#The possibilities for her body are absurd and I must calculate all of them

[reksink]

The Speculative Molts of Lycosid Magnusannelid

[miraculousluvbug]

WINGLESS | Ch. 6

***New to Wingless? Start at Chapter 1!

CH. SUMMARY: After learning Hawk Moth's identity, Lila inserts herself into Gabriel's inner circle so she can destroy Ladybug-- er, get Ladybug's earrings. Ha-ha-ha. Ha.

Lila toed the cement beneath her as she restlessly awaited the assistant’s arrival. Gabriel had used an earpiece to communicate to her, Lila assumed. But the waiting was painfully awkward. Neither party made any attempt to fill the silence. The absurdity of the situation sat on their chests like an overweight feline unwilling to move.

As the sun dipped out of golden hour, the mansion shrouded the garden in shadow. Lila squinted her eyes to try and make out the details of Adrien’s mother’s statue, but the effort was fruitless. Wouldn’t a billionaire have, like, lamps or something? Maybe he didn’t have lamps because he hardly left the walls of his office.

Lila’s lips twitched into a smirk, but she quickly smothered it.

There was a sudden scuffling of shoes against the garden stones from behind Lila. She observed wordlessly from the corner of her eye as the looming and brooding Gabriel Agreste flew to the assistant’s side at an inhuman speed and held his arms out to support her silently, his fingers never quite making contact with the body he seemed desperate to protect.

Huh. A weakness. Hawk Moth had a weakness.

Lila filed that tidbit away should she need it for later.

“You were quite cryptic over the phone, sir,” the assistant started.

“I suppose I was, Nathalie. What needed to be said was . . . not phone appropriate.”

“Sir?”

Knowing Gabriel was Hawk Moth seemed to have tipped a domino in Lila’s brain. It was like there was a blanket over her eyes and it had been ripped away. On several occasions, a blue-skinned bird lady aided and abetted Hawk Moth. Lila had wondered who would possibly be close enough to the villain to be looped into his plans.

The connection was easy to make.

Lila folded her arms across her chest and cocked her head to the side, looking Nathalie up and down. When she had finagled her way into the Agreste mansion with a despicable limited edition Ladybug figurine, discovering the identities of Paris’s most wanted duo was not only low on her list of possibilities; it was nowhere near the friggin’ list.

But Dio was it the single most delectable turn of events.

“Let me guess. You were Mayura.”

Nathalie, who had been wholly oblivious to Lila’s presence, sucked in a breath, head spinning to meet the eyes of Adrien’s conniving classmate. Nathalie opened her mouth, probably to protest Lila’s statement, but the words died on her tongue. The only sounds came from the crickets chirping into the encroaching night air.

“She knows,” Gabriel explained.

“She . . . she knows?” Nathalie repeated.

Gabriel nodded. Nathalie’s gaze fell to the grass sprouting in between the garden stones. As the trio stood, the occasional butterfly fluttered around Gabriel like they knew they were kindred.

“You don’t need to be worried about . . . What’s the phrase?” Lila rested a finger on her chin. “Ah, right. Me spilling the fagioli. I don’t know the French word.”

“Beans,” Nathalie supplied.

“You know Italian?” he asked. Then softly to himself, “My Emilie knew Italian.”

Nathalie ducked her head at Gabriel’s attention before straightening her posture and jutting out her chin. If Lila hadn’t seen the woman shuffle over to this spot as if she were going to faint any moment, she might have never known there was anything amiss.

“So you . . . what? Want to be an ally?”

“Multilingual and smart,” Lila teased.

Something dark flickered in Nathalie’s eyes. Much darker than Lila would have ever given her credit for. “You’d do better to watch your tone with me, Mademoiselle Rossi.” She spat Lila’s name like one might an unforeseen chunk of raw garlic.

Ah, so this was how Nathalie wanted to play this. Lila’s fingers tingled in anticipation. She was a flexible actress, best known for her improv skills and dedication to her roles. If a performance was what the assistant wanted, then Lila was eager to put on a show.

“Why, Mademoiselle Nathalie--” Lila started, turning her back on the pair.

“Sancoeur.”

Lila rolled her eyes but proceeded to pump her tone full of sickeningly sweet syrup. “Right. Mademoiselle Sancoeur, it would be my pleasure to get the Ladybug Miraculous for Monsieur Agreste.”

“And Chat Noir’s.”

Lila plastered a fake smile on her face and turned on her heel. “Hm?”

Nathalie arched an eyebrow, unimpressed. “You loathe Ladybug, don’t you, Mademoiselle Rossi?”

“That’s no secret.”

“You want more than to take her Miraculous.”

It wasn’t a question. Lila held eye contact with Nathalie, unflinching. Eventually, she spoke. “I want to humiliate her. Like she humiliated me,” Lila growled. I want to destroy her.

The assistant chose not to expand on this statement, but Lila could tell she sensed a much more sinister motivation. She must have been weighing the pros and cons, her mind running a mile a minute to predict what including Lila might entail. Lila had to agree: she was a wildcard. Her loyalties teetered like a see-saw, ever-changing to suit her needs. She knew this. And Nathalie knew this.

Lila’s eyes bore into Nathalie’s, challenging her to refuse.

“I admit,” Nathalie began after a beat of consideration, removing her tablet from the crook of her arm, “you might make a valuable asset.”

Gabriel, who had been quietly observing the interaction between his assistant and the girl, folded his arms behind his back. “Yes, even now, while I’m untransformed, your contempt for the bug is palpable.”

“She’s a cockroach,” Lila sneered, her lips upturned in a grimace and her hand clenched tightly into a fist.

Lila’s enthusiasm amused Gabriel greatly. His shoulders shook as he chuckled, but the sound was hollow. “That is something we agree on. No matter how many times I pursue her, she manages to outsmart me.”

Lila bit her tongue. She wanted to say It’s easy to outsmart a man whose password is “password,” but she didn’t. She honestly deserved an award for that caliber of commitment.

“While you are very clever, you’ve been playing an elementary partita, Monsieur Agreste.”

Gabriel’s eyes hesitantly shifted to Nathalie.

“Game, match, etcetera,” she clarified. Ironically, a meager little ladybird flitted to Gabriel’s shoulders then. He scrunched his nose at it.

“And though it’s been a rousing game of tag--” Lila paused purposefully as Gabriel, without breaking eye contact, lifted a palm and allowed the dotted beetle to crawl onto his fingers before proceeding to wordlessly pass it to Nathalie. Lila cleared her throat. “I’m here to up the stakes.”

With her mouth set into a thin line, Nathalie bent over and shook her finger until the thing lost its grip and fell to the concrete. In the process, her shirt rode up to reveal a compelling pale scar the length of a thumb running up her side. Lila arched an eyebrow. Nathalie hastily covered it.

“What exactly are you implying, Mademoiselle Rossi?”

Gabriel peered at Lila over the bridge of his nose, daring her to challenge his legacy as Hawk Moth.

But Lila was not an expert manipulator for nothing. She knew how to read people, and, more importantly, she knew how to please them.

She knew how to play them.

“You’re a proper gentleman, Monsieur.”

Flattery. She would begin with flattery.

With one hand, she twirled one of her pigtails. Men and boys alike often found intelligent girls not only intimidating but emasculating. She wasn’t sure if Gabriel would take too kindly to a sixteen year old picking at all the holes in his plans, holding a magnifying glass to his inadequacies.

But she always loved creating fire with glass as a child.

She particularly enjoyed setting unsuspecting ants aflame.

“Getting your hands dirty is beneath you. There’s no doubt your plans are always cunning.”

She nearly gagged at the sound of those words leaving her throat as she slowly approached the designer and his assistant, calculating each step before taking it. No, she really didn’t believe his plans were cunning. It seemed like he akumatized anyone, chucking strategy to the wind. Imbecille.

“Your akumas, they’re always dressed so well--” it took a colossal amount of willpower for Lila not to look away then, a classic sign of lying “--and their powers are always a genius play on words--” double gag “--but unless you’re willing to play in the mud . . .”

Crunch.

The young vixen made a spectacle of rotating her toes back and forth as she squashed the ladybug the duo had so gingerly set on the stone. She relished in the sensation of a dainty beetle beneath her boot, imagining in vivid detail that it was the heroine’s skull instead.

When she lifted her foot, the two adults barely spared a glance at the result. Lila smirked.

“I’m willing to make a mess, sir,” Lila asserted, peering up at Gabriel through her bangs. She twirled and danced on the balls of her feet. “I would be a brilliant addition! I’ve wanted to wipe that smile off Ladybug’s face since I met her.”

For the first time since the beginning of their conversation, Gabriel’s lips tilted into a smile. He looked . . . almost proud. Lila lapped it up like a woman lost in the desert being given a bottle cap of water.

“Your family is from Italy, Lila?”

Lila tilted her head, confused by the abrupt detour in conversation. “. . . Yes.”

“How would you feel about an impromptu family visit?”

Nathalie’s eyes widened. She whipped her head around to stare down her boss so fast she was nearly overcome by dizziness. “You can’t really want--”

Gabriel held up a hand, instantly silencing his assistant. She searched his eyes for any remnants of humanity. Was there any left? Did it slip through her fingers on her watch? Gabriel couldn’t possibly want-- They were children, for God’s sakes!

But like an avalanche, his mask crumbled, and swept away with it was any morsel of decency.

“I do want, Nathalie. I’ve grown bored of this back-and-forth business with those two meddling infants. They hold onto those Miraculous so firmly, as if they could possibly know, possibly fathom--”

He didn’t finish his statement, closing his eyes and rolling his neck. Lila delighted in Gabriel’s sudden slip of conduct as his shoulders hunched all the way to his ears and he grinded his teeth. She hadn’t pictured him to be capable of such an erupting volcano of emotion. She often wondered if he was capable of emotion at all.

“Hand me the tablet, Nathalie.”

Nathalie gripped the tablet until her fingers turned white, but the resolve she saw in Gabriel loosened her own. Grudgingly, she passed him the device.

“There are some items I’d like you to procure for me, items that I surmise you’ll be quite pleased to have in your arsenal.”

Whatever these items were, they seemed to have Nathalie on the edge of her seat.

It was suddenly imperative that Lila find out what could have ruffled Mayura’s pretty feathers.

“Sir, you won’t be disappointed.”

Gabriel eyed Lila a moment before affirming, “I don’t believe I will.”

The final remnants of the golden hour neglected the garden, blanketing its visitors in a foreboding shadow like it was them and then it was the rest of the world. Perhaps this is why they missed the piercing green eyes surveying the trio scrupulously from a neighboring building.

So jealousy was a green-eyed monster.

No one mentioned it also wore black leather.

-----

I hope you're enjoying my little fic as much as I'm enjoying writing it! 🥰 There's still so much to uncover in this story so buckle up. Follow me for updates and check out my Instagram where I post art!

(6/?) Previous | Next

[anidealiveson]

Thanksvember Master Post

Day 1 - Like Coming Home - It has a super rare “wholesome plot twist”! Without spoiling anything too huge, I really like that @julesherondalex took the time to talk about how important it is to take care of yourself first. You can’t love someone else properly, the way they deserve, if you don’t have that same love for yourself. I wasn’t expecting the heartbreaking scene, but the beautiful way in which that topic was was approached neither took away from the story or the joy.

Day 2 - Must Love Dogs - An incredibly fluffy (literally) fic that I loved reading. @rosehallshadowsinger did a really great job weaving Azriel and Elain’s canon personalities into this adorable AU scenario. It is obvious @rosehallshadowsinger took care to create believable personalities for two characters that didn’t get POVs in the books.

Day 3 - Striking Matches -  I have to say that I wasn’t at all attracted to an AU fic about firefighters. I was also not a big Rowaelin fan before that, but I was work procrastinating so I gave it a try. Wellll, 30 parts later, I found myself delighted at the writing and sad it was over. I couldn’t believe how well @shyvioletcat cat was able to entirely re-characterize these two into such a different setting, yet still retaining what made them popular in the books. Aelin was perfect in her role as a snarky schoolteacher irritating the stoic firefighter Rowan. And the descriptions of the kids lining up at the firehouse demonstration and Jake’s adorable prodding was icing on the cake.

Day 4 - Close Quarters -  I really loved the way @lady-therion wrote Nesta in this modern AU. I particularly like how she equates Nesta’s sometimes standoffish attitude as a very relatable personality trait. She has trouble reading people and gauging situations. It’s well written and the dialogue is unique for a plot that is common in ff!

Day 5 - Like A Lonely House - It’s got a colossal I love Lucy level misunderstanding mixed in with a lot of tension and angst. This Nesta that is full of sacrifice and duty and fire is how I imagine the Nesta who feels that she has a stake in the Fae world would be like. @featherymalignancy wove such a captivating new world in Macar, that it felt a lot like being introduced to the 8th court in the ACOTAR world.

Day 6 - Death Dance - There are several takes out there that touch on Nesta in the Ilyrian camps, but I love how @thewayshedreamed interpreted Nesta’s skills on the battlefield as a calculated dance. Nesta has always been a raging storm, but I love how @thewayshedreamed took care to show us a Nesta that channeled that storm into discipline. If SJM never intended to release a Nessian focused book, I would have considered this a satisfying end to their story.

Day 7 - One Night Standards - I love the way @sassyhobbits writes Aelin with her typical extremely sassy exterior, but also made sure to saddle her with a vulnerable side that runs deep. I normally don’t care for slow burns, but I like the pace of her relationship with Rowan here, and that they had to work hard at it. I also like the plot lines that involved their PR stunts and how the public grew to love them as well.

Day 8 - Goose Chasing - Its the most absurd plot of any fanfic I’ve read! The title is not figurative. Its really does involve chasing a goose. @rhysismydaddy did a fantastic job encapsulating the spirit of silly Cassian and grumpy Nesta in a situation they’d likely never find themselves in, yet making it entirely believable. 

Day 9 - Manon Chooses The Worst Babysitter Possible - It’s such a casual and fluffy and hilarious read. It was fun to read about a softer and more delicate Manon. Through this absurd mistake, @sarah-bae-maas did an excellent job really humanizing Manon and postulating a fun in-world domestic scenario. 

Day 10 - My Hunger Knows No Bounds -  @perseusannabeth manages to take a simple concept and weave a sweet narrative. I particularly love how @perseusannabeth incorporated her personal details into it and took the time to share her lovely culture with us.

Day 11 - Knowing me, Knowing you - We never got to actually see Aelin rule Terrasen (well we got a tinyyy bit) in the books. Though this was modern day, @nalgenewhore tells a fun story of what that could have been like.

Day 12 -  Forever (is a long time) - @noodlecatposts takes Elide and Lorcan’s completely polar opposite personalities and spins an interesting (and frankly quite adorable) story. All the rules crack me up. My favorite Lorcan is the one that reminds me of Luke Danes from Gilmore Girls. Currently, he is in the middle of grumpily fixing up her flooded room, so I am sure that my favorite parts are yet to come.

Day 13 - Go Your Own Way - I appreciate @tomtenadia for putting to words a scene that I desperately wanted in ACOWAR or even ACOFAS. A lovely parallel to an equally lovely Fleetwood mac song.

Day 14 - In Which She Makes A Friend - It is no surprise that the fandom wants Nesta to find her place in the Illyrian mountains and even bring about some social change with the female warriors. But the way @bookstantrash got there was such a wonderful and endearing journey. Big fan of the callbacks to how Kaelin was treated and the similarities to a certain Illyrian warrior was when he was younger. We got to see a sweet Nesta, who I’d like to think was attempting to make up for some of her regrets through taking care of Kaelin.

Day 15 - The Ranch - As a huge fan of Sweet Home Alabama, its should be no surprise that I loved this fic by @tacmc . I enjoyed the slow change that we saw in a stubborn Nesta as she opened up to this new way of life and reconnected with her sisters and found a home with Cassian.

Day 16 - Felons - Such a unique interpretation of Nesta and Cassian. I really like the self-sacrificing Nesta angle and @rhysismydaddy did a great job weaving intrigue into the unraveling of what we knew to be a her innocence. I never read The Witness, but this really made me want to.

Day 17 - Of Books and Timber - Cassian offers to build a shelf for Nesta. The way @duskandstarlight goes through the entire range of emotions through Nesta is brilliant. She starts out with cold indifference, but by the end, we get from her a sweet and tender gesture of gratitude. Showing that meeting each other halfway with small gestures is all they ever needed.

Day 18 - You Should Sleep In My Bed More Often - I absolutely loved this quick exchange between Nesta and Cassian after she accidentally injures him. I can’t believe how much I laughed out loud when Cassian said “I need you to protect me closer”. @charincharge​ perfectly captured the teasing childish essence of Cassian and Nesta’s hilarious victim-blaming was so on the nose that I might have thought this was taken right out of ACOSAF.

Day 19 - The Right Swipe - I really enjoyed this take on the inner circle mixed with the super modern online dating plot. I especially love that @redisriding created genuinely realistic characters (body issues, social anxiety etc). Great read!

Day 20 - Goldfish Prompt - What a fun read. I love how frantic and much personality Feyre had here. I love how dedicated to her fish she was, and how that made her super endearing. Cute read from @azrielsiphons

Day 21 - The One With The Snowstorm -  What I really like is that Cassian actually says that he is sorry for his part in Nesta’s exile. I am not bitter about it, but it was an interesting turn. They need to meet halfway here and I rarely see it so well written as @joysbell has done here!

Day 22 - Prompt - A lovely and cute and sweet prompt written by @crowsvalentine​! I love the ramp up of suspense just to get to the hilarious payoff. Its adorable and worth the quick read.

Day 23 - Fix It -  is one by @thewayshedreamed​ that I love in its simplicity. It’s a small little argument Cassian and Nesta get into, but its still compelling. It’s sweet and super endearing the way the two of them are written and the subtle way they work through it. Great read!

Day 24 - I Do Bad Things To You - The mob angle may have been done before, but I don’t think with as much care and regard that @tswaney17​ has been giving it. I how the canon personalities of the characters translate so well into this modern AU. Its very obvious that @tswaney17​ has done her research. I especially love all the details around Elain as a surgeon. The story is compelling and well written and every chapter has me wanting more.

Day 25 - Love Her Like She should Be Loved - This is an excellent fic that I really loved. @julemmaes did such a great job translating some of the canon tension from ACOFAS into a modern world. It’s ripe with emotion, drama and quite a bit of heart. I love how earnestly Cassian comes to Nesta’s defense even in the face of going against his entire family. I like the reference to some very real psychological struggles. I think a lot of people can relate to it.

Day 26 - Literally In Love - I really enjoy the subtle mystery that follows this entire journey. I enjoy that @julesherondalex keeps us guessing, while simultaneously weaving a sweet and tender story about two shy teachers and just a slew of mishaps worthy of a Shakespearian drama.

Day 27 - The Shadow Bond - I love Azriel, and this is such a wonderful fic by @radientwings​ focusing on how his shadows might work. His shadows are the one thing that I am most curious about him in the series, so it was lovely to read such a well written interpretation of them.

Day 28 - Exes and Oh’s - Just a shout out to @highqueenofelfhame​ for this lovely story about rekindling past love. I like that even though the plot was uncomplicated, the emotions were not. I love that Aelin didn’t have a perfect reason for what she did, but sometimes that is just how things are. This is a story about taking a second chance, whether it’s deserved or not.

Day 29 - Fever - I really love this fic called Fever. I enjoyed how @lady-therion​ portrayed Nesta. She hit the entire gammut of characteristics (snarky, worried, vulnerable, caring, short-tempered, flirty, you name it!) but it really worked here. I found this nurse Nesta to be endearing and relatable and the dynamic between her and Cassian was very sweet. Just go read the damned thing.

Day 30 - Baby Steps - I really really love this fic. @runesandfaes did such a great job in just so few words to show a really sweet moment between Chaol, Yrene and their daughter learning to walk. I love the parallel back to when Chaol was learning to walk and the cameo of the golden couch. So sweet.

[supernova-variations]

10th Doctor, Brave

(not my gif!)

10th Doctor x reader

warnings: mentions of anxiety. but overall a fluffy oneshot with a slightly angsty ending?  word count: 2000! got carried away with this one but i don’t care. i had so much fun writing this! request: Ola could do a picture with Doctor ten and reader / fem with the music phil collins - you'll be in my heart

A/N: before all of you read it, i just want to remind you how brave all of you are. even if you don’t know it. you just need to be shown that you are capable of everything. i love you guys so much. thank you for the never-ending support. mary xx

“Brave”

Come stop your crying

It will be alright

Just take my hand

And hold it tight

 The Doctor came when she needed him the most, crushed by her own expectations and broken spines of old university books. Y/N measured her worth in coffee cups and hours she spent not-sleeping. She couldn’t be the judge of her beauty, she was way past looking at herself on the mirror, striving to gain knowledge to please everyone around her. She wouldn’t allow herself to fail, even if it meant running on fumes with limbs shaking from a caffeine overdose.

Afraid of failure, that’s who she was.

But we all have our limits, don’t we? Apparently, Y/N’s limit was the Latin exam, the one that got lost in her mind, tucked between a fifteen pages long essay due Monday, and an oral presentation that was supposed to take place the next day. Even the books in the library – usually her friend – seemed to judge her incompetence. Absurd thoughts filled her mind – maybe if she hid under the table and closed her eyes people would just forget that she existed? Maybe she would forget that she existed.

“Taurus agricola fugat,” she mumbled, tightly hugging her knees, her stomach turning into a big knot of nervousness, a bitter taste in her mouth. “No! Agricolae taurum fugat. N-”

“Why are you crying in Latin?” A pair of converse-covered feet peeked under the table, soon to be followed by a head full of ruffled, chaotic hair and concerned deep-brown eyes.

“I’m trying to bring back the Roman Empire to life,” the bitter joke escaping her lips mixed with a waterfall of tears streaming down her pale cheeks.

“Come on then, it’s not a place to do that.” The man reached out his hand and she grabbed it without hesitation, holding it tight. His fingers were slim, tender and warm, bringing comfort to all the cells inside her body that shrunk with the terror of the upcoming exam. “I’m the Doctor by the way.”

I will protect you

From all around you

I will be here

Don't you cry

 Y/N pounded on the chamber’s door with great force, her knuckles turning pale and bloody. She was suffocating, but not because of the lack of air. Her body decided to shut down, anxiety shaking her bones to the core.

A small window provided the girl with a view on a narrow, long corridor. She looked around to find something heavy to crush the electrical mechanism of the lock, the lasts of adrenaline kicking into her bloodstream. There was nothing around her, she knew that already, but she couldn’t give up. The Doctor would give up.

 Soon enough Y/N found herself on the floor, the walls getting closer and closer, pressing against her back and knees. She could do so much more, right? Discover the world beyond the coffee-stained pages of the university books, brush her fingers against the ancient ground – only with a snap of the Doctor’s fingers. He promised her that. He said she would be safe with him, only if she took his hand and held it tight.

The ship was about to collapse and the Doctor ran towards the vault. Y/N forced herself onto her feet, knees bending with fear. She could decipher her name from the movement from his lips. The coat floated outside of his slim figure, not being able to catch up with his fast movements. Even the time he was slowly running out of couldn’t stop him.

“Don’t you dare cry, Y/N! I will be there!” And soon she was. In his arms. With only one problem: the ship was about to collapse.

For one so small,

You seem so strong

My arms will hold you,

Keep you safe and warm

This bond between us

Can't be broken

I will be here

Don't you cry

 Y/N wasn’t afraid to cry in front of the Daleks. It was good to show them her humanity, to remind them what they weren’t capable of. “Cry baby” they used to call her, but she wasn’t embarrassed by her feelings by now. The Doctor showed her the beauty of them, the beauty hidden within.

“You don’t seem to know who he is,” Y/N laughed bitterly, angrily wiping the tears escaping her eyes. Resting her ear against both of the Doctor’s hearts, reassured by their beating, she got up slowly, limping on her left feet. The sudden explosion knocked out both of them and she was the first one to regain consciousness.

The Time Lord laid on the ground, sonic screwdriver abandoned on the ground. Without a playful smile on his lips and sparkling eyes, he seemed out of place, like an impostor, and that broke her heart. But he needed her, even if she was small and fragile. He didn’t teach her to be strong, he simply showed her how.

She faced the Dalek, resting her teared-up but furious eyes on the creature. She would take one step at the time, just like the Doctor taught her, gravel shifting under her feet.

“He is the Doctor.” The Dalek screeched. “He has been exterminated. And so will you be.”

“He is so much more than the Doctor.” She moved further, jumping on her right feet, the sprained ankle sending fireworks of pain to her synapses. “And so am I.”

'Cause you'll be in my heart

Yes, you'll be in my heart

From this day on

Now and forever more

You'll be in my heart

No matter what they say

You'll be here in my heart

Always

 “Are you sure about this?” Y/N asked him, holding onto the sleeves of the Doctor’s jacket. He wasn’t terrified, not at all. A goofy grin lit his face when the heavy wind hit their figures. How they still stood in the middle of a storm was an enigma to Y/N. Maybe the Time Lords defied the laws of gravity.

“Was I ever sure about anything?”

