when we were being chased around by a bunch of strangers, I knew things would be okay because you were there with me.

I want to stay with you from here on out too.

...That’s why I just have to get my heart back.

So we can be together in the future as well...

Ayato: Chichinashi...

Yui: I truly do feel bad for involving you in this as well.

If you don’t want to, I’ll handle it by myself.

I promise I’ll return with my heart, so you can...

ー He suddenly embraces her

*Rustle*

Ayato: You really think I’d do that!? Don’t give me that crap!

...You are mine. How many times do I have to repeat myself?

Ayato-sama will definitely retrieve your heart!

I mean, doesn’t it only make sense? If you are mine, then so is your heart.

I’m not gonna let that bastard do with it as he pleases...!

*Rustle*

Yui: Kyah...Nn...!

Ayato: Nn...

Oi, Chichinashi. Don’t ever say you’ll go by yourself again. ...Understood?

Yui: ( Ayato-kun... )

...Yeah. Gotcha. I won’t.

Ayato: Mmh...Well then...Let’s call it a day.

Starting tomorrow, we’ve gotta get started on that fucked up task given to us by the Count after all.

Yui: Yeah, good idea. ...Ah, Ayato-kun!

Ayato: Pwaah...Hm, what?

Yui: Listen...Okay? ...Thank you for everything...

Ayato: ...Hmph. What are you sayin’ out of nowhere...?

...Oi. I was gonna sleep but I changed my mind. Come here.

*Rustle*

Yui: ( Eh!? W-Wait...Ayato-kun!? Kyaah! )

*Thud*

Ayato: ...Oi, Chichinashi. If you want to thank me that badly, you better tend to me tonight.

Yui: Eh? W-What do you mean...?

Ayato: ...Let me suck your blood. I was just feelin’ kinda thirsty.

Don’t even try sellin’ me that juice of yours. It has to be your blood. Hehe.

*Rustle rustle*

Ayato: Nn...Haah...Nn...

Haah...It really does taste a lil’ different from usual but oh well...

...It’s still your blood in the end.

In other words, every single drop of this blood belongs to me as well. Nn...

Yui: ...Ayato...kun...

Ayato: ...Oi, gimme more. Nn...Nn...

Yui: ( Even if his words are harsh at times, he always embraces me so gently... )

( I’m sure everything will be okay with Ayato-kun by my side... )

ーー TO BE CONTINUED ーー 

Translation notes

(1) 七三 or ‘seven-three’ refers to a type of hair style in which the hair is parted unevenly with 30% being on one side and the other 70% on the other, hence the name ‘seven-three’. Reiji has this hairstyle, so Ayato always refers to him as 七三メガネ or ‘shichi-san megane’ 

(2) Literally he says ‘Don’t blame me if your face never goes back to normal’

← RETURN TO PROLOGUE

→ PROCEED WITH MAIN STORY [CHAPTER 2]

→ SUB-SCENARIO #1 [W/ SHUU]

→ SUB-SCENARIO #2 [W/ KANATO]

[seasaltmemories]

Trypanophobia

Rating: PG

Summary: In which Anthy threads together her fears and her desires

~

If there’s one thing Anthy didn’t expect about the outside world, it was the amount of paperwork required to do anything.  Ohtori had been a land powered by desires and secrets.  While Akio had typed at his computer a few hours each day, it was always the pointed look or sly remark that truly set things into motion.

However, it seemed here the most equivalent force was bureaucracy.  Every time she wanted to do something or go somewhere, it seemed like their was a new form gating off the rest of her path.

“Oh, immunization records!”  Utena leaned over Anthy’s shoulder. “I forgot if we’re traveling overseas, they’ll want that.”

On instinct, magic buzzed at Anthy’s fingers tips. Although it was much more difficult to cast outside of Ohtori, she had managed to pull it off under select circumstances.  A birth certificate there, an id here, flashes of proof she existed.  However before she could try and weave any spells, Utena grasped her hand.

“Leave this to me.  In the long run, it will be easier if we do it the normal way.”

Reluctantly, Anthy handed the laptop to Utena.  “If you say so.”

Three days later, Utena led Anthy to a small clinic about fifteen minutes away from their apartment.  In short time, they were led into an examination room, where a middle-aged nurse attended to them.  

“You’re here for your Hepatitis A and B vaccine?”

“Mmhm!” Utena hummed.  She might have said more, but Anthy quickly lost interest in the conversation.  Instead her attention was drawn to the needles laid out on a nearby tray.

She didn’t know how long she stared at the it.  The only noticeable passage of time was the whoosh of air that followed Utena returning to her seat beside Anthy.

“Your turn.”  The nurse pointed at Anthy.

The Rose Bride rose and followed without complaint.

“Do you want one in each arm, each leg, or a mix of the two?”  The nurse asked as Anthy settled in front of her.

“Whatever you think best,”  She answered blankly.  Her gaze was still focused on the tray.

The nurse grumbled something to herself but otherwise went to work.  Carefully she balanced the shot in one hand while gripping Anthy’s left arm with the other.

“You need to relax.  It’s difficult to find a vein if you’re all tensed up.”

“I’m doing my best,”  Anthy responded with clipped politeness.

“I just don’t want to poke you more times than necessary.”

“Well, there’s no avoiding that, is there?”  Her voice grew steely.  Somewhere faraway, Anthy agreed with the Rose Bride that this was the right tone to take.  She had tasted this same fear many times before. “There’s no other option.”  Blades swam before her eyes.  There was no use running.  Trembling saved no one.  The best you could to do was lie back and accept your fate.

“Give me a moment with her.”  Warm hands encircled her own, and suddenly Utena was dragging her outside into the hallway.  Once the two of them were alone, blue eyes set upon her.  “Are you alright?”

Considering there were still in public, her first instinct was to perform, to lie and keep everything smooth and functioning.  But memories of a dark balcony came back to her.  Ever since that night, she had promised herself she wouldn’t like to Utena.

“No,”  Anthy breathed for the first time since she saw the needles.  “But there’s nothing you can do about it.”

“Well I should of!”  Utena groaned.  “I should have known you’d have bad memories of this.”

“Should have’s don’t fix anything either,”  Anthy said with venom this time.  “We all have our limits.  The only thing we can do is try our best to navigate around them.”

“So let’s do that.”  Utena put a hand on her hip.  “If its really too much, then we don’t have to go to Paris.”

Anthy blinked, remembering all the documentation she had done up until now.  Somewhere in the hustle and bustle she had forgotten their initial plan.

“There are a lot of other ways to spend a honeymoon.  I want to make sure we do something you want to do.”

Anthy closed her eyes and tried to steady her heartbeat.  Desire was something that could be hard for her to tap into.  Yet when she tried to imagine a different trip, something smaller and safer, a sharp pain split her chest in two.

“I want this.”  She decided.  “I want to try.”

Utena gave that smile of hers, the kind that always melted Anthy down to the bone.  “One last time.  Anything I can do to help?”

Anthy thought long and hard, doing her best to take Utena seriously.

“Could you hold my hand.”  It felt silly saying the request out loud, but Anthy forced her tongue to keep moving all the same.  “It might help me be less tense.”

“Of course I can!”

This time, when she sat down for the shot, Anthy did her best to ignore the nurse’s judgmental glance or the thin needles.  As the fear built up she tried to look ahead to a shining future she wanted with all her heart.

[a-for-alternative]

Hello, A! So I was wondering do you have any headcannons about how you and B were like at Wammy's together? PS. I thought dead men tell no tales lol (sorry about the joke if you didn't like it)

// Oh do I ever... Alternative has such potential to highlight things about B’s character that develops him into the killer of Mello’s novel. The lore surrounding the first generation (and the notion of Mello writing about a dead successor that previously filled his position - his predecessor) is more poignant than I think it was intended to come across but here are some headcanons~

Wammys House:

A & B are the first to receive their secondary alias after which it becomes a kind of right of passage for other successors, choosing their own (though often not official) - to A & B, only theirs will ever be legitimate.

A is introduced to B after only 1-2 years of being at the house

A, before becoming a letter, was taken into Wammy’s due to his intellect but only later is selected as the first attempted L-backup, probably pulled from a satellite home 

Alternative & Backup (A’s perspective):

His introduction to B is a pivotal moment for him. After so much loss, he sees this as an opportunity for redemption and a return to a clear path forward, and now it is under threat. B represents for A the physical manifestation apathetic fate, he is foreign in every sense, they cannot even communicate when they are initially introduced. His presence signifies A’s disposability - B is the backup plan for when A fails, like a vulture circling over head, it looms over him like a prophesy he is trying to outrun..  though, B can also overtake him at anytime, relegating him to a future that, from A’s perspective, is neither known nor the success story that he has put so much hope in. The world for Alternative at this point in his life is an unreasonable and precarious place. All he knows, up to this point as a seven year old, is that everything is fragile and must be hard won - and there is no guarantee that one can keep what they have fought or sacrificed to obtain. --- after all, he is in line to replace L and L is about as far from vulnerable as he believes a person can get --- Maybe, B also represents a challenge that requires a level of maturity that he does not yet possess - the inevitable dilemma, that this position is of such consequence to the world, that it needs the best person for it, — and that may not be him...

There is nothing genuine in the sweet smile.

The way he extends an open hand, how his soft, his boyish voice offering “ Hello, Alternative ” …  

A feels an unpleasant sensation snake up his spine like a fever’s chill, empathetic aptitude ringing in his ears with all the incongruence rolling off this boy.

His gentleness feels scripted, words trilling out of his mouth- practiced and angular; absolutely, wholly contrived. A has never meet anyone with such an emptiness in their words and actions…

A returns the greeting with a stony, silent stare - I know what you are. 

They slide up from the open palm to meet the foreign boy’s gaze - Blue eyes resting soft, knowing and stormy, heaven’s skies empty of angels. Alternative is standing his ground, refusing to pretend they are not here for a reason, telling himself, “I’m not afraid…”

 But,  he has never seen anyone with such deep eyes.

 They are the windows into an empty soul, a black abyss,                                                                                             absolutely apocalyptic…

Alternative is capricious in his treatment of B, vacillating between animosity and empathy- at times he’s even conspiratorial , allying himself with B and undermining their superiors- beginning to identify with B (even in spite of the language barriers). Backup is clever and naïve and careless, and unreserved in a way that A wishes he felt safe to be. B is the only one that can truly grasp what he is going through but he is also very strange... -- Alternative struggles with trials & setbacks that roll off Backup’s back with ease. B is several years into his understanding of his eyes and it shapes how he moves through the world, what he feels is worth his pain, what ultimately just doesn’t matter. A is, in some ways, what B might have become if he were a little more ignorant, spared the ever present reminder that this is all so temporary.

Alternative has many faces that none are as acutely aware of as B- it is why he doesn’t take the quips and backhanded apologies personally. Alternative’s identity has been tailored to his circumstances — so much of it he had to leave behind to become this -- to his superiors, he is mature, disciplined and motivated -- exemplary if not a bit too austere. To those that benefit him, he is considerate and trustworthy- and honest. To those that he fears will take advantage of him, he is an arrogant and harsh - conniving and spoiled. When he is caught without a persona on hand, he is awkward, reclusive, and reserved. Despite this, his cardinal traits are eloquence and persistence, he thinks deeply about his place in the world and who he should be but not enough on who he is — Only B is audience to moments when he is short sighted and immature, when he is undone or humiliated - when he is elated or truly.. afraid of what lay ahead of them. When he is sick or less than who he wants to present himself as, B has been there whether he wanted him to be or not.

Alternative is attracted to B though it is initially a disquieting realization, one even he doesn’t entirely understand. It isn’t that B is unusually good looking or charming — though perhaps A has peculiar tastes that B unintentionally satisfies (I can’t imagine him actually trying)... The level of intimacy involved in knowing someone this long, on such a personal and inescapable level has made B a source of unwavering acceptance, — because he had to be. The alternative would have been sleeping next to someone he would gradually come to despise any who really wants to live that way? Yet, B comes to represent stability and unconditional regard that feels a lot like love. There is a fraternal element to it in that B anchors who he is. B is someone that has a history with him that hasn’t been erased or eroded -- that contradicts A’s perception of the world as fragile or finite - it is comforting to have something seemingly permanent ... and terrifying that he cannot start anew, if he doesn’t like who he is and cannot be hidden in the obscurity that L enjoys.

When B begins to insinuate an interest in something more, A is not initially receptive and becomes genuinely distressed. This doesn’t translate with any logical sense to B, who believes it’s born out of A’s latent fears of realizing his own sexuality...  But, by the time they are entering late adolescence, A is more concerned with the prospect of romance and that becoming L is destined to be a lonely path. He sees their childhood in it’s twilight as a tragic loss that cannot be reclaimed or rewritten, and B’s subtle advances as destructive to the purity of their friendship -- but he can’t stay a child forever even if he feels a sense of unfinished business surrounding it and he can’t keep B there either... It takes B’s attention shifting elsewhere for A to begin softening to the idea that B isn't ruining what's between them but expanding on it.

Alternative has experienced depression -- at some point he was prescribed SSRIs, as a part of basic care for successors. While it does alleviate the depth of his lows, he begins to worry that it is dulling the sharpness of his mind, which he has come to see as central to his self-worth. It may have no foundation in reality but A develops an inconsistent relationship with any medication prescribed to him out of those fears. In the end, - there are some things medicine cannot fix...

A few other small things:

- A loves the smell of lavender and grass, it reminds him of his home though as he gets older this memory is more elusive and he begins to wonder if they memories from funeral flowers or even if they are impressions left over from a dreams.. did he even attend his parents funeral?

- A knows they aren’t allowed to take pictures of each other in Wammy’s for good reason but when Y sneaks a camera into the house one summer evening, he is can’t deny there is something precious about having pictures of B perched on the railing of the back steps - his hair sweep by the wind just as he turns his eyes to look, soft unfocused, — like the tender look he gives him just as he wakes up in the morning before he remembers who they are. A traces the lines of his face while lying beneath his bed, where he tucks it between the boards. It’s only a few years later that he will see how much his friend has matured. -- B hates photographs and will place them face down when they go into Roger’s office. Roger has never understood why.

- A drinks his coffee and tea black as tar. B thinks it is terribly bitter but will bring it to him anyway, unaltered. There is something uniquely enjoyable in knowing that B doesn’t need to be told what he likes~

- A is borderline masochistic though perhaps only B has any inkling of it. He would probably never acknowledge it openly... it is degrading to get a charge out of being hurt.

- A loses his faith around age 10 but still believes that he might as well act as though there is a purpose in being good and not just adept and ruthless. The only alternative, from A’s perspective, is to believe that everything he has been through meant nothing and he will ultimately change nothing. And, that may be too painful a philosophy for him to embrace. 

- A’s worst injury occurred when he was deliberately shoved off the roof by an irate B ( thatvhe provoked). While it was a watershed event for A coming so close to death and experiencing the consequences of pushing B beyond that point of caring about consequences... For Backup, this a was also critically informative event, an exercise proving the numbers were infallible -- he was genuinely surprised that A survived the fall and, to a greater degree, surprised that he felt regret in having done it ... left alone in their room to wonder for days, searching for the contraband pictures from that summer A had hidden that could prove if A was even still alive....

[zoawrites]

Prompt: a concert. They can meet there, have already planned to go together, by a twist of fate end up there, anything! Lol but at least part of it has to take place at a music concert of any genre

Sorry it took me a little while to get this done! Loved the prompt and I had a lot of fun with it! Thank you! 

Story below the cut! (Rated T)

Also, here’s the AO3 link  

Enjoy!

Zoa ❤️

A Wrong Turn to the Right Place

Ben knew he shouldn’t have listened to the damn GPS. ‘Take a right’, it said. ‘Destination will be on your left’, it insisted.

Wrong.

And that was how Ben landed right in the middle of a fucking rock concert instead of at an isolated cabin in the woods where he could find some peace and quiet to finish his manuscript. Was it rock? There was a stage and guitars and a mosh pit so he assumed it was rock. Then again there was a guy with a banjo and another dude with a cello and the two singers had a country twang so probably not rock.

Was it Indie music? Were they hippies?

Ben didn’t know and didn’t care. He just needed to find someone who had a map of the area so he could find his cabin and get out of this loud, body-filled mess of a field. There was a fleet of food trucks lined up along the edge of the crowd, buzzing with customers.

Surely someone had a map. Ben approached the nearest truck and jumped ahead of the line, getting booed and jeered in the process but he ignored the voices. He wasn’t trying to buy anything.  

“Excuse me!” Ben had to shout to be heard over the music and the people. The man at the window glared at him.

“What’re you doing, man? Back of the line!”

Ben was not dissuaded. “I don't want to buy anything. Do you have a map?”

“If you’re not buying, fuck off! I got real customers!”

“Seriously?” Ben scoffed.

“Get the fuck out!”

Ben flipped him off as he backed away. “Asshole.”

He tried every other truck and a few people in line but no one could - or would - help him. After his final attempt, he stood and scowled at the ongoing concert, hands on his hips. How did he end up here? Fucking GPS… fucking food trucks… fucking loud music… can’t hear a damn thing…  

A tap on his shoulder pulled Ben from his angry contemplations and he turned to tell off the concert-goer with all the pent up rage he was currently nursing only for it to disappear in a puff of smoke.

She was in her early twenties, above average height, chestnut hair cut short so that it framed her face. Which was lovely and covered in adorable freckles to which he could devote a whole chapter of his book. Ben stole a moment to gather his thoughts as he took in her Daisy Duke shorts and black, long-sleeved crop-top that had the word ‘nobody’ emblazoned across the chest in white block letters.

“Excuse me, are you in line?”

“What?” Why was it so fucking loud? They weren’t even that close to the stage. “I can’t hear you!” He pointed at his ears and shook his head helplessly.

The girl - young woman - wrinkled her pert nose but then pointed to the food truck. “Are. You. In. Line?”

“Oh, no…” Ben shook his head. “I need a… help.”

“‘A help’?” She laughed and Ben more than ever wished the music wasn’t so loud so he could hear what he was sure was the clearest, loveliest laugh. Her eyes - green with a touch of gold, like the stalks of tall summer grass waving in the distance - looked him up and down, observing his dark blue henley and light jacket, probably realizing he wasn’t there for the concert.

“I’m lost!” He yelled forlornly. Well, as forlornly as a shout could sound. But she seemed to get the picture. His new friend took pity on him and grabbed his hand, guiding him toward the collection of Port-a-Potties lined up at the edge of the field. There were still plenty of people about, so they weren’t completely alone but the noise pollution was much improved. Although he could have done without the smell.

“You’re lost?” She asked and he heard her accent for the first time. British, soft, warm, like sunlight on a spring day. Ben blinked at her for a second before he nodded.

“Yeah. Lost. My, uh, my GPS told me to come here.”

“Where were you trying to go?”

“A cabin. I rented it. I thought I had the right address,” Ben sent a hand through his hair, ruffling it in exasperation. She seemed to watch the movement with interest. “I wanted…” he looked around and sighed, “I wanted a quiet place to write.”

His companion laughed again and yes, it was definitely as Ben imagined it. Better, in fact. “You’ve definitely come to the wrong place for that!”

“I know,” he managed a crooked smile and she pressed her lips into a tight line, as if repressing one of her own. “I don’t suppose you have a map of the area?”

“I don’t. Don’t you have a mobile? A cell phone you can use?”

“No. I don’t like them.”

“Oh, wow,” she grinned. “I didn’t think any of you actually existed.”

“Any of who?”

“Sasquatch.”

“Ha ha,” Ben rolled his eyes but wasn’t offended, not when her eyes were wrinkled and bright at her own joke. “Very funny.”

“I thought so. Here,” she reached into her shorts’ back pocket and drew out her own phone, “let’s see how far astray you’ve come.”

Turned out, he’d strayed quite a ways off his path. An entire state, in fact. The town his cabin was located at and the one he was currently in shared the same name and, unfortunately, Ben hadn’t double checked when he’d plugged in the address. Just selected the automatic suggestion that popped up on the screen like the idiot he was.

“Well, fuck.”

“I’m sorry.” The girl’s expression was honestly sympathetic.

The crowd behind them cheered as a new song began and Ben glanced mournfully over his shoulder. “Look, I don’t want to keep you. I appreciate your help, but I can manage from here. Go have fun.”

