#I have also concluded that I do not know how to draw filths

[prismsoup]

Have this very dumb doodle of the general ultrakill multiplayer experience

@sunkissedspirit and I used the Jaket mod to play together and they had another mod that made them spawn an absurd amount of coins at once, so of course this lead to stupid scenarios

Some screenshots under the cut (+ a video - though it does contain flashing images)

[yodawgiherd]

Incantation of Incineration pt.2

>>>Read on AO3<<<

As we were blessed by a continuation of the GODLIKE fanart, I have decided to keep my word (for once). Check the picture out if you didn't yet, you are missing out O_O -----> https://twitter.com/NxngOna/status/1388902556693405706/photo/1 Anyway, this one is a bit longer and a tad more sinful than the first one, so beware. Unless you are here for the filth, that is.

How does one control a demon?

That was the question at the forefront of Mikasa’s mind in the last week. Despite her doubts, despite all of her previous bad luck she finally managed to summon one but he was not obeying her in the slightest. The opposite in fact, she very much remembered his whispered threatening question.

“Do you feel in power?”

She didn’t, not back then, and Mikasa wanted to be prepared for the next time. Of course that there would be a next time! She had so many questions to ask, so many wishes to fulfill so many…

Ok, easy, first the controlling part.

The last time he was here the Demon was doing whatever he wanted. While it was only eating her out, for some reason, it was done out of his will and the goth was simply swept in it. Never again. Next time they meet, she will be the one in control.

Yet it was hard to fulfill such a wish.

The internet gave her dozens of websites, hundreds of articles and discussions, but combing through them Mikasa didn’t see anything that caught her interest. Searching the amazing book she found in the library, she didn’t find any help there either. If there was a demon-binding ritual, she missed it.

In her anguish the goth asked the smartest person she knew – her friend Armin.

“Ar, any idea how I could control a demon?”

He looked at her, pushing his glasses up a bit.

“What are you talking about?”

“I summoned one last week but I couldn’t make him do what I wanted.”

“I see…”, he didn’t believe her, of course he didn’t, but Mikasa didn’t mind that.

He would still help her because Armin was a ray of sunshine and the best friend a girl could ask for.

“Any specifics about this demon?”, he asked, “Might help me in my search.”

“Well, he was human-looking, but with horns and black claws. He also had strange markings under his eyes and there were torn shackles at his wrists.”

“Horns, markings, shackles…”, dutiful as ever, Armin marked it all down, “Okay, I’ll do some searching and see what I can find.”

Leaning over Mikasa hugged him, whispering a quiet thank you into his ear.

As always, Armin delivered.

It was in the evening when Mikasa was laying on her bed, eyes rowing over the text in her new spellbook when her phone pinged.

A: Found an article that matches the demon you told me about. Apparently you can bind him to you by the shackles.

M: what do I have to do?

A: You need a key which you have, use the one you keep wearing.

Mikasa did like to wear an old key around her neck, an old trinket she didn’t even remember where it came from.

A: The spell is described in the article, use that and the “Demon” should obey :)

Yea. “Demon”. Whatever.

M: thx, I owe you one <3

Opening the link Mikasa’s eyes quickly scanned the spell, muttering under her breath. She lacked a few key ingredients, the biggest one being a live bird (?) for some reason. The required red scarf – that was another thing that Mikasa owned, making her wonder just what kind of spell this was.

Luckily her parents were gone on another business trip and wouldn’t be back for another two weeks, giving her ample time to gather these things. She bought a canary in a pet shop, a new set of black candles and few flowers. Back home she made those into a flower crown, just as the spell required.

In the middle of the room stood the birdcage, the canary watching Mikasa prance around. The key was put in front of the cage, the flower crown around it. Last the scarf – the goth circled it around the crown before putting the candles in required positions, lighting them up.

There, that should be everything.

Keeping the article open on her phone Mikasa began chanting, strange words once again leaving her lips. Whatever those meant she had no idea, but the effect was almost immediate. First of all the candles snuffed out. Then the flower crown caught fire, burning into nothing in a split second. After that the scarf moved, flying towards her and wrapping itself around her neck without anyone touching it. Last it was the key – it turned on the ground with a screech and suddenly the birdcage sprung open, the canary flapping its wings and disappearing out of the window in a split second.

Mikasa stared at it all with wide eyes.

Well, that was quite something. When everything calmed and nothing moved anymore, she concluded the ritual. Hiding the birdcage and scarf and putting the key back around her neck, the goth prepared the usual pentagram with candles, pulling out the knife. Ready to cut herself under the eye again, she said the spell, raising the blade to her skin.

Yet before it could make contact, the smoke explosion was back.

Knocking her backward same as before, the Demon was there in full glory, eyes immediately flying to Mikasa. Thin lips twisted into a grin that exposed the sharp teeth.

“You don’t have to cut yourself anymore, my beauty, I have your scent now. When you call me, I will answer.”

Collecting herself from the ground, Mikasa took a deep breath and straightened, staring the demon in the eye. With just a slightly trembling hand she gripped the key around her neck, thrusting it towards him. It glowed, his shackles did too, and the demon’s face changed from smug to surprised.

“What is this?” he wondered out loud, raising his hand to inspect the torn chains.

“A spell I used.”, Mikasa said triumphantly, all giddy inside that it worked, “I bound you, you are now under my control.”

“Is that so…”

Slow, testing, he took a step towards her, the chains rattling slightly. Summoning all her mental strength Mikasa stood fast, clutching the key like a lifeline.

“S-Stop!”, she commanded the demon, praying to the dark god that the spell will work.

The demon’s whole body shook as he tried to take another step, muscles refusing to move.

“You…”, his eyes narrowed, a dangerous glint entering them, “You don’t know what you are playing with…”

With a grunt he threw himself against the invisible bonds, straining.

“Release me! Or I will make you regret it.”

Despite all these dangerous words, despite all the threats he was forced to stand still and Mikasa felt her lips curving into a smile. She won. Finally, she had a demon under her control.

“I don’t think that I want to do that.”, confident she circled the frozen statue, admiring his body now that she could take a good look, “I think that I will keep you.”

He had a lot of scars, crisscrossing all over his skin, cuts of all shapes and sizes. Fascinated by one that went around his throat, Mikasa reached out, running her fingers over it.

And that was a mistake.

Fast as lighting the demon’s hand caught her wrist, pulling her body against his. Suddenly staring upwards into his smirk, Mikasa felt all her newfound confidence melting away because there was pure rage hidden in the emerald orbs.

“That was a good spell you had prepared, witch, but unfortunately for you, I am very good at attaining my freedom.”

“I-…”, she tried defending herself but the demon wouldn’t let her speak.

His other hand came up, circling Mikasa’s neck and for a second she feared that he will choke her to death. That fear didn’t come true as instead of pressure she could feel his fingers drawing patterns into her skin.

“Let’s see how you like being controlled.”, he whispered, and suddenly there was searing pain on Mikasa’s neck.

She stumbled backward, released from his embrace, and fell to her knees, hands clutching her throat. It burned like hell itself and Mikasa screamed in pain, but as quickly as it appeared it was gone, leaving nothing but a memory in its wake.

Or not, as there was something hugging her neck now.

Carefully tracing the thing with her fingertips Mikasa identified a new choker. She had one before, a simple strip of black leather, but this one was different. It was more like a tight collar, adorned with metal spikes all around.

“How does it feel, being collared like a dog?”, the demon rumbled, getting her attention.

“I… Strange.”, she gulped, realizing that having this “gift” from a demon might not be a good thing for her wellbeing,  “C-Can you take it off?”

“I can but I’m not going to. First I have to show you what amazing things it can do.”, he pointed one black claw towards the magic book, lying on Mikasa’s bed, “You do love spells, don’t you? And what better magic is there than demonic one.”

“Wha-“

Again, the demon didn’t let her finish.

“What’s your name?”, he asked.

Mikasa didn’t want to tell him. Names had power, even more so in magic, and telling yours to a demon is a bad move. But as soon as the question left his lips she found herself answering, unable to stop the words from tumbling out.

“Mikasa Ackerman.”

He grinned upon seeing her confusion.

“See? I own you now, mortal. As long as the collar is on you, I can make you do anything I want.”, his eyes raked all over her body, a hunger appearing in them – the same one that was there the last time they were together.

“Anything…”

The thin, abnormally long tongue slid out of his mouth, licking his lips.

“And there is a lot I want to do with you.”

Despite literally owning her right now, Mikasa didn’t hear any malicious intent in his voice. There was the primal hunger, lust, and also a fair bit of anger but no real hate or resentment. He would make her pay, but it would not be done in a way that she couldn’t handle.

The implications left not only a tingle of fear in her, but also a tingle of arousal, and the goth unconsciously pressed her thighs together to hide it. Only it didn’t escape the demon’s ever-seeing gaze.

“Stand up.”, was his next order and Mikasa did so, body moving on its own.

“Take off your skirt.”, this time her face boiled red as she mechanically obeyed, and still the demon wasn’t done with humiliating her, “And your stockings too.”

Just as she unclipped the first garter, a new order followed.

“Do it slowly. Give me a nice show, I like watching you.”

And she did so, rolling the black material down her legs in the most sensual way she could muster, unwilling and unable to meet the demon’s eyes. She could feel them though, as his gaze burned its way all over her pale legs, now bare of any clothing. With her lower half in nothing but the black panties Mikasa straightened, waiting on the next command from her infernal master.

He was breathing heavily now, she could hear, every exhale laden with maddening hunger for her. Watching her undress got all the fires going, it would seem.

“As much as I would like to get on with the fun, I do have to punish you for trying to bind me.”, he twirled his long fingers, “Turn around and bend over, hands on the bed.”

Again, her body mechanically obeyed, turning around and bending over, exposing her ass to him. And what an ass it was, even better than the demon remembered. Pale, firm, and perfectly shaped, the memories of it in his hands made his mouth go dry. Not to mention the thighs right under, because those deliciously thick and muscled legs…. He was beyond hungry.

Not yet, he reminded himself, first the punishment. Then the fun.

There was a clink behind her and because peeking was not forbidden she looked over her shoulder, seeing that one of the multiple belts came loose from the demon’s black pants. He was twisting the leather between his fingers, snapping it.

The image itself was almost enough to make her fall on her face.

“I believe that a few lashes with the belts will do you good, wouldn’t you agree?”

It wasn’t an order, she realized, it was a question. The demon, a literal demon from hell, was asking her consent. Normally that situation would be so funny that Mikasa would burst out laughing, but that did not fit what was happening inside her body.

Logically she should say no, of course, but logic didn’t have a place here. She summoned a demon – one that gave her some incredible oral pleasure during their first encounter, one she tried to bind, unsuccessfully, and one that was about to give her some good old spanking in retaliation.

Fuck, she wanted it, she wanted it so much.

Biting her bottom lip Mikasa nodded, but the demon wasn’t satisfied with that.

“Words, Mikasa, use those.”

This time it was an order but he didn’t use the magic collar and when the goth girl spoke it was completely out of her free will.

“Yes, I deserve it.”

“Were you a bad girl?”

“I was… I was a bad girl, sir.”

Mikasa added that last bit unconsciously, and from the deep grumble she could guess the effect it had on the demon. Ooh, he liked that.

“Where I come from, there is plenty of sinners like that, so I have a good idea on how to fix you.”, the buckle clinked as he swayed the belt, “I want you to count the lashes, can you do that for me?”

“Y-Yes, sir.”

A satisfied huff and a bit of silence after, making Mikasa wonder if…

The first blow landed on her ass, the slap of leather against skin loud. Taken by surprise she cried out, the flare of pain running through the whole body.

“One.”, she pushed out and was rewarded by a second sting. It was painful, sure, but it also sent pleasurable tremors towards her core. Mikasa was always a bit of pain enjoyer, and this rough treatment was something from her wildest dreams. Being punished by a demon was more like fanfiction than reality, but it was happening to her -right here and right now, and she couldn’t be more turned on.

By the fifth hit, there were tears in her eyes.

By the tenth she was dancing on her toes, clenching against the belt.

Fifteen was enough to satisfy the sadistic demon, and when she cried that number through her tears, the belt dropped to the ground. Suddenly Mikasa was picked up, turned around, and practically slammed against the wall. Her legs automatically hooked around the demon’s waist while his hands held her, one around the neck while the other caught her wrist and pressed it against the wall, immobilizing her.

He was sweating, droplets of liquid sliding over his scarred skin but it wasn’t because of the physical exertion. No, it was caused by the inhuman effort it took to hold himself back from ravaging the teary-eyed goth right here and there.

Even as a demon, he had certain standards.

“You took the whipping well, too well even. Tell me, do you like pain?”

“A little bit…”, she muttered, very conscious of the fire raging between her slick thighs.

A grin spread across his handsome features, the demon couldn’t help but admire her face, now that they were this close. Her grey eyes were regarding him with a hint of fear in them, but there was also the undeniable arousal smoldering, and he wanted to see that fire burn.

Letting go of her for a second the demon grabbed the bottom of her black top, bunched between their bodies, and pulled upwards, revealing her chest. Nice pair of firm tits, covered by a simple black bra, just as pale as the rest of her.

Fuck, he wanted to suck on them.

Returning his hand to its previous place, anchoring Mikasa’s wrist against the wall, the demon spoke up.

“I punished you so now we can move on to a more pleasurable activity. However - I may be a damned soul but despite your stunts I do not wish to force myself on you. So I’ll ask now, and I order you to answer me truthfully – do you want me to go on?”

The goth girl in his arms shook with what he guessed was pure lust, squirming against the restrictive hold he had on her body. Her midnight hair slid over his nose, the addictive scent reminding the demon of just how amazing she tasted.

Forcing himself to wait was torture, yet he held on.

Meanwhile, Mikasa’s mind was doing leaps and bounds all over the room. Her ass hurt but it was nothing compared to what was happening in the other place – she was beyond wet at this point, so turned on that stopping her hips from rubbing on the demon’s amazingly muscles stomach was a chore. Yes, she had to prevent herself from humping him like a sex-starved maniac. His words weren’t an order, just like last time, and when Mikasa spoke it was her own lust doing the talking, nothing else.

“Yes.”

“Do you want me to touch you?”, he continued.

“Yes.”

“Now…”, he leaned closer, next words a whisper, “ Do you want me to fuck you?”

“Hng... I…”

“Answer!”

“Y-YES! Please!”

The self-satisfied smirk grew even wider.

“Well, all you had to do was ask…”

Letting go of her wrist for the second time the demon moved his hand between her legs, rubbing her place of weakness through the dark underwear.

“So wet for me, so willing…”, gently he nudged her face with his nose, rubbing skin on skin, “Is this what you want so much? To be railed by a demon?”

PleasePleasePlease

Unable to speak from the sheer amount of want inside her, Mikasa settled on nodding rapidly.

The hand moved again, much to her dismay, this time stopping in front of Mikasa’s face. A bit of transmutation magic later the claws were gone, replaced by black fingernails.

“Open.”, an order this time and Mikasa’s mouth fell open immediately.

Pushing his fingers between her lips, a new command followed.

“Suck.”

Again she obeyed, swiping her tongue alongside those long digits.

“As much as I want to take you right now, I must stretch you out a bit first.” The demon went on monologuing, his eyes glued to her face, “I’d prefer it if you screamed in pleasure when I fuck you, not in pain.”

Those words went right into Mikasa’s core as she throbbed, impatient to finally have him touch her. Maybe sensing her eagerness the demon pulled the fingers out, dropping his hand between her legs instead. Panties nudged aside and suddenly he was rubbing her directly, fingers parting her dripping pink lips. A slight tap on her swollen clit had her gasping for air, but the opened mouth proved to be a mistake.

The demon practically attacked her, lurching forward to press his lips against hers. The abnormal tongue was back, once again slipping into her mouth and caressing the familiar places. At the same time, his digits finally pushed inside her, slipping into Mikasa’s wetness with a somewhat disgusting sound. The moan forced from her throat by the penetration was swallowed by him, keeping her silent.

For now.

Even without the main treat it was still a full meal. The demon fingered her expertly, curving his digits to rub the good places inside while also keeping his thumb occupied by toying with Mikasa’s clit. The kisses were rough and breathtaking, sucking any oxygen from her and he only left her lips to attack the neck instead, biting and kissing everywhere, renewing the faded lovebites from a week ago. Again and again, those sharp teeth sunk into the porcelain skin and Mikasa felt like she was going to go crazy.

