#and THIS is who I’m supposed to march and sacrifice and fight for??? Fuck That!!!

[rottenlittlefink]

Ahhh like… vent in tags i guess (i said what i said :3c)

[ambulancevsambulance]

This is my Essay from the MCR Swarm Zine. I kept hesitating to put it up here, as I feel pretty tender about it. But after everything that happened yesterday, today. I feel like I have to put it out here. It's necessary. Needed. For myself, at the very least.

--

"'Cause you only live forever in the lights you make”

It’s June 2022, and I’m watching My Chemical Romance perform songs of anger, community, and defiance in one of my favorite cities- Prague. 

The city of my father’s family. A city that has repeatedly stared tyranny in the face and decided to rise up despite the odds.  

It’s 1945 and the citizens have rebelled to take back the city from the Nazis, street by street.

It’s the spring of 1968, and citizens fight against another oppressive regime. They are supposed to be crushed in four days. 

They last eight. Months. 

It’s 1989, another uprising, one that comes to be known as the Velvet Revolution. The city is finally free, a culmination of every revolution and rebellion that has come before. 

In each instance citizens clawed towards freedom by any means necessary, fighting in the open to stop jackbooted goons from holding onto power. To save friends, family, and complete strangers from suffering for one more moment. Each time they lost, they made sure to make it hurt, and to make the oppressor remember how hard the fight had been. 

They didn’t always win the battle,

–The good guys die and the bad guys win–

but they won the war. 

These people keenly knew that institutions will not save you. Only your fellow comrades will.

It’s June 2022. My friends and I are facing calls of discrimination, for extermination. It can be a miserable time, but I find strength in watching one of my favorite bands. I join the hundreds on livestream, watching the thousands in the stadium. Our eyes fixed on the five on stage. 

As Gerard starts crooning out the notes of Heaven Help Us for the first time in fourteen years, again I’m reminded:

They will not save you.

What is this song but a scream to be saved by outside forces? That in the midst of a cruel martyrdom, the Heavens will be silent to pleas for help. It’s the punchline to the joke, right? No higher power is coming to save you, no matter how much you cry. 

Best they can offer is to watch you burn. 

Heaven Help Us has never been a hopeful song–and it’s a struggle to feel hopeful, some days. 

But the world is an echo of the past as much as it is a march towards an uncertain future. I feel those ghosts whispering to remember this city’s history while watching MCR on stage. To remember that the only solidarity that can be found is in mutual aid–in the community of our fellow freaks and queers and fags. That without intersectionality between it all we will fucking fail. It’s hard work, and we won’t always win.

That doesn’t mean we– I – should give up. And MCR agrees. In contrast to the despair of Heaven Help Us, there is Danger Days– which speaks more to me now than any other MCR album. Songs of radical love and resistance against fascist conglomerates and an uncaring apocalyptic world…that doesn’t feel as fictional as it did before. 

In Prague, MCR plays six songs from that album (Boy Division counts, damn it). Seeing Gerard, Frank, and Ray all screaming into their microphones about an apocalypse that is crashing down around our ears lights a fire inside of me. Reminding me that changing the world might mean dying, but hell yeah lets try anyways. Your sacrifice might light the path of victory for others. You get to be the fucking detonator–and isn’t that a privlege? To have your acts of resistance inspire the next in line. 

It’s in direct contrast to the lament of Heaven. Stop asking who, what will save us, and realize we have to save ourselves. By any means possible. 

The concert ends with Kids from Yesterday, and I finish the night listening to Gerard sing that the only people we can truly count on are each other. That fighting for your friends is the purest form of love alive. 

So in the face of extermination, say fuck you.

And make damn sure your friends want to leave graffiti on your grave. 

[bqstqnbruin]

I hate it when you stare

Wow here I am with another part, another fic. Ignooooree my typooos. Is this more soft smut? No one told me last time if what I wrote counts so uhhhhhhh

Read the whole series:  I hate the way you talk to me and the way you cut your hair // I hate the way you drive my car // I hate it when you stare // I hate your big dumb combat boots and the way you read my mind // I hate you so much it makes me sick, it even makes me rhyme // I hate the way you’re always right // I hate it when you lie // I hate it when you make me laugh, even worse when you make me cry // I hate it when you’re not around, and the fact that you didn’t call // But mostly I hate the way I don’t hate you, not even close, not even a little bit, not even at all

I really do have work to do for my class at 2:30 tomorrow but instead I finished this, so I hope you like this!

_______________________

“How is it bullshit? Everyone can tell that we’re in love with each other.”

“So, what, because other people believe it, that automatically means it’s true?”

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

Evelina was visiting home for the weekend for her mom’s birthday, which meant that you had the apartment to yourself. From Friday after work until Sunday night, you were free to do whatever you wanted by yourself. Or, you thought you were going to be doing whatever you wanted until your boss texted you saying that he wanted your project finished by Monday so you could present it that afternoon. That meant you were posted up on the couch, your hair tied in a bun on top of your head, a mug full of coffee, another of tea, and a cup with water all in front of you, the blanket normally on the back of your couch now draped over your shoulders. It was a full call to the hungover days you had back in undergrad when you woke up late and were struggling to finish the work you had due the next morning.

“It’s me!” you hear a familiar voice call from the door, snapping you out of what might have been the first and only roll you had been on working on the project.

You look up to see Matthew coming over the couch, plastic bags in hand to plop down on the table. “Remind me to change the locks.”

“That would mean you have to get up to let me in, though,” he sends a wink in your direction.

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes at him, even though you felt butterflies throughout your entire body at the sight of him looking so comfortable next to you. It was just because he’s a guy, not because it’s Matthew. You let out a quiet sigh as he fiddles with the remote to your TV. “Who says I wouldn’t leave you in the hallway? Plus, I thought you were supposed to have practice today?” you ask, trying to focus more on your project than on him.

“We’re done, and we don’t have a game for three days for once, so we’re resting up. I figured, why not come see my favorite girl?” he says, resting his hand on your shin once your drape your legs over his lap. 

“Because Taryn is in St. Louis so you settled for me instead?”

He scoffs, slowly running his hand up and down your bare leg while his eyes fixate on the television screen. He had to be able to feel the goosebumps that he was causing with his touch. “Fine, my favorite girl in Calgary unless Taryn is visiting, are you happy?”

“Am I ever happy when I’m around you?” you tease, lifting only your eyes from your screen to look at him. Still staring at the TV, you can see the smile on his face, but it almost looks like his jaw is clenching, like he’s fighting saying something back.

“And how could I not be happy around you when you treat me like that?” Your eyes linger for a second on his smile before scanning the rest of his body. Even under the long-sleeved dry fit shirt he was wearing, you could see the outline of the muscles that graced his abdomen. His arms looked like they were begging to rip the seam of the shirt, and you wanted nothing more than to take it off of him and just let them free. “Do you like what you see, babe?” you hear him say, snapping you out of the thoughts you were convincing yourself meant nothing as he was looking at you out of the corner of his eye. 

“I’m trying to picture you as a more attractive guy,” you lie, “It would be so nice if Elias were here, wouldn’t it?” 

“If you’re implying that you want a threesome, then I don’t think I could do it with a teammate,” he laughs, his fingers tightening around your shin. Would Elias be better than Matthew? Any guy would be better than Matthew, you tell yourself. He’s your best friend, and nothing more. 

“What have I said about being crude?” you ask him, fixating your eyes on the way he’s biting his bottom lip. “I think I’m gonna go get my headphones so I can do this project.” You bolt from the living room to your bedroom, leaving Matthew there by himself while you search for your phone in a panic. 

“Hey, is everything ok?” Evelina says on the other end of the phone call as you try to search for your AirPods in the mess that was your room.

“No, Matthew is here.”

“And that’s bad because?” she asks, drawing out her last word.

Groaning, you drop your phone on your desk, prompting Matthew to call to you asking if you were ok. “I’m fine, don’t worry.” Turning back to Evelina, clearly in a panic that she could hear in your voice, “Matthew is here and I think I’m horny.”

“You’re always horny for him because you’re in love with him.”

“I’m not in love with him and I’m honry because I haven’t been touched by a man in like, three months. It’s starvation.”