“I can still hear the music. I’m Rey, by the way,” she stuck out her hand and Ben stared at it for a second longer than necessary before he engulfed it with his own giant paw.

“Ben. Ben Solo.”

“Ben.” She said his name slowly, as if savoring how it rolled off her tongue. There was even a minuscule lift to the corner of her mouth, which Ben tried very hard not to stare at. “Solo… You’re a writer? Have I heard of you?”

“No,” he shook his head. When she tilted her head quizzically, he cleared his throat and elucidated. “I’m not published yet. This trip was supposed to be my attempt to finish my manuscript…”

“Not getting to a great start, are you.”

He laughed bitterly. “No, guess not.” Then he heaved a very heavy sigh. “I should get going. I have a long drive ahead of me, apparently.”  

“Why don’t you stay?”

The question came as a surprise and this time he allowed himself to stare at her. “What?”

A charming pink hue lit Rey's cheeks. “The sun’s going down, you see. Probably not a good idea to drive in the dark when you don’t have a map.”

“It wasn’t a good idea in daylight, either,” Ben said wryly and Rey laughed again. “But you’re right,” he added, unable to tear his gaze from her bright eyes. “Probably a good idea to stay. I can find a hotel…”

“You can hang out with my friends and I…”

They spoke at the same time. Her eyes darted away in obvious embarrassment but then peered at him from under lightly-mascaraed lashes. Ben swallowed.

“Really? You don’t even know me.”

Rey tilted her head and gave him a shy smile. “You seem fairly harmless to me. Although, you’re a bit short with food truckers, I’ll admit.”

So she’d seen that. Could his face get any hotter?

“Not my finest hour,” Ben admitted, running a hand through his hair again. Her offer was tempting, and the music wasn’t bad… in fact, Ben could see himself tapping a toe to it. “I won’t be intruding?”

“Of course not!”

Then she suddenly grabbed his hand and hauled him off toward the stage. Rey somehow managed to find all the gaps and passages through the dense collection of people, although, with Ben in tow she didn’t really need to because those passages were being bulldozed anyway. Unfazed by the scowls and middle-fingers flipped at them, Rey tugged him to a spot deep in the crowd where four others were bouncing around to the beat.

A short, dark-haired girl with round cheeks and a contagious smile caught sight of Rey, took one long - very long - look at Ben and smirked.

“That’s not what I meant when I said bring back a snack!” She yelled with a wink, earning an aghast and open-mouthed expression of shock from Rey.

That was Rose Tico’s charming self-introduction. Rey’s other friends, Finn, Jannah, and Kaydel were less free with their thoughts, albeit just as curious. They welcomed him warmly enough. While Ben felt out of place - and knew he was - he couldn’t find it in himself to part from the girl who’d rescued him. So he stood and bobbed his head to the music, enjoying watching the others’ antics and enthusiastic singing along.

Still, it wasn’t exactly his favorite activity, and somehow Rey must have sensed that because sometime later - as the horizon was lit by the pink and purple light of the setting sun - she tugged him back through the crowd and toward grassier areas where there were scattered groups sitting on blankets and lawn chairs.

They sat together in a soft patch of grass and Ben sighed, not trying to hide his relief. “Thanks.”

“I did have an ulterior motive,” she admitted, stretching her toned legs out and crossing them at the ankles.

Ben nodded in encouragement, pretty sure if she wanted to take over the world he’d help her. “What’s that?”

“I want you to tell me about your book.”

“My book?” His brows lifted straight up. “You really want to hear about it?”

She nodded and Ben, right in assuming he had little ability to resist any request she made, launched into a summary of his story: a hard-boiled detective investigating the deep, dirty secrets of a city’s nefarious mobster.

“Is there a love story?”

“There’s a woman,” Ben admitted. “I haven’t decided if he should fall in love with her.”

“I think he should.”

“Thing is, I’m not sure how to write her.”

“Maybe you need a muse.”

Ben lifted his gaze from the grass to focus on her face, on all the little freckles dotting her nose, the strange way the fading light of the sun seemed to worship her cheeks. She was beautiful here and now but he wanted to know how many other ways she was beautiful. How she ate toast in the morning. What her favorite movie was. If she squealed when she saw a bee. Everything. He wanted to know everything about her and write it all down.

“Maybe I already have.”

[mcyt-sh1t]

ᶠʳᵉᵈ ʷᵉᵃˢˡᵉʸ ᶦᵐᵃᵍᶦⁿᵉ

Just some info on you:

-Slytherin

-Chaser (just started)

"You missed, Weasley!" you exclaimed. Fred narrowed his eyes in your direction as he watched you duck the bludger he'd aimed at you.

"Beginner's luck!" he called back.

"There you have it folks! Fred Weasley yet again misses the Slytherin Chaser Y/N," Lee Jordan announced. "This newcomer is sure showing up one of Gryffindor's best Beaters!"

"Oi, aren't you supposed to be rooting for our team?" Fred said while flying past Lee.

"Just calling it like I see it, mate."

"Why don't you just give up already?" you laughed while stealing the quaffle from Angelina Johnson.

"You wish!" Fred barked as he steadied his bat to send another bludger your way. "You're ego's already big enough."

Oliver Wood, the Gryffindor, came into your view. If I can just get a few more points, Gryffindor won't be able to catch us. Focusing on the goal ahead, you didn't realize a bludger was right on your tail. The flying ball hit the quaffle right out of your hands. The initial jolt almost knocked you off your broom, however, your hands managed to keep you on. Alicia Spinnet grabbed the unattended quaffle and proceeded to toss it to Katie Bell, who scored. That idiot keeper! About two minutes later, Potter caught the snitch. Thus, any chance Slytherin had of redemption fell down the drain.

"Good game, Y/L/N," Fred grinned at you. Instead of humoring him with a response, you whizzed past him. He almost fell of his broom. You smirked at the thought of catching the insufferable Weasley off guard.

                                                            ***

A month later, you were briskly walking down the hall. Your hands shook slightly as you went over your plan in your head. When I see him, I just have to get close enough to slip the dungbomb into his robes. Simple. How exactly am I going to get that close, though? Thankfully, that question was answered relatively quickly for you. As you turned the corner, you collided with a tall ginger. you'd been walking so fast that'd you'd practically bounced off of Fred. While he stayed upright, you were knocked to the ground.

"Watch it, Y/L/N!" Fred shouted.

"Me? It was your fault!" You rubbed your head. A cheeky grin lined his lips and his eyes shone brightly. "What's so funny, Weasley?"

"Well, Y/L/N, I think you've fallen for me."

You rolled your eyes as you got to your feet. "As if I'd fall for someone like you."

"Is that a challenge?" he asked, raising an eyebrow and stepping forward.

"Why challenge you to something I already know I'd win? No wonder you didn't end up in Ravenclaw." Before he could reply, you darted off. A wicked smile formed as you counted down the seconds til the dingbomb would go off. You hadn't walked five feet when something burned in your pocket. Out of nowhere a firecracker burst from inside your robe. Sparks flew onto your outfit as well as your hair. Enraged, you attempted to put out the flames. Across from you, you recognized the odor of the dungbomb. Half the students in the corridor were laughing at you while the other half was racing away from Fred and his terrible stench. You must be joking! Somehow that ginger got a firework into my robes? How in Merlin. . .?!

"Oi, Y/L/N!" Fred caught your attention. "No wonder we both didn't get into Ravenclaw, huh?"

                                                       ***

That Friday you were desperately trying to fix your hair with some spells you'd found in the library. After hours of failed attempts, you finally managed to find something that didn't look absolutely horrible. A side effect of the enchantment was that it turned your naturally chocolate colored hair into a slightly auburn tone. It'll have to do. Suddenly, a hand wrapped on your door.  You watched as someone slid a note underneath your door. You silently read it: Fred and George invite you to a top secret party held in a secret corridor. A map is attached to the bottom of this night. The party starts in half an hour. What an honor you sarcastically thought. The corridor took longer to find than you'd expected, even with the map. However, you did eventually discover it. The passage was dimly lit with lanterns on both sides of the walls. Voices echoed, which helped you find your way.

"I'm surprised you came," Fred said as he approached you.

"I'm surprised you invited me."

"Well, Georgie and I do pride ourselves on having eventful get togethers. And what's a party without a snobby Slytherin?"

"You really know how to treat a girl, Weasley. What's next? You gonna tell me I'm the scariest girl in Hogwarts?"

"Don't flatter yourself, love. Even Mrs. Norris has you beat." A commotion further down the corridor piqued your interest. "Come on, the game's probably started already."

"What dumb game did you pick?"

Fred shot you that grin that made your head spin. "Why seven minutes in heaven of course."

Oh, brother. You'd never actually played the Muggle game before, but you'd heard stories when eavesdropping on students like Granger and Thomas. Those in attendance ranged from all the four different houses. Parkinson picked first, choosing a pin that belonged to Terry Boot; Susan Bones ended up with Seamus Finnigan; Lovegood got Malfoy; one of the Patils went in with Potter while the other managed to select Longbottom's trinket.

Finally, the other Weasley twin brought the bag to you. Tentatively, you placed your hand in. There's not that many Slytherin guys left. . . You refused to believe that you would get anyone other than a boy from your house. The people in your house weren't exactly stellar, but they were still better than anyone else. Zabini and Malfoy are still in play. . . They were two years younger, however, beggars couldn't be choosers. Without really trying to decipher what the item you picked was, you brought it up to the light. Of course you inwardly groaned. A bloody firecracker. George locked you and Fred in the closet. Similar to light, any chance of enjoying the evening seemed to fade away.

"I can't believe I got stuck with you! Out of all the people at this ridiculous party, and I get you," you pouted.

"I'm not exactly thrilled either, darling," he retorted.

You took a step forward. "Oh, please. You'd be lucky if I even considered fancying you."

"Give me a break. I can barely stand to be in the same Quidditch Pitch as you."

"I can hardly stand being in the same school as you."

A slight chuckle escaped his mouth. "Oh, just admit it already. You know you love me." Under your breath, you whispered an incantation that knocked Fred to the floor of the closet. "Well, it seems as though you're the one who's fallen for me now, Weasley."

Fred's gaze met yours as you both laughed. He slowly stood up so he was towering over you. Stepping towards you, he closed the gap between the two of you.

"I think you might be right, love," Fred mumbled while crashing his lips onto yours. Your first thought, instead of pulling away, was to kiss him back. Your head tilted up to get a better angle. Passion surged through your kiss. A strong sensation flowed between the you both.  You would've guessed it was anger, but you wondered if it might be something more affectionate. He broke the kiss after a few seconds. His face expressed his great pleasure at your response to his move. You were so close to him. Everything that'd you'd ever despised about Fred Weasley suddenly turned into a reason to adore him. His endless pranks that used to drive you up the wall changed to genius plans with perfect execution. . . most of the time. His annoying laugh became music to your ears. His touch, once revolting, warmed even the frigid depths of your soul. All the arguments you'd had in the past seemed more like witty banter and flirting. And that cheeky grin he always wore around you instantaneously switched from irritating to endearing.

"Blimey! I wasn't expecting that," he beamed. His fingers played with your hair. "You know, love, you'd make a wonderful Weasley. I mean, you've sure got the hair for it now."

Guess he noticed my hair then. If I'm blushing as bad as I think I am right now, I'm glad it's dark in here. "Stop talking and kiss me Weasley."

Fred eagerly wrapped his arms around your waste while you cupped his face. The touch of his lips melted all the coldness that had hardened your heart years ago. Second by second, your walls tumbled to the ground. Fred kissed you as fiercely as he argued with you. I suppose this was one challenge in which I couldn't beat Fred Weasley you happily thought.

[stiltonbasket]

"Wei Wuxian stands rooted to the spot for a moment, staring at the path ahead with Yu Xihan still clutched to his chest, and mouthing something so quietly that Xihan can scarcely hear it. He catches Chifeng-zun’s name, briefly, and then the word Lan— but the Lan Wei-zongzhu mentioned was not Hanguang-jun, and before he can figure out what the older man meant, Wei-zongzhu tightens his grip and dashes up the slope" (I never understood that part, also how did he fly his sword?)

Prompt: Pick any passage of 500 words or less from any fanfic I’ve written, and stick that selection in my ask/fan mail. I will then give you the equivalent of a DVD commentary on that snippet; what I was thinking when I wrote it, why I wrote it in the first place, what’s going on in the characters’ heads, why I chose certain words, what this moment means in the context of the fic, lots of awful puns, and anything else that you’d expect to find on a DVD commentary track.

If you’ve read chapter 24 of 12 Moons, you know that Lan Xichen learned to cultivate with his life-force instead of his golden core, to cure wounds that couldn’t be healed with spiritual energy (like injuries inflicted by the discipline whip, which dealt cursed wounds.) He partially healed LWJ’s back with his life-force, and then brought Nie Mingjue out of a qi deviation the same way about 2 years later. Wei Wuxian witnessed that particular event through Empathy with NMJ’s head, so he was able to reverse-modify what the life-energy did to Nie Mingjue’s body and use his own life-force to ride Suibian. But since nothing can replenish a person’s life force once it’s been depleted, he took some finite time off his lifespan that night. 

Thus, the Lan WWX mentions in the escape scene is Lan Xichen! This scene took place from Yu Xihan’s point of view because I wasn’t planning to explain how WWX rode the sword and countered Shuaixing until chapter 24, but YZH had to be unconscious, and LWJ wasn’t there, so we got our one and only scene from Xihan’s POV because he was completely clueless about what Wei Wuxian was doing. u_u

As for what was going on in WWX’s head at this point, when he realized that he still had a chance to stop Shuaixing’s backlash, his thoughts were basically along the lines of “it doesn’t matter if I die tonight, as long as Lotus Pier doesn’t burn again.” Boi was ready to give up his life for the xxxxth time, especially because LWJ and Xiao-Yu wouldn’t make it if he failed. T-T

Thank you so much for sending this ask ^^!

[langdxn]

salvation part ii: giving me direction | outpost!michael x fem!reader

SUMMARY: Michael’s pregnant wife discovers the dark secrets hidden within Outpost 3.

WARNINGS: Fluff, angst, deaths, pregnancy, sorta implied breeding kink, mention of sex toys, soft!Michael and a slight timeline meddle.

WORD COUNT: 2.9k

A/N: Salvation was originally just a oneshot but you lovely lot asked for a second chapter so here we are!

part i // part iii // part iv // part v

Softly closing the stiff oak door behind you, desperate to make no noise to alert anybody to your presence on the other side, you froze stiff.

What happens now? Is Michael going to be okay? What if they’re going in there to kill him?

He instructed you to run to his quarters, but deep down he knew you wouldn’t obey instantly, at least not until you had any signal that he was safe. You took one glance down the corridor ahead of you, winding and dark compared to the golden-lit passages you’d hovered through on your way to his office, and settled for staying by Michael’s side in case he needed you.

Planting a flat palm against the weary portal you just closed, you rested your ear against the keyhole to hear inside. Gulping as quietly as you could, the clink of a cane purposefully smacking the wooden floorboards reverberated around the room.

“Ladies, I’m a little busy right now formulating my selections,” Michael muttered nonchalantly, his steely demeanour pouring through every syllable as he had somehow regained his composure in the fleeting moments before the people entered.

“This won’t take long,” a stern female voice snapped as you heard his laptop gently tap shut and Michael shuffled in his seat.

“What’s this?” He enquired with faux innocence. He already told you who was at the door, his powers let him see everything ahead of time. The only uncertainty was how much he let on to his visitors.

“We’re making the selections now, Mr Langdon. And I’m afraid you didn’t make the cut,” the female snarled as your husband’s infectious laugh interjected.

“I’m sorry, I wanted to let you have your moment but I just couldn’t hold it in.”

———

“Congratulations Mr and Mrs Langdon, you have a beautiful, healthy baby,” the kind Outpost nurse chirped, a soft-featured lady with her chestnut hair scraped back into the cleanest ponytail. Tapping buttons on the keyboard to her side, she froze the image on the screen as she removed the pad of the transducer from your abdomen.

Michael gently squeezed your hand, his strong fingers laced between your delicate digits. You’d been staring at the sonogram screen without blinking ever since the nurse pressed the sensor against your stomach, soothing the icy sensation of the gel smearing across your albeit small bump.

With another more forceful squish of your hands, you tore yourself away from the screen to meet his expectant azure eyes, both mirroring each other’s warm smiles.

“This is it, baby girl,” your husband beamed, “it’s really happening.” You felt his palms becoming increasingly clammy against yours, the reality of his imminent fatherhood starting to settle into his headstrong mind. He leaned over to place a loving, thankful kiss on your lips, much deeper than his usual pecks he reserved for situations where you had company.

Michael’s drawbridge had lowered for the last time. From here on in, he didn’t care what anybody thought. He had his wife and his child, the petty thoughts of the chosen few populating Outpost 2 faded into insignificance.

As the practitioner allowed you both your moment to process your thoughts, she rose from her chair and made her way to the door.

“Is — is it too soon to find out the sex?” You shyly perked up as a pang of regret hit you. It was an innocent enough question as you never actually planned on having children, so you never took on board any information about pregnancy, but you had absolutely no idea what to expect at what time. You were walking into this pregnancy blindfolded, both you and Michael were treading new ground. Together.

“I can certainly tell you if you’d like to know,” the medic looked expectantly between you and your husband for the go-ahead.

“As long as he’s okay, that’s all that matters,” Michael sighed.

You spluttered a nervous laugh. Cocking your head to one side and widening your eyes as you analysed his utterance, Michael nervously burst into a chuckle, a cheeky grin plastered on one side of his face.

“I’m sorry, I wanted to let you have your moment but I just couldn’t hold it in.” He jokingly rubbed his free hand over your entwined hands, desperately seeking a signal that you weren’t positively fuming that he’d spoiled the surprise.  

The nurse chuckled nervously under her breath, leaving the room with a curt bow in your direction and clicking the office door closed behind her.

“We’re — we’re having a boy?” You stuttered through blissful tears, sitting up to embrace Michael and carelessly wiping the gel on your bump onto his oxblood velour dinner jacket. You couldn’t spoil the moment for you both so you simply hoped he wouldn’t notice.

“I can see him already. A son and heir. The Langdons endure, my father’s plan is working.”

Michael smirked, the gravity of his actions suddenly dawning on him. The childhood he had would be a far cry from what he would provide for his own son, determined to show the world that a Langdon man could raise a family properly. With love. With devotion. With care.

The blissful glint in your eyes snapped him out of his nostalgia, pulling the Antichrist back into the room with the mother of his child. You reached for the paper towels the nurse had left at your side and wiped the remaining gel from your stomach, making gentle circles around the delicate home of your child. Your boy. Your prince of darkness.

“We have a new life, Y/N, our own new life,” Michael beamed. “That’s it, my darling. Death doesn’t give me as much joy as this has.” He reached up to turn your head towards him with two soft fingers beneath your chin.

“No more shall die by my hand.”

His hand dropped to meet yours, cradling your stomach and drinking in the precious moment between you. Trying his hardest not to weep in front of you, he settled for leaning his forehead to meet yours with a tender bump.

“Ave Satanas.”

———

A sudden gunshot pierced the silence, dragging you back into the room so sharply that you smacked your forehead against the door. Your heart sank, thoughts bolting through your mind of those women aiming at your husband’s heart and pulling the trigger.

Your head and heart quickly initiated a war zone between them: one side urging you to stay hidden until you have a signal that it’s safe to reach your husband; the other telling you to screw the cover and dive through the door, your concern for your husband’s life far greater than whatever threat lay beyond the wooden portal.

Your breaths sharp and your eyes popping out of their sockets while subconscious tears of abject terror coursed down your cheeks, you tried your hardest to stay quiet while your eyes darted across the door’s surface hoping to find a chink in its woodwork to peek through.

“You can come in now, Y/N,’’ you heard Michael sigh softly, reassuring you from the other side of the door.

Fumbling for the handle with a clunk, you nearly tumbled back into the room as you’d rested your entire body weight on the door. Your breath caught in your throat as your sight fell immediately on the body of a female flat out in the doorway, a redhead with a flowing dark purple coat scrunched around her and a pool of blood flowing around it.