Not even fucking her yet but she was already on the edge. The demon sensed it, of course, having his fingers deep inside her, feeling the contractions of her walls grow faster and more desperate. Smirking into her skin, a single word fell from his lips.

“No.”

The collar burned around Mikasa’s throat and she found her body obeying, disregarding her wishes. On the edge but not falling, she found herself unable to climax, somehow being prevented from doing so by vile demon magic.

“You bast-“

Her protest was cut short because her lips were slammed by his own, stealing Mikasa’s ability to express herself. Whining in protest she was rudely ignored by the demon, who took his time to scissor the fingers inside her instead, stretching her open, preparation for what was to come.

Despite being denied her release Mikasa’s body was more than enjoying this. She was moaning into the kiss, writhing on his fingers, ready and waiting for him. Seven hells be damned, he couldn’t wait any longer. Tearing the panties away with a flick of his wrist and letting his pants dissolve into a puff of black smoke, the demon grabbed his painfully hard length as he angled it correctly against the inviting wetness.

Push.

Mikasa’s eyes widened, and her mouth fell open when she felt the head of his member parting her. She didn’t get a chance to look at it but judging from how it felt the demon was rather well endowed. The girth was impressive, stretching her beyond anything she felt before right down to her limits. This was a lot she was taking, and the demon was unyielding, hands gripping her waist as he impaled her, inch by inch. Insistent he forced himself in and Mikasa couldn’t do anything about it.

Yet her body accommodated to this fullness and the unpleasant feeling was replaced by a pleasant one. He went on and on until she feared that he will ram himself all the way into her guts but just as she was about to ask him to stop, the demon was fully sheathed.

Mikasa had never felt this filled in her life. The head of his member was pressed against the deepest part of her sex, no more space and no more length combining.

“Fuck,”, he cursed, “we fit together perfectly.”

On her part the goth couldn’t say a word, so full of him that thinking was impossible. Not that the demon mind that.

Gripping her waist he slowly pulled out, letting his length rub all the nice places inside her. When only the tip remained he reversed his move, pushing in again. In it went with a wet sound, out it went glistening with her juices, and he almost went feral upon seeing that.

Pushing down the need to ravage her, to split her open by ramming himself inside with full strength he continued this gentle dance of his hips, forcing her body to get used to him. Only when he felt her muscles weakening - when she gave way did he speed up.

In and out like a jackhammer, the demon was finally rutting into her with added strength and Mikasa couldn’t take it. She whined and moaned and gasped, unable to control her body at all. Her head fell back, knocking at the wall while her fingers curved against his back. She was holding onto him for dear life, black fingernails creating bloody lines in their path and adding to the plethora of scars on the demon’s back.

Still she couldn’t climax, still the collar’s magic prevented her from doing so and the goth could feel her sanity slipping away. She would beg if she could but Mikasa’s voice wasn’t of any use to her, anytime she opened her mouth only a sound of pure pleasure came out.

Helplessly open, Mikasa’s “Ah-Ah-Ah” was a direct feed to the demon’s ego. Oh, and what an egoist he was. Her voice was one thing, but when she throbbed down there – that was a feeling the demon etched into his memory with each thrust.

Edged, led on, and denied with the orgasm at the border of her vision, Mikasa was truly losing it.

She couldn’t speak so she screamed, screamed in pure desperation because the demon was now ramming the deepest part of her over and over again, grunting into her neck. Mentally she begged – with her eyes, with her touches, with her legs that squeezed his waist.

This was some truly hardcore fucking she was on the receiving end of, and Mikasa needed to let go, she would go crazy otherwise. The coil in her stomach was wound impossibly tight but unable to snap and it was getting too much to handle. The tears that fell from the grey eyes slipped over the red cheeks and landed on the demon’s body, finally waking him up from whatever pit of pleasure he was in.

Watching her, listening to her, and feeling her all around him, the demon deemed the punishment complete. Not even slowing down in the wild hammering of his hips, the slaps of flesh against flesh echoing through the room, he spoke. Three words, one sentence, and it was the most beautiful sound that Mikasa ever heard in her life.

“Cum for me.”

The collar’s magic was gone, the barrier dissipated, the coil snapped and the dam broke. Mikasa howled, her eyes rolling back and vision going white, black spots dancing all over it. The orgasm ripped through her entire being, from the tips of her curled toes to the ends of her sweat-matted midnight hair. She clutched to the demon because he was the only link to reality that she had, and the goth had to hold onto something otherwise her mind threatened to break completely, swept away by the overwhelming raw pleasure.

Sensing that if he kept it up she would truly go insane the demon slowed down, letting himself fully enjoy this feeling. Her walls fluttered like the wings of a trapped butterfly, the already tight passage grew even tighter and pulsed around his whole length. It felt amazing, out of this world and if he wasn’t a demon he would call it heavenly.

The slight wiggle of her hips woke him up from that place, putting him back to reality. Mikasa was watching him with wide grey eyes, pupils completely blown, the movements suggesting that she wanted to go down from her perch against the wall. She probably thought that this was it, that one mind-shattering orgasm is enough of a gift.

She was wrong.

“None of that.,” he denied her, tightening his grip on her sweat-slicked body, “I am far from being done with you.”

With those words, the most intense night of the goth’s life began.

During his aggressive fucking Mikasa’s remaining clothes, namely the black top and bra, were torn to shreds, leaving her in nothing but the spiked collar around her neck. In some strange need to bare her completely the demon even snapped her own choker away, leaving only the one he gifted her on.

The key was also allowed to stay and it dangled uselessly between her now fully exposed breasts, reminding Mikasa of her failed attempt to capture the demon. Now she was paying for it, when his sharp teeth closed around a nipple, sweetly tormenting the sensitive flesh.

Overall the demon took his time with her chest, kissing, licking, groping, and biting all over her breasts. Her chest was ravaged and Mikasa was bound to have so many bruises bloom on the skin tomorrow. Yet that was a problem for the future Mikasa to handle, the current one cared only about how great it felt, to have the demon’s teeth and tongue all over her tits.

She was taken in more positions and in more places than Mikasa could even count. The bastard spiked her pleasure with pain, slapping her ass while taking her from behind, irritating the welts that didn’t even get a chance to fully form.

Every suitable, and some unsuitable, place in her room was defiled by their activities as she was being maneuvered here and there by his unyielding touch. The demon expertly shifted his torment from denial to overstimulation, giving her more than she could handle and then some. He fucked her right into an orgasm and then right through it, holding her writhing body as she lost her consciousness in an unending stream of pleasure.

A sharp bite into the neck woke her, but if Mikasa thought that she was getting a break she was wrong. It felt like the longest night of the goth’s life and it was far from over.

Mikasa came a lot, losing count early into the debauchery, but the demon never finished, holding his release back. He also never tired, his demonic stamina far outpacing the one of a poor mortal. While at the start Mikasa was an active participant in their activities, by the end of it she was practically limp, praying to the dark god that she will survive this endless assault on her body and mind.

When the morning sun peeked at them from behind the windows, when the demon saw that his partner was on the verge of total blackout from sheer exhaustion, slipping in and out of consciousness, did he allow his iron self-control to break.

Coherent enough to pull out at least, he decorated her muscled stomach with spurts of unnaturally hot release. Wouldn’t want any half-demons running around now, would he? It was a lot, a night's worth of it, and Mikasa felt some splash as high as her face, but she was too far gone to care. Being a perfect demonic gentleman he even cleaned after himself with a muttered spell.

Only after himself though, so Mikasa’s filth was left behind for her to take care of. Whatever it was the limitation of the spell or just the demon’s twisted sense of humor, that would remain a mystery.

Just like that, it was over.

He was slipping out of her embrace and soon would be gone, leaving Mikasa with nothing but the ache and exhaustion. A deep part of her needed something, anything to hold onto, a word to connect these memories to, and “the demon” didn’t cut it anymore. She reached out, weakly grasping his wrist but he didn’t pull away, turning back to look at her.

“Please…”, she whispered, only half-coherent, “What’s your name?”

“My name? Demon’s names have powers, great powers, we do not give it lightly.”

“You know mine, it’s only fair.”

He snorted.

“A mortal name in exchange for an eternal one? Hardly equal.”

“Please…”, she begged again, “I want to remember you by it.”

For some reason he couldn’t explain, those words were tugging at the very base of the demon’s existence. He shouldn’t be this affected yet this mortal, this exhausted, sweaty, and filthy mess that could hardly string two words together after a night of demonic sex, this bundle of trembling muscles and pale skin marked by blooming bruises he left behind, this beautiful piece of ass that was welted by his belt just had power over him.

It wasn’t any spell the demon knew, but it was perhaps the most powerful pull he ever felt in his whole damned existence. He couldn’t say no to her.

He simply couldn’t.

“Eren.”, he said, “My name is Eren.”

Leaning down he pushed some of the sweat matted hair away from her angelic face.

“I hope that I won’t have to wait long until you summon me again, Mikasa.”

Giving in to the temptation the demon pressed a last kiss to her forehead, strangely loving and very un-demonic. And with that he was gone, disappearing back to wherever he came from.

On the ruined bed Mikasa sighed, already missing his warmth.

Was there a way to make him stay longer? Maybe even… permanently? The thought of having a full-time demon boyfriend made her giggle and she pressed her face into the pillow to muffle it.

The leather choker-slash-collar was still on her neck, gently tight around the skin, most likely left behind as a gift, and Mikasa already knew that it would become her everyday accessory. The spiked looked might be a bit too aggressive for most people, but she couldn’t care less. It was a gift from a demon, her demon, and she would treasure it.

Eren. His name was Eren and she would be seeing him again.

Soon.

[ashdumpsterpile]

ao3

It’s a sexy, sexy day when Beckett gets her promotion to the Cerritos.

She’s been a lower decks officer on the USS Vulker for six slutty years and it’s been the closest thing to paradise that she’s experienced since that time Marvin tried to snort Dorito dust and ended up summoning an ancient wish giving god when he sneezed it out on an alien substance Dr. L’Vertiss was analyzing as a possible cure for the parasites that were infecting the Academy.

Being a lower decks officer meant three things: contraband, causal hookups and constant disrespect of Starfleet Protocol. Everything Beckett wanted in a career. Fortunately, the Vulker was the bottom of the barrel when it came to starships, so they weren’t exactly looking too close to her record. Which was fine by Beckett, who was trying to fly under the radar ever since her mother had demoted her so hard, she’d ended up on a whole other ship, quadrants away from the Cerritos.

Thanks Mom.

So anyway, it’s a sexy, sexy day when her mother calls her, mainly because she’d just gotten out of alien jail and gotten a cool tat out of the deal, but also because she hasn’t heard for her mother in a while and, okay, maybe she misses her just a little bit. Even if she’s probably calling for Not Good Reasons.

Beckett flips her comm open and steels herself to get yelled at for whatever.

“I’m retiring,” are not the words Beckett is expecting. She squints suspiciously at her comm, vaguely concerned that a shapeshifter has replaced her mom.

“No, you’re not.”

“Yes I am.”

“I’m pretty sure you’re not.”

“Beckett—”

“You love being Captain and sitting in the chair and telling Ransom to stop giving himself sexy eyes in every reflective surface! Why would you retire?”

Her mom pinches the bridge of her nose, looking tired. “This is why I wanted to tell you in person—”

“Tell me what in person—”

“—Shaxs is dead.”

Beckett stops walking. Blinks down at her comm. Once. Twice. “What.”

“So is half the crew. This is less of me retiring and more of me…cutting my losses before Starfleet officially demotes my ass.”

Beckett’s day is slowly turning into an unsexy day. “And you’re just letting them!? You’ve been a Captain for what—”

“Beck—”

“Fifteen years and a Starfleet Officer for even longer! They can’t demote you—”

“They can and they will. Look,” Mom sighs. “They’re putting together a new crew as soon as the Cerritos is given the clear. There’s barely anyone left from the main crew who even wants to stay after this mess.”

“What happened?”

“That’s classified,” Mom says, which Beckett takes to mean hack my official report if you want to know. “And don’t go digging for it,” she adds.

Beckett resists pouting, only because the situation is so. Weirdly serious.

“I’m not calling you because of that, however. Ransom is being transferred to the Titan. It’s only thanks to his initiative and Officer Boimler’s quick thinking that we’re even alive right now.”

The sound of the warp core, buzzing in the background, seems too loud, all of the sudden. Beckett swallows, feeling sick.

“Officer Boimler is being promoted to Captain. I’ve recommended you as his First Officer.”

Beckett doesn’t realize she’s laughing until she starts choking from it. A group of ensigns, clustered at the end of the hallway she’s standing in, give her weird looks before quickly vacating the area.

“That,” she says, once she’s caught her breath, “is the dumbest fucking idea I’ve ever heard.”

Mom gives Beckett her Captain™ face.

“I’m an ensign. Lower decks. Bottom of the barrel.” Beckett continues, grinning. “Not officer material.”

“Top of your class. Present in the Dominion War. Only gets demoted because she cares more about people than rules.” Mom gives a smug smile. “Perfect match for the Cerritos.”

There’s a weird, hot pressure in the corner of Beckett’s eyes. “Mom.”

“Boimler has a stick up his ass, he could use someone who loosens him up a little. Pays less attention to protocol,” Mom adds.

Beckett shakes her head, smiling. “I’d give him a heart attack a week in.”

“I’m counting on it. At least think about it, will you? And for god’s sake, go shower. I can see the filth on you, light years away.”

Beckett laughs, but this time it’s real. “Yeah Mom, I will.” Then, “I’m glad you like. Didn’t die or whatever.”

Mom rolls her eyes. “Thank you, problem child. So am I. I’ll take to you later.”

The connection blacks out, leaving Beckett staring at her own dim reflection in the screen.

She does look like shit. Maybe a shower isn’t a bad idea after all.

_____

The letter stays in her inbox for six unslutty days before she finally clicks on it. Turns out, even though Mom is no longer a Captain, her recommendation must’ve meant something because there it is, a nice, shiny, transfer request.

It’s signed Captain Brad Boimler and that is where Beckett draws the line because she is not working for someone named Brad.

Maybe if you had been on the Cerritos, Shaxs wouldn’t have died, a snide voice sounds in her brain. Beckett immediately shuts that voice down because that’s fucked up and she didn’t go through four years of Starfleet mandated therapy to still be fucked up.

(She’s still kinda fucked up, but that’s okay.)

Dad finally starts spamming her inbox—and she really wants to know how Mom got him on her side, they’ve barely spoken since the divorce—so Beckett, with great reluctance, reviews the transfer request again.

It’s bullshit.

“This is bullshit,” she tells Dad.

“I know, but if I have to get one more message from your mother, demanding why you haven’t taken the position—”

“Okay, fine I’ll do it, but only because I want to see why Mom promoted Brad to Captain.”

_____

Mom either promoted Brad to Captain because he was that good of a suck up or because his hair is super distracting. Either way, Beckett is two seconds away from saying fuck this shit and demoting her own ass back to the Vulker.

He walked through the door like a minute ago and she’s already had him pegged. His clothes are neatly pressed, hair perfectly coiffed, and his hands nervously flutter around, as if he’s unsure what he should be doing with them. He can’t have been an officer longer than a few months before he was promoted Captain, that’s for sure. Beckett literally has no idea what Mom was thinking when she gave him the chair.

She waves him down toward her table.

Brad takes one look at her unbuttoned collar, nonregulation boots, and unkempt hair and sighs. “Captain Freeman recommended you?” his voice is disbelieving.

“That’s the word, my dude.” Beckett leans back, eyeing him over the half empty glass of whiskey she’s been nursing. “Captain Brad, take a seat,” she says, in her Serious voice.

Captain Brad sits across from her. “It’s Captain Boimler, actually.”

“Brad’s fine.”

His eye twitches. “Officer Mariner—”

“Ensign,” she interrupts, cheerfully.

Brad pauses. Blinks. She gestures to the single pin in her collar.

“Oh. Wait. What?”

“Yeah, I was lower decks on the Vulker before Captain Freeman emotionally blackmailed me into meeting with you.”

She snaps her fingers at the bartender and gestures toward Brad while she waits for the man in question to process the fact that a lower decks ensign was being offered a First Officer promotion.

It, surprisingly, takes only a few seconds before he bounces back. “I didn’t have time to look at your file,” he admits, sounding a bit frustrated. “I’m usually more on top of my work but—”

“Don’t sweat it, Bradthaniel. If you’d read my file, I seriously doubt you’d have agreed to meet with me.”

He raises an eyebrow. “You kill an Admiral or something?”