You hear her groan on the other end, her parents voices in the background. “Hold on, I need to go into another room,” she says. “Ok, so you really told me two days when you got home that you and Matthew nearly fucked in public  in the liquor store. You have been touched by a man. He was also practically feeling you up at the bar a week ago, might I remind you.” 

“I don’t love him,” you say, unprompted, “And he never even kissed me.”

“Says that hickey that you somehow didn’t notice he gave you?” she says, you turning to your mirror to touch the mark she was talking about. You honestly didn’t know it was there until she said something to you when you walked in the door. “If you don’t love him, why don’t you just tell him to leave?”

“I want company and he’s the only thing I have when you aren’t here. Really, this is all your fault.”

“That was so sweet until you blamed me. If you don’t want him to leave then what’s the problem?”

“Horny,” you say at the same time. “Either do something about it or control yourself, babe, but I’ve gotta go. Miss you, love you,” she says, hanging up when you finally find your AirPods.

Pulling up your playlist so it’s already playing when you get to Matthew, you don’t even look at him as you take your computer back in your lap and throw your legs in his. You can feel his eyes tracing the outline of your body even under the baggy sweatshirt you had on from a college you never went to. 

You had worked for what was probably a solid half hour, Matthew mindlessly rubbing his hand on your leg like he did before, you needing to do everything in your power to stop from thinking about and wanting more. You were interrupted by Matthew reaching over and tugging on the hem of your shorts. “Are you really listening to Christmas music right now?”

“Is it that loud?” you ask, turning the volume down immediately.

“No, I can read your lips. You were mouthing ‘Feliz Navidad,’ and ‘Sleigh Ride.’”

“Oh, then, yes,” your cheeks flushed with embarrassment that you didn’t even realize you were doing that. 

“It’s March, babe.”

“Ok, but Christmas music is fine year round.”

“No?” he questions.

“So I’m going to tell you why you’re wrong,” you start, moving your computer to the table so you don’t drop it, provoking a laugh to escape from his lips, “While I don’t agree with all things in Catholic and the broader Christian doctrine, there are things I can agree with basically because they are up for interpretation, so I interpret them in the way I like. Take, for example, the ninth commandment: love thy neighbor. Some people take it as a literal ‘love thy neighbor’ as in ‘be a good neighbor,’ to the ones who live next door, but I think it’s a matter of caring for those around you, neighbor not being the person immediately next to you wherever you live, but just other people in general.”

“What is your point?” he asks, a devilish grin spread across his face.

“My point is that the Bible, which is the end all be all of Catholic doctrine according to some people, is up for interpretation and people use it the way that benefits them, no matter how wrong they normally are. In Hebrews 13:15, it says, “Through him let us continually offer up a sacrifice of praise to God, that is, the fruit of lips that acknowledge his name,” thereby, justifying and promoting listening to Christmas music year round. It praises Jesus, who is one of the persons that make up God, and doing year round is continuous.”

“I don’t think that’s how that works.”

“Hey, if people can be assholes and use a 2,000 year old book to try to wrongly justify their bigotry and homophobia, why can’t I use it to rightly justify my listening to christmas music all year?”

“Are you Catholic?”

“No, but that doesn’t mean I can’t learn about it and keep the things that I like with me. I’m not Jesuit but I follow their ideals like ‘care for the whole person’ and ‘be a man or woman with and for other.’ And Evelina’s parents are very religious, so we kind of put up a front whenever they visit to please them. They still think we go to Mass every Sunday.” 

“Is that why there’s sometimes a crucifix by the door?” he asks, you nodding along. “And that weird Jesus magnet where he has a chefs hat and it says ‘fish and bread are served’ underneath him?”

“Yeah, I think her dad superglued that to the fridge because no matter how many times we’ve tried to get it off it won’t budge. Plus it’s a reference to another Bible passage.” 

“I went to a Catholic high school, remember? I already knew that.” You can’t help but return the smile he was sending your way, this time your eyes flicking down to his lips, you unsure if his were doing the same. You snap out of it, biting your lip and making eye contact with Matthew, both of you breathing slightly unevenly at just thinking about what you could do with each other. Was Evelina right that you two loved each other?

No, she couldn’t be right, because you didn’t love him. You pick your computer back up to get back to work, not saying another word as Matthew turned back to the TV. You hit a deadend, finding yourself back to staring at Matthew’s perfect face while his eyes narrowed and a small smirk formed on his lips at something funny on whatever movie or show he was watching. 

“Ugh, fuck,” you groan, Matthew’s head snapping to your direction as you cover your face with your hands. “I don’t want to do this anymore.” 

He reaches over and pulls your hands from your face, intertwining his fingers in yours. “Take a break, I brought food for us.” 

“You didn’t cook it yourself, did you?” you ask. The last time he had made food for you, you were sick for a week from what you’re sure was food poisoning from something being undercooked.

He laughs, the pad of his thumb rubbing your palms. You could feel your breathing get shallow by this, trying to ignore it while he’s talking to you. “No, I got it from the store down the road, already made. Mac and Cheese!” he says, pulling it out of the bag.

You roll your eyes at his stupidity. “Matthew, we’ve been sitting here for over two hours, why would you leave that on the table instead of in the fridge?”

“It’s still warm!” he argues, opening it, “Oh and it smells so bad.” You burst out laughing as he cringes, closing it immediately. “I’ll order something else.” 

You get up to go throw out the now rancid mac and cheese in the kitchen. “Hey, where do you want to order from?” you hear Matthew call, walking into the kitchen behind you.

The list. 

It’s on the fridge.

Practically throwing yourself at it to try to tear it down in time, you rip it off the fridge and fold it up in your hand just in time for Matthew to come in. “Are you ok?” he asks you, noticing your slightly faster breathing and your hands behind your back.

“Yeah, the smell was just bad,” you lie to him, shoving the list in the band of your shorts. “And I was looking at the Jesus magnet.” 

“That thing is so creepy,” he says, both of you looking at it. Knowing Matthew, you try as discreetly as possible to move the paper to your front so he can’t feel it as he inevitably presses his front to your back, his arms draping over your shoulders. Without thinking, you reach up to touch his hands as he rests his head on yours. “It’s way too white to be Jesus.”

His arms move their way down your body, settling around your waist as he starts to nibble at your ear. “God, you are so sexy,” you hear him let out.

“You’re awfully handsy lately, aren’t you Matty?”

“Oh come on,” he says, turning you around to face him, practically pinning you against the fridge, “You know we’re always like this with each other.” 

You smile at him, cupping his face in your hands as you run the pads of your thumbs along his cheeks. “We have a weird...” you start, trying to figure out the right word to describe whatever it was you had with him, “friendship,” you settle on, not exactly liking the word yourself as your tried to hide the cringe you were sure was appearing on your face. 

He swallows hard at that word. Even relationship would have been better, even if it were more broad than ‘friendship.’ At least it wasn’t such a narrow word. It felt like even if you didn’t finish the list you didn’t know he knew about, you would never see him as more than a friend. “Well, that’s what makes it my favorite friendship.” 

The two of you stand there for a minute, holding each other and gazing into the others eyes. You could feel your breathing slow down studying Matthew’s facial features again, thinking only of how perfect they looked to you in that moment. “We should figure out where we’re getting food from,” you say, dragging your hands down his chest before dropping him all together. 

He could have stared at you like that forever. He really couldn’t think of anyone more perfect than you, anyone he would want to look at besides you. “What are you in the mood for?” he asks, moving over to the counter. Opening your fridge, you remember you still have the list folded in the band of your shorts, throwing it in before grabbing some water out. “What did you just throw in there?” Matthew asked you, having watched your every move.

“Uh, Evelina and I have this weird list that we’re putting together, it didn’t feel right to have Jesus looking over it all of a sudden,” you tell him, “But now that you had mac and cheese on my mind, I kind of want that.”

“Oh, no, you’re not changing the subject that easily,” he says, trying to reach around you to open the fridge. 

“No, come on, it’s mostly Evelina’s and I don’t know if she would want you seeing it,” you lie, batting your eyes at him and trying to contort your face to make it look like you would cry if he tried anything else. He couldn’t see the list of things you hate about it. He couldn’t find out about it. 

He sighs, knowing he wasn’t going to win this one. “I ordered you mac and cheese but I’ll pay for it if you tell me the subject of the list?” he tries to bargain. 