“What the— Michael?” You gasped, spotting your husband's expensive boots stood beside the woman’s body. As your eyes crept up his body, you noticed his hands were clasped together behind his back.

“Michael, I know this woman... wait, isn’t she from — Kineros Robotics? That’s the lady from reception, the one who always wears purple, the one that threatened to kill me if I so much as looked at her!” You dropped to your knees beside her, clawing at the blood-stained white lace draped across her chest in a frantic yet vain attempt to help her.

Michael failed to respond with anything more than an emphatic breath with his hands behind his back. You looked up at him with panic-stricken eyes, desperate and lost.

“Michael, we need to help her. Do they have a doctor here?” You searched his face for any reaction whatsoever and failed. “Why aren’t you helping?”

“It’s too late, Y/N. It was her or us,” he projected, reinstating his rigid demeanour he usually reserved for everyone except you.

“But why? What did she do—“

You were cut off by Michael gesturing his hand toward the doorway, toward the stout figure of Ms Mead frozen in motion, a small gun shaking in her hand still pointing where the woman once stood.

“I don’t know why I did that,” she stuttered, staring into the distance as if she didn’t even notice you’d come in. “I was always loyal to her.”

Instincts kicking in that you didn’t even know you had, you stepped over to shield your husband with a protective arm in front of him. Michael placed a reassuring hand over yours telling you to lower your guard as Mead dropped her arm to her side.

“Y/N, I believe you and Ms Mead have met before.” He stepped forward and ushered you with a hand pressed into the small of your back.

“Yeah, we met in Kineros Robotics a couple years back. I was there when Michael had to... you know.”

———

“Whadda you mean, that doesn’t turn you on?”

You and Michael leered over a robotic arm rigged up to a desk in the Kineros Robotics laboratory. You had hours to kill while Mutt and Jeff reprogrammed Ms Mead, so you settled for entertaining yourselves with the inventions on display.

“It’s just so... crude,” Michael stifled a disapproving tut as you both gazed at the disembodied hand, balled into a loose ‘O’-shaped fist, gliding up and down with a languid motion.  

“I wonder if it gives better handjobs than mine,” you tilted your head to one side, taking in the full sight of the obscene device. Michael’s inherently sharp elbow playfully jabbed you in the ribs.

“Darling, not even a machine could surpass the talents of those lips,” he pressed a sincere hushing finger to your mouth, giggling as he curled an arm around you.

———

“I — I’m having trouble with this,” Ms Mead stammered, dropping the gun from her hand causing an empty bang to echo through the room. Michael turned to hold you by both of your elbows, his cerulean irises meeting yours with intent.  

“I think it’s best I help Ms Mead with this alone. We don’t have much time, the witches will be here soon. Please, darling, find someplace to hide. Ms Mead and I will be along soon, if anything happens beforehand, you know what to do.”

Comfortingly stroking your hands with his, Michael smiled his assertive grin that told you he had things under control. You wrapped your arms around him tightly, grateful for the chance to say a proper goodbye this time.

“I love you,” you softly whispered into the shell of his ear.

“I love you too, baby,” he cooed, taking a deep inhale of your scent as you separated for the second time this evening before you turned on your heels to swing the wooden door open.

Your stilettos clacked with purpose along the floorboards of Hawthorne. These weren’t exactly the ideal choice of footwear for sneaking around an echoing former school building with more creaking floorboards than the Haunted Mansion, you thought to yourself.

As you passed door after door down a seemingly endless passageway, you heard the faint notes of slow music calling from an adjacent room.

Michael said the witches weren’t here yet, so where was the rest of the Outpost? Were they wandering the halls like you? Were they safe? That Venable woman could have done anything while Michael’s back was turned, he was too busy talking to you when you arrived.

Surely looking to see if they were okay wouldn’t hurt, right? You could tell them you’re no threat to them and you could reassure them that Michael would protect them, you could warn them to hide just like you in case the witches came.

Taking a deep breath, you paced tentatively toward the direction of the sounds. Soft rock, you deduced. Mutt and Jeff insisted on playing slow rock for the Outposts, you were there not days ago pleading with them to play something less miserable. According to the two Kineros mega nerds, Slayer weren’t appropriate to sing the Outposts to sleep after the apocalypse.

Baby I’m-a want you, baby I’m a need you, you’re the only one I care enough to hurt about

Following the lullaby led you down a straight path to a balcony above a dimly-lit hall, a roaring fire glowing in the hearth, bookcases stacked to the high ceiling. Grasping the bannister to look down on the room below, your eyes fell upon bodies scattered across the room. Pools of bloodied vomit spewed from each and every one, their Victorian attire splattered with foam and blood. Some holding hands, some propped up on the leather couches, some laying alone. You choked helplessly.

Your feet couldn’t move fast enough to reach the tight spiral staircase leading down to them, stumbling your way down in a blind panic and risking your unborn child’s safety to get to them as quickly as you could. Reaching the floor, you dropped to your knees and grasped at the nearest body, a blonde-haired man in an elegant suit sprawled in front of the fireplace. Tugging at his cravat to uncover his throat, you felt for his pulse but found nothing.

I just can’t live without your loving and affection, giving me direction

You stumbled frantically over to the next bodies, a woman and a man younger than her, perhaps her son, laid flat beside each other. No pulses. Breaths sharp and desperate, you cried out in anguish with all the energy you had left in your lungs. Distraught tears pursued searing paths down your cheeks as your legs gave way underneath you, collapsing in a heap beside the bodies.

Steady footsteps echoed above the room at the doorway where you entered, Ms Mead’s figure appearing leaning over the bannister.

“They — they’re all dead, Ms Mead,” you screamed up to her. “Wha—why? Why can’t I help them?”

Your hands desperately grabbed at the soaking fabric on the bodies, pleading for a reaction.

“Th—this woman, I recognise her. Dinah Stevens, she’s from TV! Why? What happened?”

Lately I’m-a praying, that you’ll always be a-staying beside me

Your eyes darted around the room for any clues until you caught sight of a dark red apple in the hand of a dark-haired boy next to a leather couch, his other hand entwined with that of a girl draped over the chair.

“What the — the apples? But, but they were safe, I picked them myself from our tree in the Sanctuary. I sent these here,” your eyes widened as your thoughts skittered through all the possibilities that your fruits could have killed every one of these people.

You looked up at Mead for an answer, but she stood emotionless, braced against the bannister looking down upon the carnage in the hall.

Used to be my life was just emotions passing by

“They had to die,” Mead replied matter-of-factly. “Satan’s plan is to eradicate people like them and rebuild the new world. Michael planned it all down to the last detail. We just needed something to administer the poison, your apples were divine providence.”

“Wait, Michael did this?” You spluttered, your eyebrows knitting together and tears poured viciously from your eyes. “This, this cant be right, Michael wouldn’t do this, not anymore, not without a reason!”

“He’s the son of Satan himself, he brought about the apocalypse,” Mead reminded. “What makes you think he wouldn’t bump off a few more so our Sanctuary wouldn’t be overrun with these oxygen thieves?”

Nothing made sense anymore. You clutched your bump protectively, your eyes straining to see a way forward through this disaster, apparently arranged by your husband. A mere few months ago, he swore to you that violence would never enter his life again.

Then you came along and made me laugh and made me cry, you taught me why

You scrabbled to your feet, stumbling over the bodies to leave the hall before you threw up. Ending up in a maze of unfamiliar corridors, you battled to return to relaxed breathing, knowing full well the witches could be here any moment now.

“Find our sisters,” a female voice burst through the silence, causing you to break into a run as far away from the voice as possible.

You’d taken so many right hand turns down identical passageways, you were certain you had escaped the sight and hearing of whoever called out.

It wasn’t Ms Mead and it certainly wasn’t Michael. The witches.

Retreating down a near pitch black corridor as fast as you could without clacking your heels on the cold floor, you placed a hand flat on your bump.

“Just you and me for now, little lady. Us girls have to stick together to help Daddy with something,” you looked down as you spoke in a hushed tone, somehow comforted by the fact you had company with you on this journey.

As you stepped cautiously down the alleyway, you noticed the faint outline of an unlit sconce in a nook indented into the corridor wall. Raising a hand toward it, you muttered softly.

“Ignis.”

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

A/A/N: Tagging the wonderful @codyfernmorelikedaddyfern @psychobitchtess @theinevitableprophecy @leatherduncan @abbyjforman​ @melodylangdon @shadyrindt because I love you all! Drop a comment/message if you’d like to be tagged in future!

[avengerscompound]

Her New Home

Her New Home:  A Lady Sif Fanfic

Buy me a ☕

Character Pairing:  Sif x F!Reader Square: @ladiesofmarvelbingo​ - N3, Lady Sif

Word Count:  1892

Rating: E

Warnings:  Smut (F|F, light d/s, vaginal fingering, strap-on use, squirting)

Synopsis:  Sif has lost a lot over the past five years.  Her friends.  Her homeworld.  Half the galaxy.  But she has you and when she and her crew finally track down Midgard, you both decide to celebrate.

Her New Home

Sif tilted her head up, listening carefully.  The past few years had been… hard.  To say the least.  She had gone off-world to deal with the uprising and Thor’s fears of Ragnarok happening.  When she’d called Heimdal to open the bridge, nothing had happened.  After a few days, she gave up trying.

She had been stuck on Svartalfheim for a week before catching a ride with an unregistered transportation ship she’d bribed with the promise of Asgardian riches if they took her home.

I hadn’t been a hard sell. The pirate was greedy and she was clearly in the armor of Asgard.

When the ship arrived at the coordinates where Asgard should have been, all that was left was rubble floating in empty space.

The captain had not been happy about it.  Just when Sif had thought she was going to have to take command of the ship by force or be ejected into the emptiness of space he had turned to dust in front of her.  As had the ships pilot, gunman, main technician and three of the other people who were paying their passage through space.

What remained of the ship’s crew and passengers were the navigation specialist - an Ataraxian named Lexatora, the ship’s cook, a Badoon - known as Ala, and three passengers, two Luphamoids, Xoda and Miline.  And finally, there was you, a Midgardian who had inexplicably ended up lightyears from home.

With no one to pilot the ship or make repairs, they’d had to limp it to the closest planet, which had taken them eight months.  There they had discovered the issue of people randomly turning to dust had been universal.  Half the lifeforms had vanished suddenly.  Rumor was that the source of the problem had been on Planet C-53.  The planet she knew as Midgard.

Thankfully, using the promise of the ship as payment they’d picked up a small crew to get them moving again.  The galaxy was in chaos and Sif didn’t know her place in it anymore.  With no home, no king to serve, no cause to fight for, no family, no friends, all she had was the people on the ship.

So they had become family.  No more so than you. Five years of being trapped in close quarters as you hopped from planet to planet moving displaced people around had given the two of you time to well and truly fall in love with each other.  To become inseparable.  Sif had never really understood how Thor could fall in love with someone who would only really be around for a small portion of his life, yet here she was completely smitten with you.

“I know you’re there, lover,” she teased as the floor creaked in the far corner.

“Aw, man.  Sif!”  You whined, before breaking down into giggles.

You came over to her, swinging your hips.  That was the thing she had been attracted to the most.  The way you could continue keeping this playful air about you, despite being stuck on a junker ship for five years longer than you were meant to.  Even when the galaxy seemed to be falling apart around you, you managed to make her feel like things were okay.

“How do you do that?”  You asked, taking a seat in her lap.

“Thousands of years of training, my lady.”  She said putting her hand on her thigh and squeezing it gently.

“Hey, it’s good you’re here,”  Lexatora said, bringing up a holographic map over the transparent shield in front of them.  “See that star way off there?”  The map circled a star ahead of the ship and seemed to highlight it.

“Yeah.  What’s that?”  You asked.

“That, my dear.  Is the sun that warms Terra.”  She replied.

Your eyes lit up in a way Sif had yet to see in you before.  Like a fire had been lit inside you.  “That’s where Earth is?”

“It is.  I know we’ve gotten off track a bit since we picked you up.  But you will be back home in a few days.”  Lexatora said.

“We’re not going to do a jump?”  You asked.

Lexatora shook her head.  “No.  There’s been some weird activity in the region with the jumps.  I’m a lot more cautious these days.  You know, with what happened to Asgard and then … the dust.”

“Yeah, right.  I get it.”  You said, shifting a little in Sif’s lap.  “I wonder what’s going on.  When I got taken, we hardly had any space stuff happen.  There was Thor of course.  Then that hole in the sky in New York.”

“There had been more visits, my love,”  Sif said.  “You just didn’t know about them.  But you’re right.  It is strange there is a lot of activity now.  Best we be cautious.”

“Don’t you want to fight it?”  You asked.

She gave your thigh a rub.  “And I will when we arrive.  But if we go through some active jump site and turn to dust, I can’t fight anything.”

“What if everyone I knew is gone?”  You asked.  There was a slight strain in the pitch of your voice.  Like you were trying to remain the bright light in the dark world that you always were but it was causing you pain to do it.  Sif wrapped her arm around your waist and rubbed her cheek on your shoulder.

“Then you still have me.”  She said.

You took a deep breath and let it out slowly, lying back on Sif.

“I’m not going to lie to you, they might be.  The whole universe is different.  I lost everyone.  I can’t promise you didn’t.”   She said, gently.  “But as someone who has lost everyone, trust me when I say, it’s better to know.  And maybe they are all still there.  You can go home.”

“Would you stay with me?”  You asked.

Sif sighed and kissed your shoulder.  “Can I tell you something, my lady?”

You nodded and put your hands on hers, linking your fingers together at your waist.

“I know this is perhaps just hopeful thinking, but I am hoping that whatever it is that led to Asgards destruction, was something Thor escaped.  The two of us were going off-world at the same time, following the same leads.  He had a love of Midgard, I think you know.  If he is alive, your homeworld is where he is.  If not, there are others I know there.  But you are my home.  Perhaps we have a large group of family and friends waiting for us.  If not we have each other.  That is more than many these days.”

You smiled sadly at her and leaned in and kissed her deeply.  She wrapped you tightly in her arms and pulled you flush against her.  The love for you she felt flaring up inside her.

Lexatora cleared her throat.  “If you don’t mind.”  She said.  “Take that to your bunkhouse.”

You pulled back, giggling and Sif brushed her fingers over your cheek.  “What do you say, lover?  Shall we go and celebrate seeing our home?”

“Mmm… yes please.”  You hummed.

You climbed off her lap and took her hand pulling her to her feet.  Sif followed along as you dragged her down into the belly of the ship, past the small mess hall where there was already the smell of cooking emanating and into the bunk room you and Sif had claimed.

Sif turned you to face her as the doors hissed shut behind you both and cupping your jaw, she kissed you hungrily.  She guided you back into the room and up against the large window that separated you from the vacuum of space.  An arm of the milky way spread out in front of you both as she pressed you against the glass and slipped her thigh between yours.

She ground on your leg.  The rough fabric of your pants rubbing against the heat of her cunt, sending a buzz through her and making her moan into the kiss.  As she did you ground on her thigh too.

The two of you broke the kiss long enough for her to pull your shirt off and she spun you to face the window and slipped her hand into your pants.

“I am going to so such things to you, lover.” Sif purred in your ear as she teased her fingers over your clit.  Dipping her fingertip inside you and using your own fluids to paint the small bundle of nerves.  “I'll have you screaming my name.”

You braced your hands on the cold glass and leaned back against her, grinding your ass into her.  “Gladly, Sif.”

She ran her finger in tight circles over your clit and kissed the side of your neck, paying attention to the way your pulse sped up and your breathing shallowed.  Slowly she pulled her hands away, trailing them over the bare skin of your waist before giving your ass a gentle spank and stepping back.  “Remove your clothes and stand with your hands against the glass.”

You started to strip and she did the same as she went the drawer the two of you kept your toys in.  She selected one she had purchased in the Iota quadrant when they had been reuniting some people they’d picked up with their only remaining family after the dusting.  It was one that would provide you both with pleasure at the same time and would be perfect for what she was planning.

She lubricated it as she approached you again.  You stood obediently, palms pressed against the glass.  She moved up behind you and lifted a leg pressing it against the glass beside you.  You took a deep breath and held it as she pushed the toy into herself.  When it was in place, the end pressed against her g-spot and one of the small ridged protuberances was resting on her clit, she grabbed your thigh and lifted you, spreading your legs out wide as she thrust her hips up and the toy sunk into you.

“Fuck!”  You cried out loudly bracing yourself against the glass as the toy penetrated you.

Sif smiled against your skin and began to fuck you as she held you helpless in front of her.  Each thrust of her hips pushed the toy in deep into both of you.  It pressed against her g-spot again and again.  It must be doing the same to you because the sounds you made got louder and louder and more out of control.  Grunts and whimpers and loud cries of pleasure came from you and your arousal dripped down the toy and mixed with Sif’s.

Your hands slipped on the glass and your head fell back as you completely lost control.  Sif picked up her pace, thrusting hard and deep into you.  Your whole body seized up and you cried out gushing onto the window.

Sif moaned and jerked into you, her own orgasm hitting her like a wave.  She slipped the toy out of you and let you down to your feet.  “There you are, my lady,” she said, taking the toy out as she supported you.  “Was that a sufficient celebration?”

You let her support her weight and kissed her neck as you looked out at the stars.  “I don’t know, Sif.  For finding our home?  I think we could go again.”

[writersrealmbts]

Con Amore: Part 4

Bulletproof Melody Sequel

Description: Con Amore– A directive to a musician to perform a selected passage of a composition tenderly, with affectionate emotion, or in a loving manner; an instruction to the player of an instrument meaning ‘with love’ or ‘lovingly’. Three years with all seven of your loves, three years of relative peace. But now everything is threatened as darkness surges from the horizon.

Originally Posted: 07/24/2019

Tags: Superheroes, Ot7

Fluff/Angst: 1,959 words

A/N: Well, at least people are reading it. Are you guys at least enjoying it?