“Or something,” she agrees, mind flashing back to all of the redacted and classified sections of her file. The bartender places a glass of purple liquid in front of Brad and refills Beckett’s drink. Beckett salutes him lazily with her glass. “I’m more interested in you. How’d you land a captaincy at, what, twenty-six?”

“Twenty-nine,” he grits out, as if that still isn’t weirdly young to be that high in the chain of command. “How’d you get Freeman to recommend you?”

“Oh, I didn’t,” she flips her ponytail obnoxiously. “She called me.”

“Sure.”

“What, am I not ‘First Officer Material?’” she mocks, wrapping finger-quotes around her words.

He rolls his eyes. “No offense—”

“Complete offense already taken—”

“But you are the least promotable person I’ve ever met.”

Beckett grins. “Now you’re getting it. We got a Bridge Crew yet?”

“I—” he blinks at her for a moment. “I’m still trying to put the rest of the Bridge Crew together, but it’s been insane lining up schedules and—”

“Leave it to me.”

“Wait, what?”

“That’s my job. You manage me, I manage the crew. I’m basically a glorified secretary now.”

Brad looks like he’s seeing an error screen in front of his eyes. “So, you’re taking the job,” he concludes, voice hilariously defeated.

“Someone needs to make sure my M—uh, Captain Freeman’s ship doesn’t blow up.”

“I handled it fine the first time.” He rolls his eyes carelessly, which kind of pisses her off.

She gives him a smile. Knows it doesn’t reach her eyes. “Tell that to the 567 casualties.”

His face goes very pale. An incredible feat considering his already milky complexion. She can’t tell if he’s angry or about to cry. “Shut up. You weren’t even there, how would you know—"

“Yeah, you were there, so why the fuck didn’t you do something?” she hisses. All she can see is Shaxs’ scarred face in the back her head. She’d been a pain in the Bridge Crew’s asses, but most of them had been genuinely upset when she’d been transferred.

“You’re a pain in my ass, but you’ve got guts,” Shaxs had admitted once, looking impressed, which was his way of saying you’re fucking adopted go do 200 pushups.

Beckett has seen a lot of death in her 26 years, but this one hurts because this is her Mom’s family. Half of them are dead and she wasn’t there and fucking Brad was.

Fucking Brad is still staring at her, eyes unreadable, mouth set in a hard line. He snatches up the file and flips it open, fingers deftly shuffling through the printed-out paper documents she’d complied last night. “I’m overseeing ship repairs tomorrow. 0500 hours. Be there.”

“Wait what?” Beckett hears herself say, aware that she’s gaping at him.

“I’ll have to run these through background checks before I can approve them for transfer, and I’d like to meet with them in person before I make any decisions.”

“Dude.”

“What,” he snaps, eyes meeting hers defiantly.

“You’re seriously approving my transfer?”

“Do you not want me to?” his brow furrows in confusion.

“You called me the ‘least promotable person’ like ever! I just like insulted the fuck out of you!” she whisper-shrieks. “You’re supposed to get mad and tell me to fuck off back to whatever corner of the galaxy Freeman dragged my ass out of, not make me your First Fucking Officer.”

“Well I’m not. Congratulations First Officer Mariner, you’re expected to report for duty—”

“Oh fuck you—”

“On the Cerritos three weeks from now during her relaunch.”

Beckett is on the verge of stabbing this bastard in the eye with his own stylus. “But why?”

Brad pauses, halfway out of his seat, hands still clenched tightly around the file. “Why what?”

“Don’t be fucking coy, why are you approving my transfer, you absolute nugget,” she hisses.

“Captain Freeman recommended you.”

“Are you seriously that much of a suck up—”

“The Cerritos isn’t that great of a starship, but Captain Freeman is a good captain,” Brad interrupts. “We went through some real shit together. She didn’t deserve what happened to her. The least I can do is honor her last request.”

And with that, Brad stands up and sweeps out of the bar.

“Dramatic exits are my thing!” she shouts after him.

_____

She’s pissed, mostly because Brad had the actual audacity to approve her transfer, but also because how fucking dare he be an actual nice person?

Okay, maybe not a nice person, she decides, as she crawls out of bed at 4 fucking thirty am. Morning people are hell spawn, but he’s a decent person.

Whatever, it’s not as if she’s going to start liking him or trying to be his friend or whatever.

“If it doesn’t work out, I can get myself demoted in like two days,” she decides, out loud, tying her hair out of her eyes. Her reflection stares back at her, tired.

So of course, Brad is annoyingly awake.

“Of course you’re a fucking morning person,” she mutters, falling into step behind him.

“Haven’t had your coffee yet?” he snips back, eyes glued to his data padd.

She glares at his back, but makes no comment.

By the time Beckett is fully awake and functioning, she’s already dissociated three separate times and had a mini panic attack twice.

The ship is FUCKED.

The primary hull has been completely ripped apart, like something took a large bite out of the side, and both propulsion units are missing. Beckett peaks over Brad’s shoulder and gets a good look at the interior damage.

“You guys ejected the warp core?” she shrieks in his ear. “Dude that is so badass.”

Brad jumps and pushes her off him. “Wha—get off me, what are you doing—”

Beckett snatches the padd away from him and begins to rapidly scan through the damage reports. “Shit, it’s going to take weeks before we’re back in space. What’s the ETA on getting a new core in? Oooh, we should also add reflective panels, I hear the Enterprise is so bright, nothing ever gets done on there.”

Brad snatches his padd back. “Yeah, I think we can pass on that one.”

“You’re no fun.”

“Being a Starfleet Officer isn’t supposed to be fun—although I do find enjoyment in managing and organizing information—”

“Oh yawn, you’re a pencil pusher.”

“Did you just say ‘yawn’ out loud?”

“Do you need your hearing checked, Captain Brad?”

“It’s Boimler,” he hisses.

“Captain Boimler Brad,” she corrects, easily.

He stomps off, all huffy, but whatever. It’s not her fault Captain Brad doesn’t have a sense of humor.

_____

It takes about a month for the Cerritos to get back into working condition. Beckett would be impressed with how quickly Starfleet is able to get her back in commission, except for the fact that, well. It’s Starfleet. They’re great at what they do, even if what they do isn’t so great.

By then she’s already sent her Dad over seventeen furious voicemails and threatened her mother with six different kinds of legal action if she doesn’t “pick up her goddamn fucking comm.”

Mom does pick up her call and she does agree to meet with her.

“This is bullshit,” she says, after hugging the ever-living shit out of her favorite parent. “I can’t believe you’re making me do this.”

Mom rolls her eyes. It’s like looking in a mirror. “Kiddo, I’ve never been able to make you do anything.”

This was probably true, but Beckett needs someone to blame. “He’s worse than you. Or Dad. Mom he likes paperwork. He’s a morning person. Yesterday he asked me my opinion on the Oxford comma.”

Mom makes a complicated face. Beckett suspects she’s trying not to laugh. “That does sound like Boimler,” she admits, sighing. “Please tell me you’re playing nice.”

Beckett decides not to tell her about the whole “I was a bitch to him because I have no idea how to grieve” deal. “Hey, I can be nice.”

“Hmm.”

“Okay, maybe I’m giving him a hard time, but come on! You could have chosen anyone to promote. Hell, you should have picked Ransom, not transferred him!”

“Ransom doesn’t have the head to make tough calls.”

“And Brad does?”

Mom gives her a look that says she knows something Beckett doesn’t. Beckett hates that look. “I think he knows what he’s doing when he forgets he’s in charge.”

“What the fuck does that mean?”

“It means give him a chance before you decided to drop him in a wormhole,” is the dry response she’s given.

Beckett makes no promises.

_____

The Cerritos leaves Starbase 375 on an uneventful day. About eighty percent of the original crew has been completely replaced, most notably, the Bridge Crew. Senior staff is now complied of Officer’s Captain Freeman had promoted before her resignation, but there’s are a few that Beckett herself has recommended. Seems like Brad had actually taken a look at the file.

Beckett takes her seat next to Captain Brad and prepares herself for the madness that’s going to commence from being First Officer on the lamest ship in Starfleet.

The Cerritos has been in deep space for three boring, uneventful weeks.

The only fun Beckett has found in any of it is by torturing Brad. And she’s not even trying! Beckett just has one of those personalities that rubs well-organized people the wrong way. Yes, sometimes she thrives off chaos, and yeah she does things in her own time, but it’s just who she is.

Brad doesn’t seem to appreciate any of her suggestions, calling most of them illegal and dangerous and being all shouty about it.

He’s also a huge stickler for regulations and shit. It’s way, way worse than working with Mom. Beckett’s about to start climbing walls from the sheer boredom of being a First Officer. The only thing she does anymore is sleep, paperwork and fight with Brad, rinse, repeat.

And then she meets Lieutenant D’Vana Tendi.

The first thing Beckett thinks when she runs into the hyperactive Orion is that if Dr. T’Ana had retired along with the rest of the senior crew, Tendi could have easily picked up the mantle. The girl’s a fucking prodigy, mad scientist level of genius.

The second thing Beckett thinks when she meets Tendi is I am way gayer than I thought I was.

“Hey, you’re Mariner!” Tendi chirps, excitedly bouncing up to her. Dr. T’Ana, who had been discussing something medical and boring with the Orion, groans and stomps off the minute she lays eyes on Beckett. Which, rude. Beckett didn’t want to talk to her anyway.

“Oh nice, my reputation proceeds me,” Beckett grins, brushing off her hurt. “As does yours, Lieutenant Tendi.”

Tendi’s cheeks turn a little blue.

There’s an amused snort behind her. “Already flirting with the locals, Mariner?” a familiar voice dryly asks.

Beckett’s mouth drops open. “Rutherford?”

Rutherford, who was messing anxiously with a cyber implant over his eye that he definitely did not have three years ago, grins at her. “Long time, no see!”  

Tendi whirls around. “You know Mariner?”

“She used to be lower decks with me,” he explains.

“Yeah, back in the day,” Beckett agrees, examining her nails. “It was pretty badass.”

Rutherford snorts and gives her a look which clearly conveys I know why you were transferred dumbass. Beckett gives him a look back and hopes it communicates to shut the fuck up.

“You driving Boimler crazy yet?” Rutherford asks, instead of spilling her dirty secrets.

Tendi does this cute snort/giggle thing behind her Padd. “Like you haven’t been present for his ‘daily complain about Marin—‘”

Rutherford lightly kicks Tendi who quite promptly shuts up.

Beckett frowns suspiciously at them.

“Anyway, it’s great to see you Mariner!” Rutherford continues. “Congrats on making First Officer by the way,” he adds in a tone of voice that implies that she will be telling him exactly how she had landed the position later.

“I guess my record speaks for itself.” Beckett smirks.

“Uh hu,” he eyes her disbelievingly. “See you at the bar after our shifts?”

Beckett sighs. “I’ll have to pass. Brad gave me so much fucking paperwork to do that I’ll never get a day off again.”

“Look at you following the rules!” Rutherford punches the air. “I knew you had it in you. I guess I’ll see you around!” He hops off the bio-bed and heads off toward Engineering.

Tendi frowns after him. “At least he still sounds like himself, right?”

That’s a weird thing to say. “Huh?”

The Orion blinks up at her, startled. “Oh, you don’t know? He was in an accident. Full year of his memory completely wiped. He remembers Brad, and you, I guess, but.” She looks down, defeated.

“Oh.” Beckett feels squeamish at the sudden emotion present in the conversation. “That, uh, that really sucks.”

“Yeah.” Tendi shakes herself. “Well, enough buffer time, I’d better get back to work. It was great meeting you, Mariner!”

“Likewise, Lieutenant Tendi,” Beckett flashes her most charming grin. “See you on the Bridge?”

Tendi glances back at Dr. T’Ana, who’s impatiently glaring at them. “Yeah, we’ll see about that.”

_____

The next few weeks go by in rapid succession. It’s either very very boring and leaves Mariner missing her life as a lower decks officer or it’s incredibly fast pace with weird shit that leaves her chasing the next adrenaline rush.

But of course most days it’s just Brad yelling at her.

“If you could have your report for Second Contact with the Diququeue’s by tomorrow morning, that would be great.”

“Uh huh.”

“Also, I need you to stop trying to pet J’viv, his culture finds it offensive.”

“Sure thing.”

 “Are you even listening to what I’m saying?!

_____

“Officer Mariner could you��what the fuck are you wearing.”

“Oh yeah, the Padroiques gave me this cool jacket.”

“I don’t even—what—Mariner, go take it off!”

“But it’s pink!”

“It’s putting hair all over my Bridge!”

“That’s not hair it’s—”

 “Oh my god just get rid of it.”

_____

“What the fuck was that!”

“That was me. Doing my job. First Officer stuff.”

“That was you practically starting a war with the Gorgonvians. Again.”

“Dude, their government is super corrupt!”

“That’s their problem! Stop antagonizing alien Ambassadors!”

_____

“Why would you tell them to go fuck themselves?!”

“They pissed me off!”

“I actually can’t handle you right now. Get off my Bridge and go irritate someone else.”

“Fine!”

“Fine!”

_____

“This isn’t working,” she tells Rutherford, snatching at his drink. He gives it up with a sigh and wearily watches her down the purple liquid.

“Maybe start listening to him for once? He is the captain.”

“And that isn’t weird to you? Dude, didn’t he start out lower decks?”

This gets an eye roll out of her usually positive friend. “We all started lower decks. That’s how Starfleet works.”

Beckett decides not to mention that it was definitely not how it worked for her, as that explanation would include revealing that she’s. Well. A Starfleet brat.

“Besides, he’s been a Lieutenant for about a year now and he really handled the Parkled crisis really well. Not that I remember,” he adds, looking a little downcast.

Beckett wrinkles her nose. “Wait, the Cerritos was taken down by Parkleds? No fucking way.” She pulls her data padd out and began tapping away.

“Please don’t hack any mission re—”

“Too late.”

“—ports. Oh shit.” Rutherford rubs at his human eye with one hand. “See this? This is why you’re driving Boimler up a wall.”

Beckett glares at him. “Brad needs to chill out.”

“You need to chill out,” he corrects and then winces. “Sorry, that came out mean. I mean, maybe just try being nice to him? Like what’s the worst that could happen?”

Beckett’s eyes narrow.

_____

“Here, Jen made coffee.”

“If you’re trying to poison me—”

“Why would I poison you?!”

Brad gives her a deadpan stare.

“With coffee!” she adds, for good measure. “I would never defile the gods’ nectar!”

“Ugh, fine,” he snatches at the mug. “Just please stop shouting.”

_____

“I don’t get it!” Beckett rants to Tendi, who’s frowning down at her data padd like it holds the secrets of the universe. “I’m being like super chill for once and he’s still mad!”

Rutherford, who’s doing something cool and science-y to the transporter pad, glances up. “Your version of chill involves way more stabbing than most peoples.”

Tendi nods, eyes still glued to her padd. “Maybe try not challenging Klingons to duels and Boimler will calm down.”

“Uh, he challenged me and then was a sore loser. Not my fault. And I bought Brad a milkshake afterwards to make up for it!”

“Boimler did say that it was unfairly delicious,” Tendi says, pensively.

“I don’t think that was a milkshake,” Rutherford mumbles.

“Point is, why doesn’t he like me yet! Everyone likes me except lame people!”

“So, you don’t think Boimler is lame anymore,” Tendi inquires, grinning at her.

“Shut up, he’s the lamest.”

Rutherford and Tendi share a conspiring look. “Sure.”

_____

So, Brad almost dies. And so do Tendi and Rutherford, because it seems that even though Brad is captain now, apparently the three of them are a tight little trio who’ve been getting up to no good the whole time Beckett was on the Vulker.

That explains a lot actually.

Anyway, there’s some Away Mission nonsense and Beckett just happens to be on the Cerritos because Brad claims that she’s too high strung and that he hasn’t had enough coffee to handle her.

Whatever.

Some shit goes down—again, Beckett isn’t there and doesn’t bother to find out the exact details until much much later—that involves Rutherford and Brad getting infected by some alien disease and suddenly Tendi is dealing with an outright war between the local Camisitites and the Federation and by the time Beckett gets their asses beamed back onto the Cerritos, it’s almost too late.

Rutherford is going to be fine, thanks to his cyborg implants but Brad isn’t looking too hot which means Beckett is Acting Captain.

Fucking great.

It takes her maybe two, three days tops to settle everything out with the irate Camisitite nation and find a cure, but it all works out in the end.