“Don’t be cocky!” The companion scolded him, earning another boyish laugh from the Doctor. He expected her to jump off a building. Not any building; the highest building in the world. She rested her eyes on his face, focusing on counting the freckles on his cheeks. She knew that if she even dared to trail off her gaze towards the void beneath them, she would most likely faint.

“Thought you were deadly scared of heights, and here you are, lecturing me. I adore you, Y/N Y/S.” The girl shivered at how her surname sounded in Doctor’s lips. He made her feel like she was a giant, capable of anything. No matter if it was a Latin exam, deadly Dalek, or a collapsing ship.

“Allons-y before I change my mind?” Gripping on to his arms, Y/N took the first leap. They were so close she could feel the Time Lord’s eyelashes tickling her cheek.

 Why can't they understand the way we feel

They just don't trust what they can't explain

I know we're different, but deep inside us

We're not that different at all

 Even though they were so different – hell they weren’t even the same species – they belonged to each other. When one was anxious, the other one filled them with hope. When one needed slowing down, the other one told him to take a deep breath. The Doctor and Y/N found themselves in a curve of time, imprinted as a mere fraction in the universe’s history. It wasn’t possible and yet it was.

 “What is this called again?” Y/N gasped, examining a tiny object in her hand. The surface of a shining ball seemed to shift it’s constellations and orbits every time she turned it around. The Doctor had told her that she was holding a miniature universe in her hands. “I mean, it’s not possible. In my physics classes, we’ve-,”

“Haven’t I proven to you that physics is so much more than school education? You can’t simply grasp it. It’s intangible. Well,” he stopped himself and cupped her hands with his own, “usually. Right now you are holding physics in your hands.”

“Physics, physics, physics?” Y/N reminded him, meeting his eyes and he smiled at her.

“Physics, physics, physics.”

She could hear the happiness stroking his vocal cords.

Don't listen to them

'Cause what do they know

We need each other, to have, to hold

They'll see in time, I know

 “Ah, the Doctor and one of his pets. At last.” A voice echoed throughout the empty hall of the Westminster Palace. Who would have thought that the current Prime Minister was indeed a Reptile? Well, only the people on the internet.

“Yes, nice to meet you. Or not. Funny enough, you’re the one that resembles a…pet.” Y/N cocked her head to the side and looked up at the Doctor’s expression. She carefully studied his face, how his nose curved and the subtle raise of his right eyebrow.

“Twelve million people just punched the air,” The Doctor snickered and leaned onto the wall. “Sorry, a mistake in calculations. You can add two more people to that number. You know why? Never let me near all those buttons.” The sonic screwdriver pointed at the secret panel hidden behind a painting of one of the kings of Britain. Probably a Reptilian also.

“Are we officially a number one enemy of United Kingdom?”

“Oh yes! Yes, we are!”

When destiny calls you, you must be strong

I may not be with you

But you got to hold on

They'll see in time, I know

We'll show them together

 Old Y/N would cry at this point – terrified of alien destruction, the Time Lords pulling through time itself, the unpredictability of the Master. It was time to be strong. She had to, the Doctor counted on her. The whole world did.

The Doctor didn’t need to hear the four knocks coming from the chamber, radiation levels rocketing on the panel where Y/N stood. The Time Lord already knew what had to be done, it was his time, his song was ending. He didn’t think of the things he could do if he had the opportunity, because he knew his Y/N could do so much more. Brave to stand where she stood, facing all the dangers and the end of the universe itself.

“It’s an honour, Y/N.”

“Please, don’t.”

Just look over your shoulder

Just look over your shoulder

Just look over your shoulder

I'll be there

Always

 In his last hours, he allowed himself to push the leaver inside the Tardis and see Y/N for the last time. He went way back, crippled by pain, and peaked outside the blue door, seeing his beloved one walking on the sidewalk, buried with notes, ready to study for the Latin exam she had forgotten about. In just a couple of hours, they would meet for the first time, only she didn’t know it yet. But he did – the burden of the Time Lords, wasn’t it?

“Please, look over your shoulder,” he pleaded, his voice at the point of breaking, sharp pain bending his back, deep brown eyes hidden behind tightly shut eyelids.

“Y/N, please. Please look over your shoulder.”

But she didn’t. The last thing he saw before shutting the Tardis’ door was the time machine of his past self and the Doctor’s head peaking onto the street. He envied him.

The younger Doctor looked over his shoulder, staring confusedly at a disappearing time machine. A feeling in his two hearts told him to visit the library nearby.

[ktheist]

saving grace | 3

muses. duke!yoongi x lady!reader

universe. arranged marriage / minor traces of magic in history

concept. driven into a corner with the new king, seokjin, offering to marry you off to a prince in a foreign land and a persistent mother who would seize the chance of a lucrative marriage for her daughter, you’re forced with the only other option to secure your freedom ‒ enter into a beneficial agreement with the man who reaped the seeds of war, the duke of cralon, yoongi min.

words. 5.3k

warnings. mentions of war, it’s cliche and cheesy all in one package

index. 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / finale

x

yoongi doesn’t explicitly say it - and you don’t dare inquire as to the reason he’s accepting the circumstances forced into his hands but the more you ponder on it, the more the plausible answer seems to be the cause of your palpitating heart.

“we’ll attend the party together,” his breath had felt warm against the back of your hand but its the callousness of his touch that rooted yourself to the ground.

yoongi is doing this because he can’t let you ruin yourself. call it the gentleman in him. nothing more. nothing less. and because of that, you couldn’t allow yourself to be the one to rope him into a loveless marriage  in the name of politics when it’s been clear that he wants no part in this game of chess.

“leslie,” you speak into the darkness, fingers pulling on the strings that tie the cloak together.

“yes, my lady.” a figure steps out of the shadow in your periphery.

“i need you to pay a visit to the other informant guilds and see if they have something on what the nobles that are to attend my party, have been doing in the last three months.”

not like they’d have anything you don’t but you can’t rule out the possibility that they’d have even the littlest detail that could be of great help.

“three months, my lady?” leslie quizzes, you can’t see her face in the dark but you can just picture her blinking and cocking her head to the side at your prescribed timeline.

three months is a gamble but enough to establish a routine. whether it’s walking by the park everyday and then stopping to chat with a man in black from head to toe once on every 25th. or whether it’s for attending gatherings, only to keep the 16th fully empty.

“yes and prepare a carriage to go to the royal palace today.” with that, the shadow shifts as though bowing.

“i shall let felix know promptly. since you’ve just returned, would you like to take a short nap first?”

your gaze slants to the slightest gap between the curtains that you just slipped through, amber light pouring in a sharp stripe over the floor, “no, i’d like to take a bath and prepare for the day - did anyone come to my room while i was gone?”

“the madam came last night,” the maid informs, hands folding the cloak that she helped took of your shoulders, “but i told her you were sick and wanted to rest.”

“did she believe you?” walking over table, you plop into the chair with a sigh.

“she left after i told her you were asleep.” she disappears into the closet after you wave a dismissive hand, possibly to store the cloak in the secret compartment within the innermost corner of the walls.

knowing your mother, she probably saw through leslie’s lies but it’s not as if it’s the first time nor will it be the last. as long as you made sure to hide your face and avoid any rumors of count ___’s daughter’s sightings in the middle of the night in the rougher part of town, it’s fine.

x

a panting and disheveled jungkook bursts through the towering doors engraved with intricate carvings of a roaring lion and a crown. his eyes widens when they met yours like they usually as though seeing a ghost. you thought his timid nature would go away over time but that doesn’t seem to be the case.

“lady ___!” he calls in a hurry after you walked past him and down the familiar hallway lain with blazing red carpet, “h-his majesty is busy! you have to give the palace a month’s notice for an audience before-”

“jungkook.” the abrupt twirl almost sends the boy smashing into you but he manages to stop just inches away, sighing a sigh of relief that only lives for a split second at your words, “his majesty ordered for the rumors to be spread.”

when you take one step forward, he takes another backwards, “you’re his closest aide so he must’ve told you to do it and not some ordinary maid-”

“n-n-no! i-” he sputters, eyes glancing over his shoulders as though seeking for a knight to call for help but the goddess must be in your favor today because no other soul can be seen.

you’re not sure what kind of face you’re making but you doubt it’s a smile but the fact that all colors seem to drain when he looks at you again must mean something, “it was lady jung! his majesty called for lady jung and after that, the rumors started spreading!”

“krystal?”

a sigh escapes the black haired boy when your feet roots itself into the ground. the jung family had been part of the aristocratic faction who tried to push for their daughter and krystal’s eldest sister to marry the crown prince, seokjin’s brother and heir apparent.

but only those who secretly swear allegiance to seokjin could attain an exclusive invite to the palace and jungkook had explicitly mentioned that it was seokjin who called her over, not the other way around.

“lady ___! please!” jungkook’s cries echo somewhere behind you, almost drowned by the series of questions that begin to flood your head.

“your majesty!” your hands ache from having to push through the oak doors after jungkook orders the knights to stand down at your arrival, which meant they had no obligations to announce your presence nor push the doors open for you, “you’re throwing yoongi and i into a cage full of wolves!”

“oh you two are calling each other by first names now?” the way seokjin's eyes glazes over you does nothing but pour oil to the flames burning inside your stomach, “regardless, i thought we agreed to cease this act of prancing around in the palace like you own the place.”

a thud echoes off the walls as your barely recovering hand slams down on his desk, but judging from how the stack of papers stood still, you doubted it’d made the desirable impact, “if you knew i was lying, why didn’t you call me out?!”

“i can’t say i didn’t fall for it in the beginning but weren’t you the one who told me that information can be gathered and used like a sword?” seokjin’s steel gaze settles on you like a blanket of winter snow.

“that...” thrown off by the your own words used against you, a pause lapses before you manage to speak again, “i may have made a mistake by involving yoongi but this ends here. call off the party i- i’ll marry the 12th prince.”

a scoff.

“to think you swore to be the shield you’re now holding against me because of that brute cousin of mine.”

“my promise remains the same,” you stand straighter, hit by the reminder of your ordeal, “i'll support you for as long as you stay a just ruler but not if you start a war within cearis by this reckless action of yours.”

his eyes bore into you for the longest moment, searching for a hint of your faltered promise. 

there is none. 

to think it would come to this. when you agreed to help seokjin become the king, you knew you have vastly contrasting ideals but the end goal was the same. to bring peace over cearis and end the previous king’s tyrannic reign.

the previous king hadn’t directly committed murder but the increasing tax rate had slowly caused the economy to be sucked dry. the people couldn’t even afford basic necessity and the rich buying wheat and grains and storing them with the intention to resell them once the price sky-rocketed. up until last year, only nobles were able to still live comfortably.

the thought of the hollowed cheeks, tattered clothing and skin and bones of the people in the streets whenever your carriage passed to get to the tea parties and gathering, still sends your body shaking with rage.

and if a civil war broke out between the two factions, history might repeat itself.

“i’d wanted you to rule by my side as my queen.” seokjin’s blunt confession causes you to almost stumble backwards, as though hit by an invisible brick.

“what-”

“but that’s simply absurd.”

he gingerly chuckles at your apparent reaction, “at least pretend to be disappointed ___, i didn’t want it too- the thought repulses me but since we’ve always been so much alike, we could at least make a political marriage work, right? but when you rejected me so directly, i couldn’t help but want to push you a little. i wasn’t going to go through the marriage with the 12th prince.”

“so all that trouble to get the duke to become my fake fiance... was because your fragile ego couldn’t handle being rejected by a woman?”  you force through gritted teeth.

“i-i didn’t say such a thing,” the king’s eyebrows furrow in undue frustration, face reddening, “plus it’s you, we’re talking about. how could i be-”

“your majesty...” a hiss slips out of your mouth, causing the man to physically flinch at the realization of how dire the circumstances are for him. for one there are no windows to avoid assassination attempts but also means he can’t escape you through any other way but the door - assuming he could get past you at all, “you’ve caused duke min and i a great deal of hardships. it’s something money alone cannot fix, do you not think so?”

“c-calm down, ___,” he begins to sputter whilst the table begins to turn, gaze thrown over your shoulder - perhaps, he’s calculating his chances of survival if he made a beeline to the door,“jungkook! jungkook, let him in!”

almost as if on cue, the muted thud of footsteps fill the air before the door swings open. you have absolutely zero interest if it was an assassin he’d prepared beforehand, knowing that you’d barge your way to the palace. with this distance, even an assassin couldn’t get-

“the house of min greets the sun of the kingdom.”

your heels twirl on their own before you even manage to register the deep voice that echoes off the falls, eyes landing on the owner of the silver locks that begins to straighten up after a bow.

“yoongi.” the man’s name falls off your lips involuntarily as he spares you a chiding glance. almost as though he’s not pleased with your rash decisions of meeting with seokjin without consulting him.

yet despite that, he comes to stand next to you, his hand brushing the back of yours. and in his own way, it feels as though he’s saying i stand with you.

the sound of someone clearing his throat brings you back to the matter at hand. seokjin seems to have regained a semblance of his composure. though, he fails to hide the rise of his eyebrows for the briefest moment at the unusually close proximity for two people who claim to feign being lovers. “as you know, the the min lineage has extraordinary senses. i summoned yoongi over to wait for me in the next room but your crassness has delayed the duke’s audience. and since the walls are thin, i don’t know how much he’s heard.”

your lips twitch in contempt.

it doesn’t take long for you to piece two and two together. no noble family has expressly supported seokjin and with the two aristocratic and royal factions’ internal division, you suspect another faction would rise in support of seokjin, the son who the late king never even spared a glance at.

having aided seokjin in the shadows since his time as an outcast prince, you were never told of the other families that shared the same shoes and chose to support him until the time is right to step into the light. you swore to be his shield and the min family had always been known to be the crown’s loyal sword.

you catch yoongi’s deep eyes before meeting the king’s,“so the min family is one of the noble families who supported you as well.”

it isn’t a question but seokjin nods anyway, his eyes now hold a sort of burden that ages him ten years, “i know your reason for supporting me are too far glaring and what i’m asking you requires a great sacrifice that’ll affect your children, but can i count on the two of you for this?”

x

seokjin meant you might actually have to get married to yoongi legally. at the engagement party, you’ll be showing up as supporters of the king and shift the unending feud between and within the factions. those who have been supporting seokjin in the dark will be your allies while those neutral, like what your house had appeared to be, will not need much convincing to join the new faction - the king’s. though, those who are against his forceful succession won’t stand still.

“it’s getting late so we should stop here but i’ll be visiting soon to finish our little talk, your majesty,” you didn’t miss the king’s shoulder line jolting as you shot up, letting a few seconds stretch in suspense before dipping into a formal bow.

“um, that’s quite fine. you don’t have to-” the man’s mouth clamped shut at the glare you shot over your shoulder before trudging out of the room, the click clack click of your heels bouncing off the walls while you faintly caught seokjin stammering out a plea for help to the only other person left in the room and receiving a ‘you dug your own grave with this one, your majesty’.

yet you couldn’t deny the agreeable course of direction you should take to single out the wild flowers from mere weeds being through a garden party. that’s where politics takes place and where one would usually work out connections. halting in your steps, you found yourself letting out a sigh, the chin you’ve kept so high now lowered to the ground.

after this, there will no longer be an aristocratic and royalist factions - only those who opposes seokjin and those who supports him. the first bunch would no doubt go after you and your family since they can’t touch the duke, if you got divorced within five, no - ten, maybe even twenty years of your marriage. though there have been politically arranged marriages that lasts for a lifetime. while some of the couples seem civil to each other, there would always be speculations of their happiness lying in the arms of their lovers outside of their marriage.

your parents are no exception. though they never quite opened up to you about their past or even present. the only time you ever recall your mother’s heart breaking was when the bells of the palace rang across the capital, signaling the previous queen’s demise.

“how could i not have noticed which faction he’s in...” you trail off, staring into the darkened ceiling where the chandelier would have been and the paintings of a great tree that symbolizes the foundation of your house.

“my lady,” leslie’s fluttery voice chirps from somewhere next to you “get up! today is the day for the duke’s formal visit!”

it’s been a week since your visit to the palace and having been driven to a corner yet again by seokjin. for some reason it didn’t bother you as much as the revelation of that the house of min had always been by the king’s side as a loyal supporter.

yoongi had escorted you to the carriage silently. and you would have left without exchanging a word if not for he gloved hand that grasps onto you tightly and the eyes that bores into your soul. almost imploring you to please, say something.

“since we’re pressed for time, i’ll have the contract sent to you to be reviewed in three day’s time,” was all you said.

your ankles are shackled with invisible cuffs. it takes everything in you not to drag your feet as you strut down the hallway with your chin high and shoulder line dignified.

“right,” you murmur to yourself, pushing yourself up only to have your hand dragged by the maid all the way to the bathtub where warm water has already been filled and waiting for you.

the other maids are already waiting for you with dresses in their hands and jewel boxes littered on your otherwise neatly kept vanity, chattering to themselves about how exciting it is for the only and eldest daughter’s official engagement. granted, your mother has been bugging you about the lack of rock on your finger when every other noblewoman would be showing off their engagement ring as soon as the news breaks out in high society.

but when you step out of the room, donned in an extravagant but elegant dress, you did not expect the overflow of people you’ve never seen before walking towards the main parlor that’s much larger than your mother’s and reserved for entertaining guests. the servants who seem to be carrying boxes and wrapped dresses bow at the sight of you.

“leslie, what’s all this?” you quiz the ever smiling maid on your side even though you have a good hunch already.

“these are the duke’s gifts to you, my lady.” there’s a certain tilt in her voice - the closest indication you’d get of leslie being excited.

“gifts?” you echoe.

the plan was for you to review the other’s contract, make necessary amendments and exchange them in secret.

that is, until yoongi sent a letter to your father, to notify his visit and ‘entourage’. but then again, the duke has always had a knack for downplaying important matters. otherwise, you would have caught on to where his loyalty lies.

before the maid could elaborate further, you’re already in front of the parlor and whisked away by your mother as soon as she sees you.

“___!” she grasps your hands tightly, “how i was mistaken about the duke. his grace was waiting for the siren’s heart to arrive from raefetia!”

colored diamonds are especially hard to get due to the different component and temperature required for its formation. the siren’s heart is said to be a rare jewel that was lost after the siren’s lover was killed on land and the diamond that was with him got sold in the black market.

how yoongi got a hold of it, is not entirely a mystery but the impact of the entourage he brought to your manner and the two jewelers who confirmed it to be the real siren’s heart will, without a doubt, spread throughout the kingdom within a week.

“are these all bought by the duke?” you manage to pull one of the workers who you’d confirmed to be from whitlace, into a corner when your mother is busy salivating over one of the many boxes of jewels that seem to sparkle and call for her.

“th-the duke ask for the jewels to be sent to my lady’s manor and pick whichever my lady’s heart desires,” the slight tremble at the mention of yoongi shouldn’t have come as a surprise to you yet it does. he just hasn’t been looking at you with eyes that could kill.

“is your manager here?” you don’t plan to let the woman be ridden with worry any more than she already is.

as soon as she leads you to a tanned woman with an elegant air around her and the finest jewels adorning her ears and neck, you know that it isn’t just the manager but countess wyvner herself who’d come here.

“lady ___, it’s an honor to meet your acquaintance,” she smiles, her deep brown eyes gleaming with a sort of observance fitting for a woman who runs one of the most high end jewelry store in the kingdom alongside her husband.

“countess,” you say after bowing, “thank you for preparing this on such a short notice.”

a slot itself needs booking at least for one month prior, you can’t imagine how much trouble and setbacks in their schedule they’d have to suffer because of yoongi’s whims. you’d only come to a realization that you’d have to legally marry each other last week. let alone have enough time to prepare for such grand proposal.

“on behalf of my husband and i, it’s an honor to serve the duke and future duchess,” she has a sort of pleasant tone that makes the lady in you listen to anything and everything she says.

you let out a low chuckle, “my, that does put me in a difficult situation.”

the countess blinks in surprise, “how so, lady ___?”

“you see, countess, i specifically asked for the duke to not spend so extravagantly for me,” you lament, a sigh escaping your lips, “as the money could have gone to charity work and helping those in need.”

“ah yes, the house of ___ has been well-known for their generosity since your father’s time,” she agrees, as though recalling a long-lost memory.

it takes several more praises and teetering over the fine line of offensive and modest before you can finally convey your wishes for the jewels to be brought back and as a compromise, the countess will leave only the best, hand-picked diamonds for you to at least look at.

not even five minutes after your conversation with the countess ends, the butler approaches you, informing yoongi’s arrival.

“alright, thank you aiden,” you dismiss the butler, eye skimming the mannequins and dresses piled into the room. whichever store these are from, you’lll have to deal with them later, “bring him to mother’s parlor.”

x

“your grace, thank you for coming,” you greet the man with a bow, noting how his eyebrows threaten to pull together at the title yet only silence follows your greeting.

neither of you say anything as the maid sets down the baked goods you requested to be made for this meeting. the smell of lavender fills your senses as you pour the drink into the white teacup with deep violet flowers engraved around them.

“your grace,” that is possibly the last straw when you see the man’s heavy frown, as though the first time might have been a mistake, but the second time couldn’t have been, so you let out a soft sigh, “i shall address you formally for what i’m about to say involves the state of affair of the kingdom.”

when no word of protest seem to come from the duke, you continue, “i trust your grace has read the contract and made the desired amendments on your part?”

as though recalling the purpose of his visit, the man’s eyes flit away from you. it’s expected for him to behave so, especially when all you’d agreed on at the beginning was a simple hoax to trick the eyes of the beholders. 

out of the frying pan and into the fire.

“that... yes.” he mindlessly mumbles, pulling out the contract from the inside pocket of his jacket and placing it in front of you in a manner that told you he couldn’t be bothered with it for a minute longer.

yet if that was truly the case, he could have sent someone to deliver the contract after the review instead of a notice informing you of his visit. the letters on the contract almost seem to blur together as you mull over his reasons for sitting through a one hour ride just to get here until you catch the insignia of twin dragons and a shield.

“your grace,” your heart almost jumps in your throat when you look up from the paper only to meet a pair of crimson ones that seem to already be staring, “none of the content seem to be modified. is there nothing you wish to add?”

contracts are made to give both parties an equal standings. you’d only included your terms which you made sure weren’t excessive but not potentially harming to you in an event there would be a talk of divorce in the future.

“no, there isn’t.” he answers simply, eyes reverting to the brownish golden liquid before hey flutter close just as he nears the cup to his lips.

all of a sudden, you’re brought back to the sunlit office of his. your hands had trembled and your heart had felt like a dead weight was pulling at its strings until the duke pulled you out of that darkened crevice and kissed the back of your hand.

the act alone had been reserved for lovers who’d sworn their souls to the other. but it’d also been done by noblemen in respect for noblewomen of higher ranking. but the fact that you were a mere count’s daughter and he was a duke rendered the latter interpretation null.

yet he’s acting so indifferently to you now.

“your grace, i implore you to take this matter seriously as it concerns not just the ducal house and ___ house but also cearis.”

no matter how prepared you are, there’s no telling what would happen once seokjin’s plan is set in motion. but even if you’re both nothing but chess pieces, your lives worth something. perhaps, yoongi hasn’t much to lose - but you’ve held out this long to avoid being tangled in an arranged marriage. you need a guarantee for your future and if yoongi refuses to pay his due attention-

“___,” the familiarity of your name rolling off his tongue is unsettling yet comforting at the same time, “isn’t everything that caters to your needs and wishes all in there? why are you displeased?” though the color of his eyes reminds you of burning flames, his gaze sends icy shivers down your spine. as opposed to the way he used to search for the secrets beyond the windows of your soul, this time, he seems as though he’s studied every crevice of it.

it takes you a moment to register that he’d read every line of the terms. and it isn’t a question needing mulling over nor do the flood of memories from your first meeting up until now, is unforeseeable. and you couldn’t help the little prick of betrayal that buries itself to the hilt in your heart,“did you know?”

his stare doesn’t falter. almost like a culprit brought to trial and knows of his innocence even though others don’t, “no- you know how secretive the king is but with the way you’d been behaving at the mention of him... i thought you’d been lovers instead of just subject and monarch.”

in other words, if yoongi knew - which he did have his suspcicions, it was because you’d exposed yourself. the realization hits you like a brick as you recall the many times you almost called seokjin by his name and the one time you actually did.

you figured he’d believe you when you said it was because of your house’s just upbringing but suspicions couldn’t just be shrugged off just like that.