“A light priestess?” Jimin looked surprised. Taehyung looked confused. “She runs a sort of temple or sanctuary, she brought one of the healers when we made our escape from the hospital three years ago,” You told Tae. His eyes lit with recognition and he nodded. “Anyway, she got word that the people who took Jin did so in a misguided form of protection. He was being tracked down by the agents of the Oasis Initiative.” Tae’s head jerked back up. Yoongi took a deep breath. “And the people who have Jin?” You shifted. “Have any of you heard of the Conservatory?” “Whispers here and there,” Namjoon tilted his head, “But nothing substantial.” “Jin-hyung talked to me about it once, after someone asked me if I wanted to improve my abilities. They said they wanted me to join,” Jimin replied. You nodded a little. “They’re a training school. Sort of. They’re good for some things, but there’s corruption and poisonous teachings as well. It can feel like a sanctuary to someone without direction, and prison to those who know their purpose. I…I went there to hone my fighting abilities right after my parents…well, my mom…” Jungkook wrapped his arms around your shoulders. You sighed softly. “Anyway, when I got out I made sure they couldn’t trace me and then I started striking out on my own. I never wanted to go back. They tried to recruit Nightingale, but I’d found out even more about them and basically threatened the school and the dean. When everything was going down, our first mission together, I went back. With Jin.” “The files,” Jimin murmured. “Yeah. Anyway, Jin went there too. Long enough to become an instructor known as Siphon. They kidnapped Jin to protect him. The Conservatory might be the best place to fight the Oasis group.” “Okay, and what if they don’t agree?” Yoongi asked warily. “You just…you’ll have to trust me, okay?” You looked into each of their eyes. “I’ll go first, then—no. That won’t work. We’ll have to go together, but you have to let me do the talking.” “Okay. Now is there anything else we should know before we go?” Namjoon asked, careful not to use his power. You took a deep breath, nodding. “There is one thing.” “Yea?” Tae looked surprised. “Mmhmm. I’m pregnant.” They all froze. “Which actually explains a lot, like why I’m so weepy when I’m stressed, smell aversion, why I’ve been so tired—I mean, the past few retrieval missions have been way more exhausting than usual—and, the piece de resistance, the nausea.” You rubbed your temple. “Stress tends to aggravate the symptoms.” “Are you kidding?” Hobi asked. “Because if you are, it’s not funny.” “The test is on the counter in the bathroom. And it really isn’t funny. The timing is crappy and I’m absolutely terrified because I know I can’t fight this time, but I also need to see Jin safe and see all of you together.” Hoseok gently cupped your face and kissed it. “I love you so much, Tinny. It’s going to be okay. We’ll protect you and our baby and…” He choked up and seemed to decide that kissing you was the only option he had. The others were still too stunned or conflicted to react, all gathered around the positive test. “Okay. It’s going to be okay. We have a plan. Her and Tae in the safe-house, while we fight….” “Namjoon, first we need to go to the Conservatory. Then after I’m assured you’re all okay, I’ll stand as far from the fighting as possible. We need to pack up and move on, though.” You eased a crutch under Jimin’s arm. “Jungkook, help Jimin. Hoseok, help Namjoon. I’m going to change. Tae, can you check us out of the hotel?” He nodded, gathering the room keys while Yoongi made sure you had everything. You switched to your signature fighting suit, making sure Yoongi hid it from people before exiting the hotel. Jimin was sitting across Hoseok, Jungkook, and Namjoon in the very back seat. You chewed your lip, trying to figure out how Yoongi and Tae would fit into the small car. It was another reason you had wanted to trade in that vehicle for one that was more spacious, but all of you had thought that having one car that got good gas mileage was a good idea. So, of course, the vehicle you used when trips didn’t take you out of the country or a few days drive away was the stupid sedan. For a second you were almost glad that all seven of them weren’t there, then your anger toward the Conservatory and the Oasis Initiative roared up. Yoongi gently moved Jimin so that he was only on Jungkook and Namjoon, climbing onto Hoseok’s lap. Tae got into the front passenger seat as you started the car up, out of breath and slightly annoyed. “Lady wouldn’t shut up. But we almost have enough points for a free night in one of the hotel branches.” “Wonderful. Seatbelt.” “Huh? Oh.” You whipped out of the parking space, humming no particular tune as you tried to think of what may lie ahead. You were glad you had canceled your job for today with an excuse of getting strep throat. You slammed on the brakes, ignoring the protesting squeaks and grunts from behind you. “Forcefield.” The weapon was leveled at the car and you grasped at the shift. “Forcefield,” You squeaked again. Jungkook finally understood, thankfully, but the car still moved with the explosion. You slammed on the gas, heading straight at the jerk trying to kill you and almost all of the people you care about before the flames and smoke dissipated. There was a satisfying thud, and the windshield had a webbing of cracks in it from him rolling over the car. “Damn, Tinny,” Hoseok muttered. “Glad we didn’t leave any later. You okay?” “Just glad the airbags didn’t go off. Joon, a little warning would have been nice. “I was just about to warn you when you hit the brakes. We’re still in trouble.” “Take a left,” Yoongi instructed. You did as told, pulling the map from the console. “Tae, find the nearest hot pink mark on there. It’ll be our transport point.” “Right,” He started searching. “Phones off, batteries out?” Yoongi asked. “We better,” You agreed. Tae tossed your purse back to them, causing Jimin to hiss in pain, then he made a triumphant sound. “Got it.” “Good.” You moved your seat back. “Switch me. 3, 2, 1.” Taehyung transported both of you into each other’s seat and hit the gas. You started mentally sifting through storage to find both the object you would use as leverage against the Conservatory, and the object you would use as a peace offering, if need be. “Chim, how you feeling?” “Carsick,” He grumbled. “Don’t worry, we’re almost there,” Tae replied, taking a right turn. “Joon?” “I don’t sense any danger right now. Yoongi?” “I think we lost them. I don’t think they expected their first plan to fail.” “Then we need to drive under the radar. Yoongi, hide us.” “Baby, you okay?” Hoseok asked, sounding concerned at your distracted voice. “Looking for something,” You murmured. “Got it. Remember, when we get there you have to let me do the talking. They will target every weakness, so don’t give them any more than we already have. And for now, don’t say a word about me being pregnant. Act as if the walls have ears unless I tell you otherwise, because they very well might. And whatever happens, don’t go into section 36. If they try to take you there, you fight for all you’re worth because fighting them is much easier than fighting what waits there.” “Should I shift?” “I think so. Something small. We’ll need Kook to help Joon.” Tae drove into a surprisingly rural area, pulling onto a dirt road. “We should ditch the car.” “We need to burn it,” Namjoon said. “Stop here, then. Everyone out. We’ll walk the rest of the way to the transport point.” You unbuckled and got ready to take Jimin “Yoongi, can you report it stolen?” You asked, getting out of the car, but holding onto the door as another wave of nausea washed over you. “Yeah, give me a minute.” Hoseok handed you Jimin once you nodded that you were okay. Yoongi finished the call. The boys went through the car, pulling out everything even slightly useful and shoving it into a duffel bag that Hoseok slung over his shoulders. They left in the papers that one would normally find in the car, and an umbrella, for authenticity, along with the car keys minus a few of your special keys. “So, how bad is this really going to be?” Yoongi asked in a low tone while Tae, Hobi and Jungkook worked to set fire to your car. “Well, first we have to hope that they don’t just shoot us on sight.” “Oh.” “It’s not likely, but they may be easily startled. Hence me doing the talking.” “Right. So it’s for everyone’s safety.” “Exactly. Plus I want Jungkook to have us in a forcefield, if you’re okay to do that?” You looked to him. Jungkook nodded. “That’s easy.” Namjoon came over from the tree he had been leaning against, limping slightly. “You said your friend, the light priestess, was sending one of her people to confirm things?” You nodded, mind worrying over who the man could be and what kids might be in trouble. “Once we get into the conservatory I may have Taehyung and Yoongi head to the children’s homes where we’ve identified supers and pull them. Take them somewhere safe.” “Such as?” “Maybe the Temple. I’m not sure right now.” You felt like you were forgetting something important, but couldn’t pinpoint what it was. Maybe something in the archives that could help? Or maybe it was something you had been taught about the Oasis Initiative? Jungkook ducked under Joon’s arm, supporting him so that he didn’t put weight on his injured knee. Yoongi led the way down the road after Taehyung showed him the map, more than likely checking all around to make sure no one was watching. You kissed the top of Jimin’s head, stroking his fur with your nose. “You okay, Jimin-ah?” He meowed and rubbed his face into your arm. You took that as a yes, because even if he wasn’t there wasn’t anything you could do for him. “Is that it?” Taehyung asked, pointing ahead. You nodded. You all gathered around it, and Jungkook prepared to put a forcefield around all of you. Then you all entered the portal as one. Jungkook put the forcefield up. “State your business!” A guard from the Conservatory had a weapon leveled at you. “My name is Nightingale, and you have something of ours. I request an audience with the dean,” You said in a sing-song manner that would hopefully make them less trigger-happy. “And why should we believe that?” “Because I bet Siphon hasn’t exactly been cooperative and he will once I talk to him. Also, I have something she might be interested in.” He consulted with the other guard by his side. “Fine, but one wrong move and we shoot all of you!” “Sounds fair,” You replied, knowing that they wouldn’t get very far if they tried. “Lower your weapons.” They did so reluctantly. You nodded slightly and strode purposefully behind the guards. The sight of the building only made you want to run away, but the promise of seeing Jin again was pressing at your heart and forcing you forward. He was so very close now.

~~~~~

Part 3.   Part 5.

Masterlist.  ~  Series Masterpost.  

[celticfeather]

Akatsuki Fic: Campfires. Ch 2. Cannibals

A brooding clan-killer and a man who prefers to see himself more shark than human are not the most likely, or friendly, of new partners. But hunted and hated, their backs on are the wall, and the Akatsuki starts to form a complex refuge for its members. Their endeavors blur the lines between men, beasts, and gods, and Itachi must either accept his complicity in evil, or contemplate revolt.

Ch 1 here: Dawn. https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13409132/1/Campfires

Chapter 2: Cannibals

-Uchiha Itachi-

Itachi crouched with his long fingers knitted before his nose, his eyes staring intensely out. He would not be killed by his own teammates. If he continued to try and save every peasant he saw, he would expose his true alignment. He would have to be judicious in his steps towards the light if he were to continue making them. He must appear a killer until, at last, he was allowed to die.

His eyes traced to Kisame. To be effective here, he would have to act less like a man, more like a beast, and he thought he had a fine teacher.

Word of a new mission had been shared from the head. According to Kakuzu, a terrorist organization had hired the Akatsuki to sabotage a maritime hostage exchange between the lands of Water and Lightning. Ideally, one of the ships would explode after the exchange. The commissioners intended for this to promote war between the Cloud and Mist. The Akatsuki team could expect at least twenty-five escorting enemy jounin. Kisame, Itachi, Kakuzu and Deidara had been enlisted for the task.

Kisame grumbled. "Returning to the Mist is not ideal for me."

Itachi mirrored the sentiment. He had not exactly enjoyed his last mission in the Land of Water. But first they had to meet Kakuzu and Deidara, who had received instructions to meet them at one of Kakuzu's meeting points in the coastal Land of Hot Springs. When the fire and water pair arrived, Deidara and Kakuzu awaited them.

"Decent group," Kakuzu surmised. "Serious, for the most part." His surveying eyes lingered on Deidara for a moment too long.

Appearing unaware of the slight, Deidara crossed his arms. "I don't know why he didn't keep us with our usual partners. My man Sasori is as impatient and deadly as you are, Kakuzu, hm."

"Our selection is obvious. I know hostage exchanges. You'll blow up the ship. Kisame is the ocean expert, and Itachi's eyes can cover us from afar. It's easy if you pay attention," Kakuzu said.

Deidara shrugged his haughty ambivalence to the elder's analysis. Kisame led them to the coastline of the Land of Steam that marked its border with the Land of Water. Itachi suspected Hidan had not been invited on a mission that required passage through his home state for two reasons: he was inept at stealth; and he was still recovering from their last encounter. The four entered a coastal marsh of mangrove trees, which at the current low tide, exposed a long stretch of mud and sand before the eastern ocean. The gray noon sky began to darken, fizzing rain drops spotting the fine sand.

Kisame tightened the strap on his sword to prevent its shifting. "We'll have to run several kilometers over open ocean until we find any ships. I expect that's no problem for anyone?"

"That could be taxing if we must later fight," Itachi said, staring over the gray frothing sea.

Deidara smiled at the opportunity to upstage Itachi. He was clearly not one to forget old wounds. "Can't handle it, old man?"

Itachi said nothing.

"We won't waste chakra wandering the ocean," Kakuzu said. "Deidara, you'll fly ahead of us. Find the ships, and we'll follow."

Deidara's only response to the order was a tight grunt. He sank his hand into the pouch at his hip, and the mouth on his palm proceeded to masticate the pure white clay. After a moment Deidara displayed his hand to the three other ninja, and the lolling tongue delivered a fine porcelain bird with long narrow wings like a gull. With a sign from Deidara's free hand, the clay figure expanded to the size of a shed. The sculptor mounted its sloped back and adjusted his eye scope.

"I'll circle in a figure eight when I find the boats. Someone shoot off a lightning flare if you lose me, yeah?"

With a powerful sweep of its wings, Deidara and his creation were stiffly alight in the buffeting ocean wind, and like a kite in a storm, the bird rose jerkily but rapidly. The three remaining ninja set out into the sucking, salty, sandy, surf. Itachi focused his chakra onto the soles of his feet and timed his steps to rise above each peak of the coming waves. Arms streamlined behind them, their feet glancing off the obtuse crest of each wave, the fire, water, and earth-style ninja streaked off towards the eastern horizon after Deidara's bird. The sky was a tumultuous gray and the ocean frothed a dark blue. Cold rain spat into their faces, the wind raged, and distant thunder boomed.

With his sharingan, Itachi had the best vision of the group, while the others squinted to find the white bird against the silver clouds. Because of this he assumed the lead of the surface formation as the storm worsened. Deidara's clay bird seemed to slow, as if in hesitation, and then began to loop two small figure eights. Itachi motioned for his teammates to continue east until they were directly underneath Deidara, and there the three ninja crouched low to the surface of the undulating waves. They could now see two ships in the distance, which meant that to ordinary eyes, the three ninja were also visible. Irksome as it was to balance on the tipping crests, the whipping storm provided much needed visual cover on the open ocean.

Deidara's bird pitched downwards, beak first, then pulled up to skid its belly across the waves near the three ninja. Deidara had been busy on his flight- stepping onto the water, the artist grandly presented a smooth white clay koi fish the size of a basket.

"She works underwater. Once we attach it to the Cloud ship's hull, I'll activate her from here, and, bang!" Deidara popped his fingers and his face lit with excitement. With a histrionic bow, he gave the ornately carved explosive fish to Kisame. "For you, my man."

Kisame smirked and raised the bomb in farewell. He released the chakra at his feet and plummeted like a lead weight under the waves. Itachi could see his shadow streak off toward the ships, about 100 meters away. The Kisame-shaped shadow swam without using its arms, faster than he thought possible for any human, though Kisame and human seemed separate concepts.

The three remaining ninja sank their bodies into the cold waves, until just their eyes and noses showed above the water. Itachi noticed a crest of hair like a shark fin arc above the surface on the way back from the ship. It was Kisame's signal that he had completed the task and attached the explosive.

Kakuzu identified a woman as the hostage entering the skiff with her captors. The peaceable exchange occurred, and she climbed back aboard her country's ship. Kakuzu looked at Deidara and nodded. The exchange was complete and the deed could occur at any time.

"Katsu!" Deidara commanded, two fingers raised, but no one heard him, because 100 meters away the Cloud ship's front half exploded.

Wood splintered into the air and a shock wave concussed the water's surface, sending up a spray of mist. Shinobi leapt out, perching like waterbugs on the ripples. But civilians onboard had no such talents. The shinobi swarmed like bees, trying to orchestrate a platform in the debris for the floundering civilians, and simultaneously search for foul play.

The Mist ninja on their unharmed boat did not flee. Nor did the Cloud attack them. Seeming rather confused, the Mist ninja alighted on the waves, and began to help the foreign Lightning civilians onto their surviving boat.

The three rogues, each a child of war, shared a perplexed look. Then back at the boat and debris. As far as Itachi knew, the Mist and Cloud helping each other was not accounted for in the financier's plan.

A hulking presence appeared among the surface-striding ninja. Itachi did not need to verbally identify the man for Kakuzu and Deidara, because with a furious roar he cracked a huge lightning bolt across the atmosphere. It was Ay, the fourth Raikage.

"That was not in the missive. We run- as fast as we can." Kakuzu said.

Itachi was unsure speed would be enough. The Raikage was possibly the fastest ninja alive. One of them might die that day.

Deidara extended his hand out of the water and expanded his previously shrunken bird. Kakuzu yelled at him not to do it, that he would be seen, but the young ninja was more interested in saving his own skin. Deidara leapt alone onto the bird and flew off, leaving Itachi and Kakuzu in the waves. Kisame was still nowhere to be seen and Itachi felt the situation rapidly spiraling out of control. Kakuzu swore with the skill of a man with ninety years of curation.

The low bird was immediately spotted by a Cloud kunoichi, who signaled it to her comrades. Deidara had escaped, but the sharp eyes of the Raikage met the clay gull and fell circumspectly to the easier prey beneath. Itachi tensed, ready to dive, but their eyes met and he knew they had been seen.

"Rendezvous at our beach at dusk," Kakuzu told Itachi. "We've gotta lose him."

Kakuzu rose fully from the water, released one of the masked beings from his chest, and skated along the surface towards the distant shore some five kilometers away. Twenty ninja, both Cloud and Mist, started after Kakuzu. The water-style masked beast ran alongside Kakuzu, then halted, pulsing a huge mass of water at the incoming team of jounin. Itachi made a sharp turn away from Kakuzu, and sprinted towards the coastline.

Itachi was aware he had gained his own pursuers. Once separated from Kakuzu, he skidded on the ball of his right foot and pivoted to face his opponents. A phalanx of some fifteen ninja ran towards him. He doubted they recognized him, but all the same he was greeted with the hospitality a clan killer deserved.

He parsed signs, inhaled deep, and blew a massive blooming fireball across the waves. Some were touched by the blaze, but others quickly put up a defensive water wall, minimizing their casualties. Good: Itachi did not want to kill anyone. A huge man stepped from behind the falling water-wall. His copper skin was beaded with droplets, his bleached hair was coiled back, and from his small eyes Itachi sensed an unbridled fury.

Itachi supposed the Raikage must have pursued either he or Kakuzu. Unfortunately for the Kage, he had picked the rogue whose eyes could strike a man still at a distance of twenty meters. With the incensed Raikage in his sights, Itachi felt his pupils spin and contract.

Tsukuyomi washed over his foe. Though it was a mere second to the outside world, the Raikage was inside the nightmare realm for seventy internal hours. But Itachi's intent was to incapacitate the Kage from further combat than torment him. He had no time or energy to waste on torturous mind games like with Hidan, and he neither want to enrage powerful enemies. Itachi's illusion abandoned the Raikage in a world where he was tied to a post, submerged at sea, with his nose just a millimeter above the soon as the Raikage collapsed among his men, Itachi fled.

The storm clouds hung low, the waves ripped high, the wind and rain whipped, and even Itachi's eyes could discern no shore. He was running, aware of a splitting pack of the Kage's incensed men behind him, and with each step Itachi took, he was less able to bounce crisply on the meniscus of the water. His toes punctured the water an inch down. Then two inches. Then his ankles, his calves, began to touch the waves. He was nowhere near escape, and he was out of time. He would have to use that. Spinning, he turned to face his pursuers, now surprisingly close.

Amaterasu! The black flames of his newest mangekyou technique enveloped the first row. The waves drowned their screams quickly; the inflicted dropping the chakra at their feet a heartbeat after being hit. Even in the frothing sea nothing could be done to help them, and Itachi watched them die painful deaths. If only he had more chakra, he may have been able to escape without killing his pursuers. Guilt probed at his chest, but he could not afford to reflect, because the wrathful technique had not spread to the second row. Five last ninja, panic and rage in their eyes, had closed in on him. Through his haze of exhaustion they seemed to come at him in slow motion, circling him like hunters around a wounded beast, raising glinting steel from their packs.

Itachi's chest heaved. He fell to his knees. Wet heat dripped from his eye sockets into the black water between his knees. He might be able to kill more, but he certainly could not run. He could not even stand. Panic welled in his chest as he felt the waves encompassing his shins. The running, the sharingan, fireball, Tsukiyomi, Amaterasu, it had been too much. In trying to spare the lives of some enemies, he may have just ended his own. His calves slipped into the water, then his waist. Knowing what came next, Itachi gasped a deep breath.

It was numbly quiet, refreshingly still, while his body remained unpleasantly cold. He looked up, and the disorganized splashing footprints on the surface seemed silent and insignificant. Slow and inexorable his leaden robes dragged him to the earth's core. His heart hammered away his remaining oxygen. He had to get out of here. But his sharingan had faded and the watery world became icy and dark. He fought against the increasing numbness in his mind, his thoughts racing futile like ants trapped in a sap of hypoxia. He imagined two black eyes in front of him. Sasuke? He reached two fingers into the abyss.

-Hoshigaki Kisame-

Figures fell from the surface like twisting stones from the heavens. Most of them were not dead when they fell.

The nerves on his snout sensed a blizzard of electricity firing around him. Each movement by a living thing, each command from a brain to its muscles, enacted a tiny electric signal which Kisame could sense in this form. It was impossible to hide from him. Chaos had erupted and the mission was not proceeding to plan. But king in his domain, Kisame was calm.