“If you want a Missions Report you can have it after I’ve taken a shower,” she informs a groggy Brad. He blinks up at her from his bio-bed, taking in her disheveled hair, bloodstained shirt, and exhausted expression.

“…cool,” he mutters. “Go away.”

She scoffs at him, dragging a seat up. “I’m good here, actually.”

Brad wakes himself up enough to give her a half-hearted scowl. “Do you ever do as you’re told?”

“Not really, no.” She examines her nails. “Your fault for signing my transfer.”

“So this has all been punishment? Because a good person talked you into a nice, well paying job that I signed off on. I don’t get you.”

“I don’t get you,” she retorts. “Command fucking sucks. It was way cooler when I was an ensign.”

“But you’re really good at it,” he says, surprised. “You’re smart and badass and like way better at everything than everyone else.”

“Wait what?”

“You could have everything! And you’re just wasting it? Do you want me to kick you off ship?”

“Maybe!”

“Well I’m not going to!”

“Why not?!”

He glares at her sullenly. “Figure it out yourself, if you’re so smart.”

_____

“I can’t figure it out!” she snaps, resuming her wild pacing.

Rutherford, who looks like his unending patience is finally, for once, running out, sighs.

(People seem to be doing that a lot around her recently.)

“Figure what out, Mariner?”

“Why did the bastard make me his First Officer?”

“Maybe he’s hot for you,” Tendi suggests, eyebrows wiggling up and down. Beckett shoves her face away.

“Shut up, no way.”

“Just ask him?” Rutherford suggests.

“I did! Like twice! First time he gave me stupid answer and second time he deflected.”

“He gave it to you because he likes you, dummy,” Rutherford says, giving her a friendly shove. “Not like that,” he adds, as Tendi began make kissy faces. “But like. He thinks you’re cool.”

“He thinks I’m cool,” Beckett parrots, unimpressed.

“You are pretty cool,” Tendi agrees. “You like kick everyone’s ass and are super smart and you have street cred.”

“Street cred,” Beckett repeats, trying not to laugh. “Yeah, we’ll go with that.”

“Point is,” Rutherford went on. “He thinks you’re cool. And you know what? I think you think he’s pretty cool.”

Beckett makes a face. “I do not, take that back.”

“You think it’s impressive that Freeman promoted him and it has you all pissy because she threw you off the ship, but you secretly think he’s smart and you think it’s funny that he gets all tied up in knots over protocol,” Rutherford summarizes.

“What are you, my therapist?” Beckett snaps.

“I’m you’re friend. And I think you could be his too if you tried?”

Beckett groans, dropping her face into Tendi’s shoulder. “Fine maybe you’re a little bit right. He hates me though.”

“Trust me, he doesn’t hate you,” Rutherford says, grin in her voice. “You annoy the fuck out of him, sure. But he likes you plenty or he’d have gotten rid of you already.”

“So what do I do?” she mumbles into Tendi’s uniform.

“Go apologize, dumbass,” Tendi advises, shrugging her off her shoulder.

“Ugh.”

_____

She finds him laying on one of the Observation Deck floors, a half-drained bottle of blue substance beside him. Before she can change her mind, she flops down into a seated position next to him. They’re drifting through hyperspace, creating that weird blue effect as their ship speeds past distant stars.

Beckett takes a swig of his contraband, grimacing at the bitter taste.

“I have no idea what I’m doing,” he says, staring blankly out into space.

Beckett feels surprise at his admission—yeah, this man is a bit of a wreck, but he seemed to the type of guy whose contingency plans had contingency plans—but decides not to show it.

“Congrats dumbass, neither to the rest of us.”

Brad frowns. “You always know what you’re doing.”

This actually coaxes a surprised laugh out of her. She collapses backward, laying on the cold deck beside him. “That’s where you’re definitely wrong, dude. I never know what I’m going to do until I do it. Could be committing arson today, could adopt one of those turtle-puppies we saw on Karklon III last week, the list goes on. We’re Starfleet Officers, we have to be flexible about shit,” she adds, turning her head look at him.

He continues to stare straight ahead of him. “I think you make a better Captain.”

Okay, so he’s in a brutally honest mood. She can chill with that.

“I think I’d get us killed in a week,” she counters, truthfully. “I’m way too impulsive to be in charge. For every badass rule breaker, we need pencil pushing stickler, ya know?”

“So what,” Brad turns his head to the side, squints at her skeptically. “Now you want to work together?”

She drops her chin into the palm of her hand, leaning on her elbow. “I’m just saying, maybe I could get myself demoted back to the fucking Vulkner again and maybe you resign your position and become one of those sad sad researchers that get eaten by their own plants and Starfleet discovers your remains six years later when they have to find a cure for a face-eating parasite or whatever. Or,” she continues, before he can interrupt, all pissy, “maybe you need to loosen up, and maybe I need to suck up to command a bit more.”

It’s the closest to an apology as he’s going to get from her.

(He’s been kind of a bitch too, and they both know it.)

Brad turns back to the window—if you can call the entire wall being made of glass a window—and sighs.

“I guess it couldn’t hurt to give it a shot,” he muses—his version of an apology as well, she notes—and then adds, “I can always demote you.”

“Ha! You couldn’t last a day in the chair without me and you know it,” she replies, smugly. “You pretend like you want constant order and everything to be perfectly organized and on schedule, but I know the truth.”

“Really now?” he dryly says. “And what’s that.”

She grins, leaning in. “You’re secretly a rebel.”

“Fuck off.”

“Pffft, I saw your eye twitching during our report to Admiral Travional. You were practically begging me to spill my coffee on him.”

“Okay, I did not tell you to do that—”

“Oh, and that sexy, sexy moment when Tendi punched Captain Lohnersen out? You never once wrote her up for—”

“He was harassing her, I wasn’t going to write her up when he clearly was disrespecting—”

Beckett dangles the bottle of ale in front of him. “Why Captain Brad. Is this. Gasp! Contraband?!”

Brad laughs, snatching the bottle away from her. “I found it in your quarters.”

“And just what were you doing in my quarters, my good sir?”

“I’ll have you know I was dropping off paperwork. That you still haven’t done. From three weeks ago.”

“And you just swiped it off my desk. Tsk, tsk.”

“Confiscated it,” he corrects, still grinning up at her. “For research purposes, of course.”

“Of course.” Beckett grabs the bottle again. Takes another swig. “Surprised you’re still conscious. This shit can blind you, ya know.”

“Yeah, I know.” He grabs the bottle back. “So maybe slow down.”

She rolls her eyes because she has clearly proven numerous times that she can hold her liquor but decides not the start anything. It’s weird, getting along with Brad, but not…unpleasant.

“Hey,” she says, poking his shoulder. “I’m glad you didn’t die.”

His face looks pinched. “Thanks for not letting me die,” he replies, suddenly wary.

She scoffs. “Like I’d let anyone die under my watch.”

Brad sits up. “You mean like I did.”

“Oh.” Beckett blinks at him. “Oh shit. Dude, I was just being an asshole then, I didn’t mean it.”

“But you weren’t wrong. If I had been smarter or—”

“Dude, you cannot think like that,” Beckett grabs his shoulders and makes uncomfortably steady eye-contact. “Even if I had been on the Cerritos when shit went down, I don’t think I could have saved him. You guys were on a time crunch with no backup and I’m surprised Rutherford survived the explosion.”

Brad’s eyebrows furrow. “Wha—did you read Freeman’s Mission Report? I told you to stop—”

She waves him off.  “Doesn’t matter. Point is, stop beating yourself up over it. And stop letting assholes like me make you feel bad,” she adds, as an afterthought.

“Only if you stop challenging people to duels in the Jefferies Tubes,” he counters.

“Deal,” she lies. “You should get in on some of those duels, though. You seem like a sword guy.”

“I can’t even tell if that’s a euphemism or not,” he mumbles. “Are we cool?”

“The coolest,” she confirms. “At least until you see my Missions Report.”

Brad sighs deeply and flops back down. “I’m not even worrying about that right now.”

“Good, because I definitely broke like every protocol ever.”

“Of course you did.”

“And I told the Camisitite’s to call me Captain Mariner, First of her Name.”

“Oh my god—”

“And I challenged their leader to a duel.”

“Mariner what the fuck.”  

[mikami]

Death Note Audio Drama 01

Disk 1: Pattern Recognition - a summary / partial translation

The Death Note audio drama is a German audiobook production that is officially licensed, but has been written and produced without any further involvement from the Japanese copyright holders. A Japanese release is, as such, not planned. An English release was announced in 2017 and has since never received any more news nor a release date announcement.

The audio drama starts of pretty benign as a retelling of the manga with some changed facts and dialogues.... and eventually full-on diverges from the plot and leads to a completely alternative ending. It’s pretty wild for officially licensed media. Wild enough to absolutely warrant being shared with the English-speaking fandom at large.

Since the whole drama is 12 hours in total in 12 disks (covering roughly one manga volume each), I won’t be able to provide a full translation and instead will summarize the less juicy bits while doing a full translation of anything funny or interesting. 

All future episodes will be found in this tag on my blog.

Without further ado, let’s begin.

We open to the sound of someone typing.

LIGHT: Something is rotten. Post-modern. Post-truth. Post-Justice. Day in day out, the same lies in endless repetition. Killers get away with murder. Drug dealers sell poison to children. The world is drowning in its own filth. The world is infected with corruption. I am the cure. I am the--

A knocking sound.

SACHIKO (muffled): Dinner is ready, dear!

LIGHT (groans, but then goes on): I am the surgeon who cuts out the cancer, I am the--

More knocking.

SACHIKO: It’s your favourite dish!

LIGHT: One second, mom! 

SACHIKO: Are you talking to your friends online again?

LIGHT: It’s fine, mom, I’m coming!

SACHIKO: Hurry up, it’s getting cold.

______

We cut to a scene of the task force entering the school in which Kuroh Otoharada has taken children hostage. The scene is fairly simple. Someone (I think Matsuda?) is pretty violently insistent on shooting Otoharada if necessary. They find Otoharada dead in the bathroom. 

______

Ryuk, who has a voice like a friendly fat little man narrating fairytales, tells us the rules of the Death Note. We cut to Light coming home and giving Sachiko his test results. They cut out the whole ‘number one in the nation’ and simply changed it to top grades in a nation-wide test exam. Probably because Germany doesn’t have ranking lists like that at all.

_______

A TV report about Otoharada is playing. A lady named Noriko Takai is trying to interview Matsuda about the incident. Matsuda refers her to the upcoming pref-conference, but admits that Otoharada died of a heart attack.

_______

Typing noises again.

LIGHT: To all those who are interested... If you are reading this text, something went wrong. If you are reading this, I might even be dead. In that case, dear me, dear Light Yagami. This is your younger self. In case you’ve forgotten everything, this story may be hard to believe, yet every word is true. Yeah... You found a notebook on the school grounds. Yeah... It claimed to have the power of bringing death to anyone you name in it. And yeah... you laughed about it. You were thinking of a prank. However... you couldn’t resist, am I right? You wrote the name of this guy from the school hostage taking and he died. But it could have been a coincidence. So you tried again. And what you saw, scared you. But in the same moment, you understood the power you had. So you ran home into your room and the confirmation was already waiting for you. With his claws, and glowing devil’s eyes.

________

Ryuk is indeed in Light’s bedroom. The meeting dialogue is largely very similar to the manga. However, this snippet happens....

LIGHT: I didn’t expect something so---

RYUK: Something so demonic? I’m hurt. I’m quite the catch for a denizen of the netherworld. I could be a sex god, if I wasn’t so good with death.

Ryuk elaborates that the notebook now belongs to Light, that nobody can see him, that he wasn’t chosen, that the shinigami world is boring... yadda yadda, we know this from the anime already. Light says his famous “if someone dies, does that make me a murderer?” line and Ryuk just says “of course it does.” Another funny Ryuk line: “You killed someone else too? Awww, you’re my man.”

________

In a flashback Light walks Shinjuku. Takuo Shibuimaru shows up and Light kills him, hurray. 

Back in the present:

RYUK: Fantastic. You killed this guy for flirting with a woman?

LIGHT: She wanted to be left alone.

RYUK: Alllright, social justice warrior. But isn’t that a little... strict?

Light launches into a speech about his ambitions. Ryuk keeps pointing out that he is afraid. Light gets annoyed at being condescended, since Ryuk is the one who gave him the weapon in the first place. However, he also admits to being scared. But still, someone needs to do it. But who else could do it, if not him? Etc, etc, etc. HE WILL MAKE A BETTER WORLD.

_______

A TV segment about the early Kira deaths. The chief prosecutor is under fire for treating prisoners badly, since people assume the prisoners died of bad food in prison. Other people deny that this is how it is, because they assume that bad food would have more than 3 victims. Someone else assumes it is the will of God. Some other guy is praising whoever does the killing in a flippant and humorous tone. The interviewer criticizes him for these views.

________

L: Come in, Watari, come in. 

WATARI: I thought you might already be in bed, Mr. L. It’s fairly late.

L: No sleep, no, not sleeping. Can’t sleep. 

WATARI: How much coffee did you...

L: There’s a killer on the loose, Watari!

WATARI: That is always the case, Mr. L.

L: No, this time it’s different. Different, you understand? I looked at the data, check it out. Heart attacks going through the roof.

WATARI: The deaths among criminals? Wasn’t that about the food?

L: No, it can’t be the food, when it’s taking place so hand-picked and world-wide. These people can’t all have been poisoned by the same dose. What do the deaths have in common...? The only connection really appears to be that all of them are criminals...

WATARI: You are a master in pattern recognition, L. You’re famous for it. 

L (laughs): Famous, yeah. We have to contact interpol. I looked at the data. Someone is killing criminals by the dozens. We need to talk to interpol.

WATARI: They had a conference announced for later today anyway. Well... tomorrow. In their time.

L: Time? Time zones, of course! 

WATARI: Mr. L...? 

L: Let’s look back at the data for a moment. 

_______

Ryuk is impressed by how many people Light killed. Light admits to getting nightmares due to it, but he also is determined about his mission. He explains his idea of heart attacks leading to recognition of the pattern. Ryuk is pretty flippant about Light’s plan, saying he is the only danger to mankind.

_______

Nature noises.

WATARI: Are we working in the park now, Mr. L?

L: I need to stay on the move. Change wifi hotspots.

WATARI: Isn’t that a little... paranoid?

L: In the face of a killer who can kill from a distance? No, it’s only appropriate. Completely appropriate. Watari... You need to create a filter. Something to distort my voice over the phone. 

WATARI: That’ll be done in no time, Mr. L.

L now explains his initial idea of how to catch the killer. He asks WHEN someone would use their power to kill and concludes that they’d do it after work before bed, in free time timeframes. L assumes someone would likely kill between 4pm and 2am, but which timezone? 78% of people die in that timeframe, in GMT-10. Thus L narrows it down to countries in that timezone for a start. And he also wants to factor in weekends, holidays, other free time events... for all those countries, to narrow it down with reference to the 32% of killings done at other times. 

_______

The interpol meeting is in session. The French representative argues that if the assumption is that this is black magic or something, then it isn’t under their jurisdiction. After all there are no laws about magic or cursing people. The US representative and meeting leader explains that there weren’t any laws about cyber crimes (or even a concept of cyber crimes) either before there were computers. Thus she argues in favor of investigating. 

________

RYUK: I mean, I love it. Don’t get me wrong, I’m a god of death and you are basically my dedicated intern.

LIGHT: Can’t you just---

RYUK: I will just do what I feel like. You can’t write my name into my own book. I am practically the only living being on this planet that is pretty much safe from you. And that’s exactly why I’m asking: when is it over? I look at you, putting on airs full of significance, how you’re killing the killers, the rapists, the serial killers.... You declared yourself the highest arbiter. 

LIGHT: Someone has to do it. Someone has to tidy up!

RYUK: And what happens when you’re done with murderers? Tax evaders? Jaywalkers? Two hairdressers having a brawl at a bar? Where do you draw the line after which the world is cleansed? Let me tell you something. This world has always been a cesspit. 

LIGHT: I’ll know it when it happens.

RYUK: Or when someone stops you.

LIGHT: Oh come on, who’s supposed to find me?

______

Back at Interpol, they’re debating the need for an international task force. Soichiro suggests bringing in L. French representative is just like “oooh, you’re calling a mystery to solve a mystery?”. Who L is gets explained.

Watari comes in and explains that L is already on the case. L’s message is played. He wants cooperation from the police.