“Uh, it’s a list of kinks,” you lie, not knowing what else to say, and usure why that was the first thing that came to mind.

His eyes go wide, pretending to be shocked. It was the list of ten things you hate about him. It had to be. He grins anyway, trying to hide the pain he felt knowing that the list was already started, and probably nearly finished at this point, “Are any of them your kinks?” 

“Yeah,” you start to lie to him again, a grin on your face, “One of them says, ‘When Matthew leaves me alone.’”

He scrunches up his face, pretending to be hurt by your comment as he walks back to your living room. “Oh you know just how to break my heart, pretty girl.” You follow him, plopping down next to him on your couch. 

You pick up your computer, snuggling into his shoulder as he wraps his arm around you. “I have no desire to do this project.” 

“Why don’t we watch something on TV then and you can work again after we eat?” he suggests. You nod, putting the computer back down, surrendering to his pout. You feel him kiss the top of your head, scrolling through the channels. “What about Lilo and Stitch?” he asks when he finds it on one of the channels. 

“Ugh, I love this movie, but the American treatment of Hawaiians is awful, and I just can’t help but think about it every time I watch,” you say, thinking you were being annoying. “Sorry,” you apologize. Evelina was used to your rants, even if you were sure she normally tuned them out. You didn’t think Matthew wanted to listen to another rant from you. 

“Don’t get me started?” he asks, referring to the game you and the guys played at the bar.

“Don’t get me started on the American colonization of Hawaii. The Cookes’ went to Hawaii and pretty much obliterated the royal bloodline. The king of Hawaii had the Cookes build boarding schools for the royal children, with good intentions that they would be able to educate his children on royal customs to effectively rule their land. Instead, the Cookes took the Hawaiian customs and told them they were wrong, imparting their own customs on them, instead. They wanted he land for America, they wanted to eliminate the Hawaiian culture and make them as American as possible,” you say. “The Hawaiian people were a very sex positive people, but oh no, American Catholic education and their ‘no sex is the safest sex’ ideal stopped the children from living the lives they grew up expected to live. If a boy was found in a girls room doing anything in these boarding schools, they would beat the children as punishment, and probably other things that weren't even recorded. There are actually a decent number of Wikipedia pages that have had this information erased, like when you go back into the edit history. The sources, as they claimed, weren’t valid, but in reality they weren’t the Cookes’ American-centric description of these schools. They even went so far as introducing sports into the schools as ‘an antidote to the worst evil of all: sexual promiscuity,’” you comment, drawing a laugh from Matthew. “Because we all know how much athletes hate sex, right?” 

You look up at Matthew, him beaming down at you as Hawaiian Roller Coaster Ride starts ironically playing in the background, “Yeah, we hate that,” he whispers. You swallow hard, trying to ignore any feelings that might be coming up at the sight of Matthew biting his bottom lip. 

“American’s always just insert themselves where they don’t belong,” you finish, settling your head back onto his shoulder as he pulls you closer to him. 

“Why do you know all of this?” he asks.

You shrug, not really sure how to answer, “I don’t know. When I’m doing work I see one word and it sends my mind into this never ending tangent and I end up looking up stuff online and reading for hours.” 

“You really are the smartest person I know,” he says with a sigh, “Why hasn’t Ev told her parents about hiding the Catholic stuff until they come?” 

You shrug, “I don’t know. I never asked, she just told me it was something she needed to do, so I did it with her. That’s her own cross to bear,” you say, taking a minute to realize the really bad pun you just made. “Ah! See what I did there!” you practically yell, Matthew groaning.

“On that note, I think I need to leave,” he jokes, getting up off the couch.

“Oh, come on, no!” you beg, taking him by the hand and trying to drag him back down to the couch. “I don’t want you to leave,” you let out as he pulls you off the couch. 

“Really?” he asks you, sitting back down on the couch, your hands still connected.

Standing over him you nod as he pulls you into his lap, straddling him. He pulls you as close to him as you can, your hands wrapped around the back of his neck. Your mind flashes back to the liquor store, the feeling that came over you as he worked his way along your body like you had a feeling he was about to do again. 

“Come on Matthew, you know this isn’t something we do,” you tease, even though you can’t help but look at his lips, the urge to kiss him creeping up on you as you tried desperately to suppress it. If any guy had taken you into his lap like Matthew just did, you would want to do the same thing. You were just desperate for a man, not desperate for Matthew. 

“We can’t do anything?” he teases, going for your neck again. You let out a moan, praying that he doesn’t leave any more marks that you’ll have to cover up later. 

“Wait,” you say to him, pulling him off of you. He looks slightly upset, not sure what to do next. ‘Ah, fuck it,’ you think to yourself, pulling his shirt off over his head, tossing it to the side and returning the favor of the hickey he gave you. You suck on his skin, listening to the moans that escaped from his lips this time, feeling him grow hard the longer you were at it. He clenches his hands on your butt, pulling you even closer to him. You work your way up his neck and to his jaw, his grip getting tighter the closer you were to his lips. You had no idea what was coming over you and causing you to want to do this, but nothing in that moment felt better. Nothing in your life had ever felt better as you kissed his face the way he did to you the other day, hearing him moan more and more with every connection you made. 

Your lips are millimeters from his, both of you practically begging the other for connection when you’re startled by the sound of Matthew’s phone ringing. You both laugh, foreheads pressed together. One more second and it would have happened. “I think that means our food is here.” 

“Perfect fucking timing,” he mutters, not loud enough for you to hear as you get up to go grab the food. He couldn’t believe you just did that. He checks his neck in his phone camera, seeing it littered with the red marks you had left for him. He reaches up to touch them, smiling for some reason. There’s no way this list would work against him, would it? 

You come back, him practically throwing his phone so you don’t see what he’s doing, settling down on the couch with each other eating the food. Your mind starts racing with thoughts about what just happened. There was no way you really wanted that, did you? Well, you wanted a man’s touch, but it didn’t necessarily have to be Matthew. It could be any guy. 

‘I have another thing for the list,’ you text Evelina, your eyes moving between your phone screen and his hands holding his food, careful not to look up at his face.

‘Good, god, what?’

‘I hate the way he stares,’ you send her, finally looking up, not taking your eyes off Matthew as the two of you can’t help but stare at each other.

[randomnameless]

Jeez I feel like I’m in Fire Emblem Three Houses with all the heavy lifting the game is giving us, not to make someone “uwu/sympathetic” in this case but to remind the player that, hey, you picked a controversed route.

(just like the other 2... or so it is supposed to be?)

First of all, during the “duel”, Serenor face tanks Frederica’s spells and I’m sure he’s fried, but w/c.

Unlike his lines with Benedict or even Roland during their duel, here everything is milquetoast towards Frederica.

Everyone knows it’s the utilitarian route (the needs of the many > the needs of the few) but while Frederica wants to stop giving a fig about everyone else to save Rozellians... No one tells her that, hey, if you fuck away to Centralia and let the Norzelia be embroiled in the war, a lot of “powerless” people are going to die, even if they won’t be Rozellians.

We still came from Frederica “we should try to find a way to talk and resolve things peacefully so no one will die” to “As long as Rozellians are safe it is enough for me” and it’s still... Frederica is happy to have been part of the Wolffort family, but “her people” to her, at this point, are only Rozellians, not Wolffortians and especially not the randoms from Aefrost (remember Frederica’s part Aefrosti?).

I still think it was a kind and nice move from Serenor to give her the choice not to follow them, and to follow her heart to save the Rozellians, even if he picked the “let Hyzante rule over Norzelia”.

Gustadolf’s propaganda is a wonderful thing, really.

He’s rallying his forces under the pretense of defending against Hyzante who, uh, apparently wants to enslave them all under their Fake Goddess’s decrees - and totally not because Gustadolf started the war, Gustadolf’s building a super weapon to demolish Hyzante and Gustadolf wants to erase Hyzante to gain control of the continent.

I love this guy.

Then we have the perfect slice of onion regarding Sycras, the miniboss who’s holding the gates of Aefrost - he says goodbye to his wife and children, and while it’s very touching because they all know he’s not going to return home...

It’s so hamfisted - I don’t remember anything similar for Ayxame or Kamsell when we’re attacking Hyzante, just like we don’t meet Layla’s husband and child - no it’s just to hammer home how attacking Aefrost means attacking randoms who will suffer, and it’s very very sad.