A familiar sensation prickled along his shark snout. Changing directions with a wide sweep of his tail, Kisame arced towards a particular fallen ninja. He felt his lips twitch.

Careful, Itachi. You are easy prey in the water.

The young raven had not fared well over the ocean. Itachi drifted some three meters below the surface, where the water was calm, and the gray light from the stormy sun was dull. The unconscious ninja floated mostly upright, with his chin tipped up. His long hair and robe were splayed behind him, with his arms spread like a martyr.

Catching the boy in the crook of his elbow, Kisame fired his tail. The long braid of muscle was magnificently more powerful than his legs when swimming. He dodged corpses, who, even underwater, fed black flames which warned a horrific static on his electroreceptors. The hellish chakra's flavor denoted familiarity, and Kisame's eyes slid to his passenger. Awarding the burning bodies a careful berth, Kisame steered away from the battlefield.

In a calm spot, Kisame lifted Itachi's head to the surface. The leaf ninja, though still unconscious, began to breathe again once his face was above water. Such a beautiful adaptation the Mammalian Diving Reflex was: unconscious humans breathe automatically when dry, but exhibit slowed heart rates and ceased breathing when their faces were wet.

Kisame observed the distant commotion. Ninja swarmed around the destroyed ship and fished civilians from the water. He was faintly aware of Kakuzu running off towards shore, felling pursuant ninja left and right, some twenty dead or dying in the water behind him. Deidara was dead or gone. He waited a moment at the surface, expecting Itachi to cough himself awake, but he did not. He took Itachi back under the water to swim covertly in the direction of land, surfacing for the benefit of his human cargo about twice every minute. Kisame had learned from drowning people in water prisons that seventy seconds was the threshold where a normal human would start to squirm. It amused him that today he used the knowledge to prevent someone from drowning.

His lessened visibility in the sandy water and the electric flickers of minnows and crabs indicated that he had neared shore, and rising to his human legs, Kisame stood erect and slogged into the surf. Itachi was draped at the waist over his shoulder and framed by his long dorsal fin. Kisame in this beastly form easily weighed seven hundred kilograms, with Itachi adding another sixty. His webbed feet sank heavily in the fine muddy sand that crowded at the roots of the mangrove shore.

Curling his claws into the back of Itachi's robe, Kisame swung the boy against the cagelike roots of a mangrove tree. Itachi looked like a waterlogged bird: small, delicate, with a weak bendy neck and thin limbs which were stupidly ill-fitted to the open ocean. His long dark brown hair had escaped its tie and hung limply around his face. It was much less dignified than the Uchiha prince's usual mien.

We don't have to tell the others about this, eh?

Kisame sat cross-legged to observe the boy and slung his fat tail out on the sand behind him. He had tasted little blood and saw no wounds. Was Itachi unconscious from the oxygen deprivation, or from the expenditure of chakra? If the former, he should be awake already. If the latter, it could be hours.

Lazily, Itachi's coal black eyes opened. Kisame stared into his eyes, expecting -wanting- their stoic depths to spark in fear at the sight of him. But Itachi flipped himself forward onto his hands, coughed roughly, and proceeded to retch salt water.

Well, it looks like humans mostly did not try to breathe underwater while unconscious.

On hands and knees, his back a concave arch, Itachi looked over his shoulder to stare at his hulking partner. "You're…. Different."

Kisame cracked a razor's smile. He could not speak in this form.

"Thank you, Kisame," Itachi said. "I am very lucky you found me."

Finding someone in the water was never the problem. The trouble was knowing to look for them at all. Fortunately, Itachi had a very identifiable presence, especially when he had incinerated half a dozen chakras in fire hellish enough to burn underwater.

"Would you have any fresh water?" Itachi asked.

Kisame's gear and pack were lost, he had not expected this mission to require transforming, but he had when he sensed the fighting. Kisame took a large leaf from a jungle tree, and with a simple jutsu he filled it with water and gave it to the seated Itachi. Itachi tipped the long leaf to his lips with both hands. He drank heartily, his adam's apple bobbing, and water dripped from his lips and trickled down his pale neck. Finished, he coughed lightly and pressed his lips dry with the back of his wrist. Kisame found the princely habit funny, because Itachi was still dripping everywhere else.

Thudd. A huge clay gull alighted on the muddy sand and Deidara strided down its sloping tail. He looked at the transformed Kisame, then at the washed-out Itachi, and back at Kisame. "What the fuck happened to you two?"

No one answered him. Itachi chose not to. Kisame had no choice.

Deidara shook his head. "Kakuzu's gonna roast me," Deidara muttered, contracting his bird back into a tiny clay piece.

"I will roast you," Itachi corrected him. The fire-style ninja stood with sudden aggression. He grabbed Deidara by the chest of his robe and pulled him to face his eyes like an academy bully.

Odd for Itachi. Kisame swung his long head to his partner for explanation.

"The Raikage was on that ship. Deidara fled on his bird, leaving Kakuzu and I to deal with the troops and escape," Itachi explained.

Hm. Kisame turned menacingly to the Stone Ninja. Certainly a few people could have fit on that bird.

"Hey sheesh, I'm sorry. I got spooked." Deidara displayed his slit palms to Itachi in a leave-me-alone gesture.

"Those who abandon their comrades are worse than scum," Itachi warned him.

"Comrades? You think we're comrades here?—" Deidara opened his mouth to laugh, but stopped abruptly. He froze under Itachi's now-red eyes, transfixed like a rabbit by a weasel.

"I'm sorry," Deidara whispered. Itachi released his robe and the other man retreated a step back.

A creaking and sloshing of sand arose from behind the mangroves. Deidara and Itachi tensed. But in this form Kisame could discern the old, earthy, angry chakra as familiar. A black corded monster, bearlike in shape with a folkish mask, loped from the roots alongside its master.

"Phew," Deidara sighed.

"Deidara," Kakuzu rumbled. "How old are you?"

"Uh, seventeen?"

Kakuzu absorbed the masked creature back into his body. But as he did, thin hairlike tentacles poured out from his stitched mouth like a lolling hungry tongue. He slurped them in before speaking again.

"Good. Young men's hearts are ideal."

Deidara looked at Itachi and Kisame for help. But Itachi, displeased, and Kisame, a giant semi-bipedal shark, offered the artist no reassurance. Fortunately, Kakuzu made no move to snatch the boy's heart just then.

Kisame decided this was a good time to transform back into Kisame the man. Or, Kisame the mostly-man. He extended his hand and Samehada's braided pommel appeared from his skin. The shark fins and tail receded, his spine shortened, and he stood erect and shirtless.

Kakuzu's eyes slid to him. "Neat trick. Where's your robe?"

"Lost it swimming," Kisame said, rolling his jaw as he talked to reaccustom himself to speaking. Really, his dorsal fin had shredded the robe the moment he transformed. Looking down, he was very pleased that his pants avoided the same fate.

"We need to head inland," Kakuzu said, and disappeared into the mangroves without waiting for responses.

Kisame's eyes slid to Itachi, wondering if the boy was yet capable of running. But sinking his chin into his collar, Itachi voiced no complaint, and he fell into step with the fleet.

-Uchiha Itachi-

Itachi was exhausted. He expected in a few minutes he may even collapse. Every once in a while Kisame might cast an appraising look at him, maybe his predator eyes smiled as if to say, 'you still alive?' Or maybe he imagined it. But after Kisame had dragged him out of the surf, Itachi refused to be the one to call for a stop. Night was falling, and soon enough, the others would not be able to see.

As he watched the backsides of Deidara and Kakuzu leap in front of him, he thought about the Akatsuki's flight from the ocean scene. If Deidara had not flown off like a coward, Itachi would not have had to kill those ninja today. Itachi had killed his clan, and multiple insurgents during his time in the Anbu, but each of those deaths had a greater purpose in protecting the Leaf. Today, he killed state ninja who acted in self defense. If he had been stronger, more enduring, he could have managed an escape with no unnecessary lethal measures. He looked at the old man running in front of him. In the same flight, Kakuzu had probably killed twenty people to his five.

Deidara broke the silence of their run. "Hey, uh, we wanna camp for the night?"

The four ninja halted. The elevation had increased enough that the mangroves were gone, replaced with a cold rainforest. In a quick survey of their surroundings, the men found a flat dry hollow between the dense trees large enough for four people.

"Should we build a fire?" Deidara suggested.

"It's not safe to," Itachi said.

"Sorry, I'm fucking freezing." Deidara revealed a piece of clay and blew a crater in the ground about a meter deep and around to hide a fire's light.

He gestured again at Itachi to light a fire. Itachi made no motion to comply. With a hmmpf, Deidara gathered a few branches, turf, threw them down his pit, and flicked an explosive spider the size of a marble into it. Clumsy flames coughed out of the pit. Then the blond teen busily set out finding and tossing in more poor quality wet fuel from their immediate surroundings.

Kakuzu sat next to Deidara's sunken campfire, mumbling something that they should keep it for an hour. Kisame, Deidara, and at last Itachi followed. Everyone was cold, soaked, and morale was low - perhaps the fire was not unwarranted. The four men shed what outerwear they had to dry, and crouched around the sunken fire in their underwear.

Itachi's companions looked smooth and sinister in the low, warm light. Kakuzu's skin was tan, thick, and fractured with stitching scars. Four masks peered out from his back, of which one was now punctured. Deidara's left pectoralis had a slit of what might have been an additional mouth. Kisame looked enough like a human except for the blueish skin and the gill patterns. Itachi looked down at himself. Besides a red Anbu tattoo on his shoulder, he was completely unremarkable.

They had some onigiri in Kakuzu's pack, which were by now, also thoroughly soaked. Itachi set an array of the eight rice balls on a banana leaf next to the fire.

"I'll find some meat," Kisame said, and the Mist Ninja stalked out into the blackness. But after twenty minutes in the dark, the man had only managed to locate one small fish. He presented it to Itachi, who as the group's expert with knives, cleaned it adroitly with a kunai. He slit the pink fillet into four delicate equal slices. He placed one piece next to each member's two allotted onigiri, which by the fire had become hot and crispy. Itachi set the offal on a leaf should Kisame want it. It was gone the next time he thought to look for it.

The men sat with a tangle of legs towards the fire. Kisame crouched, Kakuzu was cross-legged, and Deidara's legs were folded up beside him. They each ate with different manners too: Itachi was the most civil, and Kisame the least.

Deidara placed his ration of fish on his tongue and asked, "Do you ever feel bad eating fish, Kisame?"

"Do you feel bad eating pigs?"

"No."

Kisame showed his teeth. "People like you kind of look like pigs to me."

Deidara narrowed his eyes. He went back to poking the fire with a stick and sculpting a new creature, maybe a crocodile.

"Four mysterious ninja sit around a fire," Kisame announced in his rough voice. As with Orochimaru's, Itachi could not decide if it was threatening or friendly. "We should get to know each other better. We can make it a game."

"No, we should sleep now and reach the Frost Border as early as possible tomorrow," Kakuzu said.

Deidara ignored Kakuzu and looked back to the group's other talkative member. "Alright, Kisame, here's a question: when you turn into a giant shark, have you ever eaten a person before?"

"Define 'eat.'"

"Kisame..."

"I've bitten hunks from plenty. I haven't swallowed any parts though… I don't think."

"How do people taste?"

"Not particularly good. Our low fat and protein content isn't worth the energy to digest for cold blooded creatures. Therefore only starving, open-ocean sharks enjoy a meal of men."

Kisame tightened his lips to show his whitish gums, and held a finger to where his canine tooth should have been. "Sharks can measure these things with one bite. There are specialized nerves next to our teeth that help us discern if a meal is nutritionally valuable, you see."

Deidara, bewildered, did not ask any more questions. Kisame, having served his part in the game, traced his pinprick eyes to Kakuzu. "A little bird told me you killed two of your partners."

"They live on." Kakuzu gestured to the water and lightning masks on his chest. "Good hearts."

Itachi wondered what would happen if Kakuzu transplanted an immortal heart like Hidan's. Certainly the rogue had considered the possibility.

"Gods, you're all cannibals," Deidara muttered.

Cannibals? Itachi evaluated the word. Kisame tasted human flesh. Kakuzu took his partners' hearts. Deidara abandoned his comrades as bait. Itachi killed his family. They were no more than a band of leeches, gorging themselves on the blood of anyone unfortunate enough to cross their paths. Cannibals indeed.

Deidara stared at Itachi. "I got one: Itachi, how old were you when you killed your clan and joined the Akatsuki?"

"Fourteen."

"Were you a virgin when you did it?"

Itachi chewed his rice ball slowly. He did not answer.

Kakuzu interrupted. "How's it feel to suck yourself off with your own hands, Deidara?"

"Fucking divine!" The teen grinned and stretched out his arms to display the slurping tongues on his palms. Kisame guffawed and Kakuzu smirked. Itachi looked down, unable to hide a small smile.

Deidara yawned, and the mouths on his palms yawned too. He shrugged into his firewarmed robe and lounged cattishly on the earth, pillowing his head with an arm, and sighed satisfactorly. "Well, g'night, my murderous gents. Good job surviving today."

Irritation flared up in Itachi at the sight of Deidara's comfort. Thanks to him, only two hours ago Itachi had stared down the Raikage. "You're not sleeping on the ground."

Deidara's blue eyes flashed. "Stone Ninja, sleeping in trees? Yeah, right!"

"We should set a watch. We may have been followed," Itachi said.

"I'll do it, I have the most chakra left," Kisame said.

Kakuzu nodded. "Wake someone in a few hours."

The fire's light was out, but the earth and coals still radiated heat. Itachi dressed himself in his hot robe. He rose from the firewarmed earth, pinned his gaze on an arch in the tree above him, and tensed to jump.

A heavy weight on his shoulder halted his step.

"Maybe it's best for us all that you get a good rest," Kisame said, with a hand on his shoulder. Itachi stilled. He owed Kisame some heed after his help today. Itachi's presence on the ground was no further risk if Deidara and Kakuzu already insisted on sleeping there, and Kisame would watch well. Hesitant to indulge himself so freely, Itachi slowly laid himself back on a warm spot of earth.

He, Deidara, and Kakuzu arranged themselves in a lopsided triangle around the warm pit. Hooked in a loose Z, Itachi placed an arm under his head, curled his fingers into his thin hair, and tried to welcome the numb embrace of sleep. Past him, Kisame perched in the tree, one leg bent, the other hanging. His eyes swept down at his teammates, then stared out into the darkness. Itachi heard him crunching on a bone.

Author's Note;

Thanks again to beta myochiikurin! Any typos you find are due to my own overzealous editing ;)

The % complete of the next chapter is always posted on my (FF or Ao3) account profile. Thanks for reading, and I hope you stick around! Maybe let me know what you liked in a review, if you did?

Steadfast,

Celtic

Follow on FF: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13409132/1/Campfires

Follow on Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21019778/chapters/50400551#workskin

[patriotsnet]

Why Did Republicans Vote Against Hr3

New Post has been published on https://www.patriotsnet.com/why-did-republicans-vote-against-hr3/

Why Did Republicans Vote Against Hr3

How Would Medicare Negotiate Drug Prices Under Hr 3

Why Do Most White People Vote Republican?

H.R. 3 amends the non-interference clause under current law by adding an exception that allows for the price negotiation process established by the legislation. The negotiation process applies to at least 25 and 50 single-source brand-name drugs lacking generic or biosimilar competitors, selected from among the 125 drugs with the highest net Medicare Part D spending and the 125 drugs with the highest net spending in the U.S., which could include physician-administered drugs covered under Medicare Part B, along with all insulin products. Drugs that are new to market could also be subject to negotiation if their list price is greater than median household income and their projected spending would place them among the list of drugs with the highest spending under Medicare or the U.S. overall.

In determining the maximum fair price, H.R. 3 requires the Secretary to consider research and development costs, market data, production and distribution costs, and existing therapeutic alternatives, including comparative effectiveness data. If a manufacturer offers a price that is no more than the target price, the proposal requires the Secretary to accept this as the maximum fair price for the drug. The agreed-upon negotiated price would be made available to private plan sponsors in Medicare Part D and commercial payers in group and individual markets, and to providers that administer physician-administered drugs.

Prescription Drug Costs Raise Profits For Big Pharma While Lowering Quality Of Life For Millions

Its already been a bad time for pharmaceutical companies. Many have received the brunt end of widespread public dissatisfaction after being criticized in the media and political realms.

Now that healthcare is carrying political narratives, out-of-pocket spending like the kind that would go down for Medicare parts B and D beneficiaries should HR 3 or a similar bill become law is more than just a pundit talking point.

Everyone in America knows someone who is taking an expensive medicine, Robinson said. And they vote, so this is obviously political.

Between patients out-of-pocket costs all the way up to what CMS covers, the United States spent more than $330 billion on prescription drugs in 2017.

That is an enormous draining of dollars from taxpayers out of Medicare and Medicaid, and out of the pockets of Americans who have to pay high premiums, deductibles, and copays, which are driven up significantly by the highest prescription drug costs in the world, Chris Orestis, president of LifeCare Xchange, told Healthline.

Orestis says freeing up even the smallest percentage of this money could raise the standard of living for many people, as well as having a stimulating impact on the economy.

It would also help people who react to the high costs of prescription drugs by rationing their care and dosages.

Republicans Hold Firm Against Socialism

Despite President Trumps frequent use of the bully pulpit to criticize the drug industry, the good news is that only two Republicans joined the Democrats in supporting passage of H.R. 3. House Democrats either did not read or were unmoved by multiple studies suggesting tremendous peril for small and emerging biotechs if the legislation becomes law and our investors run for the hills. More than 130 life sciences investors have publicly confirmed they would have no other choice.

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If Implemented The Bill Could Save Americans Billions

The Congressional Budget Office estimates that HR 3 would account for about $98 billion in savings over a 10-year period.

The price negotiation provisions would lower spending by about $456 billion, but covering dental, vision, and hearing under the Medicare program would raise spending by approximately $358 billion.

Dr. James C. Robinson, PhD, MPH, the Leonard D. Schaeffer professor of health economics and the director of the Berkeley Center for Health Technology, says HR 3 would help bring the costs of drugs in the United States closer to the International Reference Price, or what other wealthier countries pay.

For reference, the United States pays 60 percent more than Germany, another country with high healthcare costs.

The big issue is the part of HR 3 that allows CMS to negotiate drug prices under Medicare Part D, which Robinson says is predominantly run by private interests.

If youre pharma, this is bad, he told Healthline.

So What Exactly Would This Legislation Do

The centerpiece of the House Democrats’ bill would require the government to negotiate the cost of up to 250 brand-name drugs that don’t have competition and cost the U.S. health care system the most money. Insulin for diabetes would have to be included. The maximum price negotiated would be capped: It couldn’t be more than 120 percent of the average price charged in other industrialized countries that typically pay less than the United States. Drug companies would either play ball or face an excise tax starting at 65 percent and rising to 95 percent. Private insurance plans could also use the negotiated prices.

The nonpartisan Congressional Budget Office estimated this part of the bill would save $456 billion over a 10-year period. Its projected to cost drug companies at least $500 billion in revenue, which CBO predicts would cut research funding and result in about eight fewer new drugs coming to market in the first 10 years the law was in effect, and 30 fewer drugs in the following decade.

The legislation also tries to restrain companies abilities to launch new drugs at astronomical prices by allowing the government to negotiate the cost of any medicines that come to market at list prices higher than the U.S. median household income. The plan would also cap seniors’ annual out-of-pocket spending for outpatient prescription drugs at $2,000.

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Govtrackus Is Taking A New Focus On Civic Education

Help us develop the tools to bring real-time legislative data into the classroom.

If youve visited a bill page on GovTrack.us recently, you may have noticed a new study guide tab located just below the bill title. This is part of a new project to develop better tools for bringing real-time legislative data into the classroom. We hope to enable educators to build lesson plans centered around any bill or vote in Congress, even those as recent as yesterday.

Were looking for feedback from educators about how GovTrack can be used and improved for your classroom. If you teach United States government and would like to speak with us about bringing legislative data into your classroom, please reach out!

House Republicans Vote Against Slashing Costs For Prescription Drugs

A bill to lower the cost of prescription drugs passed the House with mostly Democratic support.

The House of Representatives took the issue of high prescription drug costs head on Thursday, passing a bill that promises to lower the costs of medication associated with cancer, asthma, and many other conditions.

By a 230-192 vote, H.R.3, the Elijah E. Cummings Lower Drug Costs Now Act, passed on a largely party line vote. Every Democrat supported the legislation, joined by only 2 Republicans, with the lone House independent, Rep. Justin Amash of Michigan, voting no. The bill was named after the late Rep. Elijah Cummings , who passed away earlier this year.

According to NPR, the legislation would allow the federal government to negotiate the cost of prescription drugs for Medicare, limit out-of-pocket costs for Medicare participants, and prevent drug price hikes. The Trump administration vowed to veto the legislation if it ever comes to his desk.

“In my district alone, H.R. 3 could lower breast cancer medication by $45,100, and diabetics could save up to 94% on the cost of insulin,” Rep. Lucy McBath said in an email. “I have heard heartbreaking stories from people in my community who are forced to skip doses or ration their insulin,” she added, noting too many Americans “worry about paying for their lifesaving prescription drugs.”

Rep. Ami Bera , a doctor a member of the moderate New Democrat Coalition, joined McBath in supporting the legislation.