“we’re not.” is all you say, your shoulders threaten to sag with the lifted weight yet the noble blood in you forces you to keep your chin up. those deep eyes bore into you. it’s no secret that even the seemingly indifferent duke of cralon would be curious of how you came to be acquainted with the king when he was just a prince.

truth to be told, it isn’t so much as a mysterious tale as it seems to be. your family’s territory doesn’t harbor fertile lands nor is it strategically situated near the shores for a harbor to be built and attract merchants. it’s a bit far off from the capital but not entirely suitable for planting corps either. and because your family’s refusal to join the royalist faction, the previous king had cut off the supplies and funds for your family’s territory.

your father had to buy food from merchants at a high price while you were in charge of distributing  them all to representatives of each family. in the midst of it, at the age of 16, you’d met seokjin. every time you’d see him, he’d donned the same tattered clothes that didn’t seem to fit his smooth, honeyed skin and noble mannerism.

you didn’t question his motives for always being there to lend another hand to distribute whatever supplies your father could get and leaving without accepting so much as a slice of bread. it was some few years later, after you’ve talked to too many people and remember too little of their faces, did seokjin finally told you about his lowly maid mother and the parents she’d left in pursuit of a job in the capital. it took another year for you to realize his high official dad was the king and by then, you’d sputtered far too many insults at the second prince in your fits of rage.

but if you’re being honest, it possibly had something to do with your mother’s tens of hundreds of letters addressed to the palace, pleading for the king’s good graces. she’d attended social gatherings to obtain funds for charities that went to orphanages, managed to allocate budgets for the supplies and still maintain an appearance fitting for a noblewoman. you did help with pointing out which house had the disadvantage you could use and which could be recruited under your fold but it was mostly your mother - a useless information that yoongi didn’t need to know.

“we started getting more supplies and to shift the suspicion of our family’s support leaning towards the new crown, seokjin started distributing more supplies to noble families of neutral standings,” the thought alone warrants a well needed pause as you sip on cold tea, “after he proposed to me and promised to make me queen, i tried my best to avoid letting the two meet especially at banquets held in the palace.”

“that bastard...” a sharp cracking sound hits the air as you watch the tea ripple within the small confines of the now cracked teacup within the duke’s grasp, “...really had the nerve to propose to you, huh.”

“well,” you set the cup on the saucer gently before standing up and walking over the man who watches you with a mix of curiosity as to what you’re doing and subdued rage for the king.

sitting down, you place your hand on his gloved one. it takes a moment  for him to realize the damage he’d done before he releases the poor ceramic and allow you to twine your fingers together. when you meet his gaze, it’s already soften with something you can’t pinpoint as you suppress the rising heat on your cheeks, “i believe seokjin was telling the truth when he said he was doing it because he had to. at that time, he most likely didn’t know of any other young ladies around his age though there’s no telling for sure just who and how many people was already under his folds,” the hard crimson stare does little to unnerve you though they still make your heart restless for a completely different reason now.

yoongi laughs dryly, almost like a swords mater defeated in his own game, “so we’re merely tools for his disposal.”

that, you can’t deny but no matter how deep you’d pondered on the man’s actions and how much you’d have to sacrifice-

“yet we still trust him like blind fools.” you say.

“fools won’t know what they’re getting into before it’s too late,” he rasps.

words of protest bubbles in your throat as his hand falls away from you but the way he stands up only to fall on his knee, makes your breath hitch.

“we’re no fools, you and i,” his eyes that capture you in a garden of red are glaringly contrasting to his fair complexion and naturally soft features, “___, i do not wish to be married to you only on paper.”

x

note. that’s all for the third chapter, hope you guys enjoyed it!

taglist: @ayujmi​

[myriadimagines]

Run From Me

Lucifer One Shot

Pairing: Reader x Mazikeen

Other Characters: Lucifer Morningstar

Warnings: alcohol consumption

Requester: —

Summary: Mazikeen already knows she doesn’t understand humans, but you confuse her more than than any other human she’s met. She doesn’t understand why you care so much — about the world, other people, and most perplexingly, her. Based on the song bury a friend by Billie Eilish.

Word Count: 1,236

A/N: this is my submission for @locke-writes’ intro to 2020 challenge!! i liked the concept better than the actual piece but :/

please reblog/leave comments, they’re very much appreciated!

Your name: submit What is this?

What do you want from me? Why don’t you run from me?

Mazikeen doesn’t need to tell others that she’s a demon for them to be afraid of her. From the dangerous glint in her eyes, all light disappearing in her dark irises, to her fiendish smile, red lips curled upward to reveal her grinning teeth, Mazikeen seems to be the epitome of terrifying. It’s only natural for people to run from her, an instinctual self preservation that drives everyone to stay as far away from her as possible, and it amuses her. It makes her laugh how a tiny little movement will make any human around her flinch, how pathetically scared they are of her without even knowing her true nature.

And she has no doubts you will be any different. 

She sees you at the bar, elbows leaned up against polished wood as you survey the scene. There’s a quietness about you that almost doesn’t seem to belong in the rowdy club, full of strangers drunkenly dancing, a mass of hot bodies pressed up against each other. Lux has always been a refuge, a go-to for people desperate to forget about the outside world, to drink their problems away and crush them under their heels, dancing until they collapse.

Mazikeen has seen them all. The sloppy drunks, the emotional ones. People who are fresh off a breakup, holding back their tears long enough to try and find a rebound. Others who are looking for a fling, someone to cheat with, anything to fill up the emptiness inside that’ll forever be hungry, gnashing teeth never to be satiated. 

She thinks she has you all figured out, defined and crammed into one of the various boxes that everyone else fit into. A quiet, shy type, probably at their first club, wanting to dip their toes into a wild scenery they’ve only ever watched from afar. It makes Mazikeen chuckle, watching you stay in the corner, not even having a single drink. You’ve picked one hell of a club to visit, one you’re no doubt unprepared for, and Lux is going to swallow you whole. 

You make eye contact with her when you finally turn around, and she made a point of strutting straight towards you, leaning towards you as she shoots you an expectant look, “What do you want?”

You smile at her. “Can I get a water?”

Mazikeen sneers at you, her condescending gaze sweeping over you before she snorts, “Seriously?” 

You don’t even flinch, she realises, don’t shy away and shrink under her gaze that would make anyone else squirm. It takes her by surprise, and she blinks at you and your unrelenting gaze, and she reluctantly reaches for a glass under the bar. She flips on the tap, refusing to break eye contact, a silent competition that neither of you seem ready to give up on. She slides the glass to you across the bar, and you catch it before it tips over the edge. Your smile widens, and you say, “Thanks. I’m y/n, by the way.”

Mazikeen’s nose wrinkles ever so slightly, perplexed at your unexpected boldness. She doesn’t like it, mainly because it feels defiant, as if your existence is an active challenge towards her very being. 

She’s so used to others running from her, she doesn’t quite know what to do when someone, for the first time, seems to be running straight towards her.

She spins on her heel, dismissing you as she finds another customer at the end of the bar. You grin to yourself, taking a sip of water as you can see Mazikeen cast a quick glance to you out of the corner of your eye, and you know both of you are thinking the same thing.

Game on.

What are you wondering? What do you know?

You mean nothing to her. At least, that’s what she tries telling herself, despite the fact that each and every night she finds herself revealing secrets to you she’d never even think of telling anyone else. It terrifies her, each time she lets her guard down, terrifies her that one day, it’ll be too much for you. That you’ll turn around screaming, running away from her darkness that no one else can handle.

You must be from Hell, Mazikeen decides, quite early on after getting to know you. There’s no other explanation, despite Lucifer firmly assuring her he’s never once heard of you before, decidedly ruling out the possibility. 

But there’s something about your smile, your taunting, teasing smile that makes Mazkeen feel like you know more about her than she realises. As if you can see right through her, leaving her a translucent body, her soul open for you to see. 

And she hates it. Hates the vulnerability, hates feeling exposed to the point where it could be used against her. She doesn’t understand how it feels like you know her, know every single detail about her life, and the very feeling alone is enough to unravel her. 

It takes her a while to realise how much time the two of you unintentionally spend together. Perhaps it was all planned from the start on your part, calculated moves that would always put the two of you together. You’re relentless, always showing up in the exact same spot at the bar again and again, refusing to talk to any other bartender except for her. It doesn’t matter how hard she tries to fight against you, she always finds herself drawn towards you by the end of the night, unable to fight the palpable magnetism that buzzes between the two of you.

You soften her, eventually, the two of you bonding over quiet conversations at the end of the bar as Lux begins to wind down, as the club begins to empty and the music begins to dim. Lucifer often finds the two of you still talking long after closing hours, unable to peel yourselves away from one another. Mazikeen hates the smug, pointed grin on Lucifer’s face each time he sees the two of you together, hates his insinuation that the two of you together means anything. 

You mean nothing to her. At least, that’s what she tries telling herself, despite the fact that each and every night she finds herself revealing secrets to you she’d never even think of telling anyone else. It terrifies her, each time she lets her guard down, terrifies her that one day, it’ll be too much for you. That you’ll turn around screaming, running away from her darkness that no one else can handle. 

Why aren’t you scared of me? Why do you care for me?

She doesn’t understand how you’ve managed to never once cower away from her, how you’ve continued to stay at her side after seeing the sides of herself that even she’s deemed ugly and terrible. Parts of herself that she felt nauseated to show you, parts she was sure you’d reject her for, but instead only makes you more fond of her. Each passing day seems to draw you closer and closer to her, and she knows she cares for you far more than she’d ever care to admit, just as you care for her.

So she finally asks you, finally confronts you with all the questions that have swarmed her mind ever since first meeting you, an unfinished puzzle full of holes and pieces that are lost into oblivion that only your hand can find.

You don’t reply, looking up at her wide eyes, and Mazikeen realises that perhaps she’s known the truth all along. A truth she pushed aside as an absurdity, and impossibility, because of the eternity she’s spent believing that she’s incabaple of being loved. A truth you don’t need to say out loud.

You love her. 

And Mazikeen has unknowingly fallen in love with you, too.

tag list: @melody-of-scream / @diansaprince / @inspiredbynewt / @belle82devart / @natalia-helena-alianova-romanov / @locke-writes / @ayanemoon / @fangirlsarah16 / @batfam16 / @ariagrillart

[tallestsilver]

Disneyland Modern AU

For @littlelonghairedoutlaw‘s PotO AU Fic Contest! Summary: While at Disneyland, Christine is determined to make Erik have fun and figure out his favorite ride.  Rating: PG or K+  Ship: Erik/Christine kinda. More friendly than romantic  AU: Modern

“Erik, please at least try to enjoy yourself.”

A noncommittal exhalation of breath, too light to be a grunt, was the response. The dour look on Erik’s face only worsened as more people lined up behind them, becoming more crowded. “The ‘Happiest Place on Earth’, indeed,” he monotoned. 

Christine sighed in exasperation and rummaged through her petite backpack as the line moved a step closer to the entrance to the park. “Look, I can’t think of anyone who doesn’t like at least one-” she held up her index finger to emphasize her point, “-one thing at Disneyland.” She withdrew a set of plain Minnie Ears, complete with a pink bow and situated it on top of her head. It barely peaked out from her massive amount of fluffy curls, but it remained steadfast. “You cannot be serious with that ridiculous thing.”

“When in Rome, do as the Romans do!” “I have been to Rome and they certainly do not care about the doings of tourists. They would rather-” “Erik, it’s just an expression,” Christine said with a roll of her eyes as he continued muttering about barbarians. Perhaps this was not the best idea she had come up with. She was determined to have fun with Erik in one of her favorite places, but he always had to make things more difficult. His rotten mood would not spoil her magical day, and she was focused on making his day magical as well.

“You said you wanted to go with me,” she reminded him as she passed her ticket along to the taker. A scant, a delightful tinkling of approval, and she passed through the turnstile. 

She waited on the other side, watching Erik fidget with his hands and recheck his prosthetic nose, complete with fake mustache. He was overly anxious, she realized, with a sinking feeling. He was denied his mask, for they were not allowed in the park, and so he settled on some makeup and a detachable nose. Despite his disguise, he wore dark shades to try and hide himself as much as possible. 

Erik held his breath and passed through the turnstile, as if he was going to be tackled by security and thrown out of the Magic Kingdom, and worse yet, be tossed into California Adventure, but he passed through without any protestations. He exhaled in relief. “Well, now we’re here so let’s get on with it,” he said. Christine grinned and grabbed his arm. “First stop, the Mad Hatter’s!”

“WHAT?” 

Walking at a determined pace, but walking nevertheless, Christine pulled Erik by the elbow straight down Mainstreet. They passed by window panels that depicted scenes of various Disney movies. “These were my favorite as a kid,” she told him, imitating a grinning Ariel rocking back and forth. “They would release the whole movie in these little scenes for whatever came out that year. They stopped doing that, though…” 

Erik leaned in and inspected the window next to hers. Cinderella was waltzing with Prince Charming, the clock tower looming behind them. 

“Let’s go!” And he was yoinked away. Christine inhaled the intoxicating aromas wafting throughout the street as they headed toward Sleeping Beauty’s Castle. Confections enticing her with their sweet promises nearly stopped her in her tracks, but she had one thought in mind that she dare not tell Erik until they arrived in Fantasyland. “ABSOLUTELY NOT,” he declared as she held up a simple black Mickey hat. “Everyone gets one, Erik!” Christine said joyously. Despite his black sunglasses, she could feel his piercing gaze. 

“Christine, you’re wasting your time and your money.” She handed over the money to the cashier, who was eyeing Erik with uncertainty. “Ma’am, we have other hats that-” “Just ignore him. He’ll grow to love it.” “Would you like that embroidered?” “NO HE WOULD NOT,” Erik interjected. “Yes please! Erik, if you wouldn’t mind. That’s E-R-I-K. No ‘C’.” “We will do that in one moment!”

“Wonderful! Thank you!” 

The embroidery machine whirred to life as Christine turned back to Erik with a grin to match the Cheshire Cat’s above her. 

“Fie, a pox on both your houses,” he glowered at her, but she just continued to smile without regard to his fuming. 

“Hate me all you want, but this will help you blend in with everyone else.” She was handed the Mickey Ears, smartly embroidered in swirling yellow letters with “Erik”. She stood on her tip toes and snugly placed it on top of Erik’s head, securing the elastic bad around his chin. “There! You can throw it away after today, but for now, you’ll have plenty of Disney fun with me!”

He slumped his shoulders in defeat. “If I must…” “You must!” Christine told him cheerfully, because damn it all, she was going to make sure this day was fun for him. Even if it killed her. 

Or even if it killed him. 

At Christine’s insistence, they hit Fantasyland first, “since we’re already here,” she explained, “although Adventureland is the best, by far.” His arms were tightly folded on the Mad Tea Party Teacups, as Christine dutifully spun them faster and faster, laughing all the while. His sour disposition never faltered through Peter Pan, Alice in Wonderland, or King Arthur’s Carousel. Christine could have sworn she saw the slightest crack of a smile on Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride upon their exit into Hell. But however quick it might have been, it vanished before she could have been certain. 

“Now I know this next one will be your favorite!” She cheered gleefully as they soared up and down through the air on Dumbo - 

“-a character who faced discrimination and torment on a daily basis until he had capital value,” Erik commented with a growl. 

Christine’s face fell as their Dumbo rose up into the air with the other elephants before making their descent. “You don’t have to put it like that…” she said softly. She shook her head, “no matter! Dumbo isn’t your favorite.”

As they exited the ride, she stuck her chin out defiantly and posed like Peter Pan. “We will find what you like today!”

Erik adjusted his dark glasses delicately, avoiding too much contact with his fake nose. “That’s highly unlikely.”

__________________________________________________________

By the afternoon’s end, Christine was in a slump. The cheer had been sapped from her, despite her earlier exuberance. She sat defeated on a bench in New Orleans Square, face cradled in her hands. Even her hair lost its usual fluffy bounce, and her curls were bedraggled. Erik approached her, holding two churros from the nearby cart. Christine made no acknowledgment of him. “Christine, I acquired the confection you demanded.”

She rotated her body away from him and focused on Tom Sawyer’s Island. She watched as the raft loaded with people and drifted away from them, toward the island.  

“Christine?”

She continued to ignore him and instead gazed at all the happy families, couples, and others enjoying their time in the park.

Erik stiffly sat beside her, his body rigid in a perfect posture, holding out the churros mechanically. He stared out alongside her, in the direction of her gaze.

“Christine, you are obviously upset, and it is highly likely that the variable that caused you to be upset is me.” He took an audible breath, and continued to stare straight ahead, but Christine shifted her gaze to him. “I cannot begin to rectify the situation and my behavior if all I can infer is that you are sullen.” 

Her mouth was set in a line, not willing to smile or frown. Yes, she was irritated with him, and this false way of apologizing without outright doing it grated on her nerves. At least he was trying to be a bit more considerate to her emotions.

“Yes, Erik, I’m ‘sullen.’ Any suggestion I have, you immediately turn it into something negative. I’m trying to show you something you’ll enjoy, but you keep nit-picking and draining all the fun out of it!” 

“That’s hardly the case-” Erik began to counter, but Christine cut him off. “-YES, it is!” She stuck out her hand and began counting on her fingers all the dismissals and critiques he had. “You hated Tomorrowland because you complained about all the outdated technology and how you could create better animatronics.”

“Why have a ride that is essentially recreating the traffic we experienced to even get to this park? It’s absurd!” “You didn’t like Space Mountain because you calculated the speed and scoffed at how slow it actually was.” “It’s all illusions, Christine. It’s only 28 miles per hour-” 

She shoved another finger in his face and she continued her infraction count, “- you were utterly disinterested in Big Thunder Mountain,” “-ain’t, Christine. Thar ain’t no way that would appeal to me. And the excavation of that Tyrannosaurus is completely ludicrous-” “-You were whining all throughout ‘Galaxy’s Edge’,” “I was just saying the Empire is a bunch of fascists and the Rebels are terrorists-” “IT’S STAR WARS, ERIK!!” Christine shouted, throwing her hands up in the air. “AND THEN when we went to Critter Country,” “-crawling with tiny children I might add-” “-you described the Winnie the Pooh ride as a fevered dream you had on opium once,” “-to be fair, it was a rather good dream-” “-and then you kept saying how exploitative Song of the South was and ruined Splash Mountain. HOW DID YOU MANAGE NOT TO GET WET? I’m STILL ringing out my hair and that was nearly an hour ago!” 

“One can take a measured approach to these things, my dear-”

“-AND you would not SHUT UP about how historically inaccurate Pirates of the Caribbean was!” “NO ONE,” Erik rose to his feet, “IN THE ENTIRE WORLD, HAS EVER WORN HATS THAT LOOK LIKE BUCKETS! THERE’S NO HISTORY HERE, CHRISTINE!”

Christine jumped to her feet and stood defiantly to Erik, despite him still looming over her, “IT’S A RIDE, ERIK! IT’S MAKE BELIEVE! PRETEND! IT’S SUPPOSED TO BE FUN!!”

“BUCKET-HATS!!”

As the two of them panted in their frustrations, a baby somewhere nearby began crying. Christine broke first and flopped back down on the bench with a groan. “I just wanted you to enjoy yourself.” She slowly removed her headband and traced her fingers over the Minnie Ears. “This place means so much to me… My Dad and I would-” her nose got that peculiar warm tickle that means tears were soon to follow. She shook her head to rid herself of that anguish. “Disneyland is just my happy place, and I wanted to share that with you, too.” Erik lowered himself down onto the ground, to look up at Christine as she fought her emotions. He removed his dark sunglasses to be more open with the woman sitting in front of him. “I have been having fun,” he told her softly. “Perhaps my enjoyment of things is more unconventional, but spending this day with you is more precious to me than anything else.” A half-smile appeared on her lips. “Crowds and all?” He offered her the churro as he rose from the ground to sit beside her. “Suffocating crowds and all.” 

Christine smiled into her churro, biting into it quietly as she and Erik sat in thought. She leaned against him, resting her head on his shoulder. His entire body tensed and grew rigid at the sudden intimacy, but he slowly relaxed. He hesitantly lifted his arm, and with taking pause, wrapped it around Christine’s shoulders. Christine had nearly finished half of her churro before Erik finally tasted his own. The crispy sweet crust pairing with the fluffy light middle delighted him. “Christine!” He exclaimed, “these are incredible!” “Yeah, Erik. Disneyland churros are amazing. I always need to have one. OH! And the beignets, too.” “I don’t think you fully comprehend the magnificence of this pastry! It’s entirely delightful!” He took another bite, “sweet, but not overpowering!” Another bite. “The delicate taste of cinnamon!” Another, “the exquisite crunch with the decadent exterior!” 

Christine covered her mouth with her hand, struggling to keep from laughing at Erik’s sudden enthusiasm. As he continued exclaiming his delight, probably with more gusto for Christine’s benefit, the adhesive on his prosthetic nose began to disintegrate. Her amusement quickly turned into concern, knowing how poorly he would react if it fell off. “Erik,” Christine cautioned him, suddenly serious, “Erik, maybe you shouldn’t-” And that’s precisely when his nose fell into his lap. 

Erik yelped several octaves higher than Christine thought he was physically able to, clamping his hands over his face instinctively. His mustache hung limply above his thin lips, exposing the jagged scar of his former cleft palate that ran up to his nose cavity.

The cry made several people look in their direction, certainly not aiding in Erik’s mortification. “The poor guy dropped his churro!” Christine explained, putting on her Stage Voice and gesturing to the fallen delicacy. 

That seemed to satisfy the onlookers as Erik curled up on himself, hiding his face as best he could. Christine rubbed his hunched back soothingly as he silently suffered. “Shh, shh... Erik it’s okay! There’s a bathroom nearby where you can apply it again. Although honestly,” she said with a shrug, “no one will care if you don’t reapply it. There are so many people who come here with all different backgrounds and abilities that-” “Christine, save me your princess fairy tales for the moment,” Erik hissed through gritted teeth. “I’m more Victor Hugo’s Hunchback than Walt Disney’s, and people aren’t kind no matter where or when we are. Or perhaps I should just kidnap a princess into being my prisoner like some kind of Beast. That will turn out well!” 

Silenced by his sardonic words, Christine helped him to his feet, and hurried him along to the restrooms in New Orleans Square. They were mercifully close, and as Christine was just about to tell him as such, a small boy approached Erik. “Jack Skewwington!” He squealed gleefully, bouncing up and down, pointing at Erik and back at his shirt that displayed the character. 

Christine had to bite her lips to keep from laughing and making the situation worse as Erik blushed in fury. The mustache had vanished somewhere along their short walk, fully exposing Erik’s death-like face. 

The small boy hugged Erik’s spindly legs in his delight at finding the Pumpkin King. 

Erik’s jaw clenched, unsure of what to do. His hands flexed into fists at his side, wanting to throw the child off of him or pat him on the head awkwardly.

“Owen!!” Cried a nearby woman, running up to the boy. “I don’t think he likes that, honey,” She held out her hand to Owen and beckoned him back to her. “But Auntie Pwincess...” he whined taking her hand. She turned to Erik, “I’m sorry, your Disney-bound is really good. He thought you were Jack,” she said breathlessly, trying to excuse the young boy’s behavior. “It’s FINE!” Christine interjected before Erik could say anything, “he gets that all the time. You gotta keep the secret, okay?” She pressed her finger to her lips and winked at the boy. “Have a good Halloween!” She waved to the pair as Owen waved back. “Bye bye!”

Erik stood there in shock, unable to process what had happened. Christine handed him a tube of eyelash glue and his fallen nose. He took them mechanically and left to enter the restroom. After a few minutes, he returned, adjusting his sunglasses back on his face and lightly tapping his raw upper lip. A few flecks of glue remained, but only Christine would notice. “I suppose that’s what you get for wearing black pinstripes at Disneyland,” she laughed sheepishly, trying to make light of the situation.

“I’d rather not discuss it,” he said, with all of his curt authority, but there was a certain softness to his voice. “Where to next?” He asked Christine, offering his arm with jerking, stilted movements. She took it and smiled. “My favorite ride, but you have to promise not to criticize it!” Erik gave her a mock aghast look. “I would NEVER-!” “Erik. Promise me.” “Oh, all right, I promise. I’ll hold my tongue. Now which one is it?”

Christine lifted her arm to the towering manor before them. “The Haunted Mansion!”

“Haunted, hmmm? I should really leave my card if they want a proper Phantom…” Ignoring him, Christine giggled with excitement, bouncing not too unlike their little visitor from before, and dragged Erik along behind her. She was all but skipping through the Pet Cemetery and pointed out all the puns on the various tombstones and mausoleums.

“I. M. Mortal? The evidence proves the contrary, sir,” Erik said. Christine shot him a dirty look and he held up his hands in innocence. “It was a joke, Christine! They’re all deceased.” 

She narrowed her eyes at him and whipped her hair at him with a small, “hmpf!” She strolled quickly into the front doors of the mansion as a glassy eyed Castmember ushered them in with a deadpan, “look alive. Right this way.”

Erik squeezed his way past through the bodies of the crowd to get back to Christine’s side. She gazed up at the foyer in awe, excitement vibrating from her being. 

“When hinges creak in doorless chambers, and strange and frightening sounds echo through the halls.” Christine clasped her hands in giddiness, mouthing the words along with Paul Frees’s narration. “Whenever candlelights flicker where the air is deathly still — that is the time when ghosts are present, practicing their terror with ghoulish delight!” “... well I feel called out,” whispered Erik in Christine’s ear. Christine snorted in laughter.

“Welcome, foolish mortals, to the Haunted Mansion. I am your host, your Ghost Host. Kindly step all the way in please, and make room for everyone. There’s no turning back now.” One of the walls opened to reveal another room. The group shuffled their way in as another Castmember stated in the deepest voice he could muster, “Drag your bodies away from the walls and into the dead center of the room.”

“Are these puns going to continue throughout this journey?” “Yes, Erik!” Christine hissed at him in a whisper. “And if you don’t like it-” “Our tour begins here in this gallery, where you see paintings of some of our guests as they appeared in their corruptible, mortal state.”