______

A TV report about further killings. A different channel, a religious speaker claims the final days have come. A different channel again, a stand-up comedian talks about the Kira case and jokes that if all killers gets killed nobody would be left to run the government. Says he’d love to do it, but he smoked weed as a college student, so he’s probably on the list too....

Yet another channel recalls that the most popular theory about the killing has religious qualities and that people online are talking of “Kira, the saviour”. 

Light turns off the audio on the TV and Ryuk complains.

RYUK: They assume Kira is male... How sexist.

Light is currently busy googling ‘Kira’. Light complains that people don’t manage to spell ‘Killer’ correctly, if that is what they mean to say. Ryuk is the one who brings up how ‘you Japanese’ swap L and R and thus explains the name.

Then the Lind L. Tailor broadcast happens and Ryuk tells Light to put the audio back on.  

______

The Task Force is discussing the broadcast. Matsuda thought L would be more self-assured and less... reading his text off flash cards. He then realizes the name sounds familiar to him and looks it up. 

______

Light talks to Ryuk about writing Tailor’s name and does so. He dies.

LIGHT: Oopsiedaisy, heart attack.

L’s voice picks right back up. Light is confused and angry. L explains the scheme. The taunt proceeds as in the manga.

_____

Matsuda is just like ‘I tried to tell you, boss. Tailor was on death row’.

______

There is actually noises of Light breaking things in his room as he gets mad about this. Ryuk tells him to calm down. L disconnects on TV.

RYUK: Mic drop. Rock ‘n’ Roll.

LIGHT: Shut up.

______

Matsuda and Soichiro have their conversation about L’s stunt and also Kira lowering crime rate while Soichiro is rushing to catch the train home.

______

SAYU: Oh no, not curry again....

SACHIKO: Sayu, you love curry, you---

SAYU: That was when I was 6, mom! It makes you fat.

SACHIKO: Don’t be silly, dearie.

LIGHT: Everything makes you fat, if you eat too much of it.

SACHIKO: Thanks, Light. At least one person in this family uses his brain. You get that from your dad.

As if on cue, Soichiro comes home. He is delighted about the curry. Talks about the Kira case. He also brings up the idea of Kira being a teenager. Light chokes on his curry quite lengthily at that. 

______

Ryuk expresses his surprise at Soichiro leading the investigation. Light comes up with his plan to change the time of death.

______

L calls Soichiro and Soichiro gives him the news that Kira now kills hourly. L declares people connected to the investigators to be suspects.

______

The US Interpol representative and Watari are meeting for coffee, though Watari does not get coffee because it messes with his heart-rate. Watari requests the FBI to supervise in Japan. Specifically the FBI because the CIA might include a mole. The FBI meanwhile is meant for inland and thus not yet related to the case and can function as external. The representative is pretty shocked and initially refuses, based on the rules for the FBI. 

______

Three detectives leave the case because they don’t want to risk their lives by fighting Kira. 

______

Watari informs L that the FBI has agreed to investigate. L has already looked into the suspect pool via social media. Related to investigators, 16-24, only in the Kanto region.... 

______

Ryuk informs Light of someone tailing him. It’s a lengthy dialogue but very canon-close and not super interesting.

LIGHT: If this is the police....

RYUK: You’ll put up your hands and surrender?

LIGHT: I’m going to have to kill them. All of them.

RYUK: Yeah, that’s what I thought.

[uncle1milty]

Being conscious

Illusion

Mystics talk at length about the illusory nature of this world and our existence in it. They use a variety of graphic words to describe it: dream, falsehood, shadow, sham, illusion, unreality, mirage. What do they mean when they describe our life and our world this way? Isn’t my body real? My house? My wife and children? Mountains and oceans?

Let’s look at the many ways in which the mystics tell us that everything we see, touch, and value so highly is, from their perspective, illusory.

The world is illusory because it’s impermanent

Someone once asked Hazur Maharaj Charan Singh:

Q: We are told that this whole business is a dream. Would you comment on that; what you mean by that? Master: Well, it is a dream in the sense that there’s no reality in this body – and so the dream consists of 50, 60, 70, 80 years. Where are our forefathers, where are they now? Haven’t they quit the stage? It was just like a dream; they came and went away. They don’t exist anymore; they don’t exist permanently. Anything which doesn’t exist permanently is just like a dream.1

That was always Hazur’s primary way of defining what made this body and our existence like a dream – that it was impermanent. He would say that, in contrast, reality or truth was permanent and unchanging. So this world and our life in it were obviously not real, because they’re so short-lived and changeable.

He continued:

Our past relationships, the role which we played in the last life as a husband, as a wife, as a child, as a friend, isn’t that a dream to us? Where are they? We’ve forgotten everyone. It was just like a dream. So this will also become a dream after we leave this body. There’s no reality. Saints say there’s no reality to that which you are attaching so much importance. A real thing always exists – it doesn’t perish, it is stable.

Then he said: “We’re all in a dreamland. We have to be awakened from this dream and find the reality, and when you are with the reality then you will know that you have got to get up from this dream – not before that.”

What does he mean by “when you are with the reality”? Perhaps he means in the Master’s presence, where the influence of the Guru changes our perception enough so that we can see this world more clearly? Or when we are able, in our meditation, to bring the attention higher and begin to escape from the world of duality? He says we only really understand that we have to awaken from the dream when we’ve at least temporarily escaped its influence.

Finally he concluded: “Mystics want to explain to us not to give so much importance to all these things because they’re not going to last. They’re going to leave you.”

The ego’s belief in its separate existence is an illusion Another key source of the illusion we live in is the essential error in how we see ourselves. At the deepest level, each of us thinks, “I am me and I am separate from everyone else and separate from God.” That is the ego speaking, a part of our mind that is responsible for creating an imaginary barrier between our soul and the Father.

Guru Nanak Sahib describes, from a very high perspective – one that is outside time and above this physical plane – how we cycle through life after life, caught in the delusion created by the ego. That delusion or illusion, though not real, still has the effect of binding us to this world. He said:

Each one from ego takes his birth, And clad in ego dies; And comes and goes, Gives and receives, and earns and spends, And deals in lies or speaks the truth, In ego all the while. 2

“In ego all the while”: Everything, everything we do, he says, is tainted by ego, that sense of being a separate self. But despite this powerful illusion and its repercussions, “we are in fact not separate from the Lord and never have been. But our mind and ego convince us that we are, and we have to escape that illusion before we can surrender our being into His.” 3

Maya draws its power from our unfulfilled longing for the Lord

For reasons we cannot understand, the Lord sent us out from his kingdom ages ago, into this strange existence we find ourselves in. We were given bodies and minds, and the ego developed. But underneath all those coverings, we have always carried deeply embedded memories of him. The mystics tell us that every desire, every need we feel is an expression of our native hunger for God, that yearning to end our separation and return to him. But our mind corrupts that pure longing and tries to satisfy it with impermanent and petty things.

Hazrat Inayat Khan says:

[A man’s] mind, his reason, always puts forward some other cause for his unhappiness rather than the real one, in order that he may be kept in illusion all his life, in order that all his life he should run after things which are not the real aim of his soul….And if the whole universe were given to him, his heart would not be satisfied, because the demand of his soul still has not been understood.3

And according to Idries Shah:

People, Rumi teaches, do not really know what they want. Their inner yearning is expressed in a hundred desires, which they think are their needs. These are not their real desires, as experience shows. For when these objectives are attained, the yearning is not stilled.4

So maya, in a sense, perverts our natural yearning for the Lord into lust, greed, gluttony and whatnot. The desires of the mind are all based on a false premise – that if we satisfy them, the craving will stop. But of course the mind is never satisfied, because it doesn’t get what it really misses. And the desires are almost irresistible. A disciple needs to beware of them his or her whole life.

The body is illusory Let’s look next at another seemingly solid pillar of reality – our body. The mystics see it as utterly ephemeral, nothing but a dream, and they encourage us to realize how short-lived it is and to prepare for its end.

The mystic-poet Eknath says, “Your body is the shadow of a cloud, the water of a mirage – passing, unreal.”5 And then:

The body goes in a moment,   but we don’t believe it. A ripple on water – this is the world. A mirage of water is not water,   the shadow of a cloud gives no rain. A statue of salt dissolves in water –   this body is dying while you look at it,   says Eknath.6

And yet we don’t believe we’re going to die. There’s a story about a minister who began a sermon on death by saying, “Everyone in this congregation is going to die.” As he scanned the audience to see the effect of his words, he noticed a man in the front with a big smile on his face. He asked the man, “Why are you smiling, given what I’ve just said?” The man replied, “I’m not from this congregation!”

We use any excuse to fool ourselves!

Saints see the entire arc of a body’s existence, from embryo to corpse, as the briefest flash. They also see the whole range of our past incarnations, all the many bodies we have inhabited. So how can they take this particular body seriously? They warn us to look higher and not get caught in the body’s dream.

Although the body is a dream, it is a magical gift Although the physical body can indeed be a trap and is an illusion, it also carries within it the secrets and power of the Shabd, the divine energy that permeates the universe, which transcends all illusion and is the ultimate truth, the ultimate reality. In a way, the body is a sort of Trojan horse. Kal, the negative power, created this creation so cunningly that every aspect of a human being is surrounded by maya, so the poor human is trapped. But the Lord hid himself within the human body in the form of Shabd, and is there to sustain the soul and, when a Master appears, awaken the soul and help it escape.

Hazur once said, “Sister, it is better to treat this whole life just as a dream and during the dream try to find out the reality which is within every one of us.”7

So during the dream, we need to discover the ultimate reality inside ourselves. The saint Bahinabai says:

Only within this dream of a body   can you awaken to Truth and rest in the One.… If you walk the way of a teacher of Truth,   you’ll reach the Real through the unreal.8

She’s saying that to reach the real (the Shabd, the Lord) we have to use the unreal (this body), and, of course, we have to have a Master. And the Master contains that same dichotomy – his Shabd form is real, but his physical form is unreal, is maya, as he has been saying. So again, we reach the real through the unreal.

Another mystic speaks on the enormous value of this strange lump of flesh we inhabit:

What a treasure has been placed in your hand! Unlucky souls turn this treasure to dust –   this body that holds the essence of all goodness,   this body that holds a library of scriptures,   this body that breathes true holiness into holy places. Kanhoba says, Nothing can compare   with being born human.9

So in this amazing device, this pot of filth and temple of divine love, we have to find the real while immersed in the unreal.

Are we wake or asleep? A story goes like this:

A disciple met with his Master to discuss the nature of liberation and to ask about the position adopted by those who attain it. The disciple asked: “Master, how is it possible that a liberated human being can remain at peace when faced with the tragedies suffered by humanity?” The Master said, “Imagine you are sleeping and that you dream that you are in a boat with a lot of other passengers. Suddenly the boat hits a rock and starts to sink. In your distress, you wake up. Would you go back to sleep in order to warn the other passengers that the boat is sinking?10

Now, this is not to say that masters aren’t compassionate. They are supremely tender-hearted and feel for the suffering that beings undergo in this world. But they have a higher perspective, which helps to answer the common question, “How could a loving God create a world that contains so much suffering?” They say that human beings are, in effect, dreaming their existence and their suffering. As Baba Ji has told us, only the Shabd is real; everything else is illusion.

Mystics say that the problem isn’t with the creation, but with our perception of it. Hazur once said that the creation looks perfect to the perfect one. The bottom line is that the masters are trying to wake us up from the dream so we can share their higher perception.

Science’s argument against the illusion of this physical world Let’s consider our situation from the perspective of a modern physicist. It turns out that physicists also argue that we are living in an illusion.

They say that each of us is made up of about 50 trillion cells. Each of those cells contains 20 trillion atoms. Each atom, when looked at closely, consists of a lot of sub-atomic particles, but each sub-atomic particle, if looked at closely, consists of nothing but energy. So, we are in effect, nothing but energy. What we see when we look at ourselves or at another person or object is just an energy field, an illusion of solidity that is in fact almost entirely empty space, with just a certain amount of energy creating the illusion of substance. 11

For example, if you expanded an atom to the space taken up by a football stadium, the nucleus would be the size of a marble sitting in the middle of the field, and the much smaller electrons would be whizzing around at the outer reaches of the stadium. Everything else would be just empty space. Not much there! But very convincing to our senses.

Hazur Maharaj Ji once had the following interchange with a disciple:

Q: Is this world really here or is it a dream world? Master: This world is perishable. You will not be able to stay with this world forever. This world is perishable.

Q: Does it really exist? Master: It exists in a manner of speaking. When you are in a dream, everything looks real to you. When you wake up from a dream, then only you realize that there was actually no reality at all. It was just a dream. While being in this world, we think it is absolutely real. When we leave this world, then we know it was just a dream.

Q: Are we in the world or aren’t we? Master: At this time we are dreaming! When we wake up from this dream, then we will know that this world is perishable. 12

So that’s a good transition from talking about all the different forms of illusion to asking why it matters and what we do about it.

Why do the mystics emphasize the illusory nature of this world, this body, this life? Essentially, they are trying to wake us up, to shake us out of this trance induced by maya, in which we’re completely seduced by the world – its pleasures; its promises of wealth, power, and fame; and its horrors, which fascinate us so intensely that we can’t take our eyes off them. The saints keep telling us not to get sucked into the show of this world: it’s only a very compelling reality show, but it’s not Reality. Turn your attention, they say, away from the reality show to not Reality. That’s why Baba Ji has told us to be serious about our meditation but not take life too seriously.

But we don’t want to wake up; we’re absolutely glued to the screen of life and can’t tear our attention away. And we’re so dead asleep that we don’t even realize it most of the time.

Fortunately, our master is not content to let us sleep. He will wake us up. And that’s the single most important lesson from this discussion – that we will never wake up from the dream, we will never see through these myriad layers of illusion, without the assistance of a living master, someone who is awake, someone who exists outside the fog of illusion.

In her book The Case for God, Karen Armstrong, a writer and former Roman Catholic nun, retold this famous story:

One day a Brahmin priest came across the Buddha sitting in contemplation under a tree and was astonished by his serenity, stillness, and self-discipline. “Are you a god, sir?” the priest asked. “Are you an angel … or a spirit?” No, the Buddha replied. He explained that he had simply revealed a new potential in human nature. It was possible to live in this world of conflict and pain at peace and in harmony with one’s fellow creatures. “Remember me,” the Buddha told the curious priest, “as one who is awake.” 13

So our master is constantly shaking us in various ways, to try to get us to open our eyes and wake up from this dream, this illusion. And he urges us, prods us, tries desperately to persuade us to do our meditation with all the intensity, love, and commitment that we can muster, as that’s the only path to awakening to Reality.

And what is that Reality? The Shabd or divine power or Name. The Shabd or Name is God in action, and it takes physical form as our master. The Shabd or Name is the power that will save us from this world.

As the mystic Narhari taught:

A painter strokes his brush on a wall –   this is the world, nothing real here. Children build houses of sand,   then knock them down and go home. Everyone does their work here –   they love it as their own so they take it to be true. If you really want to achieve something real,   just repeat the Name, says Narhari, and stay close to the mystics.14

Illusion - RSSB Satsangs & Essays

Mystics talk at length about the illusory nature of this world and our existence in it. They use a variety of gr...

Maharaj Charan Singh, Spiritual Perspectives, Vol. I, #39

Quoted in Divine Light, 7th ed., p.32-33

RS Greetings, Autumn 2001, p.9

Idries Shah, The Sufis, p.140

Many Voices, One Song, p.260

Ibid., p.208

Maharaj Charan Singh, Tape of 2 December, 1988, Question 10

Many Voices, One Song, p.147

Ibid., p.143

Quoted in Spiritual Link, March 2009, pp.24-25; from 101 Cuentos Clasicos de la India, comp. Ramiro Calle,

Much of this was drawn from a 2011 TED talk by Jeff Lieberman on YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=N0--_R6xThs

Spiritual Perspectives, Vol. I, #18

Karen Armstrong, The Case for God, p.330

Many Voices, One Song, p.166

[bangtanexonyeondan]

Pretty Moans

Genre: SMUT. FILTHY FILTHY SMUT. and fluffy aftercare

Word Count: 3744

Warnings: This is filth, a fuck ton of teasing, gags, handcuffs, jimin is flexible, vibrators and shit, a mountain of filth, i am ashamed of myself, disgustingly fluffy aftercare. You’ve been warned.

Jimin whimpered pathetically under Namjoon’s touch. Eyes screwed shut in concentration, he tried to be as quiet as possible.