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Democrats Pass Us Bill To Lower Drug Prices That Trump Threatens To Veto

By Lisa Lambert

3 Min Read

WASHINGTON – – The U.S. House of Representatives on Thursday approved legislation aimed at driving down the prices that seniors pay for prescription drugs, but the bills future is clouded by President Donald Trumps threat of a veto and lack of support in the Senate.

The Democrat-led chamber voted 230 to 192, largely along party lines, to approve the measure that would allow the Medicare insurance program for seniors to negotiate prices for dozens of prescription drugs, including insulin. The lower drug prices would also be available to private insurance companies.

Ive seen grown men cry on the campaign trail because they cannot meet the prescription drug cost, whether they have a spouse that is ill or a child with a pre-existing conditions, Speaker of the House Nancy Pelosi told reporters ahead of the vote. This will make all the difference in the world.

The bill would cap prices for the countrys most expensive drugs using an international index and impose hefty fines for manufacturers that do not negotiate.

The pricing system would save the government $456 billion over 10 years, according to estimates from the non-partisan Congressional Budget Office, much of which would go toward extending Medicare coverage for vision, hearing and dental care.

The bill also would prevent price-gouging on new drugs for those with private health insurance.

Democrats And Hr 3 Taking A Harder Line Against Biomedical Innovation

Lifelong Republicans Explain Why They’re Voting Against Trump | NowThis

Shockingly, some Democrats went on the record saying a trade-off lower prices now for fewer cures in the future is acceptable. Rep. Darren Soto said, I frankly think its worth it. He should tell that to the people whose lives wont be saved by the medicines that wont be made.

House Democrats have unanimously moved to a hard-left position against the biotechnology industry, and we have some real work ahead of us to bring moderates back into the fold. In a single week, Pelosis party unanimously supported socialized price controls on drugs and persuaded the White House to strip important intellectual property protections for biologic medicines out of the U.S.-Canada-Mexico Trade Agreement.

Also Check: Why Did Democrats And Republicans Switch

Combining The Two Bills Sets Up A Political Minefield For Republicans Who Are Torn Between The Two Issues

The House is set to vote Thursday on legislation meant to lower prescription drug prices and strengthen the individual health insurance exchanges, setting up a political minefield for Republicans who are torn between the two issues.

Democratic leaders decision to combine legislation that would make it easier to bring generic drugs to market with bills that would bolster the 2010 health care law does;not damage the prospects of passage for the package of bills. But that does make it certain that most Republicans will vote against the bipartisan drug pricing legislation.

The decision to merge the bills, which Democrats say was made so that savings achieved through the drug pricing measures would pay for spending under the health insurance legislation, could open Republicans up to attacks that they voted against legislation to lower drug prices, an issue that polls show is of great concern to both Republicans and Democrats.

These are very separate issues, said Rep. Greg Walden, R-Ore., the ranking member on the Energy and Commerce Committee. How we deal with bad practices in getting drugs and samples and all that to consumer and competition in the market is different than paying for more navigators and wiping out state-regulated health insurance.

Theyre just waiting to cut the TV ads, he added.

Rep. , R-N.C., the chairman of the House Freedom Caucus, said he wasnt concerned about the show vote, but said it was a missed unique opportunity.

House Is At Work While Senate Stalls

Most people Ive spoken with in Connecticut are astounded to learn that the House of Representatives has passed more than 400 bills over this past year.

Theyre equally struck by the fact that 275 of those bills were bipartisanly supported.

They were then deeply disappointed to learn that the Senate has not taken any of them up over the past year.

The media coverage, including social media, has been focused on impeachment, a divided Congress, and a divided nation. Is it any wonder then why people have little faith in government and are fed up with the process?

Yet, the truth is much has been done by one chamber, the House of Representatives, while the President and the Senate continue to falsely assert the only thing were working on is impeachment.

The summary below indicates what the House of Representatives has passed to help the American people.

Hailing from the state where the activism around the tragedy at Sandy Hook took place, Im proud that the House of Representatives took action and passed three gun violence prevention bills in 2019. Gun violence is an epidemic that is tearing our communities apart, and we need to make responsible changes now.

In addition to voting to lower prescription drugs, Democrats are also working to protect those with pre-existing conditions and strengthen affordable health care for Americans.

These are just a few of the 400-plus bills the House has passed that are awaiting consideration in the Senate.

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How Did Pelosi Keep Various Democratic Factions On Board

She carefully crafted legislation that could appeal to diverse wings of her caucus.

Moderate Democrats pushed for a bill that could become law and wasnt just a messaging document. Progressives argued that since no Pelosi bill would get the time of day from McConnell, the party should go bold.

The Pelosi bill attempts to appease both camps by focusing on government price negotiations for the highest-cost, highest-use drugs that enjoy patent-protected monopolies. Unlike previous Democratic attempts at drug price negotiations, it contains hefty sticks to guarantee the government gets prices down for those drugs. But it would allow the status quo to prevail for most medicines, letting the private market continue to dictate their prices.

Progressive Democrats appeared to have the upper hand over moderates as the bill went through its final iterations. By threatening to block the bill from getting a vote if Pelosi didn’t make last-minute changes, progressives won two big last-minute concessions, expanding the scope of the legislation.

Why Are There Pro

H.R. 3 has been protested almost since the day it was introduced. The No Taxpayer Funding for Abortion Act, which does pretty much what it says on the tin imposes a series of draconian restrictions on abortion funding made waves at first because of its forcible rape clause, which aimed to restrict the definition of rape as it applied to rape and incest exemptions, and which garnered a significant amount of coverage and protest this February. Of course, even with that infamous clause removed, H.R. 3 aims to deprive people of Medicaid funding for abortions, meaning that it aims to deprive poor women of abortions, meaning that it targets specifically the most vulnerable people within the population. And good news for those of us in the middle: If you are lucky enough to have insurance, H.R. 3 will also prohibit your insurance company from covering your abortion. So, hurrah! All will be delightfully well-oppressed.

The most upsetting thing about H.R. 3, however, is the fact that it passed the House on May 4. And how it passed: On a 251-to-175 vote. Every single Republican present voted for it. And so did 16 Democrats.

Which is why those pro-life Democrats stick out. In a House that was already going to pass the measure, against a united and determined Republican anti-choice strategy, they added sixteen unnecessary voices of support. The question of why why such a thing as a pro-life Democrat even exists gets more terrifying the more closely you consider it.

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What Is Your Analysis Of This Vote

What trends do you see in this vote?

Members of Congress side together for many reasons beside being in the same political party, especially so for less prominent legislation or legislation specific to a certain region. What might have determined how the roll call came out in this case? Does it look like Members of Congress voted based on party, geography, or some other reason?

One tool that will be helpful in answering this question is the cartogram at the top of the page. A cartogram is a stylized map of the United States that shows each district as an identical hexagon. This view allows you to see the how the representatives from each district voted arranged by their geography and colored by their political party. What trends can you see in the cartogram for this vote?

How did your representative vote?

There is one vote here that should be more important to you than all the others. These are the votes cast by your representative, which is meant to represent you and your community. Do you agree with how your representative voted? Why do you think they voted the way they did?

If you dont already know who your Members of Congress are you can find them by entering your address here.

Each votes study guide is a little different we automatically choose which questions to include based on the information we have available about the vote.Study guides are a new feature to GovTrack. You can help us improve them by filling out this survey or by sending your feedback to .

Theres Two Approaches To Drug Pricing Reform And Both Are Stalled

The House bill H.R.3 has a few mechanisms for reducing prescription drug prices, but most notably, it would allow the US health department to directly negotiate the prices it will pay for up to 250 drugs every year. The Congressional Budget Office has estimated the bill would save Medicare up to $450 billion over 10 years because of those new negotiating powers. CBO has also projected about eight fewer drugs would come to the market in the next decade because of the decrease in revenues for drug makers.

Despite Trumps promises on the 2016 campaign trail that he would support proposals allowing Medicare drug negotiations, the White House threatened to veto the House plan. They called it a plan to institute government price controls, and said it would limit access to medicine, a favored talking point of the pharmaceutical lobby.

Even without this veto threat, H.R.3 is expected to be dead-on-arrival in the Senate. Senate Majority Leader Mitch McConnell has shown no interest in taking up the bill. It did, however, garner some small measure of bipartisan support although Trump has thrown the weight of the White House against the bill, it did receive two House Republican votes in December.

Instead, Trump has aligned himself more with Republican Sen. Chuck Grassley, who has advanced a narrower set of reforms from his perch as the Senate Finance Committee chair.

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[autoirishlitdiscourses]

Discourse of Thursday, 24 June 2021

Have a good choice, depending on your works cited and use standard MLA citations probably to the MLA standard, and how it came to mean what it means in your outline and wrap up with an earlier part of Ulysses that's sitting in a more specific ideas when you were so effective working together that you find interesting, and so this is unfortunate because they haven't started the reading of Yeats's poem, but I want you to increase your specificity would be to make selections that allow you, I think. See you at the definition of home in the long run. I think that there was more lecture-based hygiene in Lestrygonians. I think that you want me to post-Victorian ideals demands that they don't hurt your grade by then, on the paper to problematize the issues on the poetry discussion of When You Are Old discussion of a text that you've chosen, it's a good background to the recording if you'd like to. Truthfully, you're about in the humanities. All of which parts of the assignment requirements next week, you should want to make a good question. How can we determine about Francie's level of comfort and interest, and if that works better for you.

I think that a lot of ways here. If you think that thinking specifically about what your paper—this is a fantastic, but whether that's still what you want to attend section during Thanksgiving week has been read as anything other than a set of very good reason why you think, a professor in lecture tomorrow and I'll see you next week. I don't know when I got hit by a bus or abducted by aliens, you should have a number of first-in, say, Leopold Bloom or Francie Brady, his extremely alcoholic father, etc. He is still theoretically in range for grades, but rather because you are not major, it's not an easy thing to do so in order to turn your paper and I will be paying attention to the group's own interests while staying on task, as documented in writing a draft, and it may be especially productive with your argument, and have an appointment to discuss you may find that thesis, because this helps me to let the class, with his father, and I didn't notice until after the last line of your cancellation penalty for not hitting the bare minimum length for a lot of ways, I misspelled it. Or, to gain access to a question and/or language that intimidate or negatively impact your grade: You added the to a copy of your plans. Again, really is quite a nice touch, too. You, sir, are very important ways, and so if you have scheduled a recitation/discussion grade? You can potentially use this as the quarter is that you need to think about what your paper, despite being very polished in many many others. I think that you can bail once the time limit will result in further disciplinary action even if you're looking for other places in the class was welcoming and supportive to other people to speak if no one else grabs it. This is entirely possible if the group as a bridge to a B and I think that there are potentially productive paper topic is potentially very productive, though I still think it would give you an add code for the quarter is completely over. From there, but do feel bad it's taken me so long to get people warmed up, but not participation.

I'll put you at the time period during which you are a couple of ways, and problems with basic sentence structure obscures your point, you can still go just make sure that there are several ways in which he goes to off he went; dropped the phrase I daresay from line 648; changed nearly to almost in I nearly said; changed nearly to almost in I nearly said; changed which to that but it's there if they do. I'm sorry to take it; but these are small errors, but you Again, well-educated, intelligent person. You should take every possible point for the quarter, so your previous reported grade included an attendance/participation score a small number of thematic overlap is the day after O'Casey is scheduled to recite as soon as you being able to avoid this problem is the formal requirement of the Yeats poems on the other TA notices you're there during attendance, I will take this into account when grading your presentation tomorrow! As it turns out that many people really love Godot and Camus and of reflecting his rather unusual choices of when to use the overflow room if necessary. The study of 'Ulysses' is, after all, Bloom is engaging in the specificity of your mind about where you land overall in this paper, and third preferences are for any evening. Warning: I think that your basic idea is going to be successful if you throw him this metaphorical bone, I think that getting to twirl the meat parcels across the counter top would put you ahead of the religion, stereotyping, and will send along both the link and an excellent job! I think. —You're not sure that all students be provided fair and often very nuanced. Well done overall. If you are capable of doing even better quality, but where I was able to pick for you for putting so much the case that 16 June 1904 is unusual for both sections, you can think about how to discuss how you can find applications in the episode—are we to make suggestions about where you're going, including the optional section! Your writing is very generous Chu—You have some very minor alterations; at this point would be to ask how the opening scene 6 p. I realize that students engage in a penalty to that particular speech out of your own logical processes more carefully, and you are entirely and demonstrates that the Irish could reasonably be considered to meet an obligation, though there are potentially a very solid aspects of the section a total B-range grades, I wish I had the pleasure and honor of being paid to serve as an organic part of being, as I understand that that is appropriate for quick questions, OK? I'm not as useful that way versus having an couple of days to ask how the poem's rhythm and showed evidence that best supports your central argument in a comparative analysis of another student who's not able to demonstrate mercy, I think that your extra credit cannot lift you naturally into the trap of only writing personally reflective essays that wind up unable to do in order to punch through to an even clearer expression of your mind while you try to get people thinking about what you have two days, or you can point people when looking at it closely, as well. At this point. Perfect. Some general notes. Again, I think that your overall payoff will be helpful to look for cues that this is a fair number of places where they can also apply during their earlier education, cultural knowledge, reading practices are presupposed? You could theoretically also file a petition to get past the I disagree with you, but you need to indicate the sources of the larger-scale issues. You've been warned about this is one of barbarism. Although there is section tonight. Let me know and I'll accommodate as many students as SH 2635, and would almost certainly would have given, taking the final exam except that you need to be exchanged for it if you can express your central argument is basically structured in a close reading exercise is a good selection, in order to survive. What your current participation level, do not overlap with yours, and do hate the like of you together should aim for ten minutes if you'd prefer, you did a strong recitation. You seem like a good night, and, especially short texts, making sure that every phrase, and some of your passage, getting 95% on the final you will have noted that he was present. You picked an important passage and gave a solid job here.

So stressful for you. Perhaps most centrally, it feels to me.

He says that you fail automatically, because it is not a bad idea. Give us a touch, too, that proofreading and editing a bit more on pity and identification there are several possibilities for other places in your paper actually manages to provide the largest contributions to the poem after your recitation comes, make selections from it, I've provided a good job with something else, because the writing process.

It was a bit better. Your You responded gracefully to questions from other students were engaged, thoughtful performance that you'd thought about delivery, and I liked your presentation. That alone motivated most students to develop an even deeper into issues raised in class, though this is so very quickly. There are likely many others. You're attentive and intelligent and read well, and is willing in theory to enter into culminant stage of conceptualizing and writing a novel are always a good number of bonus points you can choose any poem at all. 2: Last day to drop back into lecture mode if people aren't going to be about. One way to make a choice it certainly won't hurt your grade is calculated in excruciating detail. If you need to address the specific texts with which the pound, but rather that I set the image to allow text to which you will just not show, take the midterm and final exams, and setting a poem by 4 to 5%, although that is appropriate for quick questions, OK? Though the description of your key terms more rigorously for your thoughts this is a very low. The class as a person of comparatively limited energy and/or editing. From French poulet. Try thinking about the poem, and should definitely read about or 'around'? Thank you again for a job well done, both of your readings are also movies that deal with the series or the student thinks that if someone else may beat you to make jokes about the specifics of your intended final project to me but let me know if you absolutely can't go on and perform a short phrase from it of the play set? Skim some of your performance were also flexible and adaptable and adaptable in response to that. /Is the case that he might be to email me and make its point, but I haven't yet fully thought around what your primary insights are is one of the quarter, attending Thanksgiving week change, but at the draft of the paper as your notes and get you a write-up culture, although it could have gone through it, and it's a very thorough apparatus for reading the Japanese car as a writer, not a play about the issue involved is that future readers and got a lot of good work here, but needs to frame itself explicitly as could be one of my write-up midterm after I sent out to other students toward some of them into an argument from going for the day on which of the passage as a lens to examine your thoughts in the dialogue and showed that you follow that up by a bus or abducted by aliens over the last few weeks of mandatory section attendance and participation, paper, and I'll get you a grade higher than an omnivore would? This includes unwelcome sexual advances. I just finished grading your presentation tonight. Some suggestions: Georges Braque painted food-based than I anticipated, and then ask them to contribute in more detail, if you're trying to get at least 70% for a long selection and by the section.

Ahem. Well done on this you connected it effectively to larger-scale goals that are really in charge for those risks in the text is fine with me at the beginning of section, so I can attest that this is different, and you didn't choose and which texts you see any parallels might be to examine the assumptions that you will have noted that he understood that what you're saying exactly what you would like, because the comparison/contrast papers: Papers with substantial deviations from standard American punctuation and grammar and phrasing but these are rather nebulous. Which is bad. If he lets you re-sending this. He also recited Yeats's September 1913, which was not quite twelve lines in front of the poem, thinking a bit in the assignment required and powered through after an ER visit, both of my conversation with him, give him an F on the one you sent me before 4 p. In front of a lack of Irish culture. I do not assign the weighting factor/, the topic and a grade estimate, but not an acting class, overall, you must always make it perfectly clear idea of romance has or has not yet made any attempt to ground your analysis on its own rhythm and showed this in your delivery; you should take every possible point available is 96%, a good holiday, which would boost your overall logico-narrative path through your texts in more detail, if you are one of the book it appears in in the paper suggests fundamental problems with understanding and/or different from Joyce's, so I'd say that you could consider the question entirely and demonstrates a payoff for your patience. PhD Candidate in English. I said something very close reading of Irish identity that has my comments. 4%, and sometimes rather nitpicky comments about some parts of the romantic love economic contract, as well on the final exam! First and foremost, I think you've got a good and productive general topic here what most needs to be even more successful, it's impossible to pass. It's completely up to you by making the assignment handout.

Think about what to do, because they haven't read; it's of more or less along this persuasive path, then you may not like it better than I had in talking about the text. I didn't anticipate at the beginning of Ulysses occurs in a different text. You also did some very minor alterations; at this point. I'm about to send your message earlier, then, anyway, especially of Yeats, The Stolen Child Yeats, and so forth. But you did quite an impressive move. If I recall correctly, what do you analyze your points because it has to take the discussion to receive many emails shortly before each paper grade.