“You misunderstand, I love it entirely.” Erik looked longingly at Christine, aching to make her happy. She inadvertently was standing similarly to the ballerina-tight rope walker portrait stretching just behind her.  

“Your cadaverous pallor betrays an aura of foreboding, almost as though you sense a disquieting metamorphosis. Is this haunted room actually stretching? Or is it your imagination — hmm?” 

“Oh. Well good!” The smile she gave him was dazzling. 

“And consider this dismaying observation: this chamber has no windows and no doors… which offers you this chilling challenge: to find a way out!” Christine echoed the laugh of the Ghost Host with chilling accuracy.  “Of course... there’s always my way-!”

Christine released a practiced blood curdling scream as lightning flashed and the hanged body of the host appeared above them. Erik jumped at her terrifying cry, but she was still smiling in delight. The lights flickered back on and a door slid open revealing another hallway in the labyrinthine manor. “Ohhh, I didn’t mean to frighten you prematurely,” Christine cooed along with the dialogue, smirking at Erik. “The real chills come later. Now, as they say, ‘look alive,’ and we’ll continue our little tour. And let’s all stay together, please.” “I was concerned about your safety,” he huffed, a slight blush rising to his sunken cheeks. He adjusted his Mickey Ears as they had skewed in his jump. “You were scared, just admit it!” Christine laughed as they walked through the hallway, where the curtained windows showed a thunderstorm raging outside the Mansion. To their right, more portraits flickered with the lightning, showing not all was as it seemed. 

“Christine,” Erik said sensibly, “a hanged body is something that does not frighten me.”

“I’m going to ignore that,” Christine told him, peering at the two busts whose faces turned to follow them down the line queue. 

“There are several prominent ghosts who have retired here from creepy old crypts all over the world. Actually, we have 999 happy haunts here — but there’s room for 1,000. Any volunteers?”

Christine nudged Erik with her elbow. “They’re looking for a new ghost. Need a new job?”

“If you insist on lagging behind, you may not need to volunteer.”

Erik tapped his finger against his lips in thought. “That’s not a bad notion…” “You’re not ACTUALLY considering it, are you Erik?” The two of them stepped onto the moving walkway and slid into their doom buggy carriage to whisk them off into the bowels of the mansion.

“Why not,” he mused. “Put my skills to the test, and so far, I am pleased with the traditional techniques they’ve been utilizing for their optical illusions.” The safety bar lowered on them, bumping against Erik’s gangling legs. “I find the older tricks are the most effective.” 

“We find it delightfully unlivable here in this ghostly retreat. Every room has wall-to-wall creeps, and hot and cold running chills. Shhh, listen!”

Their ghostly carriage rocked and swayed, providing them the direction where to look as they journeyed down the Corridor of Doors. A floating candelabra surrounded by a hall of mirrors that led to nowhere illuminated the scene to the right as groans from a moving casket cried out on their left. Leering eyes warped the wallpaper pattern into a frightful brocade as narration continued. 

Christine cooed in contentment as she leaned back in the Doom Buggy and watched the creeping horrors as they passed by. Several doors rattled and growled with threats of danger on the other side. 

“Ha! They used the effect revolutionized in ‘The Haunting,’” Erik hummed in his amusement as they passed by a particularly intimidating bulging door, the wood creaking with every ‘breath’ of movement.  “In fact,” he craned his neck around and tried to carefully observe the other doors, despite moving away from them, “this whole hallway is...a marvel...” Christine gave Erik her best vacant expression and told him, “the house is alive..!” He actually chuckled at her reference. Christine was pleased at his amusement. 

“It’s about time you found something you like-” But she was cut off by the seance Madame Leota was conducting as they swiveled into a pitch black room with instruments floating all around them. 

“OoooOooh, a medium,” Erik wiggled his spidery fingers in sarcastic spookiness, “how obnoxious,” he scoffed, but his smile remained. 

“Do not mock the great Madame Leota!” “Goblins and ghoulies from last Halloween, awaken the spirits with your tambourine!”

Their vehicle turned and face the Seer, to reveal she was not seated at her seance table in front of the crystal ball. Rather, she was a disembodied head inside the ball, floating above the table. The jingling beat of a tambourine was the response, as if the ghosts of the mansion were responding to her words. 

“Creepies and crawlies, toads in a pond, let there be music from regions beyond!” Music began to play as they were ushered from Leota’s chamber and into more darkness. Their Ghost Host whispered in their ears as they ventured deeper into the Mansion. “The happy haunts have received your sympathetic vibrations and are beginning to materialize. They’re assembling for a swinging wake, and they’ll be expecting me… I’ll see you all a little later.”

The organ music swelled around them with the melody of the mansion as ghostly apparitions began swirling in a waltz in a ballroom before them. Duelists stepped out of their portraits to fire, spirits were piling in from a crashed carriage, gathering around to feast on the rotten food on an elongated table. And a man in a top hat played the organ with great vigor, despite it being off-key. 

“The Pepper’s Ghost illusion, of course,” Erik whispered to himself.

“My favorite part!” Christine squealed in a hushed voice. “Yes,” he murmured, entranced as well, his eyes focused on the organ player, “I can see why…” Listening to the repeating music, his finger unconsciously swayed to it, as though he was conducting it and learning along. Christine hummed along, dancing in her seat as they turned away from the spectacle and into the attic, where the thudding of a heartbeat echoed in their heads. Scattered before them were portraits of various couples in their wedding attire. The woman, all the same in each one and smiling pleasantly, but every groom was different. Then, the swing of an axe, and the heads of the grooms vanished. A piano with only the shadow of a pianist played a discordant wedding march. At the end of the attic, was Constance Hatchaway, the bride herself, in her glowing ethereal splendor. “I do,” she whispered innocently, her bouquet revealing an axe, “...and I did,” she hissed, the axe shining with light. “Here comes the bride…”

“I know I’m desperate,” Erik remarked, “but I’m not that desperate for a bride.” 

Christine scoffed, “you sure about that? OH! HERE HE IS! THE HATBOX GHOST!”

Christine leaned forward as they left the attic and a ghost with skeletal features, not too unlike the man sitting next to her, appeared. He wore a magnificent top hat and a hatbox hung from his hand. His eyes looked suspiciously around before he laughed sinisterly. His face suddenly vanished from his body and reappeared inside his hatbox.

Their carriage tilted backward away from the mansion and into the backyard cemetery. Christine laughed and clapped her hands in delight.  

“What was so remarkable about him?” Erik puzzled. 

“The rumor of the Hatbox Ghost is amazing! He was put into the Mansion on the opening days, but then he vanished!” “The animatronic… vanished?” “Yes! They never saw it again! They just put him back in a couple of years ago. But can you imagine? Almost fifty years without Hattie and his image is all through the mansion! But now he’s back and better than ever!” The recurring music suddenly shifted from melancholy and dour to exuberant and lively. A raven cawed at them during their descent out of the main house and into the graveyard. They passed the terrified groundskeeper and his dog, both trembling in fear as the ghosts and corpses rose from their graves to have a frightening soiree.  

Christine bounced along to the music and sang along to the macabre choir, 

“When the crypt doors creak and the tombstones quake,

Spooks come out for a swinging wake.

Happy haunts materialize and begin to vocalize. 

Grim grinning ghosts come out to socialize!

Now, don’t close your eyes and don’t try to hide,

For a silly spook may sit by your side.

Shrouded in a daft disguise, they pretend to terrorize.

Grim grinning ghosts come out to socialize!

As the moon climbs high o’er the dead oak tree,

Spooks arrive for the midnight spree.

Creepy creeps with eerie eyes start to shriek and harmonize.

Grim grinning ghosts come out to socialize!

When you hear the knell of a requiem bell,

Weird glows gleam where spirits dwell.

Restless bones etherealize, rise as spooks of every size!

She cackled and continued right from the top again. Ghosts popped up from behind tombstones, a Mummy was having tea, four busts sang very expressively, and several opera singers belted out their tunes. 

Erik nudged his elbow against Christine and nodded to a large woman’s ghost with long Valkyrie braids, projecting out her notes. “I wasn’t aware Carlotta was employed here!”

Christine sputtered in laughter as they left the graveyard only to be accosted by three hitchhiking ghosts, thumbing their way out. 

“Ah, there you are!” The Ghost Host’s voice cooed, “and just in time… there’s a little matter I forgot to mention — beware of hitchhiking ghosts! They have selected you to fill our quota, and they’ll haunt you until you return! Now I will raise the safety bar, and a ghost will follow you home!”

Christine wiggled in her seat, eagerly peering in the mirrors displayed before them to see which ghost would select them. However, all that they saw were their own reflections, Erik doing everything he could to avoid looking at himself “That’s odd… it must be down… usually a ghost appears next to you…” She looked over at Erik, who shrugged in response. 

“...nevermind, a ghost is next to me,” she commented dryly. 

A lulling melody lured them out of their Doom Buggy as the bar lifted and they stepped out onto the moving platform. Christine looked back as her palm sought the handrail, carrying them back up to the world above. “Hurry baaaack… Hurry baaaack…” The small bride-like figure of Little Leota taunted them as they headed upward. Erik rested his hand on Christine’s shoulder. “Oh, we plan to.” Christine gasped in delight, her eyes sparkling with unmitigated joy. “Again?”

Erik nodded, “how else am I to construct a summer home?”

[darkangeldesignstudio]

Need You Tonight

summary: You landed your dream job with the Avengers team about a year ago. You went on missions and made new friends. But, one team member still confuses you. Thor and his flirtatious ways have left you dazed and confused and when he leaves on a mission to Asgard you are left with your traitorous mind. Could he really ever love a human, or was it all just wishful thinking?

pairing: Thor x female reader

warnings: language, tiny bit of angst, and my first attempts at writing smut lol

word count: 4.2k

A/N: Hey everyone! This is my entry for @tilltheendwilliwrite‘s “T Shows Her Age: Songfic Challenge.” My song was Need you Tonight by INXS, a favorite of mine because of the iconic bar dancing bid war from the movie Coyote Ugly *wink wink*.  First of all, I want to give a big thanks to my Beta @sexykitty96 for all of the encouragement and support (and typo hunting lol) she had given me over the past months. I really appreciate it love! I have to say, it was fun writing this fic, but also difficult seeing as I've never written smut before. I'm actually a bit nervous about how it turned out so if you wouldn't mind leaving me some advice in the comments that would be amazing. Much love and happy reading!

You never imagined, in all of your wildest dreams, that you would be one of the Avengers. Getting to work with Earth's mightiest heroes was the best job you could ask for.

You were fairly new to the team, only working with them for about a year, but you had become fast friends with Natasha and Wanda. They accepted you into their group easily, along with Steve and Bucky who treated you like a little sister. Tony and Bruce readily accepted your help on their projects while Sam and Clint constantly took time out of their days to help train you. It was amazing, but something was missing.

Unfortunately, there was one team member that you hardly ever saw. Thor, currently taking care of a problem on Asgard, was your guilty pleasure. When you first met, there was an immediate connection. Flirting ensued, for weeks on end, and you really felt that it was leading to something more, until he was called back home by Heimdall a few months ago.

He promised that he would keep in touch as much as possible, but the few trips back and forth to the compound only lasted a few minutes at a time and they were never really conducive to the type of interaction you both wanted. It was infuriating. Especially after the few occasions where self doubt came into play. Did he really like you? He hadn't even kissed you yet. Was he just using this trip as a way to avoid you? Why would a God ever like someone like you anyway?

You tried your hardest to squash those feelings. Thor wouldn't have spent months getting close to you just so he could lead you on. He was better than that. But, after months of silence, it became hard to push your insecurity down.

The night that Thor finally returned to the compound, it was movie night for the team and it was your turn to pick. Deciding it was a good night for an old favorite, you asked FRIDAY to put on “Coyote Ugly” and settled onto the couch next to Tony, sharing a bowl of popcorn between you.

Natasha was also excited, she hadn't seen the movie in years, and she smiled at you from a few seats away. “Nice choice, [Y/N].”

You smiled back at her just as you noticed Thor walk into the room. Your eyes connected and you shot a timid smile his direction. “It's one of my favorites.” Your voice was unsure and quiet, which Natasha picked up on immediately and turned around to watch Thor descend the stairs.

Looking between the two of you, Nat smiled and offers Thor a seat on the large couch next to her. This left you with no options, if you wanted to talk to Nat, you had to look at Thor. Damn her and her shifty ways.

Thor said quiet greetings to everyone with a bright smile reserved only for you, but your heart was hurting. The months of self doubt and hatred for how you would never measure up to this wonderful man had caught up to you. Now that he was here, it was a crushing blow. You turned away from Thor, trying and failing to put a genuine smile on your face. They all noticed, but nobody said anything, preferring to watch the movie in silence.

Soon, the movie had everyone smiling and laughing. Vision and Wanda could be heard speaking in whispers. Vis pelted Wanda with questions about this scene or that scene and she happily answered him as they cuddled together on one of the smaller love seats. It was cute, but it still hurt to see them so happy when you were so miserable. Thor was only a few steps away, but he felt as far away as Asgard at the moment.

When the music tuned up onscreen, you smiled so brightly, it was your favorite scene. Need you tonight played in the background of the bar as Kevin O'Donnell jumped up on the bar and began dancing to the sounds of women shouting bids in his direction. It was hot and hilarious and so darn cute. You couldn't help but laugh at the absurd things the bar patrons were shouting as the man began to strip.

Just as the bidding began to rise in intensity, Pepper walked into the room and you happily gave up your seat. It was only right that she got to sit with Tony after being gone for the past week.

You quickly found a seat beside Nat, ignoring the fact that Thor was now only inches away. His massive body was so close, but your heart still felt far away.

Nat got your attention with a small nudge. “How about that dancing? I would kill for someone to seduce me like that.”

You laughed as she wagged her eyebrows your direction. “Me too, Nat. Me too.” With a sigh, you settled back into the couch and enjoyed the rest of the movie together with your friends. You never noticing the calculating look that crossed Thor's face or the sly wink that Natasha through his way.

It was a few days later that Tony threw a party for the team to celebrate another successful mission. You and Thor had patched things up and were steadily growing closer again. Sadly, there was no sure evidence that he was willing to go any further that harmless flirting and warm hugs.

It was infuriating, but you could deal with it. He was your friend first and that would always be most important to you.

About half way through the night, you noticed Thor watching you. Your instincts were on high alert with his eyes on you. You could practically feel his gaze as you danced with Nat and Wanda.

Every man in the room was getting an eye full as you and the girls got down and dirty on the dance floor. The intensity of Thor's gaze grew exponentially when Nat and Wanda sandwiched you between them. Grinding your hips together as you dropped down to the floor with the beat of the music. Natasha and Wanda's hands roamed freely and you barely heard when Nat whispered in your ear.

“Thor's getting antsy over there. That look could set a room on fire.” Her words sent a thrill down your spine.

The music ended and you slowly looked up. When your eyes connected with his, you felt your blood boil with immense heat. His eyes glowed blue in the low light, small sparks danced on his shoulders. On the face of an enemy, that look would have struck fear to the depths of your soul. From Thor, it made your heart race for an entirely different reason.

You walked slowly towards him, measuring each step carefully and hoping that he could read your intentions. When you were about five feet away he had gained a semblance of control and motioned for you to follow him.

Free of the thumping beat of the music, you walked in silence towards the sleeping quarters of the tower. When he stopped, you were a few feet from his room. “We need to talk, [Y/N], but first, I must show you something.”

You looked at him suspiciously. His voice had gone softer and held a wealth of timidness that you had never heard before from the King of Asgard. It was almost as if he was unsure and you hated it.

“Thor.” The firm tone was unexpected and he looked back at you with a quirked eyebrow, causing you to smirk at his surprise. “Whatever it is, I'm sure I will be fine. I trust you.”

His eyes lit up with his smile and you giggled happily. That smile could have brought you to your knees, it was a rare thing to see and the beauty of his happiness was never lost on you. He took your hand and led you the last few feet to his bedroom door.

“Close your eyes, [Y/N].” His authoritative voice was back, causing you to giggle again, but the tone  brokered no argument so you complied with a small smile and clenched your eyes shut willingly.

Thor smiled down at you, wishing he could just kiss you in that moment and forget about the rest of the plan, but this was what you wanted. He, Natasha, and Sam had worked too hard for him to back down now.

The sound of his door opening made it extremely hard not to peak. You had never been here before and it would be a lie if you said you weren't excited. Thor, quickly had you settled onto what felt like a plush couch and released your hand. “No peeking.”

You laughed. “Just get on with it, Thor. The suspense is killing me.”

He smirked as he finally reached the sound system across the room and turned it on. “As my lady commands.”

A familiar beat began in the background, causing your eyes to fly open. You never, in a million years, expected to see the sight in front of you, but you smiled nonetheless as Thor slowly walked towards you from across the room.

His steps were measured to the timing of the beat and when he stood at your feet he pulled you up and into his body. He rolled his body into yours agonizingly slow and then, he began to sing along with the lyrics.

Come over here

All you got is this moment The twenty-first century's yesterday You can care all you want Everybody does yeah that's okay

His body was like an aphrodisiac. His voice like a dose of ecstasy as you dances together. He caressed your body with fingers that felt like they were barely there. You were surrounded by his body, your back hot against his chest and you moved.

So slide over here And give me a moment Your moves are so raw I've got to let you know I've got to let you know You're one of my kind

I need you tonight 'Cause I'm not sleeping There's something about you girl That makes me sweat

His breath in your ear made you moan as his hands traveled the length of your body, gripping your hips. Then the words of the song finally registered and you realized it, he was telling you how he felt. He wanted you and only you and, damn it felt good to be wanted.

How do you feel I'm lonely What do you think Can't take it all What ya gonna do Gonna live my life

As he sang along to the song, he kissed your neck. Just as his hand traveled towards the valley between your legs, you smiled. It was about time he knew how much you wanted him as well. You turned swiftly into him, pressing chest to chest. Throwing your arm around his neck, you began to sing along with him.

So slide over here And give me a moment Your moves are so raw I've got to let you know I've got to let you know You're one of my kind

I need you tonight 'Cause I'm not sleeping There's something about you girl That makes me sweat

So how do you feel I'm lonely What do you think Can't think at all Whatcha gonna do Gonna live my life

Thor's smile was predatory and full of challenge. You knew he could smell the wetness on your thighs and you were not the least bit ashamed. You wanted him. Needed him.

So how do you feel I'm lonely What do you think Can't think at all Whatcha gonna do Gonna live my life

So slide over here And give me a moment Your moves are so raw I've got to let you know I've got to let you know

The words of the song died on both of your lips when you slid your hand into his hair. His eyes began to glow as you leaned into him. His lips were brushing against yours, waiting for you to make the first move. So, you did and sparks flew. Literally.

So slide over here And give me a moment I've got to let you know I've got to let you know

You're one of my kind

You were so lost in one another that neither of you noticed when the music stopped. He sucked and nibbled at your lips. You moaned and he delved deeper. His tongue danced with yours and you could feel the tingling sensation of his lightning coursing over your body. It hummed over your skin, creating little sparks like fingers dancing over your skin.

You gasped for air when a particularly large spark danced through your womb. Thor chuckled. “How do you feel, Lady [Y/N]?”

The irony of his words and the song lyrics from before were not lost on you, but this was no time for jokes. “I need you, Thor.” Your breath caught when he looked into your eyes. An ocean of love, leagues deep, was behind those eyes. But there was also worry.

He was the King and he knew that if you accepted him as yours, there would be no turning back. You would be his Queen and would not be of this world ever again. Did you really want that? Could you leave your life here for months or even years to rule at his side?

The choice was an easy one to make. “Yes.”

In an instant, you feel the wall at your back. Your pretty black dress pushed up around your hips and your legs around his. His lips tingle against yours as he devours you. He's a force that you are unwilling to evade. So, you meet him head on.

“Please, Thor. Take me into your bed. Make me yours.” It took only seconds once the words left your lips and the next thing you knew was the softness of the bed beneath you.

Thor smiled down at you, lightening coursing in faint ripples down the muscles of his arms. Your eyes heated as he began to strip for you. His red button up came away first. Buttons flew when he ran out of patience, ripping it away and tossing it to the floor. Then his hands went to the waistband of his jeans and your breath caught.

Rallying your courage, you shifted up onto your knees and pulled his hands away and around to the back of your dress. You wanted to do this. Touch him. Admire him, just as you wanted him to admire you.

Understanding sparkled in his blue eyes as his hands softly skimmed your spine, traveling towards the zipper at the nape of your neck. Slowly, he began to pull it down as you did the same to him.

His calloused hands were rough on your sensitive skin, making you gasp. He slowly ran both hands to the shoulders of your dress and pulled the straps away, revealing your lacy black bra and matching panties. His pants followed your dress, falling in a heap upon the floor.

He was glorious. All rippling muscle and bronze skin. You envied him, you couldn't help but wish you were worthy, until you heard a deep growl rise from his throat.

At that moment, he was fully convinced that you were a gift from the Norns themselves. There was no possible way that a being as perfect as you was not and he felt unworthy in your presence. Why would you have feelings for him? God or not, he wasn't so special to deserve you, but he would die trying to prove his worth if that's what it took to keep you.

“Lady [Y/N], are you s...”

You cut him off before the asinine question in his eyes could finish leaving his lips. “I swear to the Nine Realms, Thor. If you do not kiss me right now I will make you regret it.”

His deep chuckle was all that you heard before he was on you again. He kissed you slowly, tenderly, as you laid back onto the bed. His hips cradled between your own as you both moved towards the center.

His chiseled abs and hard pecs brushed against the softness of your curves and the barrier of your bra. You whimpered as small sparks danced over your womb and his fingers, wrapped in lightning, traveled up the back of your calf.

Your senses were beginning to overload at the sensation. It was like heaven and hell all wrapped into one. An exquisite type of torture that you couldn't get enough of and he hadn't even touched you yet.

When he did, you were sure you would die from the pleasure.

His mouth began to travel south as his hands traveled north. Lips kissed and teeth scraped as they followed the length of your throat, towards your collarbone. There was no doubt that you would have marks in the morning, but you couldn't care less.

His hips ground down into yours and you could feel the heat of his hard cock through your panties. You ached to touch him there, but the thought of trying left your mind when his mouth wrapped around your nipple. Hot breath caressed your clothed peak and small sparks shot up your spine as his hand unhooked the strap at your back.

Pulling the lacy contraption out of the way, Thor sucked your bare nipple back into his mouth, suckling and nibbling until it was a hard peak before moving to do the same with the other.

Your moans were hot and seductive in his ear, pushing him closer and closer to the edge of his control as your fingers in his hair tightened with the loss of yours. You were close and all it would take was one more little nudge to bring you there.

His hips rocked into yours again and again. The friction at your center was torturous, it kept you on the precipice, teetering precariously as his mouth and lightning stimulated your breasts.

The brush of his hands at your hips, his weight lifting slightly to allow him the room to pull your panties down slowly, was enough to spur you into action. You released your grip in his hair and ran your palms down his spine, gripping the waistband of his boxers and pushing them down to join your own at the foot of the bed.

The heavy weight of his cock settled on your thigh, making you moan. You gripped him softly, running your hand up and down his shaft. His breath caught at the contact and he thrust lightly into your palm.

You giggled a bit at the irony of the situation. The God of Thunder, the “Mightiest Avenger”, brought down by such a tiny human woman. It was unbelievable, but here you were.

Thor slowly pulled away from your soft touch, wishing for you to enjoy this first time without him losing control too quickly. There would be time for that later. His mouth roamed over the valley of your breasts and down towards your center, leaving tender kisses and reddened marks along the way.

You returned your hands to his back, dragging your nails up his spine and back into his hair. The faint red lines gave you a happy thrill. They marked him as yours just as he was marking you as his, though the marks you left would be gone by morning, it still made you giddy to know they had been there.

When his mouth finally reached your center, all thoughts were gone. The first hot breath on your center, the first small spark from his tongue sent you reeling over the edge and into pure ecstasy. You panted his name, moaning skyward as you came apart.

He watched you tremble from your orgasm, wishing to watch you come undone before his control snapped completely. He wanted to taste you. Your scent teased his nose. You were like ambrosia, like the finest mead in all of Asgard and he wanted to drink his fill. But, he held himself back, watching and waiting like a predator for its prey.

You slowly came down from your high and looked down the length of your body. Thor's blue eyes were predatory, daring you to look away from what he was about to do, but you couldn't. You watched as his mouth descended on your mound. His tongue found a home in your slick folds as his eyes stared into your soul, sparking blue in the dim light of the bedroom. You panted at the sensation, moaning quietly as he languidly tasted you, but never looking away.

Then his fingers entered you and you couldn't hold back anymore. You fell back onto the bed, moaning and crying as he stretched you. His lips wrapped around your clit and you bucked into his mouth.

Thor held you down. Holding you at the mercy of his wicked tongue and adept fingers. When you relaxed, he slid a third finger inside. He was by no means, small and the last thing he wanted was to hurt you. Letting his powers flow a bit, he used his free hand to send sparks across your nipples until your inner walls began to quiver around his fingers.