“Come on, baby, don’t hold back. You know how much I love hearing your pretty moans.”

A strangled groan. Jimin twisted in the sheets, desperate to get as far away and also as close to the torturous pleasure as possible.

“They’re embarrassing.” He barely managed to get those two words out before he clenched his jaw and exhaled heavily through his nose, Namjoon purposefully assaulting his most sensitive parts to get a vocal reaction. Seeing that Jimin was determined not to make noise, Namjoon pulled his hand away and smirked at Jimin’s unintelligible begging to continue.

“Why is it embarrassing, Jiminie?” Namjoon questioned, ignoring the small pleas to be touched again.

Jimin huffed in frustration. “Everybody living around us looks at me weird,” he whined.

“They’re just jealous that they don’t get laid as hard as you do.”

“But I’m too loud…we get noise complaints sometimes,” he said in a small voice.

Immediately, Namjoon took hold of Jimin’s flushed cock and jerked him off fast and hard. Jimin screamed, legs squeezing together, violently arching off the bed, handcuffs clanking against the bed rails. His shirt slid up his chest to reveal his stomach, a thin layer of fat hugging hard muscle.

Namjoon let go after a few unsatisfying seconds, and Jimin collapsed back onto the mattress, panting and pouting.

“They don’t matter, Jiminie,” he assured, using a finger to collect the precum coating the head of Jimin’s cock. “Say ‘ah’, baby boy.” Namjoon nodded with approval when Jimin obeyed. He smirked, drinking in the sight of the pink tongue occasionally peeking out from between plush lips, stroking delicately along the finger in its mouth.

“Let’s not tease each other, hmm?” Namjoon suggested. His palm ran lightly over Jimin’s length. “You give me what I want.” Jimin’s hips were stuttering up into his touch, but Namjoon kept his hand just far enough to draw out a muffled groan. “I’ll give you what you want.”

Jimin nodded furiously in agreement.

Pleased with the cooperation, Namjoon left from his position of nearly sitting on top on Jimin and left the room in silence for several agonizing minutes. Exasperated, Jimin twisted onto his stomach as far as he could with his arms secured above him and began to rut into the mattress.

Finally being able to satisfy the tension felt so good.

He knew he shouldn’t be doing this. Every touch belonged to Namjoon, if he were to get caught it would be-

“Baby’s hungry, I see.”

Jimin froze in shame.

“No, don’t stop. Keep going.”

Confused, Jimin gave an experimental thrust into the sheets.

“Go on. Fuck it like you were just a moment ago. Show me how desperate you are.”

Jimin slowly began moving his hips again, suspicious of Namjoon’s intent, but far more fearful of the outcome if he refused to listen. A harsh smack over his ass drew out a pained cry and spurred him to move faster.

“I told you to fuck it. Don’t play games with me,” Namjoon warned in a low voice. He watched with disappointment as Jimin rolled his hips in silence broken only by an occasional sigh. He was still vigilantly holding back. Brat.

“Stop,” Namjoon commanded, halting him right as he began to chase after his own orgasm. Jimin moaned in frustration, unsuccessfully attempting to gather what self control he had left, but his hips were slow to listen. Namjoon smacked him again, harder, and he watched Jimin kick his legs in pain.

“You really don’t want to listen,” Namjoon concluded. He flipped Jimin onto his back, handcuffs clattering into each other as he snatched away the satisfaction of friction. “I thought we had a deal, Jimin. It’s a shame really.” Namjoon looked at him with irritation and noticed the tears running down Jimin’s face.

Namjoon’s expression immediately changed.

“Do you know why I’m doing this, baby?” he asked in a soft tone, wiping away the tear streaks. Jimin shook his head. A few more tears fell in frustration.

“Baby, I’m sorry,” Namjoon apologized and cradled Jimin’s cheek. “Do you want a hint?”

Jimin nodded.

“What do I want, baby? You turn me on so much, with almost everything you do, but there’s something that really gets to me, baby.”

Jimin’s eyebrows furrowed in concentration.

“Come on, I know you can do it,” he encouraged.

Jimin looked up at Namjoon in realization. “My voice. You wanna hear my…” His ears turned red with embarrassment. “My pretty moans,” he repeated quietly.

“That’s right, baby.” Namjoon rewarded him with a kiss. “My baby is so smart.” Jimin flushed at the praise. It made his stomach feel fluttery and light.

“But,” Namjoon continued regretfully, “my baby didn’t listen the first few times I asked, which can’t go unpunished. Otherwise my sweet, beautiful, charming baby will become a spoiled little brat. Do you want to be a spoiled little brat?”

Jimin shook his head fervently. He wanted to be a good baby for his hyung.

“So you understand why I need to punish you, right?”

Slowly, Jimin nodded in agreement and understanding. “I’m sorry, hyung,” he said in a small voice.

“It’s ok, baby. Hyung will always give you a second chance. You can prove yourself again and listen to hyung’s words and then hyung will give you whatever you want.”

“Whatever I want?”

“That’s right, but your punishment isn’t going to be very easy. Hyung is going to test your flexibility. Do you need to stretch first, baby?”

Jimin shook his head.

“Are you sure?”

“Punishments should hurt a little.”

“I’m not about to injure you, Jimin,” Namjoon said sternly.

“Hurt, not injure. I’m flexible, I can take it, I promise, hyung.”

“Alright, but if you think you’re even getting close to tearing something, you’re going to stop me.”

“I will.”

Namjoon sighed. “You’re being so good, it’s hard for me to punish you now.”

“I’ll become a spoiled brat if you don’t. You’ll have a hard time making me moan anyway.”

That struck a chord.

“I’ll have a hard time? Are you challenging me?”

“Mmm, getting you to show me how you’re gonna punish me. I’m not convinced at the moment, hyung.”

“You’re going to shut that mouth of yours,” Namjoon threatened.

“But then how will I moan for you? How will I scream so loud we get another noise complaint from our floor? How will the neighbors downstairs hear me?”

Namjoon tsked. “You think you’re winning this game? Baby, I’m already two steps ahead of you.” Namjoon pulled a ring gag out from his back pocket. “Say ‘ah’, baby.”

Jimin barely opened his mouth, a smirk pulling at the corners of his lips.

“You think you’re funny?” Namjoon gripped Jimin’s jaw and forced him to open his mouth wider, fitting the ring behind his teeth. A low, unrestrained groan filled the room as Namjoon tightened the gag behind Jimin’s head one loop smaller than was comfortable. He watched him struggle with the gag for a moment before he unlocked the cuffs holding Jimin’s arms above his head and pulled them out as far as he was allowed, clicking them onto new rails. Jimin huffed in response and shifted to make himself more comfortable.

“Now your legs,” Namjoon muttered to himself and searched under the bed for their shoe boxes of toys. He dug through the first box with no success, but he found the two extra cuffs in the second. He pulled Jimin up into a nearly seated position to make stretching his legs a little easier on him and began securing his legs to the bed rails when Jimin made a strangled noise that sounded vaguely like ‘hyung’. Namjoon looked down at him to see if he was ok.

“Too much?”

Jimin shook his head.

“Feels good?”

A hesitant nod.

“Well, we can’t have that, can we?” Namjoon stretched Jimin’s legs farther and relished the moans pulled out into the room. He sat back and admired the lewd position displayed in front of him. “Now, since you can’t say anything, if you need me to stop, pull against the cuffs on your left hand three times. Do you understand?”

Jimin nodded.

“Show me how you’ll do it.”

Three hard yanks.

“Alright. Now. How am I going to start your punishment, hmm? Do you want me to play with your cock or with your ass?”

“A-ahh…aah-”

“Sorry baby, it’s hard to understand you when you’re wearing that gag. Did you say ass?”

Jimin nodded frantically.

“Well, too bad baby. This is a punishment, not a reward. I’ll play with your cock first,” Namjoon decided, drinking in the way Jimin squirmed against his restraints. He pressed a finger against the dripping head, rubbing small circles around the slit. A long moan passed easily from Jimin’s open mouth despite his attempt at choking it down. Namjoon dug his finger into the slit and Jimin slammed backwards into the headboard with a high pitched wail.

“Mmm…I never realized how responsive you are to this,” Namjoon noted, continuing to prod. “We should try sounding sometime, don’t you think?”

Jimin was reduced to indecipherable noises.

“Unfortunately, we don’t have anything safe enough to start with, so that’s gonna have to wait,” Namjoon said with a sigh and began stroking Jimin’s cock lazily. He looked up and grinned at the sight of that sinful tongue slipping out through the ring involuntarily as his baby panted. He continued to pump his hand as he leaned forward to suck Jimin’s tongue into his mouth. Startled, Jimin pulled his head back, banging it against the rails.

“Ouch. That sounded like it hurt,” Namjoon sympathized. He rummaged around in the box next to him to find a bottle of lube. He popped open the cap and poured it directly onto Jimin’s skin, watching him tense up and whine from the sudden chill. Namjoon spread the lube over Jimin’s cock with one hand while the other used whatever was left over to begin stretching his hole.

It didn’t take long for Namjoon to fit three of his fingers into him, but the instant Jimin began fucking himself onto them, Namjoon removed his hand.

“I bought a present for you not too long ago,” Namjoon said calmly, wiping his hands and ignoring the frustrated pants. “You’ll have to wait for me to go get it, but I don’t want to leave you untouched, so we can use this instead,” he continued and retrieved a vibrator from the box. Jimin shook his head and tried to protest, but his words came out as garbled nonsense.

“Now, now. Don’t worry. It won’t be on the highest setting.” Namjoon clicked the button three times to set the vibrations at a medium level and proceeded to hold it against the base of Jimin’s cock. “You’re waiting for the catch now, aren’t you?” Namjoon asked as Jimin moaned loudly and nodded.

“My smart baby,” he praised. “You see, since I have to leave the room, no one’s going to be able to hold it in place.”

Jimin’s eyes widened with realization. Namjoon began balancing the vibrator on the bed to lean against Jimin in a way that was infuriatingly teasing yet nowhere near satisfying. “Now don’t move, or else it’ll fall and you won’t have anything touching you for the next few minutes. You don’t want that, now do you?”

Jimin tearfully shook his head.

“Good boy,” Namjoon approved and kissed his cheek before he left the room again.

Jimin was easily sweating through his white shirt. He closed his eyes and desperately tried to think of something other than how badly he wanted to rut against the toy. Each shuddering breath terrified him. He feared that if he breathed too hard, he would make the vibrator fall. His mouth was beginning to feel dry from the constant exposure to the air, and he couldn’t control the frustrated whines he was constantly making as his thighs involuntarily tensed every few seconds.

He wanted to be touched. He needed to. Otherwise he felt like he would lose his mind.

Why was Namjoon hyung taking so long?!

As if on cue, Namjoon returned to the bedroom, and tears of relief began spilling from Jimin’s eyes.

“Hyung,” he tried to call out, but all that left his throat was another moan.

Namjoon shushed him gently, switched off the vibrator, and opened the water bottle in his hand. “Drink this. I’ll pour carefully.”

Jimin hungrily gulped down the water, half lapping it up as Namjoon poured a small, steady stream into his mouth.

“Feel better?” Namjoon asked, and Jimin confirmed that he was ok. “Good. You’re doing so well. Your punishment is almost over. We’ll finish with these,” he promised and revealed the present he had bought.

Thick double vibrating bullets.

Jimin stared at the toy and then looked back at Namjoon.

“Do you want to try it out?”

Jimin nodded anxiously. Namjoon smiled.

“Since you’ve been taking your punishment so well, I’ll listen your choice this time. Do you want one on your pretty cock and the other inside you or do you want both of them inside you?”

Jimin thought hard for a moment, brows furrowed. He yanked on his cuff twice when he decided.

“Both of them inside you?”

Jimin nodded.

“Fuck, Jiminie. Do you have any idea what you’re doing to to me?” Namjoon growled and began removing his clothes, unable to ignore how painful it was for him to keep his pants on any longer. “Should we play with the settings first?”

Jimin shook his head with an impatient huff. He had been teased for so long, all he wanted now to be fucked hard. Namjoon sensed this and chuckled. “Alright, alright.”

Jimin watched his hyung lube himself and the toy up, his breaths, heavy and thick with lust, clearly audible.

“I wish you could see how hungry your little hole is right now, clenching like that, begging for something to fill it up.” Namjoon pressed the power button on the remote and the bullets began whirring to life. He clicked through the settings to start at a low, basic speed. Jimin was practically crying through the ring in his mouth.

“You wanna be filled, baby?”

Jimin pulled harshly against his restraints, his eyes pleading for Namjoon. Namjoon waved one of the bullets at him before he lowered his hand and rubbed it against Jimin’s hole.

With an erotic cry, Jimin’s stomach muscles tightened as he rolled his hips with what little motion he was allowed against the stimulation, trying so ardently to have it inside him.

“Fuck, baby,” Namjoon groaned and drove the bullet into Jimin until it was swallowed up. The connecting wire threading out to the remote was the only evidence that it was even there at all. That and the escalated moans dripping from Jimin’s throat and he ground into the bed, craving more.

Namjoon set the remote down and stilled Jimin’s movements for a brief moment to line himself up. He moved the wire aside and slowly plunged into tight, suffocating heat. Jimin cried out and his knees vainly tried to bend and close from the overwhelming pleasure of his hyung finally taking him. Namjoon, too, groaned as he pushed the bullet further into Jimin, the vibration rough against his sensitive head. He paused for a moment while flush against Jimin’s heaving chest to give him an encouraging kiss on the forehead. He began thrusting slowly at first so Jimin could adjust, but within a few moments, he was pounding into him, shoving the bullet farther in. Jimin screamed openly with pleasure, voice breaking with each drive, every muscle in his body tense, hands clenched, toes curled, tears rolling down his face, neighbors completely forgotten.

Namjoon abruptly halted and pulled out, but Jimin continued to whimper repeatedly, his hole contracting around nothing but waves of buzzing throbs. Saliva leaked from the corners of his mouth, and he couldn’t even keep his eyes open anymore.

Namjoon patted away stray tears that clung to Jimin’s cheeks. “I’m putting the second one in. Are you ok with that?”

Jimin nodded feebly, a few seconds too late to be considered a normal response. Namjoon was about to continue when Jimin suddenly made a sound and rattled the handcuffs weakly.

Despite the lack of three distinct tugs, Namjoon immediately stopped and unbuckled the gag. He carefully wiped Jimin’s chin, totally indifferent that he was cleaning the spit drooling from his baby’s exhausted mouth. He gingerly massaged Jimin’s jaw, which must be aching terribly by now.

“Baby, did I hurt you?” Namjoon asked, voice full of concern. He turned off the vibrator.

“Leh…plea-” Jimin was still struggling to make coherent words, but Namjoon understood him. He instantly uncuffed Jimin’s ankles, gingerly placing them on the bed before slowly, painfully slowly, closing them so as to avoid hurting him as much as possible.

“Do you want me to take out the bullet?”

“No.”

“You want to keep going?”

“Inna sec. M’legs are…dead.”

Namjoon brought Jimin’s arms closer and locked them to the rails right above his head, so he could lay down more comfortably. “What do you want me to do, baby?”

Jimin stretched out his jaw for a moment before replying. “Stretch my legs towards my chest.”

“Like this?” Namjoon proceeded to pull his legs up.

“Ah, ah! Slower, please. It hurts a lot.”

“Sorry.” Namjoon carefully help Jimin bend his knees so his legs were folded against his shirt. “You doing ok?”

Jimin sighed happily. “You have no idea how refreshing it is to move my legs,” he said with a smile. Namjoon grinned and massaged Jimin’s legs, rubbing out the tension and soreness. He had him groaning for an entirely different reason now, not that the neighbors would be able to tell.

Before long, Namjoon’s hands wandered down to Jimin’s cock again. He focused on making him feel better, and from the shaking moans and the way Jimin was grinding up into his hand, he was doing fine.

“I’m so proud of you, baby. You didn’t cum yet, and I’ve been teasing you for so long. You’re so perfect.”

Jimin’s stomach fluttered at the praise. “Hyung,” he breathed, voice getting needy.

“Do you want hyung to play with your pretty cock until you cum? You deserve it, baby.”

“No…I want hyung to fuck me until I cum, and I want to feel hyung's cum inside me.”

“Shit, I could listen to you all day,” Namjoon cursed and kissed him hungrily while one hand slowly began fingering him. “Fuck, baby, I can’t even feel the damn thing.”

“Hyung, please, I was so close, please just- oh fuck!”