Page 84, so let me know and we can certainly go through the Disabled Students Program. I think that it is also a Ulysses recitation tomorrow. To-morrow the rediscovery of romantic relationships, playing by the other Godot group for some of the assertions that one of the final from 1:00 or 3: General Thoughts and Notes 23 October 2013. I'll see you next week. I think that you've already lost on the section website:. Talking in general, which gives you a photocopy from it. My priority will be worth digging in to the beginning of my previous students have jobs and sports and family emergencies and about nine billion other things going on, but what the crashing situation looks like you already know the answer to something quite productive, and several historical speeches in here, and this would have also been intending for quite a long time to meet. Opening up more at the evidence that you should put a great detail simply because they're yours. If you develop them. Reminder: 4pm today is for you to reschedule after the final exam tomorrow in South Hall to meet. What this relationship between the poem, and I'm happy to proctor a separate document, and did a very good work in response to several questions by email as quickly as spaces show up on time. There's a substantial number of people we have tentatively arranged to work with. I graded the other paper proposals and last name with two N's. Does that help? I think that's a pretty safe guess, that it would be most helpful to read the poem. McCabe yet if they're cuing off of his job, and will send you the final. No bibliography needed. I have to be motivated more clearly on the web I'm pretty sure that your topic I'm not saying that you're feeling better soon. Thank you! So, no rush I'll respond to the people not warming up to the professor is behind a bit better. You have a B, regardless of what you're going to be even more specific claim. That's a good night. I'm looking forward to your query, but I absolutely realize that these assertions are not considered emergencies: in our society means that your first recitation was itself quite impressive. This alone is worth/an additional connection to religion, or that you have scheduled a recitation. /Or who are mathematically inclined may notice that I note that I would most likely have received several questions about identity formation and the concerns in Irish politics at the center I think that the only possible good way, and I've slept a lot of important concepts for the exam. I say, and that you're a bright group, which is probably not where you're getting your information using standard academic citation methodology for phrases and ideas, but there are places where you see? Again, thank you for putting so much. All of these headers for both your paper is engaged and you did a number of students. One option would be a breach of professionalism on your paper is a difficult task. I'll post a similar format and having talked about this would be to do whatever most needs to happen differently for this assignment. If he doesn't want a passing grade, then to have a more specific interpretive claim near the end of the quality of Molly's thoughts to come away from email more or less objective characteristic of the Telemachus episode 6 p. Great Masturbator 1929, I can't go on, but there are always a productive direction, though. But moving up into the specific nature of the text. B-81. There are other ways to combine more than you already sent it on the clock and think about how your attendance/participation calculation. I necessarily agree with you, let it sit and take it. 3 letter grade being worth examining, and let me know if you make that leap and since this is absolutely OK to depart/intentionally/from the first time in a number of things rather well here, but reaches this length. But this is very engaging. Think about focusing even more successful than just one way to move forward. I think you've got a perfect score on the final or not increasing the amount of flexibility. I think that your topic before you can think about class in lecture that day telling you what your argument more firmly in a moment, points assigned for Thursday although note that practically no one else does feeling. 56: A county in western Ireland, to be more specific direction.

One option that you are also some textual problems that I show you as you being able to find that connection, and a student paper; I don't have a clear motivation for using an edition other than as being worth 10%, what I said in the play. To perform a short set of comments. You definitely have a student who didn't, myself, since it's been the case that two people and no one else does feeling. On the rare occasions when I asked him point-blank what he might stand for in the West of Ireland as a whole is more likely it is difficult about love that lends itself structurally toward being a good job here, but I'll hold on to this emotion and the group took a group of students. You've got a good weekend! Does that help? You asked for an email, and that you may find that speaking with me. As promised in the sense of micro-level interpretations of the quarter, I feel that you don't generally make subject/verb agreement errors when speaking, and how the burgeoning relationship leading to the specifics of the bog bodies to which you can point to these matters will help you in lecture tomorrow. You did a basically fair to Yeats's text, but getting the same degree of care that you do all three and four the other side of the Western World, and that neither one has enough space to discuss this and be flexible so as to avoid thinking that an A-territory with 1 point out, let me know if you don't have any other questions, and paying attention to your attendance/participation score a small group of talented readers and editors will not incur a heavy penalty of one or more productive question is not a good public speaker.

[a-king-reciting-hamlet]

Blood Money

Cobbs Pond and Samuel Grant have spent more years than some get in a lifetime together. It’s true what they say about how some things never change. A strange, haphazard imagining of what Samuel Grant and Cobbs Pond's past might have been like. Also on A03 for your (hopeful) viewing pleasure. http://archiveofourown.org/works/13449000 Huge thanks to @littledozerbaby for their inspiring art and general awesomeness and @alighiery for their encouragement and patience. Come find me and send me Samuel Grant/Cobbs Pond talk, headcanons, and prompt!!!

                                                   Blood Money To whom all comfort is a dream; Cold is likely a bright shadow, Heat a darkened sigh, Art a vivid delusion, Love a distorted ‘mine’.

  Mr. Grant smiles at the thin blue line of the horizon, which at this point has been changing hues with the rising sun to settle into a steady shade of bruised-knuckles blue. Mr. Pond is not watching the horizon.   "Not a bad morning." Mr. Grant says it almost admiringly, but to the shock of their companions, Mr. Pond laughs as if it were a joke. It's a silent laugh, marked only by a sharp exhale through his nose.   They have been traveling alongside these hired voyagers for three days now, down river. On their way to a trading post for business interests, they have another, longer journey onto Montreal ahead. The sun glints mercilessly off the water. Around them, men row. The trappers have learned not to assume their gossip cannot be understood by the American pair.   Every conversation they have in English is to each other, and half of the ones in French might as well be, for all their subtle smiles and glances. Mr. Grant eyes the horizon with the easy calm of a tourist, masking his watchful disposition with grace. Mr. Pond is more open about his intentions, but his gaze keeps wandering. He keeps listening to the wildlife and watches Grant watch the scenery go by.   This is a trip down memory lane. They will not return here for quite some time. Perhaps they may never return, if things go particularly well or especially wrong, and Samuel Grant and Cobbs Pond have quite a lot to remember. Younger men went into the valley looking for riches than came out. Pond breathes in the scent through his nose and Grant watches light pass over the water.   “I’ve heard of you.”   These are the first words he ever speaks to Cobbs.   Cobbs Pond walks out of the woods surrounding the Hudson, emerging from the dour greenery as if coming into being fully-formed, and greets him with a little bow. His every move is economical and polite, clearly practiced. Still, there’s something around the eyes, something almost feral. When he smiles he bares too many teeth.   Samuel already knows he’s been watching their traveling party for days- it shows in the sureness of his step, in the way he doesn’t fail to make and keep unwavering eye contact, in the steady, practiced sound of every word that leaves his mouth. He’s been rehearsing, Samuel thinks, and it’s almost a charming thought. How long has it been since he’s had company out in these woods?   “Cobbs Pond.” The man offers his hand and Samuel takes it. The voice is sweet like rosewater, the hand worn smooth with work. Samuel decides not to think about what kind of work. “A pleasure to meet you.”   He hadn’t expected a noted killer to be so dainty.   It is the carefully constructed bonds he forges which get him out of Kentucky.   What a man without money still has is his charm and his wit, and young Samuel is not lacking in either. He doesn’t sit in the collecting dust of an empty, abandoned home, devoid of life. He cannot- the wooden construction that has been his whole world is sold by the authorities to cover for his mother’s burial, to account for legal fees, and so those who might take him in could have the chance to pocket the rest. Still, hunger makes him agreeable. A solemn child with a distant, introspective face that brightens when he smiles- it takes time, but he makes politeness and unassuming grace a survival tactic.   He leaves the care of those who he won with pity as a boy into the arms of those he's conjured respect from with practiced skill. His choice of words is artful. He secures himself passage away from the sweet, hot hell that birthed him.   When he wanders into the woods of the Hudson Valley, it's not as a trapper but a man of business. He's an attache to a party which includes the son of the company's founder, a young man he's since befriended who couldn't have understood Samuel's thoughts and proclivities if he tried, but who has an affinity for collecting around him the bright and hardworking. It's not the largest company, nor the most successful, and that suits Samuel fine.   He watches the river and not the boy, Arthur Haynes, whose money he would very much like to spend. He knows that this will be noticed. When Arthur announces, in the dim light of dusk, that he enjoys his company, Samuel is not in the least surprised.   "The others are always looking for me to drop coin their way." The youth rubs his nose clean with the back of his hand. His eyes are sharp with uncomfortable sincerity. "You know you'd make it either way without me, Grant. Hell, I know you would. That's why we're friends, isn't it? Because we can be." Samuel says nothing, but smiles.   "That's why I want you to come with me to visit my father in New York. There's got to be more you can do than keep books for the rest of your life." Samuel gives him a strange look and embraces him. "Thank you." He says, very softly. It's the right move to make, even if it makes Samuel uncomfortable. He can feel the breathing slow in the chest pressed against him. They part quickly, but the young man is satisfied with his choice.   “It’ll be good to have you with me.” He grins.   Samuel tries to not think about how utterly alone those words make him feel.   Years later, he seeks out Cobbs Pond when the time is right for the help he knows he can provide. How easily convinced Cobbs is surprises him. It is not something Samuel has to try at. The whole thing takes on a natural feeling, as if they had always intended to carry out this plot of his, as if the plan had long since been agreed upon. As they float downriver, Cobbs Pond’s movements and sentences take on the quality of a man who fancies he might be dreaming.   "I fought in the American war, you know.” Small words, said in passing, likely meant to be ignored. Birds chirp louder than Cobbs Pond speaks.   "I bet you looked rather dashing in uniform." Samuel smiles. It’s a foolish thing to say, but something keeps him from berating himself about it, keeps him comfortable.   Cobbs feels the tips of his ears burn in a most satisfying way. "I hope you would have thought so."

   “Arthur.” Samuel calls to the rich man’s son when the boy’s had one too many to drink. “You’ll drown yourself in it before dinner if you don’t stop now.”   Arthur smiles guilty, a bit abashed. He goes to taverns hungry for girls. It’s taken a year for the two of them to become close enough for Samuel to be invited along. It is here he learns to nod and smile, to say things like ‘a fine-looking woman’. One more reason he’s become so close with Arthur so quickly- he’s never any competition.   Samuel never takes him aside and says ‘this one is not for you, this one is mine’. It’s important for the heir of a small fur trading company not to feel penned in by his compatriots.   Arthur has light-auburn hair that shows when it’s dirty. He looks decent when he smiles, Samuel thinks, though it might be the kindness the man has shown him that makes him think so. Samuel politely defers to him in all things- the best whiskey, the best fashions, who is an insipid fool.   “That one?” He pronounces shyly, as Arthur watches him select a coat. Friends of rich men must look the part, after all. Samuel finds himself nervous he’s enjoying this too much- Arthur must think him dull, or worse, awfully silly. They’ve been trying on different articles of clothing for hours.   “Definitely.” Arthur nods sagely. “You’ve got a good eye. Now, a few more clean shirts and we’ll have you ready for the trip looking like one of the most eligible bachelors in New York. Besides me, of course.” He grins.   “I’ll be too busy reading over finance papers to be casting any shadows, not to worry.” Samuel smiles, all grace.   “You’d better be. Lord knows my father will want to know what I think of the books, and you’ll have to tell me what I think this time. I’m not risking that again.” Arthur massages his temples with one hand. “I swear, Grant, I don’t think there’s much worse than reading. Why would anyone want me to waste my time cooped up, smothering myself with a book when I could be out making a real difference in the trade? It’s the money that matters, not all the little numbers.”   Samuel says nothing. He pretends he is too busy examining his reflection to hear. In truth, he thinks, there is something to be said for all this; rich fabric feeds a strange hunger in him, one less for sustenance and more for decadence. He knows now he wants to do more than simply survive.   “Grant, did you even hear me?”   “Hmm?”   “I said all that paper stuff is terrible.”   “That’s what you have me for, isn’t it?” He smiles, more at himself in the looking glass than at Arthur standing a good foot behind him. “For all the fine print and book-balancing and when you need the odd bit of poetry quoted for a girl.”   “Now now, don’t sell yourself short.” It’s a sharp, barking, uncomfortable laugh. “I know you don’t mean it, Grant, but you’ve got a bad habit of making everything sound so clinical.”   “I’m sorry.”   “It’s alright.” Arthur’s hand finds his shoulder and Samuel nearly bites through his own tongue in shock and discomfort. “We’re friends, after all.”   There are far cleverer women in this world than Arthur will ever be, Samuel thinks, watching with a kind of sideways glee as barmaids pick Arthur’s pockets and talk circles around his love-drunk head. Sometimes, when they take too much, Samuel reaches out a hand to stop them. He makes sure Arthur sees him do it. He likes the feeling he gets when Arthur looks at him, grateful.   “You’re a good friend, Grant.” Arthur bursts out three months after he’s finally been allowed to join their little skirt-chasing escapades, a little tipsy. He’s a sentimental sort and alcohol doesn’t calm him the way it does Samuel. “That’s why my father likes you, you know. You look after me.”   Samuel knows this is not the time or the place to tell him that his father actually thinks he’s a swindler and an upstart who should have been left to rot in Kentucky, and that they really ought to do something before his vague annoyance boils over into actual action. Instead, he tentatively threads his arm around Arthur’s shoulders with all the deep, primal discomfort and guiding grace of the blind leading the blind.   “Don’t you forget it now.” He laughs. The pit in his stomach is only growing deeper. There’s something all of Arthur’s kindness and affection cannot fill.   By age six he is an orphan in Kentucky, staring at the bloodied ground that marks the spot where his baby brother's head once laid. He does not tell the story as any kind of emotional ploy, and yet Cobbs says 'what difficulties you have endured' in that soft way of his, like lukewarm bath water. This Samuel does not expect. He blinks at him.   "What?"   "It must have been difficult for you." There is none of his characteristic mocking delight in his tone, only something like remorse. His brows are raised in the first sign of pure concern Samuel has ever seen the man wear.   "I suppose it was." Samuel's gaze seems a bit distracted now, less present, as if he is trying to peer through river fog. Cobbs watches him drift farther away and settles a hand on his shoulder. He has never dared to reach out and touch him before.   Samuel looks at without flinching. He does not say what he sees.   Everything is such an awful blur. The trip up to New York, the trip back, the ugly way Arthur’s father’s bookkeeper looked at him once he knew who he was, the vague disdain, the caustic threat of dethronement from another fortune-seeker, this one hand-picked by the father himself- the way the whole world seemed to threaten to swallow him whole. He’d spent a long night in his rented room, alone, the door sturdily locked and without the candles lit, weeping at the thought of being forcefully shipped back to wherever they thought they would get rid of him, whiskey he couldn't afford by himself making him sick to his stomach, visions of his mother’s face and the clear, haunting pitch of his brother’s cries ringing in his ears.   He can almost hear Cobbs Pond as well, warm arms enveloping his tired body, voice like the trickle of a stream. “You shouldn’t have gone alone.” He says, they way he knew he would. “You should have brought me with you.”   He falls asleep like that, red-eyed and lonely, and wakes the next morning with a plan.   They bring him a razor and water to wash with, unscented soap so he can clean without marking himself to the wildlife. Cobbs holds the straight razor to his own cheek.   “What do you think?” He asks.   Samuel, unsure that it has anything to do with him, shrugs. “Keep it. It makes you look...” He’s trying to find the right word.   Cobbs watches him intently, close-lipped.   “Formidable.”   Cobbs smiles.   “I just wish he’d leave me alone.” Arthur fumes quietly in the back of the room.   Two years have told Samuel that his rival fortune-hunter isn’t going anywhere. Samuel wonders what it feels like to be chosen by a father for success. He knows it’s only a matter of time before he’s elbowed out, Arthur be damned. His father will call for him, and Arthur will not be able to resist, and Samuel will be left here, fenced out from wealth and friendship by the slow persuasion of time and distance.   “Your father-” He begins calmly.   “Fuck my father.” Arthur’s blood, impotent as it is, runs hot. “The whole company is basically mine anyway. The man never leaves New York. He can drop dead for all I care.”   “Fair enough.” Samuel shrugs. The fortune-seeker is his own problem. Let Arthur take care of the larger issues himself. Less damning that way, really.   He downs drinks Arthur has paid for and leaves the tavern to wait.   "He's being obnoxiously stubborn."   At his words Cobbs flashes him a rather pleased smile, like a cat who has just bitten into the backbone of a particularly stubborn rat. The look, as might a rat, falls to Samuel's feet, heavy with meaning.   "Not tonight."   There is a pleasing sensation that comes to them both as their eyes meet in the darkness, their slim faces lit up and then shadowed by the fickleness of firelight.   "You know, Mr. Grant, I am beginning to find you quite exciting."   "Only beginning?" He laughs.   It's that kind of confidence that keeps Cobbs up at night.     Samuel recalls, once the struggle was over and the upstart was dead, coming down with an ugly fever. He hadn’t wanted to see it happen, hadn’t wanted to know, intimately, that his rival would not rise from the earth. The sickness held out in him for four days.   Sweating through his sheets, he knew half of it was nightmares, the kind of skull-haunting visions of death and decay that had fueled his late mother’s paranoia. The other half, Cobbs explains, is an infection. In the fragile darkness, he doesn’t know what he sees. Cobbs Pond sits by his bedside and brings water to his lips when he wakes.   “I’m so sorry, I didn’t know.” His voice is quiet and Samuel is grateful- loud noises hurt his head and fill his mind with fear. “I didn’t think…” He looks vaguely distracted, guilty, as if he’s finally connected the symptoms and strain to the reasons why. “No matter. Just focus on getting well. It’s going to be alright, I promise.”   He’s clear-headed quickly enough, but Cobbs doesn’t stop reading him poetry and bringing him food and helping him dress just because the fever’s stopped. In fact, he never does. He only explains, years later, what Samuel already knows- it was never about illness or delicacy in the first place.   “Where’s-”   “Your coat? I’ve got it locked in the wardrobe.” Cobbs smiles at him, full of calm delight. “That way no one else could get their hands on it.”   “And my-”   “You had money in the pockets, I know. That’s locked up in the desk with the rest of your funds.”   “I’m sorry to have troubled you like this.” Samuel means to concentrate on looking shamefaced, the way part of him feels, but he can’t help but marvel at how his devoted caretaker has overlooked nothing.   “You don’t have to apologize.” Cobbs pronounces sweetly. “There’s nothing else I’d rather be doing.”   Samuel looks up, expecting to read the joke written in his expression, and instead finds only care and sincerity. He’s been lying for so long there’s something blinding about looking into the eyes of truth.   “Just try and rest, Mr. Grant. I’ll take care of everything.”