But this scope is completely eluded in the Frederica/Benedict routes, it’s just in Roland’s. I wonder why, Hyzante wasn’t evil enough or??

We don’t see random Hyzanteses worrying about Aefrost/Wolffort attacking them on the Benedict route - granted Benedict’s route doesn’t give a fuck about people/randoms, just about who’s going to sit on the top of the world. As for Frederica, if I didn’t made it clear above, as long as they’re not Rozellians, we won’t give a crap about them.

So, with Sycras dead (TFW you can beat up Travis to recruit him afterwards, but you can’t spare Sycras?) we march on Aefrost’s capital, and lo -

Gustadolf’s still rallying his forces, conscripting even his citizens to use them as cheap soldiers (I suppose the tier 1 units are the civilians who suddenly took an armor, meanwhile the tier 3 are the professionals?) and exhorting to fight to the death.

His and Roland’s convo is really interesting, Gustadolf prefers a world where might makes right over one where everyone is equal (and lives in peace save for Rozellians) built on a lie - if Roland gave up his throne it is for the sake, at least he thinks so, of his people, wars will stop and they will be able to live happily. But to Gustadolf, living like this is just like being enslaved - and Roland’s wishes for his people won’t take away the Liberty his people are drunk upon -

Long Story Short Story, Roland sacrifices his pride and freedom for his people, Gustadolf wants freedom at the cost of using his people as meatshields - clearly having no regards for their lives, and hoping Uncle’s going to come to his rescue with his sekrit new weapon.

This path clearly shows Gustadolf is in the wrong, but given some avid discoursers here - I can see why his words ring a bell, a Daenerys expy who argues for “liberty” and meritocracy, lying to his people about their battle to be one against a “False Goddess” - when his real reason to fight is to become the, dare I say it, Supreme Leader of the continent?

If there’s one thing I can blame this game for, it is for not giving the same “apparent” complexity to Hyzante - as it must stick to the Evil JRPG religious organisation - while trying to depict Aefrost as a country who’s wrong only because of Gustadolf.

Like we have three situations.

In Glennbrook, the rulers try to be kind and just, but the people (nobles+randoms) suck.

In Aefrost, the rulers suck, but the people seems to be okay, if not a bit too prone to buy Gustadolf’s propaganda.

In Hyzante? The rulers suck, and from what we see of the people (the few NPCs) they seem mostly neutral, bordering on assholish thinking they’re better than the rest of the world and they’re racists towards Rozellians.

One of those three countries has way more “defaults” than the other 2... While Roland’s choices follow his character arc, when you play his version of the ending chapters, you still feel worse than when playing the Benedict/Frederica’s chapters.

Hopefully, unlike someone, Gustadolf never fails to provide reasons as to why he’s, imo, this game’s best antagonist.

[makkoskafanfic]

KakuHidan WIP fic teaser

This is part of WIP release March! A KakuHidan one for a change.

This is a Maffia - Modern setting AU but with special powers. I planned to write something like this... oh since I first started to ship KakuHidan some 9 years ago, probably. 

The idea came up again as we were rewatching Naruto last year and I got pretty far with it, before we reached the HashiMada arc and of course all the fangirl neurons in my brain got hyperfixated on HashiMada again. 

I have almost 10K words written of it, so I hope to continue one day, and not to let it go to waste. This scene is Kakuzu’s and Hidan’s first meeting. As such I would rate it M (or a strong PG13? I don’t really get the ratings) No sexual themes at this point, but there are a bunch of people getting killed, blood, gore, violence and Hidan’s dirty mouth. 

Strange to say after this, but I had fun writing this, hope you will enjoy.

Kakuzu secured the Harley and looked at the unassuming building he found at the address he was given. While it wasn’t in the best of neighbourhoods, it certainly wasn’t in the worst Konoha City could offer either. A sign in the window announced it was for sale and the faded advertisement above the door let him know it used to be a barber’s shop. All in all, not where he would imagine some crazed prophet performing his homicidal ritual. Well, his source assured him this was the place - the man knew Kakuzu didn’t take disappointment well, so it was unlikely he’d give him anything but a hundred percent confirmed information.

He walked around the building to a small alley packed with overflowing rubbish bins to find the backdoor. He pushed on it and it gave easily - it wasn’t locked.  It opened to a small room that once must have been used by the staff. It was mostly empty now, save for the empty shelves along the walls, a small desk with some old newspapers stacked on it, the large cardboard box underneath it and for the man sitting in an old office chair with one arm broken off. He stood up as Kakuzu entered. He took in his appearance, his leather jacket, his dark jeans, his mid-calf boots, the mask covering the lower half of his face, the biker helmet under his arm and he still somehow came to the wrong conclusion. He was just as tall as Kakuzu and more obviously muscled, which probably gave him a false sense of security.

“Here for a haircut? I’m afraid we’re closed for business.”

“Wouldn’t let you touch my hair,” Kakuzu grumbled. “I’m here for Hidan.”

The man’s eyes cut briefly towards the desk, which told Kakuzu what he needed to know. 

“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.”

“No? I was told I need to come here to praise Lord Jashin and see the wonders he’s capable of.” He was also told some idiotic password that he didn’t bother to remember.

“The show has already started,” the man sneered at him, “no late joiners allowed.”

“That’s a pity,” Kakuzu took the helmet from under his arm, looked at it pensively for a moment, before smiting the man down with it in a lightning fast movement. There was a sickening, wet thump as it crashed the man’s skull. He wiped the blood off, noticing it got dented with annoyance. This mission was already proving to be a headache. At least there was never a complaint from Pein when he added his extra expenses for his damaged accessories.

He pushed the desk and the box out of the way, uncovering a trapdoor on the floor. A narrow staircase led down into darkness.

“A barber shop with a dungeon,” he muttered to himself as he descended. “What a circus.”

The light seeping down through the open trapdoor quickly dimmed completely as he took on the corridor. Always well prepared, he took a small torch from his inner pocket and switched it on. There were a few side doors, but he didn’t bother with them. As he walked down the corridor, the voices coming from behind the door at the end became louder and louder. He pocketed the torch and slid it open.

The people inside didn’t seem to notice his late entry. Kakuzu did a quick count. There were eighteen of them on the floor, plus two on the low stage - a woman tied to a chair, and the man he recognised as Hidan from what Pein had shown him.

First impressions were important and Kakuzu trusted his instincts. Hidan was loud, foul mouthed as he sprouted his religious nonsense and Kakuzu was taken by the deep intuition that he, for his own peace of mind, had to kill this man. He was trouble. 

He pushed himself through the small crowd, ignoring the men’s protest that he was blocking the view. Just a few feet away from Hidan he took his time to assess his opponent. He was young, just as Pein’s file said, face smooth, his half-naked body well toned. He seemed physically strong with his lean muscles, but not a match for Kakuzu’s own might of course. He was ranting about his Lord Jashin, something about his eternal gift and punishment of heathens… he was damn noisy. His voice was a deep baritone which could have been pleasant if it was quieter and if he wasn’t working himself towards shrill yelling as he got more and more agitated. The people around Kakuzu didn’t mind though - they were murmuring appreciatively, repeating some of the phrases, like “Hail Lord Jashin”, “Bring death and destruction, oh Lord,” “I swear to murder and destroy in your name”.

Kakuzu knew he was supposed to observe the whole ceremony to see the presumed powers of this preacher for himself, but he wasn’t sure he could stand much more of this. He could just shoot Hidan and see if he died or not. Not quite what Pein wanted, but it would do the job, wouldn’t it?

Hidan's eyes swept the crowd during his speech and Kakuzu made the mistake of meeting them. The dark mass was abruptly cut short. The crowd muttered as their leader fell silent, but Hidan ignored them. 

“Looks like we have a heathen, an unbeliever in our midst today!” he glared at Kakuzu, then suddenly laughed, pointing at him. “Kill him my children, let his blood flow freely as it pleases Lord Jashin!”

How the little shit knew instantly, Kakuzu had no time to ponder as the mob closed in on him immediately. Most of them were unarmed, but he spotted a few knives and what looked like a beer bottle broken in half. He kicked the first man who reached him in the stomach so hard he flew away to collide with the edge of the stage. He crumbled to the ground there like a puppet whose strings were cut. That gave him some space to work with.