Namjoon pushed into him again and quickly pulled out. He grabbed the vibrator remote and turned it on to the highest setting. Jimin swore loudly. Namjoon grabbed the second bullet and pressed it against Jimin’s hole. It slipped in without any resistance and Jimin moaned shamelessly. “Hyung, fuck me…”

“Still hungry? We need to fix that don’t we?” Namjoon gripped Jimin’s legs and pushed them down, using them as leverage for him to hammer into Jimin ruthlessly. The room filled with explicit begs and unchecked cursing.

Within minutes, Jimin succumbed to the powerful vibrations pounding through his core as his hyung brutally fucked him. His eyes screwed shut, and incomprehensible sounds fell from his lips as his orgasm ripped through him, cum streaking his legs, stomach, and chest.

Jimin was limp with exhaustion when Namjoon reached his climax, pumping his load inside Jimin with low moans. He kissed him softly on the lips and pulled out when the tight heat was becoming too much for him. Namjoon turned off the toy and carefully tugged at the wires to remove the bullets. As they were drawn out, Namjoon watched as his cum was pushed out of Jimin’s hole, running down onto the sheets.

Jimin whined and exhaled deeply through his nose at the feeling of being emptied. Namjoon unlocked the cuffs that held Jimin’s arms up and placed tender kisses on his bruising wrists before leaving to draw a hot bath for him.

When he returned to clean the bed and the toys, he found Jimin sleepily humming a mildly familiar tune while he slowly stretched out his legs.

“Mmm…I’m gonna have to call in sick for the next few days,” Jimin said as Namjoon scooped him up into his arms.

“Why’s that?”

Jimin rolled his eyes. “Because I’m not gonna be able to walk, hyung, and that probably gives you one hell of an ego boost.”

Namjoon chuckled and brought Jimin into the shower.

“You don’t have to stand. Just sit down and I’ll rinse you off really quick.”

Jimin sighed contentedly and sank further into the soothing warmth of the bath. Namjoon was taking a shower in the glass cubicle next to him. “Hyung,” he called gently.

“Hmm?”

“Did I make you happy?”

Namjoon turned off the water and stepped out. He tied a towel around his waist and knelt next to Jimin. “Now why would you ask such a silly question, baby?”

“I mean…was I loud enough for you?”

Namjoon laughed. “The neighbors definitely hate us.”

Jimin snorted and began playing with his hands. Namjoon watched him for a while before dipping his hand in the water and intertwining their fingers.

“It’s a shame really,” Jimin mumbled.

“What?”

“I wanted to…” His ears blushed.

“Wanted to what?”

“I, well, I-I kinda wanted to hold all of…it…i-inside me. At least for a little longer. I don’t know, this is stupid and embarrassing.” Jimin sank into the water, attempting to hide how red his face was getting. His nose peeked out over the surface of the water and he kept his eyes averted.

Namjoon’s heart wanted to burst. God, he was so fucking cute. Instead of squishing Jimin’s cheeks like he wanted to, he settled for playing with his hair. “Next time,” he promised.

Jimin looked at him and pulled himself back up. “Next time, I get to do whatever I want. You said so.” His lips were pouting and begging to be kissed.

So Namjoon did.

His lips were always so soft and perfect, and he smelled sweet and clean and like…himself. Namjoon didn’t want to stop, but he gently pulled away and kissed him on the forehead.

“Next time you can do whatever you want, my Jiminie.”

[theramblingonesie]

No More, Mr. “Nice Guy”.

My heart breaks and goes out to all of the women who have had the courage to come forward recently in the media about men in power who have violated them.  I refuse to compare traumas, and some could make the ignorant argument that what I’m about to say “DOESN’T EVEN COMPARE” to other more violent acts in Hollywood, but this particular story about Aziz hits very close to home and has left me slightly undone.

Yesterday, my little sister bravely put a post up on her social media that I hope contributes to changing the minds and hearts of Aziz’s defenders.  Years ago, she had an encounter with him that leaves no doubt in my mind that this man is a serial predator, and is in fact very aware of his behavior.  When I started seeing posts going up about him not knowing any better, it being a one-time accident, give him a chance, etc, my blood boiled over.  Because for every one story that receives light, there is almost always a painful trail of those that don’t.  We, the general public, have absolutely zero knowledge or qualification to conclude this man’s innocence.  But I’ve heard enough true stories that absolutely confirm that he is guilty, and NOT a “nice guy”.

When I first heard this news story, I became very upset about how this brave woman, Grace, is being torn apart by the media.  The criticism, the atrocious “open letter” by another woman, was deplorable enough being directed at her.  But these attacks go further than Grace.  Just like we’re unqualified to say that Aziz is innocent, criticizing and destroying Grace’s character is also insane, because nobody making these comments actually knows her.  Therefor, these words are attacks on every woman, every person, who has ever suffered at the hands of sexual assault, violation, and manipulation.  I moved through the phases of generalized rage, to rage over my sister being targeted, and eventually right over to my own miserable encounter with a different celebrity who is widely known to be a “nice guy”.

What happened between this “nice guy” celebrity and I could also be judged as just a really, really bad date.  Okay. Hm. Here are some examples of dates I’ve been on that qualify as really bad, in my opinion:

1.       Met up with a dude on OkCupid around the corner from my apartment.  He was totally different online versus in person.  He didn’t pick up on any social cues, spoke about himself the entire time without asking me any questions, begged for a kiss at the end of the night, and then attempted to make plans to see me again. It was so gross that I desperately texted another OkCupid match immediately after in an attempt to brain-bleach the experience away.  Dude #2 picked me up around midnight and took me to a diner. He was super nice, but I didn’t feel any chemistry. All in all, the night left me feeling gross, sad, lonely and exhausted.  I deleted my profile shortly thereafter.

2.       Went out with a guy who claimed that he was such a powerful wizard that he could turn invisible, and had me “watch” him do it (I…still saw him).  Later that night he somehow convinced me to go back to his place, where he proceeded to makeout with me under a crystal pyramid.  I still laugh about that one.

3.       My first super-serious boyfriend didn’t know I was 20 when he asked me on our first date. I got kinda lost and was late to meet him in Revere, realized I had forgotten my wallet with all of my money back in Rhode Island, got in the car with him while I was still on the phone with another friend, and then when I asked what we’d be doing that night, he responded that there was a bar he’d like to take me to. I had to give him the news that I was underage. I was absolutely the cause of this horrible date. We ended up being together for five years after that, but good lord was that awful. Forever in my shame file….(side note: the night ended really well, fortunately, and has remained a very sweet memory)

Those are what “bad dates” look like.  There is no sexual assault or emotional manipulation in those stories.  There was no fear for my safety, no violation, no feeling of absolute filth or the kind of humiliation that makes you completely question yourself and turn to ice, drawing up traumas from the past or activating mental illness.  As soon as those qualities enter the picture, one is no longer on a “bad date”.  It becomes a different entity; a bastard child of rape culture.

My “bad date” with this “nice guy” celebrity still haunts me to this day.  He had met me a year or so prior during a big performance I was in, and pursued me to varying degrees over time.  I was completely star-struck.  I had been a fan of this guy’s music since forever, and couldn’t believe that he was paying so much attention to me.   My friends made fun of me because he was a bit older, or at least had aged poorly from years of heavy drug use, but that didn’t matter me. He was sober now, and so devoted to his art, and so smart and funny, and sooooo nice.  After months of more intense flirtation and a solid makeout session after one of his shows, he became insistent on spending more time with me, wanting to treat me like someone he was actually seeing, rather than a casual long-distance flirtation. He begged me to come stay with him in New York for a couple weeks, telling me about all the places he would take me, the fancy dinners, and so on.  I agreed to make it happen, but shortly after saying yes, he began getting a little cold.  Energetically, I knew something was off.  I backed off of the plans, confused, and made up an excuse that I would have to check with my work to see how much time I could take off.  Ultimately I gave in and decided to go down for two nights.  That weekend ended with me going hungry and thirsty, abandoned in a hotel room, fucked twice and then completely snubbed. I felt awful.  I felt used, manipulated and lied to.  I felt cheap, pathetic and outrageously humiliated.  I hated how his coldness made me shut down, and that I felt unsafe being myself. I hated what an idiot I sounded like around him, because my brain was so dissociated from confusion and fear around not understanding the extreme shift that was occurring with him.  I hated how ugly I felt, and how stupid.  I hated that I was treated like a nameless sex worker, and STILL didn’t get paid.  At 1 or 2am on the last night, I sent a frantic text to one of my sister-wives who supported me in an incredible way, offering to buy me a different room so I could sleep before getting back on the road to Boston.  Talking to her gave me the strength to leave there and tell him to fuck off forever.  I wrote him an email while his “sober” ass was drugged up and unconscious on pills next to me, and hit send as soon as I left the hotel, because I had no desire to look at his face or hear his excuses in person.  I told him how horrible his behavior was, to which I didn’t receive any kind of response for hours.  No, the first thing I saw from him was a video on Instagram of him in the back of a cab, just staring into a camera with tears in his eyes so all of his followers could see what a sweet, sensitive man he was in that tender moment of pain.

BARF.

He finally made contact, with his first text saying “well that fucking sucked.”  I tried asking him why he did what he did, to just give me some hint or clue or anything that would help me stop feeling so awful and insane. The last text I remember receiving was, “I said I’m sorry.  I don’t owe you any explanations.”

Outside of work, I spent the next couple days in bed, mourning the experience.  There weren’t enough showers.  I exhausted my tears.  I felt such a depression that I stopped feeling anything at all.  This man continued to follow my friends online, liking their sexy pictures and making fun and flirty comments, as if there were zero consequences to his actions.  Not a drop of guilt or self-awareness.  A few months later, a song of his came on, and like women are conditioned to do, I questioned if the badness of the interaction was all my fault; that my being a desperate loser made him rightfully neglect and mistreat me; that my sensitivity and awkwardness caused me to lose a lover and friend.

SO I SENT HIM AN APOLOGY TEXT AND TOLD HIM I MISSED HIM.

He responded simply that he was glad to hear that.  And we never spoke again.

I dare you to ask me why I didn’t just leave.

I dare you to call that a “bad date”.

I dare you to bring up my age, my fragility, my anxiety or history of depression.

I dare you to ask me why I don’t just say his name, or why I haven’t spoken up sooner (one reason: he already has one autobiography out in which he shares graphic and personal details about the women he’s hooked up with, often through the lens of him being some kind of savior, unless he’s looking for sympathy because he was on drugs. On our “really bad date”, he informed me that he has a deal with a publisher and was in the middle of writing his second autobiography.  I would like to not end up in that book for the rest of time.  If I’m already in that book, I would like it if nobody bought it, so I’m not about to call attention to him. Please thank you amen).

I dare you to tell me that I put myself in that situation.

I dare you to tell me this whole thing is fake because I tried to resume contact.

I dare you to tell me to toughen up and just get over it, that I should be grateful that I don’t live in a part of the world where acid could be thrown in my face.

I dare you to tell me that I asked for it.

I dare you to tell me that it wasn’t technically rape, and that this is just how men are and it’s not his fault.

I dare you to bring up my entire history of sexual assault and dysfunctional relationships, and make an argument that I’m either lying, that I’m a magnet for this, or that I’m just attention seeking.

I dare you to tell me what a fan you are, and that he’s such a nice guy.

Just try me.

These days, I feel mostly healed from this interaction.  I’ll occasionally have a dream about it, or snarl a bit if his name or music come up. Sometimes I try to change the story in an attempt to reclaim any power from the situation, bragging to folks who aren’t close to me that I had the chance to bone a rockstar.  It’s super rare that I feel angry about this anymore. To be honest, my anger about it only flairs up when I hear other women getting trashed for having the courage to come forward about rape culture.  Which, these days, is more and more frequent.  But I think 90% of that anger is that of a collective rage for having to ask/answer these questions, doubt our worth and authenticity in the face of those who hurt us, and lay ourselves out to be slaughtered in the name of “justice”.  5% of it is still being angry at him.  The last 5% is being mad at myself for not acknowledging the red flags for what a loser he is.

While I do believe that there are people who do nice things in the world, I’m all set with “nice guys”.  Or just, “nice people” in general.  More and more, I find that many people who identify as “nice” or are described as “nice”, are simply performing niceness.  I, as with most women on the planet, have had more than my fair share of “nice guys” getting angry with me for not giving them my pussy in exchange for all of the “nice” things they’ve done for me (most of which I never asked for, I just say “oh wow, that’s nice, okay” when it’s presented).  There are countless “nice guys” out there who were my dear friends, who have miserably rejected and abandoned me now that they know I’m not going to fuck or date them. If you ask them, they’ll probably tell you a version where I was so mean or ungrateful, whatever. Find Jesus and call me in the morning.

I’ve had “nice” friends of all genders who use “niceness” like some sort of currency, that when they’re being absolute douchebags, they like to avoid personal responsibility and remind you about how you can’t be upset with them because they’ve done so many “nice” things.  Or they use “niceness” as a way to create co-dependency.  There are a lot of “nice” people in power—cops, celebrities, clergy members, girl scout leaders, teachers, family members, etc. who have done some really nasty things.  A lot of classist racists give to charity.  This is not to say that the rest of us are infallible, no no.  I by no means will try to make you think I’m any kind of angel. But there’s something manipulative and deceptive about the performance of “niceness”.  These people in power who would “never hurt a fly!” have raped, stolen, been abusive, lied, exploited, and hell—even been serial killers!

DO YOU KNOW HOW MANY “NICE GUYS” WHO ARE ACTIVE IN CHURCH AND ARE COMMUNITY LEADERS AND HAVE BEAUTIFUL FAMILIES ARE ALSO MURDERERS??????

SO I DON’T EVEN WITH ME.

Sorry, I don’t mean to contribute to mass hysteria.  No, I truly don’t believe that the average nice person is a murderer.  My point is, “nice” is not an argument toward someone’s innocence.  Nice can be a defense mechanism, like animals who pretend they’re dead so they won’t get eaten.  Underneath that is a world of emotions, thoughts, fears, motivations, experiences, and so on.  I know very, very few people who can be defined with niceness being their authentic, primary trait.  I know infinite humans who are awesome, who are incredibly kind and loving, and do very nice things.  But they also get angry.  They also tell people the truth and say no, which can be met with a lot of resistance and backlash.  They also have moments of being bitchy, and owning that bitchiness.  They can be sad, really really sad.  They can be jealous, cold, selfish, and really a vast array of things, BECAUSE THEY ARE WHOLE HUMAN BEINGS AND THAT IS REAL.

When a person tries to push their niceness on me, or insist that I see them as nice, or others argue with me “but they’re so nice” as a largely defining quality, I am immediately suspicious.  I don’t care if you’re nice.  I care about whether or not you’re mature, and if you have boundaries and empathy.  I care about your actions matching your words, and if what you do behind closed doors matches who you are on Facebook (I mean like, it’s none of my business how much you pick your nose or how many days you go without bathing, but don’t let me find out that your yogi feminist-posting ass abuses women).  I care about whether or not you have genuine love in your heart, and pure intentions. I care about your ability to be kind, and your honesty about when you’re not.  I care about whether or not you have integrity, and if you’re willing to be authentic.  I’m not interested in Nice People.  I’m interested in good people.  Just like self-deprecation is an easy go-to in comedy, how being “pretty” and “cute” are the easiest approaches to burlesque, and how using auto tuning can turn anyone’s voice to gold, the performance of “niceness” is the easiest and most classic manipulation tactic in the book.  I’m not asking you not to be nice.  I’m asking you to be real.  And if being nice in this moment for you is real, then I accept.  But if your “niceness” pushes past my wellbeing, then you are not nice, and your actions are null and void.  Please understand this point.

I am very tired of being fed “truths” based on superficial assessments.  None of you truly know Aziz Ansari.  None of you truly know this celebrity I had a negative experience with. Enjoying a person’s product or public persona is not the same as knowing them.  Destroying a vulnerable person who is suffering at the hands of the strangers you call heroes is unacceptable.  Do not create more wounds and more victims because you can’t hold the hard moral dilemma of enjoying the work or benefits of knowing a person who does bad things.  That is your own cross to bear, not theirs.  They already have enough to deal with.

Next time you say “oh but he’s really a nice guy”, you’d best be able to back that up with extensive, concrete evidence.

Next time you catch yourself huffing and crying, justifying your actions with, “hey, I’m a really nice guy”, check yo’self, because you’re probably about to wreck yo’self.