Slowly, he withdrew his hand. You whimpered at the loss of his touch, causing him to smile as he crawled up your body and pressed his hips back down to yours.

He kissed you slowly as he lined himself up. Pulling away to meet your gaze when he bumped at your entrance. “I'm going to make you mine now, [Y/N]. I will go slow as not to hurt you.”

You tried to urge him on. Tried to tell him to take you. That you didn't want slow, but the words were lost when he pushed into you.

Every ridge, every vein, you could feel them all. Your moans grew as he thrust long and slow into your tight sheath. Only a moment passed before you fell hard. This orgasm stronger than the previous and pulled a deep growl from Thor's throat.

The heat that surrounded him, milked him, was almost too much to handle. He held tight to the last vestiges of his control, breathing through it as best he could so he wouldn't explode like some untried youth. He hadn't felt like this in ages, it was as if the hundreds of years learning to control his powers had flown out the window. Thunder boomed in the distance and sparks floated in the air around him, a testament to his loss of control.

“[Y/N], I can't hold back anymore. I need you, now.” His face was soft, but his eyes were so bright they were almost white and his words were strained.

“Please, Thor, I need you, too. I love you, so much.” You were at the end of your rope, your control was gone. You needed him to take you and to come down with you. You pleaded with him, with your eyes, with your body, with your soul. You loved him and you needed him just as much as he needed you.

“As I love you, my lady.” His control snapped with your words and he moved into a punishing pace.

His hips snapped up into yours, lightning coursed over your skin as your legs tightened around his waist. His lips crashed into yours with reckless abandon. You were at the mercy of a God and it felt like heaven.

You screamed in ecstasy when he shifted his body higher onto yours, pushing himself impossibly deeper. He was a beast, rutting into you hard and fast, and you loved him all the more for it. His hands gripped your ass, surely hard enough to bruise and it felt wonderful.

Pleasure mixed with a bit of pain as he fucked your body, but nothing compared to when you felt his powers brush their way into your entrance. You felt white hot in that moment as your vision began to darken, your core pulsed in time with your heart as he thrust into you. The pleasure reaching heights you had never experienced before.

He bit into the pulse point at your throat and you screamed. Little jolts of lightning danced across your flesh, around your nipples, and through your womb pushing you over the edge. With a final snap of his hips, Thor followed you down. His roar of pleasure, drowned out by a loud clash of thunder and flash of lightning outside your windows. His hot cum coated your insides causing aftershocks in your core.

He turned, at the last moment, to collapse beside you on the bed and pull you into his chest. Your hearts beat loudly as you laid together, the sounds of thunder fading away into the distance outside. It took a few moments to be able to breath again.

Smiling happily, Thor turned back to you, rising slightly onto an elbow so he could read your face. The smile he received made him chuckle. “So, was that worth two hundred and fifty of your Midgardian money?”

The question caught you off guard and you had to try hard not to laugh in his face. Of course he would go right back to thinking about the movie. It was what got you here, after all.

Smiling brightly up at him, you place your hand onto his cheek. “It was worth so much more.”

The love in his eyes was unmistakable. Slowly, he lowered his head and took your lips in a long, slow kiss.

[kyogre-blue]

Nanowrimo, day 8 (wc 1596)

Day 8 - Chapter 5, part 2

A stunned silence, and then a chorus of questions (Sinbad, Drakon, Hinahoho) and sneers (the assassins) greeted this declaration, but Alibaba only gave them a placating wave and moved to the side, taking a seat next to the djinn’s alter. After all, he hadn’t even really wanted one djinn. What would he do with a second one? 

The reason he had come to Valefor’s dungeon was purely to attempt at getting back home. But the world gate in hadn’t done anything and Valefor didn’t know anything, so the only thing left was to see if the gate back might send him to the right place. ...But Alibaba did not have much hope on that point. 

Silently, he sighed to himself. What was he supposed to do from here? 

“Suit yourself,” Valefor said lazily. “Works better for me too. I don’t want to share with that stuffy old man. And as for the rest of you… let’s begin the trial!” As the djinn gestured with one paw, a small shape rose up out of the shadows. Yawning, it bared tiny fangs -- and sneezed, dribbling a bit of snot. “It’s quite simple. You just need to catch my little buddy, Minifor, before the time runs out. And if you don’t… you’ll remain here in my dungeon forever.” 

~.~ 

Carefully concealed in the icy rukh of Valefor’s dungeon, Falan watched. 

It was a rare opportunity. Very few of their number had the chance to see any part of Solomon’s king vessel system from the inside, and any information would be very useful for their future plans. King vessels possessed not only power but a unique quality within the flow of Solomon’s rukh. Using them correctly could yield great results. 

They could also become a great hindrance, however, and that was precisely why Falan had put priority on finding out more about Sinbad, the young conqueror of Baal. How to best use him -- her decision on this would determine his fate. 

What Falan and Al Thamen had not anticipated was the other one. 

How could they have missed Amon’s dungeon being raised? Who had done it? Not Scheherazade, whom they watched closely. Not the child magi Arba had claimed. Was it Yunan? He could be frustratingly elusive. And yet… 

For Amon’s king to be able to use the full equip, even if only for a moment, he had to have won his metal vessel long before. No king had ever mastered it in under a year, and most took several to even touch upon it. 

And somehow, this king vessel of several years had never even appeared in rumors? It was one thing to miss a dungeon being raised. Even Al Thamen could not monitor the entire world. But to miss a king vessel? People of that sort did not live obscure lives. 

They also did not ally with each other, at least not for long, but this boy’s first move was to build ties with Baal’s king. 

None of it made sense, and that made Falan wary. There were few things Al Thamen did not know, and the unknown was the greatest danger. It was for this that she remained out of sight and watched, instead of approaching Valefor, even at the risk of the djinn’s wrath. What could Solomon’s slave do to her, except banish her from her temporary form? What could even a king vessel do to her? No, what she was wary of was the potential of someone else behind Amon’s king, someone who had escaped Al Thamen’s eyes and ears. 

And the question of what purpose had made this backer finally move in the open. 

Most likely, it was... 

Falan’s hidden gaze lingered on Baal’s king, the child who shone almost blindingly in the rukh. A boy-king was not such a rare thing, but his capacity was unlike anything Falan had seen before. Was it possible he was the anomaly in the rukh from fifteen years ago? 

Unlike the Sham Lash rats, the Imuchakk beast, and Barbarossa's foolish little brother, Sinbad did not scramble in Valefor's petty game. From the way he watched them with a wry smile, she felt certain he had seen through it -- that Valefor had specifically made its familiar just a little stronger and faster than any single one of them, making it impossible to catch alone. Especially when they were each throwing themselves into each other's way out of desperate greed. 

"Okay, that's enough," Sinbad called out after yet another failed round of chase. "At this rate, we really will all get stuck here. We have to work together."

"Work together? Are you kidding? You think anyone's going to trust you? Or anyone else?" Ja'far sneered. 

Sinbad spread his hands. "I have an idea," he said. "A way for everyone to have an equal chance. How about this? We'll all surround Minifor and close in from an equal distance. If we get close enough, we’ll all jump in. Who it tries to run to, who manages to get hold of it -- it'll be up to chance and your own skill. But no matter what, it won't have a way out, and someone will become the king. Better than being stuck in the dungeon forever, right?" 

The others frowned and exchanged looks. But none of them protested in the face of Sinbad's confident smile. 

That was why they could only be pawns, their only purpose to be thrown away. 

“It’s a workable plan. But,” Dragul said, his lips thinning, “I can’t trust you.” 

Sinbad shrugged, unaffected. “Fine, fine. I’ll climb up and give directions instead, how about it?” 

His rukh fluttered -- smug and self assured. This was all within his calculations. 

And he calculated it perfectly. When the others closed, surrounding Valefor’s familiar, and made a final lunge, confident that it could not escape, the small creature launched itself up, out of their grasp -- and directly into Sinbad, who had used his position to intercept it. 

As he touched down on one of the massive chests scattered haphazardly around Valefor’s treasury, six furious gazes locked onto him. Shifting his grip on Valefor’s familiar, Sinbad quirked up one corner of his mouth. 

“You bastard! You cheated us!” Ja’far howled. “I’ll kill you!” 

Silver darts glinted between his fingers, before an absurd mass of unrefined magoi slammed down on him, pinning him in place. “No violence, no violence! How many times do I have to say it?” Valefor chided. 

“It’s alright, let him,” Sinbad said calmly. Finally releasing the familiar, he turned to Ja’far and spread his arms again, unconcerned with the bloodlust aimed at him. 

“He’ll really kill you, you know,” Valefor pointed out. 

“No, he won’t. I can’t die here,” Sinbad said. “I will live, because there is something I must do. That’s why I’m going to leave this dungeon alive. And I’ll do whatever it takes to make that happen, even use all of you.” His eyes moved across the others, taking in each of them and cutting through to their hearts. “Because the one who years for this power the most is me. What all of you want isn’t really this power of unlimited possibilities. The only fate you want to change is your own. But I... I will change not only my fate, but yours, and everyone else’s.

“I will change the world.” 

The rukh around him sang, making Falan grimace in disgust. 

He was truly a king vessel. With just his words, he was already forcing the hearts of his opponents to turn toward him. Even if they were unwilling, they couldn’t stop the feeling of excitement. And more than that, a belief in him. That admiration and trust would swirl together to become a single thought. 

‘I want to follow this man! This is my master and my king!’ 

“N-Nonsense!” Barbarossa’s younger brother protested, far too weak to change the flow that propelled Sinbad forward. “You don’t even know anything about the world! Do you really think you can change just because you gained some power? The world isn’t so simple!” 

“I know,” Sinbad agreed with a smile. “I know I’m still lacking. Power, allies, knowledge, skill... I need more. That’s why I want all of you to join me. Become mine!” 

...Amon’s king palmed his face. 

In the end, this exceptional vessel was still just a child. 

But-- 

“Pffft!” Ja’far burst out into mocking laughter. “Alright! I never thought I’d see a guy crazy enough to try recruiting the assassins after his life. You’re kind of amusing. So I’ll join you.”

--his potential was undeniable. 

“Chief!” the other assassin protested. “Are you serious? And you! Do you really mean that? How can you want people like us to be your allies?” 

“Of course I want you,” Sinbad said. “Let’s build a country that bring everyone together, no matter what their past of origins. That’s my dream!” With just his smile, the darkened rukh around the Sham Lash trash began to lighten. They were already as good as his. 

With a few years and a little guidance, he would become a bright light that could drive back Al Thamen for a generation. Any kingdom he created would obstruct them for an age. And that, Falan would not allow. It was past time to put an end to this glowing farce. Reaching out, she activated the small gift she had left behind in their bodies. 

Those insipid smiles faltered as the three assassins suddenly found themselves choking on blood. Then, a storm of black engulfed them, and a furious roar echoed from within the cloud of dark rukh. 

~.~

[rehearsed-mania]

Stories of Insubordination

rehearsed-mania

Title: Stories of Insubordination (AO3) Ship: Bismuth & Pearl (Steven Universe) Rating: T (for now) Summary: Between a Pearl who belongs to no one and a Bismuth who makes weapons for rebels, a deep — and subversive — bond can be forged. This is a collection of snippets following their shared resistance during the Rebellion.

>> Chapter 1 under the cut <<

I. The Strike

Bismuth would later interpret she’d always been a rebel on her own account and no one else’s. It had been as if she only ever needed the slightest spark to rise: that was Rose Quartz. Rose’s discourse but not her presence, mind you, for they’d only stand face to face many, many, many years after the first revolutionary ideas had begun to spread like a virus among Gems.

Nothing more life-threatening than infusing simple workers with dangerous ideas about their own place in the overall shit that was the Diamond Empire. Imperceptible mistakes were made and entire buildings would fall off within months of use by the Uppercrust. This Bismuth — facet 6f9f, cut 8tr — would secretly bask in the destructions; she just couldn’t avoid the satisfaction of seeing work routine be slowly dismantled after they’d all finally heard:  You can be what you want, you can do what you desire .

The whispers, the doubts, the dreams, a budding lack of purpose. She — facet 6f9f, cut 8tr — and her comrades were immersed in this new perspective which they couldn’t yet name.

Until the first Bismuths shattered themselves, one after the other. These creatures couldn’t fathom the reality of still serving their superiors and knowing with certainty they were no more than servants. At least, that was Bismuth facet 6f9f, cut 8tr’s hypothesis: their previous ignorance had been bliss, without being pressured to take part in a future, closer than ever riot. In the end, all it took was the absence of one Agate supervisor and, in mere minutes, repetitive, shrieking noises were heard in each corner of the forge.

“My comrades in tools,” this Bismuth declared on the very same day, holding in her arms the illegal weapons used by her colleagues to commit their first and last crime in this planet “we’ve reached our limit. Nothing and no one has the power to hold us back from our new purpose! We have to fight back for our friends! Fuck the elite scum!”

There was no united reaction from the other Gems: some shouted and whistled, some remained silent in fear. Come what may, facet 6f9f, cut 8tr’s leadership decisively turned their collective paths around. Before long, they’d already poofed the Agate right when she returned to find them in total havoc, threw her gem in the pool of lava, broke all machines and crossed their arms.

A Bismuth paralysation under Pink Diamond’s nose; now, that was quite the situation. Thankfully, Her Clarity was too overzealous with her own little experiments to even care. News were running rampant in the world thanks to one pilgrim Bismuth. The remaining peons stood their ground and waited. With no Agate to report them to Homeworld superiors and barely any production needed for a half-assed colony such as Earth, the impacts would be minimal, except for one consequence, the grandest of all.

Bismuth — facet 6f9f, cut 8tr — knew exactly what she wanted: to meet Rose Quartz. The detractor had been organizing clandestine reunions with other Quartz soldiers, but so far not with the masses of working Gems. Would she step down a notch and listen to the rough, resigned constructors? She did, and thousands of years later this tired Gem could still remember a surge of energy coming directly from her stone, zoning out her projected body in waves of defiance as the entrance alarm rang.

“It’s her, I can feel it!” a comrade exclaimed, glued to the cave’s wall.  Open it, open it ! she was cheered on. Without hesitation, the guard connected her Gem’s power to the metal surface. It was unsealed in a chain of multiple doors opening horizontally and vertically, up and down, left and right, until the last barrier was peeled off and, at last!, there she was: Rose Quartz. She towered above all the rest, chubby and graceful in a dress more creamy than white - her purpose wasn’t to pay homage to the big stellar boss, after all.

The Bismuth almost tumbled on her own apron, for she had never witnessed a presence as… as… the uncalled urge to bow down overtook her. Self-restrain, woman! Shouldn’t they be equals? But what else was there to expect, when every subversive thought this poor Bismuth had ever entertained was authorised and legitimated by the very Gem right before her? They should be equals.

The incendiary walked in strides towards them. However, another sight quickly diverted facet 6f9f, cut 8tr’s attention.

Almost at Rose’s side, following her in minute little steps, was a Pearl. A Pearl, of all beings! Who could she be? No, it wasn’t possible… stars,  the renegade ! Tiny, thin, weak, as if she would break at any moment, cracking like a china damaged beyond repair. Her face, though! — her hard-set eyes, her tousled hair, her unshaking posture. This Pearl could melt even a Bismuth into lava.

“Pleasure to meet you, fellow Bismuths,” Rose Quartz greeted them as she first stepped into the hot, sweaty forge, a place not at all delicate such as herself. “You’ve done an extraordinary job here. I must confess I’ve never seen anything like this before. Have you ever heard of another strike in this galaxy, Pearl?”

“It certainly has been a long time, in a faraway planet. I have heard that the Bismuth kindergarten policies have been modified after the incident.”

She spoke in the monotonous tone Pearls were known for. Her capacity to not move a single inch was quite unnerving, probably a remaining trait of slavery. From her cherished corner near the wall, Bismuth could not only watch the Pearl closely, but notice the small yet concrete distance that kept her apart from Rose.

“Oh, really? What a delight — the strike, I mean, not Homeworld’s tyranny.”

Facet 6f9f, cut 8tr wasn’t able to stop looking at this Pearl. She hadn’t known creatures from a class as her own were able to transcend it in some way. How could a Pearl hold herself with such poise? What an absurd proposition it was that one of her kind acted shamelessly arrogant towards pretty much any other real Gem in existence. She didn’t greet the crowd, let alone  smile  or talk. She clearly hadn’t bothered looking enticing for anyone, maybe except for her master — after all, was Rose her master or not?

Her big, round eyeballs were scanning the laborers, all too blinded by Rose Quartz’s presence to even notice. When their eyes met, Pearl slided her analytical gaze over Bismuth’s form. This solid builder suddenly felt devoid of any coverup — before she knew it, the words had spilled from her mouth.

“Do you belong to somebody?” After an offbeat instance of silence, Bismuth’s feet began to fidget.

The Pearl blinked. When she finally spoke, her voice was precise to a fault. “No one owns me.”

“Wow. So you’re really your own Gem, eh?” She laughed to herself, tucking her rainbow locks over the headband. The pride contained in this Pearl’s words — so far, no more than a few — was too much even for a working class radical to comprehend. There was still so much to learn.

Another harsh pause. “Yes, I am. Anything more?” It sounded kind of pre-programmed, like an official message repeated over and over again; perhaps, she  did  have to reiterate her stance every time to disbelieving Gems.

Bismuth rubbed her neck in muted embarassment. “Excuse me, I’m just a good ol’ Bismuth who can’t stop asking questions. Y’know, haven’t always been allowed to.”

The Pearl didn’t respond. Instead, she turned her attention back to the other Bismuths who’d been trying to reach Rose with no success, thanks to the mates who’d bundled up around the great leader, pouring onto her all the demands of long, exhausting labor cycles.

“You should all form a circle so we can listen to what you have to say,” she commanded as loud as possible. Damn, by the likes of it she’d blindly bet this Pearl could scratch a Bismuth. This was the whole point of the rebellion, wasn’t it, that no Gem outpowered another based on oppressive ranks which they had never decided by themselves?

The Gems turned back to stare at her, but didn’t budge at all. There lied an uncertainty in the air, that didn’t dissipate before Rose eventually spoke up.

“Pearl is right, oh my, how can we talk this way? Please, let’s sit down.” Only then did the Bismuths change position, following her eagerly. It was revolting how Gems were built to take orders from superiors, but it would take time to rewire themselves. A few thousand years down the road, maybe?

Facet 6f9f, cut 8tr sat on the floor with the rest of her turf. She exchanged looks with her folks, who nodded in encouragement; it was her right and duty to speak. “Oh, we sure have a bunch of stories to tell you two.” She stretched her arms way over her head. “What do you want to hear about? Our forge conditions, the work accidents, our dependence on a Zircon to stay alive in this society, how we’re all sick and tired of working ‘til death while Emeralds sit on us like we’re chairs?”

“By work accidents, I believe you mean the latest temple disasters,” the Pearl said as calculated as before while sitting almost next to her.

“Yeah, but not only those. I’ve lost count of how many companions have slipped up and cracked their stones with these stardamned machines. And not all of them were fixed.” She sighed in pain, hands closed in fists, remembering her long gone friends 8fg, 6xl, 5dj.

“My condolences, fellow Bismuth. It must be a never-ending grief,” Rose whispered sweetly, as if she were capable of experiencing the same ache. Somehow, though,  never-ending grief  still wasn’t enough to translate all the...

“We need more information,” the Pearl insisted. “I couldn’t grasp what you’ve mentioned about the Zircons. Be as detailed as you can.” There was no  please  at the end, it didn’t go unnoticed.

This Bismuth wasn’t quite in the mood to be thoroughly interviewed, but the opportunity to share so many horrors she and her own lived on a daily basis was far more important than any setback. She went on and on, a few corrections and complements offered by other comrades in tools along the way. The Pearl watched her with full attention.

“We’ve reached a breaking point in this galaxy, it’s true. Change is everything we need.” It was Rose’s final say in the matter. “You Bismuths are dedicated and skilled constructors, but your talent has been wasted so far. Join us and you’ll have the power to choose: what does each one of you want to build?”

Such a simple yet unforeseen question. This simple Gem had never considered choice as a possibility, no matter how much anger the repetitive activities raised within her. She found herself gasping for air she didn’t need, the pressure of a question, when had the Uppercrust ever asked her anything?, stars, it hit her hard, more than any rock ever could. One entire existence could be reinvented in a few seconds, after all.

She raised her hand. No other friend motioned to speak.

“I’ll make whatever you need for the Rebellion,” she spat out. She was angry, some  fucking  anger it was, and it fed her to the core. “You name it and I’ll do it.”

The Pearl looked at her hard. “Do you have any knowledge about crafting weapons?”

[a-robin-among-thorns]

In The Shadows of the Rising Sun: Chp 9

Chapters 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7 , Chapter 8

Once again so sorry for the delay on the chapter its been really crazy on my end. My sister had a baby, I got a new job and just the holiday to name a few ^^;

Chapter 9: Alone Together

Word Count: 2,210

Chise was hasty but diligent as she checked the apartment’s vacancy, silently thankful for the absurd lengths her cousin stretches out her business ventures. Seconds after the door clicks shut Elias emerged from the shadows in a rush and Chise sighed in relief. Although he had been present all day his long bony face is a sight for sore eyes. The sentiment was one he evidently shared for as soon as he was solid again he cupped her cheek in his right palm in almost reverent gentleness. He echoed her sigh, his breath sweeping over her red face in a rush, fanning the tips of her hair between his fingers.

It was so strange to be so sure that his feelings were exactly the same as hers. She blinked slowly, caught in the moment and hypnotized by his earnest gaze. The pads of his fingers fit in the curves of her jaw like she had done when she awoke beside him. She absently wondered if he recalled the action from his subconscious.

Belatedly, Chise pursed her lips and gripped her book bag tighter. If she wanted any hope of finishing her three days of math, not to mention her other subjects, she would have to start soon.

Her books spilled across the coffee table in a series of dull thuds. Fortunately, both science and history were reading assignments and the professors would never call on her if their lives depended on it. English was similar, translate and transcribe a paragraph of your choice from the provided kabuki play passages from hiragana to informal English. She normally dreaded this process, but her past days of constant English moved the work from a sluggish crawl to a leisurely walk.

All the while Elias hung just to the side of her. Although he sat corporally, he took the role of her shadow, all the same. Entranced in her movements eyes following where she goes, silent but ever-present.

Once the last character was redrawn as a letter she grumbled knowing it could be ignored no longer. Consulting her yellow sticky note, Chise split open the algebra textbook and set to work.

The process was slow and grueling. Finicky obnoxious measurements slowly scratched out to produce something that looked like effort went into it. She hated math on the best of days, this stupid fake math that can’t even be bothered to use numbers makes her want to pop a vein. But something about this assignment, aside from its extended length, grated at her nerves.

When it came down to it no matter how hard she would work on this assignment she would never understand it. She would work stressfully for several extra hours and receive a grade only slightly less abysmal than if she turned in nothing. It felt so pointless to toil and struggle for someone who wouldn’t pay her a passing glance. Who acted disgusted when she asked for help.

A hot gruff groan built in her chest and slipped through ground teeth, burning her nostrils. Distractedly she adjusted her bangs harshly and repositioned against the coffee table. In her shuffling, she didn’t hear Elias shuffle closer, peering over her shoulder. She jumped slightly when his hand slipped past her, the plum pad of his finger landing in between the unknown X and a pair of parenthesis.

“This one needs to be applied to all of the numbers inside the curves. It’s not a number, but it can still act like one.” He said simply. No trace of judgment or impatience could be found in his voice.

Her eyes followed his hand as he retracted. When their faces fell on each other he made a small nod in gentle urging. Her gaze returned to the paper. It couldn’t hurt. Slowly she applied his suggestion, more came as she worked, and the picture became clearer and clearer.

“Don’t forget to add and subtract this value because there are two possible answers.” She did just that and wrote out what had to be the closest thing to a properly done solution she had ever written. Another sigh spilled out, not of frustration but relief.

She leaned back on her elbow to look up at him fondly. “How do you understand math so well?”

His eyes crinkled in that glowing smile she had come to recognize. “When working with the fae, especially finicky ones, one must understand proportions and numbers. Even across different understandings. Many humans have met their end by accidentally slighting a proud spirit.” She chuckled at this, the absurd image of a faerie angrily stabbing at a calculator coming to mind.

As they worked together the heat of her frustration subsided. Her jaw relaxed and her breathing became less forced as her effort no longer felt futile. One after one they marked off the assigned problems until all 30 questions have a line struck through them.

The textbook closed with a satisfying thump as she brought the halves together like a grateful prayer. “Thank you for helping me. I couldn’t have done that on my own.”

His head tilted, “What have you done then?”

She shrugged, “I just turn in the best I can figure out.”

Elias looked back to the book between her hands. “And your teacher does nothing if you haven’t learned it?” He questioned.

“Pretty much.”

He was quiet at this looking pensive. As Chise began to put her work away the English assignment caught her eye reminding her of their conversation at lunch. “Would you like to look at this assignment with me? I can start teaching you Japanese.”

How could someone incapable of moving their face smile so plainly? “I would like that.”

He resettled again as she fished out the dictionary. “It’ll kind of be working backwards,” she mused aloud realizing the difficulty laid in front of her. “I’m probably not a very good teacher.” She admitted sheepishly.