His opponents were no skilled fighters, so even with their numbers against him, Kakuzu didn’t have a hard time. The magazine of his Sig Sauer held fifteen rounds, almost enough for the whole bunch. Kakuzu never missed a shot - he liked to be effective and he hated anything to go to waste. The rest he took down by bare hands. The men managed to land a few hits, even a couple of stabs, on his arms and chest, which enraged him further. They were ruining a perfectly fine leather jacket. 

He took it off and tossed it aside quickly when the last of his attackers fell to the ground with a smashed-in face. Blood was running down his left arm from a long and shallow cut. There were smaller wounds on his chest, though they were easily to ignore. 

He looked up at the two people on the stage who didn’t join the fight yet. The woman tied to the chair - unconscious, maybe drugged, so no kind of threat, and the annoying preacher. Hidan didn’t seem to be disturbed by the defeat of his followers. He had a long, sharp pike in his hand - he pointed at Kakuzu with it and he grinned.

“Lord Jashin blessed me with glorious destruction today! All this blood and the corpses! Thank you, Lord Jashin! I’m your forever faithful follower and will sacrifice this son of a bitch to you as well! His blood will seal the sacred…”

“Shut up,” Kakuzu cut into this annoying speech, feeling the beginning of a headache forming behind his brows. “One more word of this nonsense and you’ll end up in so many little pieces even your god wouldn’t be able to tell how you looked originally.”

“How dare you interrupt my prayer, you heathen fucker?!” Hidan shrieked at him. “You’ll die in the most glorious agony!” Like the obviously brainless idiot he was, he charged Kakuzu with a shrill battle-cry of “Lord Jashin”, holding his pike in front of him as if he was some misbegotten knight on a tournament.

Kakuzu waited till the last moment before he stepped to the side, grabbed Hidan’s wrist and yanked it above his head. Despite his cruising grip, the priest didn’t drop his weapon. He went fully berserk, getting caught like this. His shoulder gave a sickening, loud pop as it dislocated, but he didn’t seem to notice the pain. He brought both of his legs up and kicked out, aiming at Kakuzu’s crotch. He managed to turn away slightly, but the impact on his thigh and side was still bruising. He grunted in pain, cursed the little shit under his breath and raised him even higher up from the ground. 

Hidan shrieked in indignation and still didn’t let his weapon go. Kakuzu had to give it to him, there was something to be said for his tolerance of pain. He caught the preacher’s free hand as he swung it to claw at his face and took a firm hold on it too. Hidan swore, but was far from giving up.

He bit Kakuzu’s neck in an underhanded move and kicked him in the knees so hard his legs buckled. He allowed them to fall to the ground, pinning Hidan underneath his heavier bulk. He clasped his hands above his head, restraining them and kneeling on his legs to immobilise him fully. The Jashinist screamed vulgarities at him, thrashing wildly as he tried but failed to dislodge Kakuzu.

“Shut. Up” Kakuzu grid out, slightly breathless as he was fighting this utter madman. “You little shit, just stay still for a…”

Hidan spit him in the face, more blood than saliva, barely missing his eye. That did it. 

Stitches came loose on the underside of Kakuzu’s wrists, allowing the secret weapon of his body to burst forward.

“What the fuck…” Hidan gasped as the tentacles wrapped themselves around his neck and squeezed. After that only unarticulated, gurgling sounds left his throat. 

While Kakuzu found satisfaction in defeating his enemies, he always killed because that was his job or because that was the fastest way to achieve his goals and not because it caused him joy. This time however he found immense pleasure in the sudden silence. It was broken by pathetic, wet, choking sounds only, then not even those as Hidan’s lungs ran out of air. His trashing slowly quieted down, but Kakuzu didn’t let go until the last twitches stopped and Hidan’s eyes - a surprising shade of violet, now that he had the chance to see them from close up - rolled up in their sockets. 

He looked quite dead, with the foam in the corner of his open mouth, with his blood everywhere, but Kakuzu checked his pulse before he withdrew his tentacles to be sure. He rolled off from the still body and allowed himself to spread out on his back for a minute. His whole body ached, his clothes were ruined and he was in a foul mood.

“I’ll ask for a pay rise after this,” he muttered to the deadly quiet room. He closed his eyes - only to open them in alarm when he felt movement from next to him. He tried to roll away, but Hidan - magically back from the dead, the pike he never let go throughout his thrashing raised high - was too close. The preacher bore the weapon down, into his heart.

“Take that you rotten bastard,” he cackled and tried to yank the pike free, probably to thrust it through his chest again. Kakuzu grabbed it and didn’t let go. “You can hope they pay well in Hell, but I don’t think Lord Jashin will be kind to a heathen shithead like you! He will torture you for an eternity and reward me, his faithful servant with…”

Kakuzu breathed through the sharp pain, raised his free hand and grabbed his slicked back hair. He sat up and dragged him back, until Hidan didn’t have any other chance but to let his weapon go, if he didn’t want to lose a handful of hair.

“Ouch, ouch, ouch, it hurts you shitty fuck! Let my hair go!”

Kakuzu yanked the metal rod out from his heart, wincing at the pain. He could feel his threads moving under his skin, stitching the gaping would back up. Losing two hearts under a week. Maybe he was getting old. 

“You should be busy being dead,” he told the priest. “And as such not concerned about your hair.”

“Fuck you, my hair looks too good to be touched by the likes of you!”

“It’s a horrible dye. This must have been a shithole of a barber shop.”

“As if you are the one to talk! When did you get a cut last time? Never? And what’s with that fucking mask? Is it the flu season or what?”

“Shut up,” Kakuzu said with resignation as he knew now it was in vain. 

“You shut up. Why are you not dead, anyway?”

“Because we are both out of luck today.”

He stood up and experimentally let Hidan’s hair go. The priest got to his feet as well, examining him with his head tilted to the side. He then looked around the room, at all the scattered bodies lying around and sighed.

“This was the best mass I ever celebrated,” he said dreamily. “Was I mistaken? Are you sent by Lord Jashin?”

“No,” Kakuzu snorted at this absurdity. “I was sent by the Akatsuki. The Leader heard of your special… ability and wanted me to recruit you to our ranks.”

“What the fuck is the Akatuski?”

Kakuzu looked at him silently, pondering the probability of someone living in Konoha and never hearing about its most powerful criminal organisation. Hidan looked honestly clueless. An immortal idiot. Wonderful. 

“A place that would offer someone like you many possibilities. You get jobs done and it will treat you well.”

“I only want to spread the word of Lord Jashin and live to please him.”

“You want people to listen to you? Or you want to kill them? The Akatsuki will help you with both.”

 “Are there more people like you?” 

“There are some… not ordinary people in the organisation,” Kakuzu said carefully. “Though not quite like me.”

“So only me and you are immortal?” Hidan grinned at him. Kakuzu didn’t contradict him - he wasn’t immortal, just very hard to kill, but he didn’t need to give the advantage of knowing that. It seemed he was being successful in his recruitment. He wasn’t quite convinced it was a good thing. “So what now?”

“I am to present you to our Leader in two days. You’ll come with me, so I can keep an eye on you till then.”

Hidan looked around and shrugged.

“It’s not as if I have any followers alive at the moment. I guess I can go and see that Akatsuki bloke with you. Who are you, by the way?”

“I’m Kakuzu.”

“Kakuzu, ehh? Is that a last name or a first name?”

“It’s a name,” Kakuzu snapped irritably. “You can call me by it.”

“All right then, Ka-ku-zu,” Hidan grinned as he dragged his name out in an inane sing-song. “I’m Hidan.”

“I know,” he sighed with resignation. “Go and grab whatever you need and let’s head out.”

Hidan muttered something about his sacrifice and went to finish the woman off, probably. Kakuzu changed the magazine in his gun and made sure that they left nothing but dead bodies behind. They needed no potential eye witnesses. He didn’t bother with cleaning up though - good luck for anyone who tried to find his fingerprints in any recent databases. 

He put on his torn jacket, re-tied his hair in its ponytail and waited impatiently for Hidan. The Jashinist reappeared at last, wearing a hooded coat, but still no shirt and a small backpack.

“I’m ready to embark this new journey Lord Jashin guides me on,” he grinned at him and Kakuzu was quite sure he was just trying to piss him on. He glared at him, but it didn’t intimidate the younger man at all.