So what am I really aiming for here, in yet another rambling blog?  My hope and prayer is, whether it’s rape culture, deceptive behavior, or our society trivializing stories that make them question themselves and feel uncomfortable/inconvenienced, that I’ll be able to see a day when this bullshit doesn’t rule our lives.  We need to stop waiting for it to magically appear for us, too.  Each woman who comes out and speaks her truth is doing her part. Each person who is directly acknowledging bad behavior and holding their friends and family accountable is doing their part.  Don’t wait for change to fall in your lap.  Examine the role you play in all of this, and adjust yourself accordingly. You can drag along behind, crying and trying to stop this boat by kicking the waves, or you can jump on board and help us sail collectively to shore.  Either way, this baby is moving forward.  You decide how you want that experience to go for you.

Link here for an amazing article by Lindy West, dismantling the argument that boys and men don’t know any better, and the toxic nuances of rape culture:

https://www.nytimes.com/2018/01/17/opinion/aziz-ansari-metoo-sex.html

[islamilecture]

THE HISTORY & REALITY OF PLAGUES Deadly Covid 19

In the Name of Allah, Who with His Name nothing can cause harm in the earth nor in the heavens, and He is the All-Hearing, the All-Knowing. There were many epidemics if you read any classical book of history that is and history books written and you cannot read a book of history except that you come across a number of plagues. For example in the year to eighteen he draw a plague affected Egypt and not a single household was unaffected in fact it is said that all the governors and leaders and statesmen died into a teenager in Egypt . And 228 that plague reached they said that so many people died that they ran out of cloth to cover the bodies and they could not bury the dead in Basra. As well in the year 406 the plagues became so deadly that their the the graveyards were full and the bodies were basically in the streets for a few weeks. Is he said that in some cases the entire family has passed away and they would simply just you know close the house and that would be their burial for many months until the plagues finished . In the year 448 Hydra another plague swept through some lands including Egypt and Andaluz and because of this emember. They're happy mentions in his seal Adam a novella you can look this up volume 18 page three one one for those who are interested because this is a very interesting quote here . Remember there was a plague in a famine in and endaros and musr that people never had seen before had untill masajid amore shutted until the masajid remained shut without anybody praying in them . so this is very explicit here in the year 448 Hydra the plague was so severe and the famine was so severe that the masajid were shut and not a single musalli remained in certain areas and lands and this is expressly mentioned in . And other books as well and there are many other incidents as well but I want to jump to now of course the infamous Black Plague or the Black Death. That swept through the century of 14th century of the Gregorian calendar and it swept through the Mediterranean and Andalusia and it affected the entire globe. Of course the epicenter was Europe but it affected the entire globe . As I said this plague the bubonic plague or the black plague it was the greatest plague that recorded history has ever seen . Once again in a number of regions the plague was so severe let me quote you from the famous historian Al mikaze who writes in his book a salute volume 4 page a deed and I give these references because again sometimes people doubt like oh my god how can this be true look at this up yourself am a crazy . Black Plague that occurred in the year 749 Hydra in a number of regions the Adhan was stopped being given people stopped giving a ban in entire regions . Oh dear it must surely be a ban in white and in the famous place that he's gonna mention our he said mentions it only one man was given in the entire city. Were over the masajid it was Hawaii and the majority of masajid and the majority of monasteries where Sufis would gather together they were closed down. They did not remain open, saying the plague was so severe that the majority of masajid and in some places all of the masajid in some regions they were shut down. So this is something that is not new now the the issue of us being proactive is something that is new it is true because those people were being reactive in those times . When it's too late then they're reacting. we're trying to be proactive and shutting the masajid down before it gets to the level where there are no more people and we have to shut the masjid down . But the point is that it has happened in Islamic history that regions have had to shut masajid . Stop the event because of the plagues that were I'm happening no doubt and I'll be the first to say. I don't think it has ever happened to the global scale that we are witnessing now. But it is because we have more knowledge and we understand the real of plagues and we're being proactive . Because of that now back to my series of anecdotes here, the greatest commentator of Sahih Bukhari Ibn Hazar in the year 833 Hydra he lost three of his daughters to a plague that affected. All of Egypt during the reign of Sultana Ashraf of the Mamluk era . Because of this he wrote the encyclopedic work it is an encyclopedia over 400 pages . It is printed you can buy it in the classical bookstores and books and book stores that sell classical works. You can buy it in in the the bookstores that have these types of books. It is a very big treatise 400 pages it's an encyclopedic work that covers many aspects that , Theology of plagues. Where plagues come from? What to do in times of plagues? The hadith about plagues the filth of plagues. Plagues are a mercy for the believers .Is Allah Punishing Us By Coronavirus ? And this is a very interesting book that maybe again Allah knows what my future lectures are gonna be but maybe we'll summarize this book at a lecture. I don't know we'll see in any case of some of the takeaways from this book , he wrote this book Subhan Allah . what a Alim and what a Genius. His family has died he's seen three of his daughter dies. How does he react he takes that grief and he channels it to write one of the best books the world has ever seen about the fifth of plagues.

Look at this the the mindsets of this greater. In any case so of the things that we can get lesson from this book that he mentions he has chapters that plagues are a mercy for the believers. Plagues are a mercy for the believers and the punishment unto others . He mentions the famous hadith which is Sahih Bukhari that the Prophet Muhammad Sallallahu alaihi wasallam was asked about plague and the Prophets of Allah subhanahu wa ta'ala said that " pleague are punishment for whomever Allah wants and it is a Rehema that Allah has made for the believers ". So this is our theological understanding of plagues . It is an either notice by the way he did not say an Adhab for all kuffar . He did not say this. He said it is an Adhab that on whomever Allah wants it to be and it is a Rhema for the believers . So this underscores our mentality. Dear Muslims all that is happening around us . Now we need to understand this as being a Rhema for the movement and we asked all that we are amongst the movement. We wanted to be our Rahma for the Mu'min, even as we suffer some of the pains and the pinches and the consequences in our heart of hearts . Our attitude is whatever is happening there's a greater wisdom . And in the end it will be Rahma for me. Ibn Hazar mentions that he has chapters here about those who died in the plague , and of course these chapters are very emotional very powerful because of course he's lost three of his own family members . Of course he has in this the famous hadith of the Prophet Muhammad Sallallahu alaihi wasallam "That anyone who remains in a land of plagues and he stays there" . And anyone Stay there patient expecting the reward of a Allah subhanahu wa ta'ala without knowing that nothing will happen except whatever Allah has willed it to happen . Then if he dies he shall die the death of a Shaheed . He mentions therefore you know that we all know this insha'Allah. I hope we all know this now that whoever dies because of the plague with Iman and taqwa that death will be considered the death of a Shaheed . This is a great blessing from Allah subhanahu wa ta'ala and it is also a comfort and a consolation that had been had you felt much consoled that my daughter's my family members died the death of a Shaheed . He also mentions many chapters about the issue of running away from plagues fleeing from from plagues. Of course the famous hadith " if you hear of a plague in another land don't go there and if you're in that land don't run away from it" . And then he mentions that when is this hadith applicable and when is it not applicable. He actually ends up concluding and this is the opinion by the way of the vast majority of Olama that it is allowed to travel to and from such lands if there are pressing reasons to do so. What you're not allowed to do when the plague has come to your land you run away in cowardice and fear thinking that running away will save you. That is how long but even had your mentions and after him o sleuthy and before him others call this. As well if you're in a land and you have a genuine reason to go somewhere for example to protect your family for example for medical treatment somewhere else and so you leave one land to another land for legitimate reason . Ibn Hazar says this hadith does not apply to you. Now should you leave should you not leave this also goes back to the experts of our times , we listen to the medical experts. But the point is that if we are in an epicenter where our experts have said this is an epicentre of disease . We are told we should not travel to flee thinking that running away from it is going to protect us . That is obviously going against what our Prophet SAW Allah . And Allah knows best. https://www.islamilecture.com/history-of-plagues-deadly-covid-19/

For protection against diseases

أَعُوذُ بِكَلِمَاتِ اللهِ التَّامَّاتِ مِنْ شَرِّ مَا خَلَقَ A'oothu bikalimaatil-laahit-taammaati  min sharri maa khalaqa. I seek refuge in the Perfect Words of Allah from the evil of what He has created. O Allah, You are my Lord, there is no god but You, I put my trust in You, You are the Lord of the Mighty Throne. Whatever Allah wills will happen and what He does not will, cannot happen. There is no power or strength except with Allah, the Exalted, the Mighty. I know that Allah has power over all things, and Allah comprehends all things in knowledge. O Allah, I seek refuge with You from the evil of myself and from the evil of all creatures under Your control. Surely the straight way is my Sustainer’s way. May Allah Protect Us from everything Amin. #anewvirus #coronavirus #covid19 #disease #history #plagues https://www.islamilecture.com/history-of-plagues-deadly-covid-19/ Read the full article

[breziarchive]

-raises hand- So you put Reesumi on your list of pairings for your Valentine's Boogaloo and my first thought was 'angst', so...if you're not busy and in the writing mood, may I please request some Reesumi Valentine's day angst? I apologize for bothering you, and I hope you have a good rest of your day ^^

my BUD i’m always busy never feel bad about bothering me also the power keeps flickering on and off and if its anything like it is here at work it’s gonna be an interesting time today

tw: blood gore injury

yumi ishiyama arrested for drawing eileen galvin parallels

valentine’s day boogaloo - guidelines

~~

Reese hacked and coughed, dragging her half-useless body under the roof of the Hermitage. Rain slated down, which was half of a blessing as he was pretty sure it masked how much blood there had really been spilt. Yumi flinched as he flopped her onto the floor, quietly wailing herself back to consciousness.

“Hey,” he croaked, grimacing at how grisly his voice had become, “Can you move?”

“M-Momma…?” Yumi cried weakly. As if he heard his command but couldn’t respond any other way, she weakly tried to fold her legs under her and stand up. Her heavy boots, useless without any strength behind them, skidded on the filthy floor of the Hermitage and her hips flopped like a dying fish. A firm growl stuck in his throat as he reached down and curled his fingers into her jacket. No use just standing in the entryway like this. He tugged, pulling her across debris until she laid in the hallway near the stairs. She groaned in pain the entire way. Reese couldn’t respond, knowing that she still wasn’t sure of her surroundings.

Leaving her in the hallway he stepped into the first floor bathroom, pushing away broken tiles and glass to get to the one cabinet door that wasn’t infested with spiderwebs. Pulling out their stash of first aid, he returned to Yumi.

He didn’t talk to her. He had convinced himself that it would do no good or make things worse. XANA hadn’t just aimed at her mind for no reason. The fact that he had pierced through and Yumi had lost her eye seemed to just be a bonus at this point. If her mind was lost, it was a coin toss as to how much Reese would be able to get back while the others struggled on Lyoko. XANA was still lurking about. It was easy to go for Jeremie–the stress left him weak-minded and a simple target, so Aelita theorized. But the same could be said for Reese, and if Reese too lost his mind, then Yumi would be the first to go.

He gingerly pulled her head onto his lap, took a deep breath, and pulled the hair over her damaged eye away.

Involuntarily, and unsurprisingly, his sharp teeth clamped down on the inside of his cheek until he tasted blood. Okay. He couldn’t say he’d seen worse or tried to fix worse. But. It was time to get to work.

It was messy to the point of feeling cruel. Alcohol to cleanse what wasn’t already cauterized caused her to screech and scream, swatting weakly with one arm (why wasn’t the other arm moving? no, can’t fix that. focus.), once he started swabbing and cleaning she started to cry like a child, and when he was wrapping gauze with further disinfectant around her she complained that it was scratchy, momma, that she wanted to take it off.

That she wanted to go back to Japan.

That she wished daddy had never taken the job in France.

Pain that he had been ignoring swelled up at the base of his throat. Oh, the pounding rain had made it hard to hear what she was saying, but he got the gist of it. It was an old pain, one that he could never fucking befriend. The pain of four years ago. When he opened his jaw it creaked like he hadn’t done so since the same four years.

“What about your friends?”

“I…I don’t…,” she brought her working arm to cover her head. He watched as her fingers played with the gauze, careful to make sure she wasn’t trying to tear it off, “I don’t. Have any friends.”

That’s right. She didn’t have friends, before him.

“No?” he placed a hand over hers, gently but firmly prying her fingers away and wrapping them in his fist so she wouldn’t undo the gauze further, “What about Jeremie? Odd? And Aelita?”

She tried to pull away from his hand as he spoke, again like a child yanking on their parents’ arm. Her face scrunched up, trying to deny him, but after many worrying cries of pain in succession her arm went limp and he released her hand. It fell from her face, revealing her one good eye open and staring into the distance.

“Yumi…?” he asked. She shivered, blinking her eye as it roved around. Perhaps she was finally coming to, and he’d be able to talk with her and figure out a way to get to the factory with her in this condition to make sure Jeremie and the others were okay. Her eye rested on him. He expected her pupil to focus in fierce disgust and acceptance.

It didn’t. He raised his brow in worry.

“Ulrich…?”

Worry skyrocketed to panic.

“Uh–,”

“Ulrich, where have you been,” Tears spilled out of her face and mixed with the blood, filth and alcohol. Reese shifted away, trying to distance himself from her which was hard when she remained on his lap.

“U-Uh, I think you’re making a mistak–,”

“We’ve needed you so mu–I’ve needed you so mu–,” Yumi struggled to move, gasped in pain, and collapsed back into his lap. The tears rejuvenated, thin and hot.

“I-I can’t move,” her voice cracked, pleading to him for help or at least an explanation. Reese couldn’t respond, frozen solid as he stared at the pathetic mess of the strong, leading young woman he had coveted for so long. Wailing and broken and twisted and lost. Distressed, she tried to move again, and he finally broke to grasp her, holding her still.

“No, no no no, shh, okay, you’re–Extremely hurt.”

“Ulrich,” she choked, “Why.”

“Uh, please, uh, I really think you’ve got the wrong guy…,”

“S-Stop it!” she screamed suddenly, “Stop it Ulrich! I can see it’s you!” Reese flinched, noticing that his unscarred cheek was facing her one good eye. Here, the dilemma began. He could turn his face, point to the scar, and force her to realize it wasn’t Ulrich (leastways not anymore) or he could start playing along, further breaking her already shattered mind. Or would the first option shatter her mind more? At first he was glad she wasn’t calling him momma anymore, but at this point he’d take that back.

“Why are you hiding…,” Yumi sobbed, “Where did you go, we needed you…,”

“Yumi…,”

Thunder rumbled overhead. Moments before Yumi had been struck down by what was soon concluded to be XANA, thunder had rumbled too. Reese swallowed and looked up at the cracked ceiling.

“We need to go,” he said, starting to gather her up. She shrieked, clawing at him.

“No, no, I can’t!!” she refused in between shrieks of pain, “I can’t move, don’t go to Lyoko, Ulrich, stay, please, don’t leave me here!!!”

Reese froze.

Don’t leave me here!!

He wasn’t planning to, no, but–but the idea that she was expecting him to, that instead of asking him to go to Lyoko and fight she’d rather him stay there, with her, even if it was useless–thunder rumbled again and he gripped Yumi harder. If I lose my mind Yumi will die if I lose my mind Yumi will die if I lose my mind there would be no one here to help her or me and XANA could pluck us off like feathers on a dead chicken

“Yumi, no, we have to go!” he tried to command but it came out more like a plea. She dug her nails into the back of his neck, pulling at his hair.

“Ulr–,”

“I’m NOT Ulrich, we have to GO!!” he roared, causing Yumi to melt into a mess, sliding off his lap in an uneven, inhuman way. Sobs and cries became lost in the rain and thunder as Reese stood up, already trying to calculate the best way to carry her to the basement and then hopefully to the sewers.

“I just wanted you to be with me…,” she barely spoke above a whisper. Had he not already leaned down to pick her up he would’ve missed it.

Against his better judgement, he raised a hand, forcing it to be light, and grasped her shoulder.

“I know,” he whispered back in that voice he hadn’t used since he left, “I know that, now, okay? I’m taking you with me. We have to go.”

She shook her head, “You’re not him.”

“Yumi…,” Reese pleaded with frustration as the thunder grew stronger, “Not now, jesus christ,”

“You’re not him,” she whispered again and Reese gasped as her nails continued to dig farther and farther, surely drawing blood. She opened her eye and fear clawed as his throat as her pupil recognized him in the form of XANA’s symbol.

“You’re not him and you’ll never be him.”

Lightning struck.