“Any teacher is better than nothing.” He pauses, “Better than the teachers you have by the sound of it.” Chise stuttered unsure what to say when her attention snapped to the door and her heart stopped.

Tapping heels resounded through her eardrums like bass drums. In their shuffling the rattling of keys had been lost. Reina fidgetted through her purse and Chise and Elias were petrified as she looked up to the living room. Then back down at her purse.

She frowned and looked up again to Chise alone. She blinked in bewilderment looking to and fro as she skeptically walked forward. The frown on Reina’s face wanted to set in deep but her face was too confused to do so. “Were you...talking with someone? I could have sworn I heard…”

“I was just reciting my English,” Chise interjected forcing the most natural tone she could muster, “we have to read our translation aloud in class.”

Her cousin’s dark red lips pressed together disdainfully as her eyes searched the room. But nothing was disturbed, no exit could be that quick. And there is nowhere to hide in the barren apartment.

“Is...something wrong?” Chise probed in hopes of invoking her pride.

Reina’s posture realigned, regaining its commanding indifference as she unknowingly swallowed the bait. “No everything is fine.” She turned on her heels to place her purse on the kitchen counter. With her back turned, Chise steadily relaxed against the coffee table and stretched her fingers flat against the carpet. A warm shifting murmured against her palm, seeping between her digits.

“You spent a lot more than normal.” Reina’s sharp probing drew her out of the private moment. From the counter she stood with the remaining bills in hand, eyeing the child in her care like a hawk.

“I-i,” Chise gulped, mentally fumbling to come up with an explanation. “S-since it was my birthday Saturday I wanted to get something a little special.” Chise stutters, “Is that ok.”

Her predatory stare breaks as she blinks in realization. That had been this weekend, hadn’t it? “Um yeah, I guess.” She adds under her breath, “saves me from having to get a present.”

When Reina finally settled along the coffee table with takeout curry in hand, Chise felt as though she had lived through five separate heart attacks.

She was somewhat nauseous from the continuous back and forths but partook of her curry all the same. A few spoonfuls of spicy rice made the flip-flopping in her belly cease very quickly. The savory flavors danced on her tongue as she actually tasted a meal she should have been well familiar with. Although she would have happily devoured the entire container, a slight shift of her left hand reminds her to stop halfway.

As impatient an eater as she is everything else, Reina finished her rice soon after Chise and moved to throw away their containers.

Like a started rabbit Chise flung forward to guard her bowl from Reina’s grip, blocking her fingers from the plastic rim. Her brain catches up with her body as she slowly met her cousin’s eyes. Wide eyes narrowed like a bow pulled taunt, aimed at its kill. “What are you-“

“I was just wanting to save it for later,” Chise blurted, “maybe for breakfast.” She strained under the probing glare until Reina huffed and rolled her eyes. “Sure, that’s fine.” She sharply plucked her own bowl, standing in a fluid motion where Chise lay in her line of sight all the long way from the table to the trash. The timid clicking of the top and bottom of her plastic bowl resounded in the apartment as Chise watched Reina retire to her bedroom.

An eternity after Reina sealed herself in her bedroom the light under her doorway finally extinguished. A smaller eternity later, during which Chise showered and readied for bed, Elias had still not emerged from the shadows. From her futon, she ran her fingers all through the carpet. They met no resistance.  

Suddenly nervous, Chise looked over her shadow. No red lights.

Her throat constricts in anxiety. Her mouth suddenly very dry, she croaked out quietly, “Elias?” Nothing.

She sat up like a shot, searching frantically. Red hair whipped from side to side before swishing toward the small hallway. A thicker patch of darkness slithered from the direction of Reina’s bedroom. Her heart relaxed once the shadow knitted itself back into her strange friend. His jaw parted in oblivious confusion. “Is something wrong?”

“No, but...I didn’t know where you were.”

His posture relaxed as his jaw clacked together in understanding. “I needed to be sure she was asleep before I emerged.”

At this confession her insecurity quelled and she found herself feeling oddly guilty. And clingy.

She wrapped her arms around his torso letting the warmth of his body permeate the icy chamber of her lonely heart. He gasped and returned the gesture, tucking his long jaw against her back. A light rumbling sigh vibrated against her sternum.

A similar rumbling from his stomach reminded Chise of the earlier injustice, prompting her to reluctantly untangle herself and make for the fridge. She tried to hand Elias the container of remaining curry but he refused. “You need to eat more.”

She frowned. “But you haven’t had any.” She pushed it toward him again. He held his palm up to push it away. “You haven’t eaten enough.” His eyes bore into her stern and urging.

She huffed and relented, prying the container open as quietly as she could. She dipped her fork in for a few more bites and swallowed roughly. She rubbed her mouth against her fist. “There,” she shoved the container somewhat defiantly at his chest, “now you have the rest.”

Elias nodded and made quick and quiet work of the food.

She sighed harshly as he ate, before returning to the futon. Deliberately she lowered herself onto her back, hair splaying across the ground and staring at the ceiling. Her mind felt both restless and sluggish while she deliberated what she should say. But as he laid nest her on his side nothing she has thought of felt correct. Chise looked up to Elias with guilt still lingering in her eyes. “Elias,” she whispered, “I’m sorry you had to hide here too. And that I didn’t teach you as I promised.”

He stared at her for a moment before finally answering, “it's not your fault.”

She opened her mouth but choked on her words. Chise knew it would be polite, right, if she told him that he did not need to stay if he wished not to. That he did not need to be tied to a place where his actions and presence were so harshly limited. But she was terrified, horrified, that he would take up the offer and leave her as she was before. Leave her like everyone else. Leave her...alone.

“I’ll make sure we have time tomorrow.” She promised in a small voice.

He hummed in agreement. She was not the only one feeling needy she realized as Elias settled himself to lie against her, his head tucked along her neck and his left hand taking her right. As her hand clasped back comfort washed over them. Chise still wished they had been given more time today, but with each other held close, she could be held content until tomorrow.

[inyri]

Equivalent Exchange (an SWTOR story): Chapter 24- Goodbye (Reprise)

Equivalent Exchange by inyri

Fandom: Star Wars: The Old Republic Characters: Female Imperial Agent (Cipher Nine)/Theron Shan Rating: E (this chapter: M) Summary: If one wishes to gain something, one must offer something of equal value. In spycraft, it’s easy. Applying it to a relationship is another matter entirely. F!Agent/Theron Shan. (Spoilers for Shadow of Revan and Knights of the Fallen Empire.)

Comments are always appreciated! Visit me at:

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Chapter Twenty-Four: Goodbye (Reprise)

16 ATC. Yavin IV.  

She would have preferred a later start to the morning’s meeting, all things considered.

When Nine wakes to the beeping alarm her mouth is dry and she can feel her heartbeat pounding behind her eyes; she rolls over, pulling her pillow over her head with a grumble of protest, and briefly entertains the idea of falling back to sleep.

“If you don’t shut that thing off-” across the tent, Lana’s voice is muffled; when Nine peers out from beneath the pillow she can only see a blanket-covered form laying prone on the far cot and then one hand poking out, a faint blue-tinged light gathering around the fingertips.

“Don’t you dare.” Dragging herself upright, she reaches out toward the desk and pokes at her datapad until it quiets. “There. Awake. Under protest.”

Lana pushes the blanket off her face, rubbing her eyes. “Believe me, I know. I didn’t set today’s agenda.”

“And I doubt Marr’s battling this hangover, either. I’ve never even seen him eat, let alone being able to drink through that mask.”

“Oh, I don’t know.” As she sits up, picking her tunic off the floor and slipping it over her head, her tone turns sly. “He could use a straw, I suppose.”

“With a little umbrella?“ Now that’s a mental image- she’ll be thinking of it through the entire damned meeting now. She makes a note to tuck a pin into her jacket pocket. That’ll keep her from laughing if it comes down to it. “I ought to shower. After all the torches last night I smell like a cantina fire.”

(More like sex in a burning cognac distillery, frankly, but she can’t tell her that.)

Lana sniffs the hem of her tunic and wrinkles her nose. “I likely should as well. We’ve got half an hour yet- shall we?”

***

She downs three tablets of painkiller with her caf and steps into the Command tent, trailing two paces behind Lana, at eight o’clock sharp. It could have been worse. Marr was always spare with words and today’s no exception: no pleasantries and no small talk, just a sound-cancelling shield up to discourage eavesdroppers and a secure connection to the Intelligence mainframe as they set to work.

She would have thought it would be a shorter meeting. No matter how urgent the work this wasn’t the right place for operational discussions, especially with their temporary peace with the Republic still nominally in place- too many ears, shield notwithstanding, and poor form besides. Clearly, though, she’d underestimated the power of Sith bureaucracy. Three hours in they’ve got both Darth Vowrawn and Darth Acina patched in via holotransmitter and little settled but titles, ranks and whether Lana’s office ought to be in the Citadel or the Intelligence tower-

(Oh, don’t remind me. Lana groans. It took two weeks to even move in once we’d returned to Dromund Kaas. Do you know why it took so long to set the offices up?

I wasn’t there, remember- I was only home two days before you sent me off to Balmorra. But I assumed it was a protocol issue, she shrugs. A Sith Lord in the east tower. Goodness knows we mustn’t go against tradition.

That’s what I thought initially, too, but as it turns out it was rather more straightforward. When Intelligence personnel were all reassigned after the disbanding it left most of the building vacant, and the Citadel tower’s always been crowded- by her expression, she knew it from experience- particularly for the lower-ranking Sith. When word got around there was space for the taking, they claimed it.

That oughtn’t to have been a surprise. She’d just avoided the old headquarters building back then, after all- the Minister’s last act in office had been to build a remote access protocol for the archive, and there were far too many memories in those halls. Just like Sith. Always taking our toys away.

I took them back, Lana says with a grin. But a few of them didn’t take kindly to being evicted. It really made quite a mess.

That’s Intelligence for you. Two parts breaking and entering, a dash of poison, three parts embassy parties and one part wondering how people fit that much blood into their bodies.

Her smile broadens, teeth flashing white in her pale face. Yes, well. I was never very fond of parties.)

-and she simply starts pulling up dossiers on her datapad and ranking them in priority order as she keeps one ear to the conversation.

“I would advise returning the Watchers to service, but that decision will ultimately be yours.” Darth Marr gestures toward the hierarchical map projected above the table. “They were originally reallocated to the military and to Production and Logistics, however-”

She makes a noise despite herself: what a Force-damned waste. She remembers Watcher Sixteen working on a particularly tricky substitution cipher once, years ago; he’d had it decrypted and translated from Bothan before she finished her breakfast. Imagining all that brilliance gone to calculating troop numbers and patterning out fluctuations in grain prices- “Get as many of them back as possible, if they haven’t been ruined already.” Looking up from her notes as both Marr and Lana’s heads snap in her direction, she sets the pad down and folds her arms across her chest. “You know they were never meant for that sort of careless handling. You’ve taken-” oh, what’s a comparison they’d understand? “You’ve taken lightsabers and used them to toast your bread.”

Lana blinks and Vowrawn’s hologram scowls at her, but Marr only nods, impassive as ever behind his mask.

“An appropriate analogy,” he rumbles. “If we are to hope to regain an advantage over the Republic, we must use our resources to their full potential. Should you require any other former assets returned to your employ-” his gaze is turned toward Lana, now, but she can’t help feel as though he’s still partially talking to her- “that may be negotiable.”

“Yes, my lord.” They must have said that a hundred times in those few hours, the two of them; Lana inclines her head in a deferential half-bow. “I’ll prepare a list, with Cipher Nine’s assistance.”

“Then we’ll adjourn until tomorrow. While this truce served us against Revan, it will soon be over, and we have spent far too long having blinded ourselves to our enemies’ plans.” With a wave of his hand, Marr deactivates the projectors. “No longer.”

Well, she thinks as they step out of the tent, past the guards and into the midday heat, it’s about time.

***

And as we sat staring at the Republic, the Emperor destroyed a planet. Lana sighs. To say nothing of the Eternal Empire sneaking in through the back door.

Zakuul surprised the Republic too, to be fair, she shrugs. And I don’t know that handling Ziost differently would have done much good. Even without Kovach’s treachery, without Theron’s Jedi and Saresh’s absurd invasion attempt, he would have set our people to killing each other until he got what he wanted. How do we kill someone that doesn’t need a body, someone we couldn’t even see?

Interesting questions. In that moment Valkorion’s sitting beside her again, hip to hip, shoulder to shoulder, far too close for comfort. She tries not to flinch away when she catches sight of him out of the corner of her eye. How do you?

By the time she can turn to look at him fully he is gone.

That was then, old man, she says aloud, and hears Lana startle on her other side as the world snaps back into motion. I can see you now.

Lana’s hand is cool on the back of her neck.

***

At noon they gather in the center of camp, Republic delegates on one side and Imperials opposite, to say their goodbyes.

She doesn’t have to make a speech, thankfully. She isn’t nearly high-ranking enough for that. Instead she listens quietly, hands clasped behind her back, as Grand Master Shan and Darth Marr address the gathered crowd for the last time. (It reminds her a little of the speeches on Victory Day, when Coruscant fell- she was only a child then, still in primary school, but she remembers the parade, the figure of Darth Baras projected ten stories tall in the central square. All grand speeches were the same in that way, she thinks: the same platitudes, the same shallow promises.

The Sith Code has it right in one respect, at least. Peace is a lie.)

At the end of it the troops disperse to finish the work of disassembly, of loading the shuttles and troop transports, pulling down the tents and lowering the banners. They are left standing on the makeshift dais, turning to face each other, three and three, just as they did in their safehouse on Rishi.

It seems like so long ago. Has it really been less than a month?

“Are the terms we discussed still agreeable?” Satele’s tone is even, her hands folded neatly in front of her. “I’ve no particular desire for war today.”

“Our fleet departs for Dromund Kaas,” Marr replies, “the Mandalorian clans to Rishi and yours for Coruscant, and this is neutral space. We will not pursue unless given reason to do so.”

“And you shall find none.”

There’s an odd sort of formality to their cadence and when the two of them nod to one another the silence hangs in the air, almost palpable; beside her, Lana’s holding her breath. She catches Theron’s eye and he barely moves, one shoulder rising and falling in the slightest little shrug- if there’s something she missed he doesn’t feel it either, clearly.

More Force nonsense, then. It always came down to the Force in the end, no matter how hard the rest of them work, how many times they- Force-blind, defective, inferior- go to the wall in their masters’ names. It always will, probably. She’s used to it by now.

Doesn’t make it any less bantha shit, though.

“Then we will meet again on the battlefield, Grand Master.” As Marr speaks the breeze picks up, the air moving again. “But not today.”

Satele nods. “It will be as the Force wills it. I-” Then she stops, still looking upward at Marr as her head tilts subtly, and for a moment she’s almost staring through him, mouth still half-open around a word, her hands dropping to her sides. Behind her, Theron’s face scrunches in concern; he takes a step forward, but before he draws even with her Satele blinks and her gaze shifts rightward, straight at her.

It isn’t the first time she’s been stared down by a Jedi, but her expression’s something entirely different- in the past they always looked determined (the good ones, she supposes) or angry (the not-so-good ones, who often as not she didn’t need to fight at all, who only needed a little persuading). Satele looks-

-she looks worried, just for a second, before her face settles back into its usual calm solemnity and she keeps speaking as though nothing at all had happened, waving Theron back with a slight turn of one hand. “I don’t pretend to know the future, but yes, we will meet again. Until then, may the Force be with you.”

“May it serve you well,” Marr replies, and then they say no more.

(I don’t remember that, Lana says slowly. But perhaps it was a vision.

Of the future, or-?

She shrugs. It’s possible. With power like Satele has, the Force sometimes works in unpredictable ways.

You say ‘has’ as though you think she’s still alive.

I’ve no reason to assume she isn’t. I sensed Marr’s passing from halfway across the galaxy, and we had enough eyes on her to know that she survived the sack of Tython. She hasn’t been in contact with anyone- even Theron’s tried, without success- but if she’d died after that I would think I would have felt it.

She frowns, considering. I suppose. But they didn’t see each other again, did they- Marr and Satele? Before he died? It seems so long ago. It’s hard to remember.

Not in person, so far as I’m aware, though I suspect Grand Master Shan may have been meant to be part of the conclave on the Terminus but ended up delayed, just as I was. There were other Jedi there, yes?

There were, and Republic soldiers too. Still, it means she was wrong.

I can only imaging that interpreting the future might be rather subjective. It’s not a gift I share. Her nose wrinkling, Lana looks to her. Nor would I want to, I think. Imagine knowing what will happen and not being able to do anything about it.

An uncomfortable idea, indeed- a chill runs up her spine, prickling the hairs on the back of her neck. I wonder what she saw when she looked at me.)

Marr’s the first to turn away, dismissing her and Lana with a gesture as his guards fall in at either side. Opposite them, Satele starts to walk toward the far edge of the platform; Theron, turning, says something too quiet to hear at this distance and his mother shakes her head. I’m fine- her lips form around the words, then press together in a narrow line as he replies- leave it be, Theron. We’ll speak later.

He sighs as Satele descends the stairs, and then it’s just the four of them left- her and Lana and Theron and Jakarro, one final time.

She raises an eyebrow at Theron, a silent question, and he runs one hand through his hair and makes a face. Fair enough.

“So. I guess this is goodbye.” Theron’s looking at Lana, not at her, when he says it.

“I suppose it is. It’s certainly been…” Lana stops, clearly thinking better of whatever she way about to say. “It’s been an experience, hasn’t it?”

She can’t help it- she laughs a little at that, and Jakarro growls amusement and Theron grins as Lana flushes. “That’s one word for it.”

“I get what you meant,” Theron says. “And yeah, it definitely was. Maybe not one I’d care to repeat, but- well. We got through it, and now it’s back to real life. Like a really weird vacation.”

“Are you heading back with Theron, Jakarro? Much as I hate to admit it, the Empire isn’t the wisest destination for you.” Looking up at the Wookiee as he roars out a reply, she shifts her focus down to Dee-Four for the translation.

“We’re headed back to Rishi!” The droid sounds suspiciously cheerful, which never bodes well, and more to the point-

Lana says it before she can. “Jakarro, you hated Rishi.”

He gestures for emphasis, and Theron has to duck to keep from getting bowled over. “Exactly! That is why I must return!” Dee-Four keeps translating over a series of ever-louder roars. He clearly feels strongly about this. “Those pirates are the most pathetic thing I’ve ever seen, but they have potential. I’m going to whip them into shape.”

“Hear, hear.” Shae Vizla, walking past with a few of her clanmates trailing behind, raises a fist in agreement. “Not worth my time, but someone ought to do it. Plenty of credits there if you’ve got the stones to tame that mess. You catching a ride with our ships, then?”

“We have a few stops to make first, but we’ll be there shortly.” She wishes, not for the first time, she understood more Shyriiwook. She’s pretty sure that’s not what Jakarro actually said.

“Fair enough. And Cipher?” Shae pauses in front of the dais and nods her head in her direction. “You find any more fights that good, you know where to find me.”

She grins. Short a punch in the teeth that’s as much respect as she’s ever likely to get from a Mandalorian. “I’ll keep that in mind. Ret’urcye mhi.”

Her pronunciation’s shitty and her mouth catches on the glottal stop, but Shae just grins. “Not bad, Imp. Not bad. Ret’urcye mhi.”

“Well, then”- turning back to Jakarro as the Mandalorians continue across the courtyard, she holds out her hand- “good luck, big guy. Dee-Four, try not to let him rip too many arms off.”

Unexpectedly, he pulls her in for a hug- oh, stars, that might have just been a rib cracking- as he sweeps Theron and, surprisingly, Lana, in with his other arm, nearly pulling them off their feet. “Be safe, little friends.”

“I- oof- I will.” Extracting herself from his grip, Lana takes a deep breath. “And you too, Theron. Be well. I suspect you’ll have an easier time of it without me around.”

“Now you admit it?” Theron blinks, then chuckles. “You’re probably right, yeah- but you too, Lana. Try not to get in too much trouble, all right?”

“I’ll do my best. Cipher-” she looks toward her- “I’ll see you back at the tent. I’m going to go start  packing things up and we can continue our earlier discussion.”

When she nods agreement, Lana steps down onto the cobblestones and sets off toward their side of camp; Jakarro, with one last wave, heads toward the Republic shuttle pads. After a moment, they’re both out of sight behind the rows.  

Theron turns to her, then. “So-” too loud, meant to be overheard even if they can’t be sure anyone’s listening- “you’re finally getting rid of me, huh?”

“I will admit, I’m a little sad to see this end.” She gestures around them, at the little camp that was their home. “I’m going to miss you.”

“Me, too. C’mere.”

It’s a brief embrace, chaste and appropriate in sight of the soldiers still hard at work clearing the courtyard. If she had any sense that would have been the end of it.

He whispers in her ear, though, as his fingertips brush along her back. “Do you still think you can get away, or-?”

“I’ve just got a few things to take care of,” she murmurs in reply. “Give me an hour or two, but I’ll send you a message.”

“Good.” Theron takes a step back, his voice picking up volume again. “Take care, Cipher. See you in the ops reports.”

“Not if I’m doing my job properly,” she says, and he winks before he turns away.

(I should have known. Lana sighs. But-

We were careful, as I said. Not careful enough, of course. She raises one hand to her throat at the memory, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. Although I’ve been meaning to ask you- what happened to Jakarro? Do you know?

Lana shakes her head. He and Dee-Four did go to Rishi. When the war hit, though, Zakuul blockaded the hyperspace lanes. The pirates and smugglers didn’t stand a chance. I looked for him when I started to pull the Alliance together, but- she frowns. Nothing. And they weren’t exactly inconspicuous.

No, they weren’t. She sighs.)

Back in the tent, she throws her things into her duffel- everything needs washing in any case, so there’s no point in folding- and strips the linens off her cot. Lana’s still packing, setting everything neatly into her own bag, and looks up as she dumps the sheets onto the floor.

“I’ve got people coming to haul everything away. Don’t worry about taking those to the laundry crates.”

“Perks of rank, hm? All right.” The console needs to go, too; she starts an erasure program, setting the storage chips to purge their data. A hammer would be quicker, but the unit could be reused. Waste not, want not. “I’ll start making holocalls, unless you’ve got another task for me.”

“Hm? No, I think anything more than that can wait,” Lana says, rummaging under her cot for a stray tabard.

She nods. “Fine. You don’t have any particular objection to non-humans, do you? Some of my contacts are a bit on the unconventional side. I’ll need to reorder my list-” she holds up her datapad- “if you do, though it’ll be your staff. It’s up to you.”

“Define unconventional.”

“Nothing scandalous. Chiss, mostly. Twi’leks. One Nautolan, if she’ll hire on. Sweetest-looking face you ever saw and she could kill you in a dozen ways with a credit chit and a roll of spacer’s tape. Also a trained receptionist. I was thinking of her for a bodyguard for you, at least until Zhorrid’s been managed.”

Her bag fastened, Lana lofts it across the tent with a wave of one hand until it settles just next to the entrance. “I’ve no objections. If you think they’re suitable, I trust your judgment.”

“Famous last words.” Setting her transmitter on the desktop, she dials in the first address. “It’s been a few years. Let’s see if anyone remembers me.”

***

She oughtn’t have worried.

For better or for worse, people in her line of work have long memories. She learned long ago not to burn bridges unless she didn’t have a choice and it makes the calls that much easier; a dozen conversations later, she’s got their first agents heading back to Dromund Kaas- three Minders, two Fixers, five security specialists including the Nautolan and, in a stroke of excellent luck, Cipher Seventeen. Her only failures are Minder Eight (hugely pregnant, when she answers the holo; she only laughs and points to her belly before Nine can even ask. “I’m sorry, Cipher, but I’m afraid I’ve retired from that particular line of work,” she grins, and Fixer Twelve peeks over her shoulder and waves hello) and one old Nar Shaddaa contact who simply hangs up on her (in retrospect, she did promise she’d call him the next day, didn’t she?).

All in all, a good start.

Two soldiers peek through the tent opening as she disconnects the final call. “Sorry to interrupt, Lord Beniko- and Cipher. Thought you’d told us to come and pull the tent down, but if we should come back later-”

“I was just finishing up.” Tucking the holo into her belt pouch, she rises, stretching. It’s later than she thought. She should find Theron. “I’m sure I can find somewhere else to be.”

Lana nods, too. “I’ll find a sunny corner to meditate in. Once we’re home again, Force knows when we’ll next see actual daylight.”

“D’you want us to take your bags to loadout?” The second soldier chimes in, even as she’s already starting to take one of the desks apart. “We’ve got to head back that way either way, and it’s no trouble.

One less thing to do. Why not? “Fine. Let me just grab my rifle-” she picks it up from its resting place atop the duffel bag, sliding it into her back holster until it clicks; no one touches her guns but her and her team, a lesson she learned the hard way early on. That misfire nearly cost her a finger- “and it’s all yours. I’ll see you in a few hours, Lana.”

She barely sees her wave as she steps out of the tent- she’s already looking down at her commpad, typing out a message.

Did you still want to talk? Free now until shuttle launch.

His reply’s immediate.

meet me by the war table?

She smiles. On my way.