“Let’s go then.”

[storiesnobodyreads]

ENDLESSLY INFURIATED [1]

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Story: You hate Bucky Barnes more than anything and are not shy to let everyone know about this. Will things change when Steve convinces you to join him on a fancy night out?

There were not many things that endlessly infuriated you. Bucky Barnes, however, was definitely one of those things. His brooding, quiet self frustrated you to no end, and there was no clear explanation for this, not even to you. He had technically never done anything wrong. Always a gentleman, always polite, always oh-so-willing to sacrifice himself for his friends. Sometimes it seemed that Barnes had decided that he wasn’t supposed to be alive at this point anyway so he might as well rescue others no matter the cost.

“Want some coffee?” Barnes asked when you trudged into the kitchen of the Stark Tower early in the morning.

Unfortunately, Barnes was always the first one up and ready, so whenever you felt motivated to go for a run or workout early in the morning, this good motivation was instantly killed off by Barnes’ presence. “Ugh, no, fuck off,” you groaned.

“Good morning to you too,” said Barnes without a care, pouring some coffee into one cup for himself.

You rolled your eyes, fetching some cereal and milk and thudding down on a high chair at the bar. To your absolute dismay, Barnes joined you at the bar. You stared at him. “What the fuck?”

Barnes raised his eyebrows at you. “Didn’t realize you own this place. Last time I checked I’m free to sit wherever I want.”

You put up your ultimate bitch face. “Fine, dickwad. Just don’t talk to me. Don’t even look at me.”

For some reason, it pissed you off possibly even more that Barnes never seemed to care about your blatant verbal aggression toward him. He simply slightly shook his head and took a sip of hot steaming coffee, which admittedly smelled really good. He twirled his cup in his hands, looking relaxed in his grey sweatpants and over-sized white sweater.

Cute, you thought quickly, but you soon pushed that thought very far back in your mind. You finished your breakfast as fast as you could, in absolute silence. Barnes didn’t look at you once nor did he seem to feel the need to start a conversation. In a sense that you despised, breakfast was actually quite peaceful like this. When you were done, you got up to place your used stuff in the dishwasher. 

“I can clean up,” Barnes offered, “so you can go on your run.”

You narrowed your eyes and stared at the man with as much hatred as you could gather, violently placing your bowl in the dishwasher and practically throwing the spoon in its holder. Without saying another word, you marched out of the kitchen, where you bounced into Tony. “Oh, good morning, Tony!” you said cheerfully, pressing a kiss on the man’s cheek. 

“Mornin’, lovely,” was Tony’s response. He was wiping some sleep out of his eyes, clearly having had a long night. You didn’t quite know what project he was currently working on, but it was fair to say it was robbing him of his sleep. “You’re up early,” he commented.  

You nodded, ponytail swinging. “Felt good today. Am going for a run.”

“Alright, love. Have fun.” 

“Thanks, thanks. Maybe after I could help you with your project, if you got anything to do for me?”

Tony scratched the scruff on his chin, suppressing a yawn. “Yeah, I might have some things for you to look at later. Thanks for offering. Now go run, kid.” You grinned when he sent a wink in your direction. 

Barnes spoke up from the bar, “Have fun, Y/N.”

In reaction to him, you simply raised your middle finger and strolled out of sight. 

Running had always simultaneously been your most favorite and least favorite activity. You loathed it because it was often boring, leaving you alone with your thoughts which soon turned into a mentally challenging exercise. You loved it because whenever you felt anxious, you could just run as fast as your legs could carry you and sweat all the anxiety out. Sam’s explanation for this had been that when humans get stressed, their fight or flight reaction gets triggered, because in the good old days stressors were things like wolves. After being confronted with the wolf, you would either be safe or dead, but not anxious. With the stressors of the current society, you can’t run away or fight, leaving you with an uneasy feeling. But running, sometimes, helped you get rid of that feeling.

On top of that, it was a wonderful morning. Not too hot, not too cold, not a cloud to be spotted in the bright blue sky. The nice smell of fresh bread oozing from the bakeries as birds awoke and fluttered through the air. Despite having had breakfast with Barnes, it was a good morning. And it felt like today might be a good day. 

You returned to the Stark Tower an hour or so later, when you presumed most of the Avengers had woken up. You happily greeted Elena the receptionist and said hello to some of the security guards, waving cheerfully at James from Human Resources through the glass walls of his department. After a quick stop to send your best wishes at the Youth Centers Tony had set up for children and teenagers in need of books or an internet connection or any form of help, you made your way up to the Avengers headquarters. 

Needless to say, you were relieved to find Barnes’ seat empty. 

“Y/N!” you were welcomed enthusiastically by Steve, who waved you over to the couch in the living room. All the glass walls, which according to Tony emphasized openness and honesty among the Avengers, made it easy to see whenever someone entered. You made your way over to Steve, moving past Wanda who used some of her red flaring magic to pull you closer to her so she could plant a kiss on the top of your head. Wanda spent most of her time using her magic to fly around the kitchen and living room, simply to annoy the other Avengers that they couldn’t fly. Thor had once started the argument that he could, in fact, fly, but when Wanda had dared to do so without the help of his hammer, his big mouth soon vanished. 

Having arrived at the couch, you let yourself fall down, sprawling your legs over Steve’s lap and letting your head rest on Sam’s knees. “What’s up, losers?” you smiled. 

“Ew, you stink,” Sam coughed exaggeratedly. He faked trying to push you away from him. “Take a shower before you come poison us!” 

“Steve asked me to come here!” you argued. 

Steve grinned and patted your shins. “That was before I realized what a sweaty human being you were. Disgusting, Y/N, really—anyway, the reason I asked you over here is because I kind of need you to do me a favor.”

You instantly became suspicious. “Oh no. What?”

“Well, remember that nice new girl that is working for James in Human Resources now?” Steve started with a nervous laugh. 

You shot up straight and gently hit Steve against his chest. “You didn’t!” 

Steve was laughing, “I did, I did. I asked her out on a date. We’re going out tonight.” 

“No way!” you exclaimed excitedly, throwing yourself at the man to hug him. “I’m so happy for you! Lucie is so nice, Steve! The two of you would make such a lovely couple!” 

“Alright, calm down there,” Steve lifted you up from him, smiling widely. “Thank you very much for introducing us, though. I owe you one.” 

“This is going to be amazing, Steve, I—” you realized suddenly that Steve had started out this conversation stating that he was going to ask for a favor. “Right. I’m very happy for you, but what do you want from me then?”

“Well,” Steve cleared his throat. “When I was asking Lucie out for a date tonight, I might have accidentally, you know, in the heat of the moment, I was very nervous, I might have said that it was going to be a double date... Um, to make it less awkward.” 

You stared at him. “To make it less awkward? To make it less awkward you thought it’d be a good idea to invite me?”

Steve put up a broad smile. “Yes?”

You grabbed a pillow and threw it into Captain America’s stupid face. “WHY?” you exclaimed incredulously. 

“Because she knows you and she likes you!” Steve defended himself, raising his arms to stop to downfall of more pillows on top of his head. “And somewhere in my rambling I thought it was easier to a group activity than it just being the two of us--”

You emphasized every word with a hit, “you – are – so – dumb!” 

“That’s not even all I— damn,” Steve laughed, fighting back to steal the last pillow away from you. He put up his puppy eyes. “Please tell me you’ll come with me. Please. I really like Lucie and I need your help.” 

Raising one brow, you marvelled at how Steve was usually such a strategic leader out in the field and yet here he had turned into a begging boy, nervous because he liked a girl. You shortly remembered how Steve hadn’t always been this good-looking and still had a sense of insecurity when it came to his looks and getting girls. “My god. Okay. But that means you owe me twice, Steve.” 

Steve attacked you with a hug. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.” 

“Gosh,” you tapped out on Steve’s back, unable to breathe with him on top of you. When he let you go, he looked so relieved you decided it might actually be worth it to help him out this way. “Right then. Where do I have to be?”

“Down at the reception, at 7? I’ll choose the restaurant and everything. It’s going to be fancy. That’s a warning.” 

You glared. “Why do you say that like I am incapable of looking fancy?”