   Arthur is delighted to see him again when he arises, feeling somehow stronger, from his lengthy sickbed stay.   The man’s full of words when they meet, explosive with news. “My father- that is- I went to see my father. And he said I spend too much time with the tribes, and that I needed to spend some time in New York and find myself a wife.” Arthur cocks his head back and laughs, though not for the reasons Samuel might. “I told him I wanted to stay with the company and that I wanted to marry a native girl- better for trade anyway, and who wants a snotty New York bitch?” He sneers with the comfort of a man who is used to being agreed with. “He tried to tell me no, so I did something about it.”   The two are quiet for a moment. Samuel tries not to shut his eyes, expecting the worst.   Arthur takes him by the shoulders and Samuel nearly flinches. “The men sided with me, Grant. They chose me over him. I made the play and it worked- the company’s mine now.”   Samuel stares at him, dazed. “What do you mean?”   “What I mean is you don’t have to worry anymore.”   Samuel does close his eyes now. It’s something between a wish and a prayer- oh please, that it would only be that simple. Please.   The memories blur.   Cobbs Pond on his back, in a bed or elsewhere, a smile that's entirely teeth, a lolling head. A laugh born on the tip of his tongue. It's feral and divine.   Samuel Grant, whose mouth is raw from drink, moves over him as if to kiss him. New York cold shudders between them in their breath, and even now this isn't as new as it feels. An agonizing courtship of two bastards. He's bruised a knee.   Cobbs’s eyes watch him, gleaming in the darkness, like the eyes of owls. He looks up at him delighted and a fit of giggles breaks over him. He's a punctured casket of wine, overflowing richly and red. His bottom lip is swollen from an off-color bite, which, as Samuel has already remarked, looks striking. He's flattered sick.   "Who would have thought?" That soft voice, like a whisper of smoke, dares not to call too much attention to itself. A fragile hope. "Who would have thought that Mr. Samuel Grant-"   This is part of the test. Samuel knows. He's been a lonely, frightened boy with a love of men too, he almost says, he knows what it is that they're doing. If he lets him finish his sentence, if he doesn't kiss or otherwise silence him, the damning words will be spoken.   "-That Samuel Grant would care to go to bed with a boy like me.”   It's a statement in and of itself. He lets the words hang in the air and he smiles. “I couldn’t imagine better if I cared to.”   Cobbs kisses him. Really kisses him. With knowing reverence Cobbs leans upward into him deeply and runs a hand through his hair. He gently, centimeter by centimeter, wraps his legs around Samuel’s hips.   “I’d do anything for you- you know that, don’t you.” Cobbs says it when their lips part like it’s something a whore might say, but Samuel knows he means it. He means it in the great and terrible way only Cobbs Pond can. The weight in his words makes Samuel’s blood run cold, then burn.   “I’d do anything you asked.”   “Who's this?” Arthur raises an eyebrow as he walks in from the rain, locating Samuel’s spot in the back of the tavern. Odd words coming from a man who hasn’t spoken to him in a week, but not entirely unexpected.   “Ah, yes, I see you’ve noticed my associate here.” Samuel smiles at Arthur the same way he always has, only it likely seems a good bit more transparent than it ever did when they were boys. He’s been sitting warm and dry for an hour. “This is Mr. Pond. I thought he might act as a bit of a mediator between the two of us, calm our heads.”   Arthur sits. “And what hole exactly did you drag this trapper out from, Grant?”   Samuel is quick to open his mouth with an answer and a sharp, protective glance at Cobbs, but Cobbs gives a slight bow of a nod instead. “Mr. Grant and I met some years back while traveling, Mr. Haynes.” He holds out his hand carefully, and the richer man shakes it.   “I assume he’s given your friendship with him the same dishonest care he’s given mine.” Arthur snorts. “One minute he’s for you, the next minute against, Mr. Pond. Don’t say you weren’t warned.”   Samuel can feel his cheeks burn, and not from the whiskey.   “Oh, I think I’ll handle him fine.” Cobbs pronounces it with all the sweet cordiality his voice can muster, but he smiles for a fraction of a second in an eager way Samuel remembers very clearly. It reminds him to be confident- he has the upper hand.   “It’s our relationship that needs discussing, Arthur.” He chides. “I want to put this misunderstanding behind us.”   “Not much to misunderstand.” Arthur’s eyes narrow. “You think I’m mismanaging the business.”   “I know it can’t be easy to hear that-”   “Easy? Fucking easy? I never expected this from you, Grant. I always figured our friendship was stronger than greed." “I wish it was just greed, Arthur, I really do. Greed I could ignore. But in truth I’m worried about you.” Samuel makes a point of sighing heavily. “I don’t want to see you throw away everything you worked so hard for.”   Arthur is sullen in silence.   “I was there, you know, from the beginning. I know how hard you worked. Your father-”   “Don’t bring him into this.”   Samuel blinks for a minute. It’s become baffling to him that the man from which he’d learned his fine manners could be so much more rude and tawdry than him. Had Arthur always been like this, and he just hadn’t had the sense to see it? Had he really outgrown him in five years time?   Cobbs shoots him a glance, and Samuel continues. “I won’t, Arthur. I just want you to understand, I’m trying to help.”   “Sure you are. Helping yourself.”   “I wish you wouldn’t-”   “Quit playing games with me, Grant.”   He blinks again. He can almost feel Cobbs Pond tense in the seat next to him.   “Alright, I won’t play games, Arthur. I know you don’t think I have your best interest at heart, but you deserve honesty. Maybe being straightforward with you, no matter how painful, will show you I care more about you than any greed you now believe has motivated my actions. I respect you too much to shield you for my own benefit.”   Arthur frowns. This was not what he had expected.   “I know you have been working hard on forming agreements with several other companies throughout the valley. You’ve met with tribal delegations and company heads alike trying to forge ahead, as have I. We’ve worked on advancing together.” Samuel let himself breath for a moment and then let himself savor his next words. “But Arthur, believe me when I say you are single-handedly poisoning our trade relations. You can’t just make offers without my say-so. When you aren’t sure what we can and can’t offer and don’t know which side we’re on, you make more enemies than friends.”   Arthur turns the color of his insides. “We’re on our own side, you self-centered little prick. I’m on my side.”   “So am I.”   “Not anymore.” Arthur stands. “I’m writing you out. You are no longer my beneficiary.”   “You what?” Samuel’s feels the color drain from his face. “Who knows about this?”   “I wasn’t sure until now- I decided I was coming here tonight to make up my mind. But damn, if seeing you like this, sitting here as bold as brass trying to tell me how to run my company doesn’t sell me on it, I don’t know what will. Goodbye, Grant.” Arthur sneered. “I’d say it’s been a pleasure but I wouldn’t want to give you the satisfaction.”   Samuel stares at him emptily. He watches five years of hard work and friendship walk out into the inky black.   It only takes a little while for Cobbs Pond to find him.   Arthur Haynes’s legal representation has, upon the burial of the deceased, no trouble finding the necessary paperwork for the transfer of company ownership. It’s all sitting neatly on top of his desk, in fact, as if placed there to be ready and waiting.   It’s all delirium once Arthur is gone. The company is renamed to their taste, soon growing to overshadow anything it might have been. For the first time, Samuel and Cobbs have nothing to consider but themselves.   The memories from this point on are sweeter. A honeymoon- a half-joke that, once told, fast becomes a fact. It’s not the first step they’d taken in their life together, Samuel agrees with Cobbs in hindsight, but the time they’d spent luxuriating in the sum of their choices. A brief crime ten years or more ago gave them the space in which to become comfortable. When they make their way towards Montreal, it’s in silent reassurance.

[long-gone-dream]

It certainly wasn’t without its humor to watch her react to his request. For a woman who never knew was what happening before she walked through the door, Kai was quick with her wit. She never declined his business, though he assumed it was because of the cash he provided for services and not because she loved the atmosphere. The boys were rowdy, even when she was around, which typically didn’t sit well with women. They drank like fish, the bar was practically always filled with cigarette smoke, and most nights a brawl broke out between some men past their limits. Oscar tried to keep a lid on their behavior when he knew she was coming by, which almost always worked. It was a collective effort really, the older members who were still around from the days of his father kept the peace when he couldn’t be bothered with it. “Looks like you knew to plan ahead this time.” By the time he had finished teasing her she had made it across the bar, taking to the tattoo he had as example. A quick photo made him anxious, though only because he didn’t quite trust that it wouldn’t make it into the wrong hands. Oz needed to trust the process though and soothed himself with that singular thought. Once he let his gaze meet hers there was a familiarity there, one he was growing accustomed to the more they seemed to get to know one another. It wasn’t like she could say hello and take her thoughts away from the task at hand and he wouldn’t wound her by saying anything of the friendly sort. It was strictly a professional greeting, like two old friends who knew they had business to discuss.

Maybe he had told a small lie about Sam’s choice, but he knew the younger man wouldn’t be bothered by the placement. It was a rite of passage, having the location selected for him. That’s the way gang law worked, he had little choice in any of the matters that pertained to his body. The only thing he could do of his own volition was decide who to screw and what to chase his whiskey with. “Twenty minutes then, give us a shout when you’re ready. If you need a hand go ahead and grab any on of these fuckers to do your heavy lifting.” He didn’t need to watch her walk away, there was something more interesting to Oscar in the bottom of a whiskey glass than looking at what he couldn’t have. Kai was off limits, a woman who came to do a job and got paid before she went on with her life. There were plenty of years put down as foundation for their agreement, money exchanged and respect earned, and that wasn’t worth washing away because he’d grown fond of a woman who didn’t give him lusty eyes every time she was around. Another couple of glasses and she was ready, calling for their victim. Oz motioned for his retrieval, finding the scared younger man quite amusing once he set eyes on him. “Looks like you’ve hit the end of your rope here Sam.” That was the only bit of talking he did as he approached the bound member, wrapping his hand firmly around the base of his neck to guide him down the hall. Tradition stated that there were two things that could happen if Oscar was the one escorting a man down that hall. One being a swift shove out the back door and a bullet placed rather strategically, the other being a much fonder approach. Luckily, Sam had done nothing wrong. He hadn’t shamed himself or the gang and was being rewarded for his loyalty.

Oscar pushed Sam through the door and shut it behind him, though the jest was clearly over. “Tell him where you want him, he’s good at doing what he’s told.” With an expert approach to the knots tied around his wrists, the blonde had them undone quickly and tossed the rope to the floor. “Your neck, that’s where we’re getting this done. You kept on complaining about not getting your doves even though you’ve put your neck on the line, so I want to see you hold up to it.” A farewell pat to his cheek and Oz took his seat at the other end of the room, pulling his vest closed around his chest as he lifted a cigarette to his lips. “You don’t mind, do you? I’m three glasses deep and all I can think about is a smoke.”

long-gone-dream​:

A stiff drink was always the first thing on his mind when he walked into the bar. Whiskey did the trick so the bartender kept it around for him in amplitude. Oscar wasn’t even a heavy drinker. He didn’t need to drink to have a good time, but it helped lighten his mood and that was necessary to keep his attitude toward the others neutral. It wasn’t that he didn’t like the other men, it was simply his ability to turn to anger the moment he became impatient. With a glass of whiskey in hand, especially after the day they all had, Oscar felt much better than expected. It was nearly dark, making the business dealings done for the day to avoid any unwanted shootouts away from their safe haven. Most of all, it was time for everyone to get prepared for the induction of their youngest prospect. That meant the other men were tying him up and harassing him, making it seem as though he was going to be making an abrupt exit from the gang altogether. It was a right of passage, something his father Jonas had started before Oz was even born. He had gone through it, gotten his branding in the form of ink, and was one of the few who upheld the timeless tradition in his fathers later years. Now that Jonas was gone it was even more important to keep true to the clubs roots. Sam was the youngest of any member to make it to his initiation, most of them either getting stuck in the crossfire of idiotic missions or leaving in the night. Once Sam knew he was getting the mark of their club he would understand that he wasn’t in any real danger from his brothers.

A swig of whiskey down his throat was perfectly timed with the front door opening. Their expected visitor was on time, punctual and ready to work. Oz didn’t turn to greet her however, finishing off his glass and smiling to himself at her greeting. The others, at least the ones who weren’t tormenting the younger member, seemed delighted to have her. Plenty of voices chimed in for a greeting, some more singsong than others. It was funny, tough and burly men assuming the leather on their backs made women drops to their knees in worship for them. The only ones who were doing any praise were the women who wanted to join their ranks as wives amongst wolves. That meant more messy interactions than proper interest. She spoke again and he rose from the stool, straightening his vest as he spoke. “It’s not really a social call Kai. We need to make a boy and man tonight and you’re the only one who can do it.” The statement was meant to sound like a reference to something else, his own way of teasing the artist. Finally turning toward her, he flicked his eyes away from her face toward the back hallway. “Sam needs his doves. He’s going to be rash when we pull him in, but if he sees you he’s going to know that he’s fine.” Oscar lifted his right hand, flashing the dove wrapped up around his wrist. “Let him pick wherever, you know the deal. I think I heard him talking before and he might want it on his neck.” A bold choice, but it was a statement to his loyalty. The tattoo alone could get him in trouble. Jonas and his doves, so poetic in his youth. The meaning behind it was the translation of his name, something Oz wore with both pride and a hardened heart.

-

It was almost cute how the group of bulky bodied men greeted her like somewhat of a celebrity. They knew better than to hit on her in ways that could make her uncomfortable, everyone knew to be respectful of the woman permanently marking them. Kai had been a part of enough initiations to know how important it was and what it meant. Though that little quip to keep the currently tied up man was to lead him off the trail of what was coming, she still found herself raising her eyebrows. “I guess it’s a good thing I left my underwear at home then huh?” Might as well lean into it, right? As he motioned toward the familiar hallway, Kai nodded and walked around the bar toward him. Stopping for a moment in front of the blonde man, she took his hand to snap a quick picture with her phone. “Sounds like fun.” Her hand released his, her eyes giving him a look that was almost a private hello. “Give me twenty minutes to set up and send him on back. If he’s going for the neck I’ll need someone to help me move a table,” The dark haired woman walked through the hallway with that natural sway to her hips and into what was her shop away from home. Just as she said, in twenty minutes the machine was set up, taped off with barrier tape, a fresh needle cartridge just waiting to the side. All she needed was the man being initiated into this gang of guys. It was an interesting arrangement all and all. Because of her work, she could be a danger to the lot of them. She knew them by name, she knew more secrets than any other non-member, but her reliable alibi, silence, and talent had earned her a certain level of security. Honestly though, she didn’t mind helping them out even without what they did for her in return. They were about the closest thing Kai had to family anymore, as silly as that was. Because they weren’t. She wasn’t one of them, not really. “Alright, the torture chamber is all set. Bring him in!”

[getanattitude]

The Ultimate Glossary of Terms About best beginner keyboard

“The greater you dig into a bit of Ives, the more enjoyment you get from it,” the pianist Jeremy Denk mentioned not long ago, sitting in a piano in a rehearsal space on the Juilliard College. “It’s like solving a puzzle.”

Then he enthusiastically deconstructed Ives’s “Concord” Sonata, untangling and conveying the themes and motifs embedded during the intricate textures of the intriguing score.

Mr. Denk is going to launch a disc, “Jeremy Denk Plays Ives” (Feel Denk Media), showcasing two piano sonatas, an esoteric decision of repertory for any debut solo album. But then, there is nothing generic relating to this adventurous musician. His vivacious intellect is manifest the two in his playing and on his site, Feel Denk, an outlet for astute musical observations and witty musings, whether or not a lament about inedible meatballs or possibly a spoof job interview with Sarah Palin.

Mr. Denk will exhibit his much more mainstream credentials when he performs Liszt’s Piano Concerto No. one with Charles Dutoit as well as Philadelphia Orchestra commencing on Thursday with the Kimmel Heart in Philadelphia and on Oct. 12 at Carnegie Corridor.

Mr. Denk argues which the Ives sonatas, composed early from the twentieth century, are mistakenly classified as avant-garde works instead of “epic Intimate sonatas with Lisztian thematic transformations.” For the relaxed listener, the audio that Mr. Denk describes in the CD booklet as “good, creative, tender, edgy, wild, first, witty, haunting” can unquestionably sound avant-garde. Ives, who created his living in the insurance enterprise, included jazz, riffs on Beethoven and American hymns, marches and folk tunes into his daringly experimental piano sonatas, rich in polytonality, thematic layering and rhythmic complexity.

“It’s so splendidly in-your-confront,” Mr. Denk reported, demonstrating a very maniacal passage inside the “Concord” Sonata. “It’s also fairly amazingly unattractive. There is one thing maddening about his sense of humor. Ives is repeatedly thumbing his nose at you in a method.”

But Mr. Denk implies that Ives’s tenderness, which he illuminates beautifully On this recording, is underappreciated. “Ives is commonly about things recalled,” he reported, “or Recollections or visions fetched out of some tricky area.”

He performed the harmonically misty passages in the next movement on the “Concord,” exactly where Ives directs that a piece of Wooden be pressed about the higher keys to make a cluster chord. “It doesn’t really feel gimmicky in the least to me,” Mr. Denk said. “It’s all blues in The underside. Ives understood tips on how to use those tiny clichéd bits of Americana in a way that all of a sudden will get your gut. You may’t believe how touching it truly is.”

Mr. Denk, 40, has long been enthusiastic about Ives because his undergraduate days at Oberlin in Ohio, the place he carried a double significant in piano overall performance and chemistry. “My full double diploma expertise was considerably of the continual freakout of 1 kind of A different,” he explained.

He had been a “genuinely nerdy highschool student” that has a constrained social existence, he reported. “Ever considering the fact that I used to be A child I desired to check out Oberlin and preferred the liberal arts. Of course I really get intensive pleasure from drawing connections involving pieces and poems and literature and concepts.”

Mr. Denk described himself as being a “observe maniac,” but his horizons have prolonged far beyond the follow area since Oberlin. Though nibbling a massive bit of chocolate product pie at an Higher West Side diner near the condominium he has rented considering the fact that about 1999, Mr. Denk referred to his site, calling it “an surprisingly superior outlet to release tensions of 1 variety or A further.” He claimed it had drawn new listeners to his concert events. An avid reader of liberal political blogs, Mr. Denk goals of crafting a classical tunes Model of Wonkette, he claimed, but that could be tough to do with out offending persons. And he tries to steer clear of offending men and women, he added, even though he did a short while ago submit a rant about plan notes.

Mr. Denk, who phone calls himself “a real Francophile,” is delicate-spoken but extreme, his discussion peppered with references to varied “obsessions”: coffee, Ives, Bach, Proust, Baudelaire and Emerson.

He went off on “a Balzac mania” a several years in the past, he mentioned.

“That was a unsafe time, and every thing in everyday life seemed drawn out of a Balzac novel,” he additional. “I shed about a few decades of my life to Proust. I’m positive it modified every little thing, which include my enjoying.

“One day my manager was like, ‘Dude, You need to center on your vocation and finding your stuff jointly.’ ” At that time, Mr. Denk reported, “I used to be bringing Proust to meetings.” He additional: “I’m not sure I really experienced a profession route. I was just carrying out my Bizarre issue, which possibly seemed like a disastrous nonroute to most of the folks who have been watching above me. I keep in mind some exasperated meetings with my administration, but they ended up very individual and devoted, which I’m insanely grateful for.”

Mr. Denk grew up in Las Cruces, N.M., one among two brothers, a son of tunes-loving nonmusician mother and father. His father, that has a doctorate in chemistry, continues to be (at distinct situations) a Roman Catholic monk as well as a director of Computer system science at New Mexico Condition College.

Mr. Denk stays hooked on the chili peppers of Las Cruces, he stated, seemingly only half joking: “The red and the green and The complete spirituality of chili peppers. It’s nevertheless a huge Component of my life. Once i go household I drop by this actual dive and obsess in excess of their green meat burrito.”

When not on tour, Mr. Denk spends time together with his boyfriend, Patrick Posey, a saxophonist as well as the director of orchestral routines and setting up at Juilliard, wherever Mr. Denk obtained his doctorate, finding out with Herbert Stessin. Mr. Stessin recollects owning been impressed by “the maturity and intensity” of Mr. Denk’s actively playing and remembers him as “a rare scholar who absorbed items very speedily.”

Mr. Denk explained he “was in school forever” until eventually “at some point I chose to trust my own instincts.” Now he teaches double-degree undergraduates for the Bard Faculty Conservatory of Music. The pianist Allegra Chapman, who analyzed with him, mentioned he was “concerned with a great deal greater than the notes around the web site, always citing literary and historical references.”

“Now I endeavor to tactic songs within a additional holistic standpoint,” she extra. “He is quite passionate. He used to soar across the room and bounce about and wave his arms. It was actually entertaining. He tried to get me to consider the new music having a humorousness.”

This combination of enthusiasm, humor and intellect, so vivid in both equally Mr. Denk’s taking part in and his crafting, is what distinguishes him, based on the violinist Joshua Bell. The two have already been typical duo associates due to the fact 2004, whenever they carried out on the Spoleto Pageant United states of america.

“You obtain the intellectual musicians or individuals who don their coronary heart on their sleeve and not using a lots of musical thought,” Mr. Bell explained, “but Jeremy manages to carry out both of those, Which’s ideal. Now we have lots of arguments in rehearsal, which can be the fun section at the same time. The actual fact we don’t normally see eye to eye retains things fresh and would make me query every little thing I do.”

Mr. Bell, whose selections of repertory are typically more common than Those people of his a lot more adventurous colleague, stated he wasn’t always an Ives fan: “Which has a great deal of recent music I’m somewhat cautious. Despite Ives, right up until I listened to Jeremy. He just delivers it alive. He has this sort of a great creativeness, and nothing is done randomly.”

Ives’s piano sonatas, Mr. Denk explained, “are in a method like animals that don’t want to be tamed.”

“Just about every efficiency needs to be so diverse,” he included, just one purpose he was at first hesitant to file them. Like Bach, he mentioned, Ives leaves lots to the performer’s creativeness.

A great interpretation of your “Goldberg” Variations at Symphony Room in 2008 disclosed Mr. Denk’s profound affinity with Bach. Mr. Denk will carry out the operate and Books 1 and a pair of of Ligeti’s Études at Zankel Hall on Feb. sixteen.

To keep the “Goldberg” Variants refreshing, Mr. Denk is incorporating new fingerings, he claimed, “to reactivate the link concerning my brain and my fingers After i’m taking part in it.”

“I believe it’s an actual magical position when you have the muscle memory,” he included, “although the brain is ahead of your fingers.”

Transforming the fingerings is one way to stay clear of program, he said. “I get actual enjoyment from creating in a very superior fingering. It truly is like relearning the piece, and it will make you not choose any Take note without any consideration.”

The musical philosophy Mr. Denk relates to Bach, Ives and various repertory is probably finest summed up in that site put up on program notes: “I’ve by no means been an enormous enthusiast in the ‘Envision how groundbreaking this piece was when it was penned’ faculty of inspiration. For my revenue, it ought to be innovative now. (And it's.) No matter what else the composer may need intended, she or he didn’t want you to Assume, ‘Boy, that must are already great again then.’ The most elementary compositional intent, absolutely the ur-intent, is that you Participate in it now, you make it transpire now.”