***

When she reaches the stone table it’s bare, now, all the monitors and equipment already hauled away and only faint outlines on the ground left as signs they were ever there. In another few weeks the vines and weeds they’d cut away will have grown back and there’ll be no trace of them at all save only the wrecked shuttle across the clearing and the perimeter sensors left in the field; in a year even those will be gone, rusted relics mixed in with the crumbling stones. It’ll be as though they were never here.

It’s a sobering thought.

She doesn’t see Theron at first. When she turns, though, there he is, leaning against the wall of one of the ruins, and he smiles at her when she

“For a little while there I thought you might be standing me up.” Taking her by one wrist, he draws her around until they’re out of view of the archway.

“Oh, you know,” she says, “no rest for the wicked. Plus, I had to pack.”

“More work already?” Theron wrinkles his nose at her. “It’s bad enough that we’re back to the same damn war, but they could have given you a day off, at least.”

“We’re not big on vacations in the Empire.” After a moment, looking at him still frowning, she reaches out with her other hand to touch his arm. “That came out less funny than I meant it. I wasn’t going to leave without saying goodbye, Theron, regardless of the circumstances.”

“Us being on opposite sides again, you mean.”

She sighs. She should have known he’d think of things that way- he never was going to be the no-strings type, no matter what he said. “Yes. But we knew that was going to happen from the beginning.”

“I- yeah. Sorry. I’m just not-” he shakes his head, leans down to brush his lips across her forehead and despite herself she tilts her chin up into the kiss. “I keep thinking that now I’ve got to go back to real life and make myself forget, that all of this was a mistake, but-”

“You do. I do, too,” she says against his throat. “And you’re allowed to make mistakes, Theron, whether you admit it to yourself or not. You’re allowed to want things even if you know they’re bad for you.”

“You aren’t- you weren’t bad for me. You saved me.”

She closes her eyes as he cups her head in his hands. “The two aren’t mutually exclusive.”  

“I know that. But you weren’t.” Another kiss, punctuating the words. “Somehow I didn’t picture this, that first day on Manaan.”

“Quite a ways from Mysterious Ally, hm?” She grins as he mutters something against her skin. “And to think I thought you’d be dull.”

“Really?” It’s only mock offense in his voice, and when she glances upward he’s grinning too. “Not roguishly charming?”

“You’re more the brooding type, but I had you figured for Standard Republic Issue- too serious. Hot, though.”

Theron laughs out loud at that, hands drifting downward, settling around her waist. “I take a while to warm up, ‘s all. Though I’ll admit I was wrong about you, too.”

“Oh, do tell,” she purrs, leaning against him. They’ve got a little time, still. She doesn’t need to leave quite yet.

(She doesn’t want to leave yet. She tries not to think about that too much.)

“Only if you promise not to get mad.”

She rolls her eyes at him. “Don’t be absurd.”

“You popped up on holo down in that base, covered in Selkath blood and half on fire, and I thought-” he stops-  oh, stars, is he blushing again?- “I remember thinking, y’know, crazy doesn’t normally do it for me but damn- ”

“Ah, romance,” she says dryly, and winks. “You hid it well. I rather got the impression you loathed me.”

“Thought you said it was overrated. And no, I just- it’s hard training to break, you know? All we ever learn from day one on is you versus us, but once we knew each other better-”

“Oh, it is.” He’s still got a scratch along one cheekbone from yesterday and she traces it with an idle fingertip, curling in closer as his arms tighten around her. “And yes, I know. Though I meant what I said before. I am going to miss you.”

Theron’s quiet for a moment, his head tilting into her touch. “I’m going to miss you, too. I wish you-”

“Don’t.” She lets her hand dip lower, presses her finger to his mouth. “Don’t.”

“Do we just say goodbye, then?”

(She should have known better. Leaving is one thing; leaving is easy. Forgetting is easy. But she doesn’t want to hurt him and someday she’s probably going to have to and that-

That complicates things.)

She nods. “It’s easiest that way.”

“What time is it?”

Turning her wrist, she looks at her chrono. “Nearly four. Why?”

“We still have an hour, then, don’t we? Before we need to be on the shuttles?”

“Yes, but-”

“Then we can say goodbye-” Theron nudges her hand aside, catches her mouth with his and she shouldn’t but oh, to the Void with that; she is allowed to want things that she knows are bad for her- “in an hour.”

She lets him push her back against the wall.

***

And- well. Not exactly love at first sight, but you know what happened after that, she finishes, grinning, with a little shrug of her shoulders. He went back to the SIS, and I went back to work, and that was the end of it. No one else ever knew but Vector.

(His nose twitched as she slid into the seat beside him on the shuttle back to the Terminus, and after a moment he leans over to murmur into her ear. “We wondered where you’d gone. Agent Shan, hm?”

Killiks and their damned pheromones. She never could get anything past Vector, not that she’d ever really tried; he could read her like a book.

She sighed. “Spare me the lecture, Vector, please. I know.”

“Lecture? Never.” As he adjusted the harness straps across her body, he raised the edge of her collar to hide her neck. “We were only going to compliment your taste.”)

I do know, Lana mutters, rather too well. But you’re honestly telling me that nothing happened between then and Ziost?

Nothing happened. We never even spoke, and I was telling you the truth on Ziost. I didn’t know he was there until Kovach mentioned his name.

And after that?

She shakes her head. We spoke once, briefly, a few weeks later. Not in person- she clarifies as Lana’s brows start to creep ceilingward- I was shipboard off Alderaan and he was on Coruscant. I- I gave him the implant he wears now. He probably told you that.

He did. I’m not sure he meant to. Lana rubs her forehead. It was on Asylum, and we were both very drunk at the time.

And the next time I saw Theron, she says quietly, outside of five years of carbonite dreams, was here.

The day I called him, when I was sure you were alive, was the anniversary of the day we thought you’d died. I didn’t even think of it at the time, but- Lana sighs. He was a wreck, Nine. The war was hard on all of us, and I knew you’d been lovers, of course, but I didn’t realize how much he- she trails off.

(She remembers the night of the party. ‘I mourned you,’ he’d said, curled beside her, and she never really understood the depth of what he meant until now.)

Theron kissed me on Ziost. Did he tell you that, too?

Lana blinks, surprised. No. He didn’t.

Before it happened- on the orbital station, while we were in the medical bay; I’d told him that you knew. He was trying to prove your point about objectivity. I stopped him then, but-

Was I right?

She chuckles. What do you think?

I think that right now you deserve to be happy despite everything that’s going on around us, despite everything going on inside your head, and I think Theron looks better than I’ve seen him in years. And I think- Lana smiles- it would be awful of me to be anything but happy for you.

Thank you, she says; Lana stands, then, with a barely stifled yawn. But do me a favor, won’t you?

Hm?

She stretches out until she’s laying flat on the couch, sprawling across the space left vacant by Lana. Go talk to Koth. Don’t keep dancing around things- it’s better to have it all out in the open.

You ought to take your own advice. I saw Theron sneaking out of here yesterday morning.

She makes a face- guilty as charged. Do as I say, not as I do. Still.

But I don’t think I want-

I know that, she says. I don’t mean sex, or romance, if that’s not what you want. Just… talk. I don’t want something else ruined because of me.

You didn’t- Lana stops herself. All right. But tomorrow, I think- for now, I should sleep. As should you.

I will. I might see if Theron’s still awake, first. I…

(She isn’t used to any of this.)

I miss him.

I know. Lana smiles. Good night, Nine.

***

Up next- Interlude III: Liminal Space. A holocall, two leads, and a cure for insomnia as we return to present time.

(Don’t worry, we’re not skipping over the shuttle entirely, but that’s a memory better shared with someone other than Lana, I think. I leave it to you, readers- how much do you want to hear about that final hour?

And for those of you who are familiar with this week’s spoilers (5.4): yes, I plan to continue this story regardless of how things play out. How I’ll approach that particular turn remains to be seen, of course, but I do have an idea- one of the seeds of which appears somewhere in this chapter.)

[groundbreaking-science]

1.7 - Ki Particles and Energies (part 1)

A unanimous decision was made to dedicate this section to our infinitely patient and long suffering mother, Chichi. One of the many reasons for her suffering and our endless gratitude towards her will have become abundantly clear by the end of this section.

For this and the next two sections we’re in a chicken-and-egg situation. I’m going to describe the model of ki I’ve developed, through ki particles and energies, then how natural levels of ki flux and pressure are changed (though not how to do that, that will be in the next chapter) and finally discuss the crucial background ki field and how that is utilised. However, understanding the origin of ki fully requires knowing about the background ki field, so there is no linear way to discuss this. Still, I shall try my best.

In this section I also want to take some time, since this is as good a place as any, to talk about an alien species I previously mentioned called “the Saiyans”. There were at times heated discussions over whether I should add this or not. Eventually we decided although information on them may be more of side-curiosity in this book, in a few generations the fun facts will become directly useful (I’d hope) to more and more people. That, and by exploring this tangent, whilst very exposing to some and possibly alarming to others, life will become easier for everyone in the long run.

As with any scientific theory or model, my work is a best guess. Many years ago, philosophers believed the world was at the centre of the Universe, surrounded by planets sat on singing spheres. This was as good an understanding of the Universe as any and was accepted as fact. As civilisation grew and time progressed questions were raised of this idea - if the Earth is at the centre of the Universe and the planets travel in perfect circles around them, why do the planets appear to move backwards at times in so-called retrograde motion? Surely the heavenly bodies are perfect and so must only move in circles? The philosophers adjusted their model to have planets move in circles within circles, so sometimes the planets would appear to travel back on themselves. More and more observations of the planets were taken and as measurements improved more circles had to be added until the model broke down in absurdity. A better model was invented, the idea that the Sun was at the centre of all the planets and the planets - including the Earth - moved in circles around the Sun. That was far, far simpler an explanation and had far better predictive power and so a paradigm shift, a movement from the paradigms of geocentricity to heliocentricity, took place. Small adjustments have been made to this model itself, planets orbiting in ellipses rather than circles and more, but the idea of the Sun at the centre still remains. This theory, encompassing the understanding of orbital motion, is our current best theory in this domain.

A strong theory can explain the current, known observations of a particular experiment or system. Further, the theory or model has some way of constructing a prediction in an experiment to test itself. If the theory fails modifications can be added (with circles) and further twisted (circles upon circles) until the theory breaks completely and a simpler, more predictive explanation appears. I admit now that my explanation and construction of ki particles and energies and fields is only that, a theory; a framing of the abstract in a way that makes some semblance of sense in a repeatable and predictable fashion. The Universe is a strange and wonderful place and whilst I feel I have been able to explain most parts of ki, I am positive there will be some technique invented in the future that scuppers my understanding completely. Of course I will feel some disappointment and frustration at the news of my model’s failure, though the excitement of someone using that new observation to develop a more encompassing model is far greater to me. Until that day, this is what I have, and the buoying news that the greatest natural ki-users in the Universe barely understood a word of what I was going on about anyway.

I’ve been speaking of ki as a form of energy for some time now, as a way to transfer intent and energy to use in other forms from one place to another as a kind of nebulous cloud. But in truth, for individual and varying messages to be carried, there needs to be some form of parcellation, a separation of intent into individual units - in the same way light can be divided into photons or matter into atoms. Crucially however, unlike the photons from the previous section that are in themselves packets of energy only, ki consists of both particles (essentially empty vessels) and ki energy, a substance that can encode raw energy and intent. The combination of the two in the body makes genki. This is akin to an atom acting as a vessel and carrying a varied charge, for example.

Briefly, as I will cover this in 1.9, both ki particles and ki energy are derived from the ki field, an all-permeating undercurrent in the Universe that binds the Universe together. Ki particles cannot be created or destroyed, only taken up and dissipated. Ki energy can be created from other forms of energy (derived from food for example), and also spontaneously exists as part of the ki field like a form of noise. The natural state of ki particles and energy is to exist separated in a kind of neutrality. Life however needs the two combined and ordered, the particle acting as a vessel or carrier for the ki energy that expresses intent, the intent being used to monitor bodily functions or subconsciously communicate in a social setting. When genki leaves the centre, the unnatural state of the combination makes genki inherently unstable and, without an explicit encoded intent telling the genki to persist as long as possible, the intent within the genki will degrade over time and the two eventually separate, both returning to the background field and noise.

Figure demonstrating the ki particle/ki energy model, showing how different particle flow rates can still have the same total overall energy, and how ki signatures and intents can be coded within ki energy.

The centre itself is a store of ki particles. These are taken from the field and kept at a higher density from that of the background. The particles then flow from the centre at an approximately consistent rate until depleted, although under normal circumstances the natural replenishment rate of particles in the centre prevents that depletion from occurring. As highlighted in section 1-5, the size of the centre, whilst in real space can be thought of as a point in the lower abdomen that ki radiates from, can also be modelled to have a size, a spherical shape and therefore surface that is proportional to its capacity.

There appears to be a fixed relationship governing the size/capacity of an individual’s centre, the standard flow rate of particles leaving the centre and the uptake rate of particles. That is, if no ki particles are taken up to replace those used, the centre will natural deplete itself within half an hour, no matter the lifeform. Further, the flow from the centre is not governed by a passive diffusion gradient as one would expect from a simple spherical centre with a physical surface area - the diffusion rate instead limited by the permeability of the centre’s “surface”. This keeps the average flow rate from the centre consistent until depletion and means, given a sufficiently large permeability of the surface, the entire centre could hypothetically be evacuated of particles within an instant. In other words. the centre loses particles at a fixed rate until the very last drop, and that rate can be manipulated to the point the centre could effectively explode itself.

The ability to collect particles is a natural and automatic behaviour of your centre. I’ve only been able to calculate this flow and depletion rate due to the existence of one technique known as fusion, which hinders this uptake ability. From the natural time-limit of the technique and the mandatory hour gap between fusions, I was able to calculate that the uptake-rate of ki particles is one-and-a-half times that of natural depletion. The full restoration of ki particles to the centre therefore takes an hour.

As the ki particles leave the centre they are assigned a ki energy. The body converts a proportion of food energy to ki energy to then create genki. The energy sits on the centre “surface”, in trulth at that central point, and each particle is assigned a fixed (with some small variance) amount of ki energy on passing through. Ss ki energy nears depletion, this amount of ki per particle may drop as the body struggles to scrape together enough ki energy or food energy to convert to keep up. This sputtering of genki therefore is a huge warning flag that someone is about to run out of steam completely.

Each parcel of genki contains the individual’s ki signature and could be imbued with intent or not, active or passive. Regardless of the intent, each parcel contains (roughly) the same amount of overall energy. How is that possible?

Think of ki energy as string of letters (like a DNA code). Each letter is a piece of energy by itself, but the exact order of the letters has the capacity to carry a message or not. As the energy is parcelled up and assigned to the particle, at a minimum some particular letters will be ordered and strung all the way through as a repeating pattern. This is the ki signature. The ki signature acts like a password for the rest of the body to understand that this ki energy is safe, and the rest of the message the genki is carrying, the intent, should be acted upon.

One may conclude then that the greater the amount of ki energy assigned to a particle, the more complicated an intent can be. This is true, the most complicated techniques do require a higher ki energy per particle and not just a huge total energy to construct. We also know that the more complicated the intent i.e. the longer the instruction, the faster the message degrades. This says to me that these complicated messages take many more bits or “letters” of ki energy to encode, and those are more susceptible to random swapping of letters than shorter messages. Intents are, like the ki signature, repeated throughout the ki energy where possible to maintain integrity and thus survive for longer.

When the ki reaches its destination the energy encoded within the message and ki signature itself can be converted into other forms of energy again - light, kinetic, you name it. The manner of conversion is also governed by the intent.

Why does ki need two components in this fashion, with the concept of an empty vessel to fill? Why not have the ki parcellating itself, much like photons from the previous section do?

The centre itself cannot be detected by anyone other than its owner. Combined ki particles and energy drag on the ki field and those particular vibrations are picked up through ki-sense. If ki existed as one entity this drag would always be present and thus always detectable. I could then directly detect how much energy an opponent had left, rather than be limited to their moment-by-moment output of ki energy as I am now. In reality, when I sense my centre I am combining both what I can only describe as a sensation of “weight”, a measure of the potential ki energy sitting on the centre surface, and a sensation of “wrongness” indicating how empty my typically full centre is. Both of these sensations do not impact on the ki field and thus cannot be sensed by others.

Further, I can suppress my energy level to zero by preventing any particles leaving my centre to pick up ki energy. Both those sensations of weight and wrongness do not change for me in this case (the wrongness marginally easing as the ki particles replenish), however anyone else attempting to sense me would not detect any ki. If ki existed as one entity, there would be no difference within and without the centre, this ki would be detectable to everyone and I would not be able to hide it. There needs to be some difference within and without the centre for this to happen, therefore this separation.

This two-part nature is also reinforced by the two ways one can get tired as a heavy ki-user. The first we’re all familiar with - when the amount of ki energy to be assigned to ki particles has been depleted, there is complete exhaustion. Without nutrition to begin the process of putting ki back onto the centre surface or using donated passive genki, the user risks death. As returning from this state requires refuelling, this is a difficult position to bounce back from in battle, and is the most familiar way to get exhausted. The less common way is a complete exhaustion of ki particles - as the centre surface’s permeability can be changed and despite the replenishment rate the centre can reach zero. This is far easier to recover from with just rest in battle, and then more careful management of the use of ki thereafter to build up the centre again.

If there were only ki packets with a fixed energy, users would only experience the first type of exhaustion and would not be able to recover from just a short rest.

If there was no separation, then one would believe ki packets to be same size for everyone (or even just within a person) or fixed to the length of the intent, and an increase in power level would be an increase the number of energy packets. This is not true. Even within a person one can vary the number of ki particles leaving the centre and the amount of energy per ki particle being assigned (the latter being subconsciously possible even for non-ki-users through emotional changes). These two different types of changes mean a two-fold increase in power level through one method can be far more draining and dangerous than a fifty-fold increase using a different method. Without this separation, this difference in side effect becomes difficult to explain. Augmenting particle and energy outputs and how that reflects the power level, ki pressure and flux is discussed in the next section, as well as the different “notches” these increases have - not just a linear increase in effort is needed to achieve increases in power levels.

I hesitate to give the fundamental nature of ki a full mathematical treatment beyond mere analogy. Whilst I do believe ki requires a fifth fundamental force to explain, for me to attempt to construct one would be doing a great disservice to The Standard Model of physics as it stands - even if received wisdom is routinely ignored by Auntie Bulma’s engineering projects. That, and, as multi-disciplinary as my research is, I am not a theoretical physicist so wouldn’t dare embarrass myself in this fashion. Still, I believe my model is a fair analogy, and as ki seems to embody energy and interact with other forms, it stands to reason ki must fit snuggly into a future version of The Standard Model.

In keeping with this, we know matter can be transformed into photons - the very famous E=mc2 mass-energy equivalence (total energy is the rest mass times the speed of light squared) governing how this conversion occurs. Ki can do the same,  converting into both photons and matter. Intent can therefore be effectively solidified into matter that appears lifelike. Ki can even rearrange and reconstruct matter in some cases, using particular transformations and techniques that would otherwise appear to break our current understanding of energy conservation. Even the concept of teleportation, which without ki is limited to making copies of small objects rather than transferring the matter itself, is made much more palatable with ki. Ki-based teleportation instead deconstructs matter into intent and the intent moves instantaneously through the ki field, providing an exact reconstruction of a person at the destination without halting their consciousness. This solves the ethical issue of whether a teleported “reconstruction” of a person truly is the same person; it is if using ki, as the full intent, the entire being of the person, has been transferred and the body’s state reconstructed completely.

A note - ki does not explain every physics-breaking happenstance in the Universe. There is of course still magic, yet another mysterious force of nature that I dare not touch given the sheer lack of apparent underlying ruleset. This is not something I say lightly. I have thought extensively about the magic I have been exposed to and even had performed on me, but I am not a magic user and I’ve had to come to terms with my ineptitude in this field. I hope one day magic users will be as forthcoming in explaining their craft as we are attempting to be with ki - when that day comes I’ll be first to buy the book. There are magic techniques that manipulate ki as a consequence without the user being an explicit ki-user, the art of transformation taught at the Shapeshifting Academies for example. But there aren’t many techniques that can use ki to consequently cause magic to occur (the fusion dance being one). This may indicate some form of hierarchy between the two, but I cannot be certain.

The total genki requirement of a body is dependent on a number of factors - size, level of forward planning required and physical exertion to name a few. Using genki for more than just carrying intent is a natural ability for other species in the Universe; some xeno-animals fly purely through ki-use for example. Earthlings, whilst highly emotional and sensitive to ki due to high socialisation and therefore possess great potential, naturally have a very low power level due to lack of use otherwise. At the other extreme, some lifeforms in the Universe have been using ki-skills for so long the ability to use ki becomes an evolutionary pressure in itself.

Evolutionary pressures can yield some wonderful results. In the animal kingdom on Earth the ability to eat the highest and therefore less sought after leaves on trees meant the giraffe never went hungry. The giraffes with the longest necks were more likely to survive and reproduce, driving the length of the next generation of necks upwards at the cost of other luxuries (the ability to maintain dignity when drinking from a watering hole, for example). I am thinking of one particular case of evolutionary competition driving ki-energy levels upwards in a species.

In a previous section I explained how ki is taught within different cultures and mentioned the warrior race of Saiyans. They’d teach that ki was to be used to dominate other species and as a show of strength. As ki can be used to great effect in battle and the use of ki amongst those tempestuous Saiyans was widespread enough, those without the ability to manipulate ki were wiped out. Further, those individuals with a natural higher energy per particle, and thus more energy immediately available to use in battle, were favoured for survival. I’ve briefly mentioned that amplification of genki requires a calm mind and introspection. Saiyans are not predisposed to self-reflection by any means. Between most Saiyans then, the highest unmodified genki would win a fight. And thus the Saiyans inadvertently created an evolutionary pressure on themselves, making future generations into the giraffe equivalent of ki-users, the absurdly high natural ki both a blessing in battle and a curse to maintain.

However, think on this. A Saiyan’s genki may dwarf many other species’ in the Universe, though thankfully they cannot harness it as an Earthling would. But imagine their potential should they learn to amplify their strength like an Earthling? Wouldn’t that be something terrifyingly entertaining to witness? Hm.

part 2/2 previous first contents ask?

[ladykg]

[Naruto HashiObi Soulmate Au] Exchanging sadness for tree sap - Chapter 2

‘Ello lovely readers,

Fair warning: updates won’t be consistent and may not be this often…

Also, I kinda may or may not have played around a bit with canon time tables… in a few ways… because in blackkat’s drabble Obito has the rinnegan (and I really really wanted to use the whole, “no more masks?” line that Naruto said so… yeah). Also ages… ages are a thing… like Kagami will probably be around sixteen? And Tobirama will probably be early twenties because canon is shit at giving ages for when the whole founding of the village actually happened….

 ORIGINALLY POSTED ON FF.NET AND AO3 - PLEASE DO NOT REPOST WITHOUT MY PERMISSION (LADYKG) THANK YOU.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“What?” Izuna is the one to ask the question, breaking the silent disbelief that has settled over the party. (Really, Obito doesn’t see how staring at him for ten minutes can be a justified reaction - time travel isn’t that farfetched. But maybe he only thinks that because he just experienced it).

Obito sucks in a breath, fortifying against any doubt or delusion that he can go back now, “I’m from the future.” And of course saying it a second time doesn’t actually give any more credibility to the statement.

Except Hashirama is looking at him like the entire world just shifted, “Then the Senju and Uchiha will have a good enough relationship to have a child?” The man is practically vibrating in place, a near opposite to his sulking before. “See, brother, I told you-“

Obito doesn’t hear the rest of his soulmate’s sentence, too busy trying to wrap his mind around the implications of his words. A Senju and Uchiha child? Obito is an orphan, never knew his parents, only that they must have been Uchiha. But… but the clan hated him. He was the black sheep. And what better reason than- No. No, Obito forces himself not to tense, not to think about this anymore. He has no proof (Except he does). The mokuton was because of those experiments, not because… not because he is part Senju. They would have told him. (Except he knows they wouldn’t).

“The future must be a very innovative place for such a jutsu to be created,” Tobirama says, starting the conversation up again while eyeing Obito like he wants to pick apart his brain and root out all the secrets within. “Or was it that eye that gave you the ability?”

“It was my dead teammate.” He shakes his head, both to dispute Tobirama’s point and at the absurdity of it all. But, really, the least he can do for Rin is give her credit for letting him meet his soulmate.

“You said you’re supposed to be dead,” Hashirama picks up quickly.

“I was supposed to die during a war,” he frowns.

“Clearly it didn’t stick,” Izuna mumbles, looking Obito up and down. The comment goes ignored by those around him. (Thinking back on it that was the second time death passed him over).

“And the next thing I know I’m being shoved and falling into the middle of your pitched fight.” He repeats Madara’s own words back, practically spitting them.

“War?” Tobirama shifts, clearly trying to calculate what the threat could be.

“The fourth shinobi war,” Obito gives a wane smile. No more masks, but… he isn’t sure admitting to starting a war in front of both clans would be the greatest of ideas. It would be a power play, surely, and would mark him as a potential threat. “The Akatsuki against an alliance of the elemental nations.”