Behind you, Sam barked out a laugh. “Because, sweetheart, you are absolutely gorgeous, but it is an odd day to see you wear anything other than gym clothes. Look at what you’re wearing right now.” 

You scoffed indignantly. “I just came back from a run!” 

Sam and Steve continued teasing you and making you laugh until you decided that it presumably was time to go for a shower. After cleaning yourself up you stepped into an old pair of jeans and shirt to join Tony in the basement to see if you could help the exhausted man out. 

You found Tony lying beneath an old car, sparks flying out of underneath the vehicle as machines were whirring loudly. You kicked Tony’s feet. “Oi!”

The man startled and bumped his head against the car. “Jesus!” he cursed, before rolling from underneath the vehicle to face you. “For fuck’s sake, can you make an entrance like a normal human being for a change?”

“Not really,” you smiled while fetching an iced pack from the fridge and tossing it in Tony’s direction. “You know me. Such a diva. Always the centre of attention.”

Tony grumbled some inaudible cursing words as he pressed the iced pack onto his forehead. “Not a bigger diva than me, you’re not. You’re too comfortable is what I’ll give you. You feel like you can be your most annoying self with the Avengers.”

You raised one eyebrow. “And can I?”

Tony shrugged. In a short burst of honesty, he said: “Of course. We all love you. Would be lost without you.” With similar ease, he barked at you: “Now will you help me out and fuck off out of my sight?” He proceeded to explain what you could do in order to help out with a small piece of his project. You were no expert in engineering like Tony, but he had taught you a fair amount over the years. Even though you weren’t gifted like Peter, you were a fast learner and possessed the power of common knowledge and google. 

Peter wasn’t present in Tony’s basement that morning, even though it was generally his favourite place to be. Tony didn’t tolerate many people in his basement, as his usual working vibes included loud AC/DC music, an excessive amount of coffee, red bull and alcohol, and as few living things to bother him as possible. You and Peter were the only Avengers that were allowed to come and go as you pleased. 

As soon as Tony had finished his instructions, he turned up the volume of his music and vanished back underneath his car. 

You twirled some tools in your hand and made your way to the back of the basement, where you wouldn’t be in Tony’s line of sight. As you moved around a high stack of apparatus to reach a free desk, you found the one person sitting there that you didn’t want to see. 

“What the fuck are you doing here, Barnes?” you called out. 

Barnes didn’t even look up. Massive noise-cancelling headphones rested atop his head, seemingly so to avoid going insane thanks to an overload of AC/DC. He was wearing a simple white shirt; his back somewhat sweaty and muscles tensed as he tinkered on the machinery before him. His black hair was bundled up in a small knot in his neck. His metal arm operated smoothly, all his movements perfectly under control. 

You gawked at the man for a while. Probably a little longer than was socially acceptable. Likely a lot longer than was socially acceptable. 

There were many negative things you thought about Bucky Barnes, but you couldn’t fault him on his looks. The man was extremely good-looking and fit, and no one could deny that. 

But then you remembered his personality and instantly felt annoyance bubbling up in your chest. God, he was infuriating. You picked up some nails from a desk and tossed them softly against Barnes’ back to catch his attention. 

The man shot up straight, struggling his headphones from his head and face up to you. The temporary panic flaring in his blue eyes, the way his hands clenched to fists... Then he recognized who you were and his posture relaxed, the fear flying out of his expression. 

He breathed out. “Hey.”

Suddenly you were very aware of how you were looking. Messy bun on the top of your head, over-sized sweater that did not accentuate your shape, and small jogging pants that barely covered your butt. Compared to how good Bares was looking while engineering, you felt kind of insignificant. 

But Barnes didn’t look at you like you were insignificant. There was a sparkle in his eyes that you couldn’t quite place. “You...” he seemed to have lost his tongue. “Um, you look...”

You pushed your insecurity away and felt rather annoyed with yourself that you allowed this man to throw you off guard. “I look what?”

“Good,” Barnes blurted out. “You look... You look good.” 

Staring at him, you squinted. You were feeling all kinds of feelings, which infuriated you, and you reacted to Barnes the way you wanted to react to your feelings. “Fuck off. What are you doing here anyway?” 

Barnes was blinking. “Oh, um, my arm has been malfunctioning a little lately. Stark wanted to fix it for me, but I figured it was about time to learn how to do it myself. So that’s what I’ve been trying to do.” 

“Can you do it somewhere else?” you demanded rudely. 

“Not really,” Barnes replied, unphased. “I think I need this...” He gestured toward the fiery machinery he had been working with. He proceeded to vaguely repeat the instructions Tony had given him to create a tiny chip that would solve the issues of his metal arm. Within about two seconds of hearing Barnes speak about his unfortunate invention, you realized that he had no idea what he was talking about. 

You sighed tiredly. “You are the dumbest person I have ever met. I can’t even. Move out the way. I’ll do it.” 

Barnes opened his mouth, presumably to protest, but you pushed him out of the way before he could make a noise. Remembering that Barnes had started out willing to do this on his own, you started explaining every little thing you did, including your entire thought process. Barnes listened intently to every word you said, letting out small ‘oh’s and ‘ah’s when he noted where he had gone wrong. It took hours and hours to finish Barnes’ issue, but both of you were patient and focused and time flew as you worked together. As soon as Barnes got the hang of it, you trusted him with the slightly smaller tasks as you multi-tasked and worked on Tony’s project as well. Tony showed up with sandwiches for the three of you at a certain point of time before vanishing under his car again. Barnes set you cups of coffee so that the two of you could continue tinkering with focus.

When Barnes’ new arm was completely finished, you helped attach the thing to his shoulder. He looked extremely uneasy but didn’t let out a single noise of complaint. Once it stuck, he closed his eyes to concentrate and got his fingers to move, explaining it was always a little weird to have this extension of his body. He commented it felt like a good arm, though, and within minutes he was using it as if he had used it his whole life. Somewhat exhausted, the two of you ended up sitting next to each other with your feet up the desk, silent and staring at Barnes’ old arm. It was quite peaceful. A satisfying silence, somehow.

“Alright.” You placed your hands flat on the table and got up. Barnes’ gaze followed your every move. “I’m done,” you grunted, wiping some concentration sweat from your forehead. “Can’t believe I spent so much time on your dumb ass.”

Barnes leaned back in his chair with a smile, studying you as you shook your hair out. His hands were folded in his lap. “Thank you so much. I couldn’t have done this without you.”

“I know,” you confirmed with a nod. “You couldn’t have. And that’s because you grew up without having electricity. And you’re old.”

Barnes’ face cracked open in a wide grin. “Can’t argue with that. You’re a lot smarter than me anyway, even if I had been born in the same time as you.”

You narrowed your eyes, not trusting these compliments. How was Barnes still nice to you after all the shit you gave him? “Absolutely.”

The man continued smiling, looking straight at you, happy. You didn’t know what to do with yourself or where to hold your hands, his warmth radiating. You cleared your throat. “What time is it anyway?”

Barnes checked his watch. “Eleven past six.”

You blinked. “In the evening?”

“Yeah.”

“Shit,” you cursed, remembering your promise to Steve to join him for a dinner to make his date with his crush Lucie less awkward, “I have a thing. I have to go.”

Barnes moved up from his chair. “Yeah, Y/N, I think—”

“For fuck’s sake, why did I spend so much time with your today?” you busted out, rapidly gathering your things. “Glad I really have to go so I don’t have to waste another minute with you. Have a horrible evening, Barnes!”

“Y/N—” Bucky tried to say, but before he could finish his sentence, you ran out of Tony’s lab. You checked your outfit and realized you were still in short jogging pants and a large sweater—after Sam’s comment of you never looking fancy, you could impossibly show up to the dinner dressed like this. You wanted to prove Sam and Steve wrong and dress up like how you had never dressed up before. And there were two people you knew to be perfect for this job. Therefore, as you were running through the Stark Tower, you texted your two best friends with a code red. And when you finally made it to your own room, you expected nothing less than to find Nat and Wanda waiting impatiently for you on your bed.

Wanda leaped up, looking worried. “What is code red?”

You let all your engineering stuff fall on the floor. “I’m going out for dinner tonight at 7. It’s supposed to be fancy.”

Both Wanda and Nat’s facial expression went from indignance that you were not dying, to absolute excitement. “Does this mean what I think it means?” Nat breathed out. “Are you going to let us dress you up?”