“Red dawn?” Tobirama tilts his head in question, hand coming up to rest on his chin.

“They were freedom fighters that became corrupted,” Obito hedges. His sins are ones that he is more than willing to accept but trying to gain trust isn’t exactly easy when you out right say you’ve committed heinous acts (even by shinobi standards).

There is a pause while this sinks in. While these shinobi legends think on what a threat this organization must have presented in order to force the entire shinobi nations to band together.

“Perhaps, it would be best to wait for Madara to…” Izuna turns to eye where the Uchiha have yet to fully release there leader. “Join us before continuing this discussion,” the shinobi finishes with the glint in his eyes that says he is enjoying the situation far more than he is letting on. (Made even more evident by his clear lack of help in freeing his brother).

So they wait. Wait the next forty minutes with Hashirama’s bright eyes focused on him. Wait the next forty minutes with laughter attempting to bubble out of his chest in hysterical bursts. By the time they get Madara free his hair is a mess from the ginko sapling’s ministrations, his face splattered with dirt and scratches, and Obito is more than satisfied to see the way he favors one side.

“Your soulmate’s insane,” the man tells the Senju eyes - still sharingan red - skittering between Obito and Hashirama. But it is not this statement that has every instinct in his body screaming to kill with each step the man takes. Practically rioting against all logic that letting his mokuton created plants attack the Uchiha will have to be enough. Telling him to eliminate a threat not only to his person but to the future as well. Because, now, there is no distraction of finding his soulmate, no distraction of human contact that was far from malicious.

And though Obito’s presence will ensure that the spark for the fourth war never happens it doesn’t mean that the catalyst has been dealt with. He could kill him. Even without kamui, he could take a kunai from his unsuspecting soulmate and gut the man who killed Rin, who pushed Obito to bring destruction on the shinobi world. The man who is to become the vessel for a goddess, the man who-

Every muscle pulls tight at the feeling of a hand covering his fist, more than ready to attack, more than ready to feel a weapon punch into him. It never comes though, and Obito blinks away enough red to see Hashirama’s concerned demeanor. To notice that the hand covering his is warm, trickling calming chakra into him like a lifeline. Those around him are silent, studying, and it takes him another several seconds to let his tension fade.

Hashirama doesn’t let go.

Obito doesn’t know how to react in return.

Instead, he eyes Madara for a moment more, examines the man who has done nothing yet but listen to elders and send his people to war for old revenge. The man who is friends with Hashirama. The man Obito logically knows he can’t kill if he wants there to be peace. The shinobi that has the potential to destroy the world and rein war upon all nations. (That doesn’t mean he can’t make the man’s life a living hell, however).

“To think the great Uchiha Madara was defeated by a few plants,” Obito says low enough that only he and Hashirama hear, holding back his mocking laughter all the while. Hashirama, on the other hand, has less luck. His mirth from Madara’s misfortune and Obito’s comment is more than obvious in his poorly repressed smile and gleaming eyes. It doesn’t go unnoticed by an already irritated Madara.

“He’s from the future,” Izuna cuts in, clearly having little-brother senses that are flaring with warning that Madara is about to do something stupid. Obvious choice; bring the conversation into a new topic.

“The future,” Madara raises an eyebrow, hands going to rest on his hips. “Great, even more proof that he’s lost his mind.”

Hashirama is sputtering out a defense, making claims of possible jutsu and dojutsu. But Madara isn’t paying attention, and Obito feels more than violated as the man’s gaze rakes over his figure, landing finally on his ringed eye.

“I’ve never seen a dojutsu like that before,” he frowns. “What is it?”

“The rinnegan,” Tobirama announces before he can. “It’s only ever mentioned in passing,” the future Nidaime continues, curiosity saturating his voice, “I had assumed it was nothing but a legend.”

The question is there, in the tone of the man’s voice and the looks on those in their gathering; if it’s a legend, then how did he get it?

It’s a well-known fact that the Uchiha clan hate non-clan members wielding their eyes. Especially when said eyes are stolen. It is a little known fact that they also hate when an Uchiha steals another form of dojutsu. This disapproval stemming from pride not only in the sharingan but in the clan itself. An elitist view point that they do not need any other dojutsu because no other can compare to the power of the sharingan. Arrogance in the rawest form - the same kind that has them facing the Senju without armor.

When he had been retrieving Nagato’s eyes he hadn’t given much thought to it. Too busy trying to start a war. Too busy drowning in his anger. He hadn’t cared. And, now, Obito stands before the clan head with a stolen rinnegan. He can’t say his feelings have changed.

“I took it from a dead subordinate,” he tells them evenly. He doesn’t allow himself to say comrade because he had never treated Nagato as such - he has no right to claim such ties.

And he doesn’t allow himself to look at Hashirama. Not because he thinks the man knows about the Uchiha’s opinions but because he is sure that the man’s own morals will cry out in protest. He doesn’t want to see the disapproval that he knows is there.

“You’re an Uchiha,” Madara hisses out, face filled with anger and a fire in his eyes that Obito hasn’t seen before

“You’re an Uchiha like Sasuke,” Naruto’s voice whispers through his head before he can even try to deny it, try to push away the name of a clan he had massacred. (And really, he needs to figure out what kind of jutsu that sunshine boy used to get into his head so thoroughly. To make him remember. To make him believe in a future where peace was possible without absolute control).

“It was war,” Obito growls back instead, because the absolute last things he is willing to take is Madara reprimanding him on morals. His life has not sunken so low. The scowl on his face pulls almost uncomfortably at his scars, no doubt making him even harder to look directly at. “I will not be lectured by you on the merits of my decisions.”

“Time traveler or not,” Madara’s voice takes on an authority that has Izuna shift into a more attentive state. “You’re still an Uchiha, and I am your clan head. You will respect that.”

“Actually, he’s a Senju,” a voice calls from behind, demanding and confident in a way that has Obito thinking of Kushina.

(Madara is lucky for this interruption.

Obito likes to think he has patience. He spent nearly twenty years fulfilling his plan to rule the elemental nations. He even helped an elderly Madara with his bathroom needs while under his tutelage. Had let Madara off with nothing more than an attack by plants. Had ignored his instincts that wanted a body at his feet. But his patience has fast run out while faced with this Madara’s judgement on his choices. And he is not entirely sure what he would have done without this new distraction).

“Touka,” Tobirama greets, giving a nod of acknowledgement as he moves to let her find space in their circle.

“Touka!” Hashirama beams as the woman comes to stand on Obito’s other side.

“Little cousins,” the kunoichi - Touka, Senju Touka - says, but Obito notices the way her eyes skitter to Izuna before a blink corrects their direction.

“Uchiha.”

“Senju,” Madara’s voice is sour. “This has nothing to do with you.”

“I disagree.” The smile that she gives is more of a warning. Sharp and clearly a promise to follow through with the threat it gives, “As I was saying, my dear cousin’s soulmate is a Senju. Seeing as he’s fated to a clan head. Or, have you forgotten how this works?”

Obito decides she’s his favorite Senju (baring Hashirama because he is sure that the man would be inconsolable in his sulking if the way he reacted to Tobirama is anything to go by). With how easily she can make Madara bluster. With how easily she can make the man back down.

“I know how the agreement works,” the man snaps, arms crossing over his chest. “Did you forget that it’s only between clans with a treaty?”

Touka swings her naginata down to study the blade with calm features, “Are you saying that Uchiha and Senju aren’t going to ally?”

“Madara?” And Hashirama’s voice comes out equal parts hurt and disapproving.

The man scowls, “I never said that.”

“Then we can move past your stuffy traditions,” she says sickly sweet, ignoring the glare her words earn her with an ease that says she has pissed scarier people off. “Now let me get a look at you,” she turns to Obito, showing the two Uchiha her side - not as direct an insult as placing them at her back, but a clear sign she sees them as unworthy of her full attention. Her critical look pauses on his rinnegan, moving smoothly over his scars and focuses a moment long on his chest where he knows the split between him and the material used to fix him becomes obvious. She gives a hum, “How good is your taijutsu?”

Obito blinks, taken aback by her sudden question, but he obliges to answer - it will give little away anyway. “I’m proficient.”

“Weaponry?”

Obito narrows his eyes. Any shinobi knows better than to just list all of their abilities, and that goes a bit farther than he is comfortable. “Why?”

Touka nods towards Hashirama, “I approve.” The next thing Obito knows she is presenting her hand to him, “I’m Senju Touka, it’s a pleasure to meet my idiot cousin’s soulmate.”

Obito doesn’t even try to suppress his approval, even if he has to force himself not to hesitant in returning her gesture. Definitely his favorite. “Obito,” he pauses for a breath, because Naruto fought hard to make him accept his name again, but denying what she just used to shut up an argument would be suicide, “Uchiha-Senju Obito.”

[frederickwiddowson]

Genesis 9:18-29 comments: clearing up racist nonsense from the 19th century

9:18 ¶  And the sons of Noah, that went forth of the ark, were Shem, and Ham, and Japheth: and Ham is the father of Canaan. 19  These are the three sons of Noah: and of them was the whole earth overspread. 20 And Noah began to be an husbandman, and he planted a vineyard: 21  And he drank of the wine, and was drunken; and he was uncovered within his tent. 22 And Ham, the father of Canaan, saw the nakedness of his father, and told his two brethren without. 23  And Shem and Japheth took a garment, and laid it upon both their shoulders, and went backward, and covered the nakedness of their father; and their faces were backward, and they saw not their father’s nakedness.

9:24 ¶  And Noah awoke from his wine, and knew what his younger son had done unto him. 25 And he said, Cursed be Canaan; a servant of servants shall he be unto his brethren. 26  And he said, Blessed be the LORD God of Shem; and Canaan shall be his servant. 27  God shall enlarge Japheth, and he shall dwell in the tents of Shem; and Canaan shall be his servant.

9:28 ¶  And Noah lived after the flood three hundred and fifty years. 29  And all the days of Noah were nine hundred and fifty years: and he died.

Here we have the beginning of all of the earth’s mythologies as, after the dispersion of mankind at Babel, as men and women grew more distant from the worship of the God who created them and they began to elevate ancestors and mighty men to the level of gods. Noah will eventually become Odin with his two birds and his passion for wine and we’ll have more on this topic later. Cultures will have a memory of patriarchs long dead who will be raised to the level of gods. When you add this to creating gods to explain so-called natural phenomenon that Jehovah God causes, to devils themselves demanding worship, and pure entertainment around a campfire with stories embellished and made more interesting with each generation you can see how mankind descended into idolatry.

Abraham was called out of this religious mess and eventually Moses was given the task of writing down the truth to always have a record for mankind to compare history and religious beliefs against. After the Flood things began to get murky and after Babel things went downhill fast spiritually.

Here is the spiritual history of man summed up for us, explaining the sexual content of ancient religion and how it came about.

Romans 1:19 ¶  Because that which may be known of God is manifest in them; for God hath shewed it unto them. 20  For the invisible things of him from the creation of the world are clearly seen, being understood by the things that are made, even his eternal power and Godhead; so that they are without excuse: 21  Because that, when they knew God, they glorified him not as God, neither were thankful; but became vain in their imaginations, and their foolish heart was darkened. 22  Professing themselves to be wise, they became fools, 23  And changed the glory of the uncorruptible God into an image made like to corruptible man, and to birds, and fourfooted beasts, and creeping things. 24 Wherefore God also gave them up to uncleanness through the lusts of their own hearts, to dishonour their own bodies between themselves: 25  Who changed the truth of God into a lie, and worshipped and served the creature more than the Creator, who is blessed for ever. Amen. 26  For this cause God gave them up unto vile affections: for even their women did change the natural use into that which is against nature: 27 And likewise also the men, leaving the natural use of the woman, burned in their lust one toward another; men with men working that which is unseemly, and receiving in themselves that recompence of their error which was meet. 28  And even as they did not like to retain God in their knowledge, God gave them over to a reprobate mind, to do those things which are not convenient; 29 Being filled with all unrighteousness, fornication, wickedness, covetousness, maliciousness; full of envy, murder, debate, deceit, malignity; whisperers, 30  Backbiters, haters of God, despiteful, proud, boasters, inventors of evil things, disobedient to parents, 31  Without understanding, covenantbreakers, without natural affection, implacable, unmerciful: 32  Who knowing the judgment of God, that they which commit such things are worthy of death, not only do the same, but have pleasure in them that do them.

The entire earth was eventually settled by the offspring of these three sons. This is not hard to accept, even from the point of view of modern theoretical science. Scientists theorize that there may have been many, “severe population bottlenecks,” of human beings in the distant past based on their assumptions about evolution.[1] Of course, their conclusions are filled with speculations and interpretations based on an atheistic worldview in that they might think, “we don’t know for sure but it must be so because the alternative of the Bible being true is just too horrible for us to imagine.” The point is that here is the ultimate population bottleneck and there may have been others later until humanity got on its feet, so to speak.

Use a population growth calculator online and figure the growth rate where it was for the world in the early 1960s, at 2.2%, and if I am not mistaken you will find that within a thousand years there can be over 5 billion people, starting from just two.

It is possible that, based on the change in conditions, Noah would not have known that fermentation could take place and that he could get drunk. Or, perhaps the long voyage and time of struggle surviving and leading his little tribe after disembarking from the ark made him desperate to get roaring drunk as soon as it was possible to do so. Either way, that is what happened.

To see the nakedness of someone carries with it a very wicked implication.

Leviticus 20:17  And if a man shall take his sister, his father’s daughter, or his mother’s daughter, and see her nakedness, and she see his nakedness; it is a wicked thing; and they shall be cut off in the sight of their people: he hath uncovered his sister’s nakedness; he shall bear his iniquity.

But, let’s say, for argument sake, that this is not an idiom suggesting actual sexual contact with either Noah or Ham’s mother which it appears to be.

Leviticus 20:11  And the man that lieth with his father’s wife hath uncovered his father’s nakedness: both of them shall surely be put to death; their blood shall be upon them.

To keep from delving into aspects of this event that incite prurient interest in a reader or listener let’s say for argument sake that this event involved only vulgar disrespect and mocking. God had already blessed Noah and his sons in verse 1 of chapter 9. So, Noah cursed Ham’s son, Canaan, and this curse was fulfilled in Israel’s conquest of Canaan hundreds of years later. Noah blessed Shem and Japheth further, due to their respect and merciful deed toward him and their mother, one assumes, and prophesied that Canaan would be their servant, which proved very true as Palestine, where Canaan dwelt, became the victim of many conquests from Israel to the Persians to the Turks to the Crusaders and the Turks again to the British and French with many in between. Palestine was an avenue of conquest between the warlike culture of Babylonia and Assyria to Egypt.

So, why Canaan. We don’t see in the text that Canaan had anything to do with his father’s disrespect of his grandfather. Saying something, “must be so,” that is not in the text is not much of an argument. And why would Canaan be cursed for things remote descendants many generations in the future would do? I see this curse as a prophesy. The descendants of disrespectful Ham hundreds of years from now in the land that the descendants of his son, Canaan, will inhabit, will be a stench in God’s nostrils and thorn in the side of the Jews who are given their land by God.

Noah didn’t curse Canaan. He stated a prophetic fact that Ham’s descendants through Canaan would be a cursed people and be the servant of Shem’s descendants, one strain of which would become the Jews.

There was a myth fostered and promoted as a justification for racial slavery in the United States, although it had a small number of voices before, that Ham was the father of the black, African races, thereby making the supposed curse on Canaan really a curse on Ham and all of his descendants. This myth gained ascendancy in Antebellum America and is still popular among racist preachers and congregations. The most exhaustive study of this myth I have read is by Stephen Haynes, a professor of Religious Studies at Rhodes College in Memphis, Tennessee.[2]

While a literal view of this passage reveals that Canaan was said to be cursed, a condition we will see was literally played out as proved in the Bible narrative, we will also soon see that Ham was not just the ancestor of African populations. In fact, let’s make something clear. The idea that Noah walked off the Ark with three sons; one of whom was a white guy, one a black guy, and one an Asian guy is so patently absurd that it can only be dismissed as the raving of a lunatic who has an agenda. Mankind would have been brownish with dark hair and eyes at this time, with some variation possible which foundations were already in the genetic code God had placed in man and God operated with each cell division and each generation. Race, a social construct, that has little bearing in physical reality, based more on politics, geography, and culture, will come about later, over time. Some geneticists estimate that the classic white skinned, blue eyed Caucasian came about between 5 and 6,000 years ago as, in their elongated time frame based on their dating methods, early Europeans were dark-skinned, brown-eyed, and dark-haired. There are a number of genetic studies confirming this belief of the modern geneticist. Unfortunately, we are still using classifications from the racist 19th century that alternately render black people between being, as a group, naturally villains or fools, and impulsive victims of their own biology. Such nonsense should not be honored in a Christian church.

Galatians 3:28  There is neither Jew nor Greek [grades of ethnicity or race], there is neither bond nor free [grades of social class], there is neither male nor female [grades of gender] : for ye are all one in Christ Jesus.

Colossians 3:11  Where there is neither Greek nor Jew, circumcision nor uncircumcision, Barbarian, Scythian, bond nor free: but Christ is all, and in all.

           The idea of white as a race is a relatively new thing. In 1619 when the first black slaves were dumped off at Jamestown by a Dutch ship there were no white people there. Or at least they didn’t regard themselves as particularly white. They viewed themselves as English or some other cultural tag. The process of making white a characteristic of the ruling class and black the permanent peasant, serf, slave class happened gradually as the English molded the way they treated the Irish, the poor, indentured servants, etc. into an effective economic system and a method of social control. American slavery came about as a process and regarding Africans as an inferior race cursed from ancient times also came about over time as one part of its justification drawing on a few scattered commentaries from late antiquity and the Middle Ages.

Noah lived for several centuries after the Flood to see several noteworthy events, perhaps to his further shame.

[1]  John Hawks, Keith Hunley, Sang-Hee Lee, Milford Wolpoff, “Population Bottlenecks and Pleistocene Human Evolution,” Molecular Biology and Evolution, Volume 17, Issue 1, Pp. 2-22.

www.mbe.oxfordjournals.org/content/17/1/2.Full  

 [2] Stephen R. Haynes, Noah’s Curse: The Biblical Justification of American Slavery (New York: Oxford University Press, 2002).

[stellatateblog]

Macros breakdowns, Calorics Surpluses, Caloric Deficits, Recalculation frequencies, and YOUR OPINION

Diet sometimes seems like a cruel voodoo science based around absurd assumptions and conjecture. Sure, it makes total sense. Kinda. That is, if we’re getting the results we desire. When we’re not, it’s another story altogether. Seeing as though there are some pretty experienced people on this forum that oftentimes note the importance of diet, I figured this topic would be prudent to discuss. So here goes. And let us try to make things as simple as possible.

We all realize (hopefully) that proper diet is, first and foremost, based around accurately estimating a baseline caloric requirement. Age, height, weight, and activity level all play a crucial role in accurately deducing our individual "magic" number. This magic number is unique to each one of us and embodies our baseline caloric requirements. If we are to eat exactly at this nutritional requirement on a consistent basis whilst maintaining the activity level utilized in our original calculation with zero deviation, we could expect our weight to remain exactly the same. It’s sort of like nutritional stagnation, sort of speak. That’s hypothetical, of course. Afterall, the result is totally dependent on the accuracy of the original baseline caloric requirement calculation.

Nevertheless, if we modify our activity level, we can expect our baseline caloric requirement to change. Likewise, if we modify our caloric intake, we can expect the caloric surplus or caloric deficit to affect our total body weight. The result of a steady caloric surplus or caloric deficit would inevitably modify our baseline caloric requirement. So, the result of a steady caloric surplus or caloric deficit would ultimately require a nutritional recalculation to determine a relevant new baseline caloric requirement.

Then, there’s macronutrients. There’s a lot of talk centered around macronutrient ratios. How many times have we heard that AAS promotes a vastly increased rate of protein synthesis? We kill ourselves in the gym in hopes of tearing down muscle fibers, thereby forcing our body to repair them bigger, better, and stronger than before. It’s what makes muscles grow. And, on anabolic drugs the muscles repair faster which results in a shortened recovery time. This creates an increased demand relating to protein requirements for the average bodybuilder, especially the bodybuilder utilizing anabolic drugs.

We often hear the conventional wisdom of a bodybuilder’s protein demand being met by consuming 1-2 grams of protein per pound of body weight per day. For example, this would entail a 175lb bodybuilder consuming 175 grams to 350 grams of protein per day to meet his or her needs. Seeing as though one gram of protein represents 4 calories, this places the range of daily caloric expenditure exclusive to protein consumption at around 700 to 1400 calories. If this bodybuilder was a 27-year-old man, roughly 5’10, engaged in light weekly activity, having a baseline caloric requirement of 2,441 calories, we could easily determine the percentage of total protein consumed daily. If we used the "two grams of protein per pound of body weight" recommendation (350g), multiplied this number by 4 (4 calories per gram of protein), then divided this number (1,400) by his baseline caloric requirement (2,441), we would approximate that 57.35% of his daily caloric intake consisted of protein exclusively. If we subtract 57.35% from 100%, it leaves us with 42.65%, or 1,041 remaining calories.

Therefore, that leaves us with 1,041 calories to divvy between carbohydrates and lipids. Of course, carbohydrates embody our primary energy source. So, they’re very important. However, lipids also provide energy and help to produce and regulate all the hormones in our bodies. So, which should be prioritized? Clearly, limiting fats sounds more important given the fact that if utilizing anabolic drugs, the average bodybuilder no longer requires as much hormone production. Why? Well, because an important and necessary hormone is now being artificially supplied via an external source. Thus, carbohydrates seem to become the bigger priority. If this man was to prioritize carbohydrates by allocating 30% of the 42.65% remainder, this man would be forced to consume roughly 183 grams, or 732 calories, of carbohydrates per day. All that’s left is lipids, a gram of which represents 9 calories. Given the 12.65% remainder, it works out to 308.78 calories, or 34 grams of fats.

Hence, this example macronutrient breakdown would end up roughly P 57.35% (350g), C 30% (183g), F 12.65% (34g). I’m off around 6 calories due to rounding the following: 349.978375 to 350, 183.075 to 183, and 34.3096111 to 34 respectively. So, more or less, this would be the exact breakdown to supposedly maintain his exact body weight provided he also maintained an identical activity level. In essence, this macronutrient ratio is a much more detailed report of his actual dietary habits. This is his 2,441 calories under the proverbial “microscope”.

So, at this point, you totally asking “Great. What the f*ck is the point, douche?”

Well, I’m getting there. Really.

The first point I’m attempting to make is based around an arbitrary concept of nutritional requirements; in this case, protein. As you saw, from that original protein requirement, this man deduced his remaining caloric expenditure and allotted the remainder accordingly. After all, who is to say the exact protein demands required to facilitate muscle repair in this man are guaranteed by this arbitrary number? Who is to say that the two grams of protein is enough and that the one gram of protein may too little? Surely, I’m positive that several studies would agree that this range is accurate (roughly). However, it is also surely possible that this man could be an outlier. It is also surely possible that the sample size enlisted in this hypothetical research study might have neglected pertinent factors relevant to this man’s dietary needs.

This brings me to my second point. The macronutrient breakdown is seemingly irrelevant to his baseline caloric requirement. Let’s face it- NOWHERE does it say that he must consume a certain macronutrient more heavily. The only requirement is that he adheres to the total caloric needs represented by his baseline caloric requirement of 2,441 calories. He is not to go over or above that magic number. So, in theory, his macronutrient breakdown could end up P 10%/ C 80%/ F 10% and he still would neither gain nor lose weight! Carbohydrate sensitivity be damned!

So, herein lies the disconnect in the philosophy of IIFYM (if it fits your macros). It seems obvious that one’s body would not function correctly when employing any extreme macronutrient breakdown. It would impair one’s normal functionality! I’m no nutritionist, but I’m confident that this impairment would have a substantial effect on one’s baseline metabolic rate. However, the original formula does not account for a baseline metabolic rate in any way relevant to this application. So, even if the baseline caloric requirement is adhered to, it might end up being irrelevant depending on dietary habits. I’m not sure the effect a 10%/ C 80%/ F 10% diet would have on the body, but I doubt it would be beneficial in any way for the conventional bodybuilder.

All in all, I propose that some things may work for some people. In fact, they may work very well. Unfortunately, that does not mean that certain things work for everyone. So, what’s the answer?

There’s only one answer.

Trial and error. A shitload of experimentation is required to find out what works and, even then, it doesn’t mean that it will continue to work in the future. It doesn’t even mean that the exact conditions which facilitated the apparent success could even be replicated again.

So, what’s good diet? What’s bad diet?

In the end, a diet that works for you that can be consistently replicated and produces good results is probably pretty good. Any diet that is erratic, uncalculated, and impossible to replicate which produces no results is bad.

With that being said, what do your macros look like when maintaining, bulking, or cutting? What has worked for you? What advice regarding diet would you give yourself if you could go back in time?

Macros breakdowns, Calorics Surpluses, Caloric Deficits, Recalculation frequencies, and YOUR OPINION syndicated from https://ugbodybuildingblog.wordpress.com/