You rolled your eyes. “Yes. Don’t be too girly about it.”

But both Wanda and Nat were already squealing like the girliest girls in the world, more than exhilarated that they got to have their girly moments in their lives filled with heavy tasks of being an Avenger. “I’m getting my stuff!” Wanda squeaked, vanishing from the room with a red flash. Nat threw her hands up in the air. “Dresses!” she yelled, and ran out of the room as well. Both of them returned within no time, arms filled with make-up and clothes and a bunch of stuff floating behind them thanks to Wanda’s red magic. “I just realized we only have half an hour!” Wanda was screaming. Nat pushed you, “Wash yourself! Hurry!”

They granted you one minute of showering before pulling you out, throwing a sexy pair of lingerie to you (“You never know where the night goes!”) and then setting you on the bed. Nat held up several outfits for you to judge while Wanda got to work on your make-up and did your hair. Nat selected a little red dress for you that wouldn’t be too revealing. When you put it on, it hugged the curves of your body nicely and made you look way hotter than you thought you actually were. Wanda had finished your face, hair and eyes, with only lips to go, when Nat started yelling: “It’s seven o’clock!”. “LIPSTICK!” Wanda shouted back, which resulted in Nat tossing a deep dark-red lipstick at Wanda and her smearing it somehow perfectly on your lips. They rushed you up in front of the mirror. You were absolutely confused, having gone through the most stressful getting-ready process ever. But when you looked into the mirror, your jaw dropped.

“I look fucking stunning, babes.”

Wanda and Nat cheered. “Yes, you do!”

They showered you with compliments as they led you downstairs to the reception, moving slowly on your heels, despite the time being way past seven. You felt powerful and beautiful, ready to confuse the hell out of Steve and make it a wonderful, hopefully not-so-awkward night. Strolling down the last set of stairs, you spotted Lucie and Steve standing arm in arm. Lucie was wearing an extremely cute, long, dark-blue dress while Steve was dressed up in suit and tie. Once Steve’s eyes fell on you, he choked on his own saliva and his eyes popped out of his skull. “Hot damn, girl!” he called out.

You laughed, throwing your hair back in your neck. “Who says I can’t look fancy, eh?” Wanda and Nat had left you to get to the reception on your own, though you could still hear them whooping and whispering compliments behind you. You cut around the corner, finally having arrived at the reception of the Stark Tower, perhaps a little past seven, but fully dressed in a fancy outfit. And then you saw that it wasn’t just Steve that had dressed up in suit and tie.

Bucky Barnes was dressed up as well, looking immaculate. His face clean, beard and hair well groomed, smelling fresh and sweet, in a pristine suit that made him look even more handsome than usual.

It was the second time today you found him in a place where he wasn’t supposed to be. It was also the second time today you stood gawking at how gorgeous this man was.

Barnes was looking at you with his eyes wide, a flicker shining that you couldn’t quite explain. His lips parted as he looked over your appearance, but he couldn’t quite seem to find his tongue.

Your cocky expression had faded, but you did find your tongue. “The fuck are you doing here?”

Steve immediately came in between the two of you. “It’s a double date, Y/N. I told you this, right?”

You tore your eyes away from Barnes to stare furiously at Steve. “You most certainly did not, Rogers.”

“Well, it is,” Steve forced a smile. He proceeded to wrap his arm around Lucie, who stood nervously eying the situation. “And we are very excited to go on the double date, aren’t we, Lucie?”

Lucie nodded, eyes big. “Yes. You, um, look really beautiful, Y/N.”

Lucie was so very obviously shitting herself that you felt bad for her. You sighed. It mustn’t be an easy position for her, ending up going on a double date with three well-known Avengers. Even though you talked to her all the time and you would consider yourselves somewhat friends, at the very least good acquaintances, it made sense she was still nervous. Were you really going to make this even more nerve-wrecking and miserable for her? Were you that much of a bitch, that just to get across your hatred for Barnes, you would ruin the night from Lucie and Steve?

You took a deep breath. “You look beautiful as well, Lucie.” You eyed Barnes, realizing you were now officially on a date with him. “Let’s go.”

[sillyguyhotline]

useless / 1.2k words

hey, so remember me saying i’d write something based off of these headcanons? well, i did! it ended up being a little longer than intended, but here’s a fic based off of the au where shin becomes sara’s mentor instead of keiji. 

The hallway was quiet as Sara and Kanna marched towards the end of the hall, punctuated only by vague cries coming from the attractions throughout the facility. Though Sara was rather content with her standing regarding the attractions, she still kept a careful eye out for Ranger and Safalin as she walked down the quiet passage. She had no idea where, when, or why they’d pop up, only that she didn’t want to be there if they did. 

Still slightly unsure about what to do, she rubbed her thumb against Kanna’s hand, which was tucked snugly within hers. Her finger passed over a nail covered in chipped green polish, and she stiffened for a second. Had her sister, Kugie, helped her paint her nails before this horrible ordeal? It was certainly terrible, what had happened to the poor girl. 

She glanced down at Kanna, who noticed her gaze and gave a soft smile in return. She was trying her hardest to maintain brave and composed; it was only fair that Sara should do the same.

Finally, they arrived at the door at the very end of the hall and Sara gave a sharp knock. “Sou? Are you in there? Can we come in?”

After a brief silence, she was met with the begrudging response of “yeah, sure, come in.” 

Sou was sitting on the floor when they entered, scrunched over his computer so that his nose was nearly poking the screen. Judging from his ruffled hair and the fact that his beanie was on the other side of the room, he’d been having quite the tough night. 

“Uhh… is everything alright?” As concerned as she was, it was difficult to fight off a laugh when his head jerked up in surprise. 

“Mmm…” Sou ran a frustrated hand through his hair, straightening up a bit. “Well, to say things have been going shittily-” he jumped upon noticing Kanna - “poorly, I mean… is an understatement. I’ve been trying for hours now to get a map of the facility, to access more of Kai’s emails, to try to figure out the codenames of the emails he received. I’ve gotten nothing.”

Sara frowned sympathetically. “It’s probably time to take a break, then.” 

Kanna let her hand fall from Sara’s and ran to jump onto the bed, making Sou wince as she landed. A little bit more careful, Sara ambled over to the bed and sat down next to the beaming girl. 

“How long has it been since you’ve done an attraction?” Sara asked. “You can’t tell me you’ve been in this room all day.”

Sou rolled his eyes overdramatically, heaving out a great sigh. “Yeah, yeah, I know. Gin got me to do an attraction or two earlier, and that f-” he stopped himself. “That fricking policeman tried to get me to do one with him, but I refused.”

Sara opened her mouth, but he interjected before she could respond. “I don’t care what you think about him, I don’t trust that shady cop or his fake blond hair one bit.”

“Yeah, like your blue hair is so real,” Sara scoffed in response.

“At least I’m not trying to pretend it’s not,” Sou protested indignantly.

“It looks natural to me,” Kanna joked along, sprawled out on the bed, and the other two chuckled gently.

“Seriously, though,” Sara spoke up. “I know this laptop thing is important, but you need to make sure you have enough clear chips to survive the sub-game. You can’t do anything if you’re dead, can you?”

“Well… no, I can’t,” he admitted reluctantly. “But this laptop might actually lead to something. Maybe it could even get us all out alive, if we’re lucky. It’s my top priority right now.”

“Yeah, yeah, but clear chips should be the most important thing,” Sara countered. “We only have a day left, you have to be careful with this. We can’t have you dying accidentally because of this.”

“I know that, I know that.” He cast his glance back down to the laptop, furtively tapping at a few keys. “I know what I’m doing.”

She could feel the lump welling up in her throat, as much as she was trying to swallow it back. He was there, dancing in the shadows behind her eyelids, painted in red and grinning maliciously. Tubes lodged in his legs, his chest, sucking his blood from his body and leaving him utterly empty. Slumped, lifeless, miserable. 

Gone.

“Do you? Do you really?” She mustered out, trying to choke back the emotion that was so eagerly brimming from her voice. 

Kanna was staring up at her, and Sou was doing the same. The determined frustration that had been creasing his face had given way to panicked sympathy. 

“I- I just-” she reached up to wipe a tear from her eye. “I- I can’t- I wouldn’t- be able to-”

Sou’s face sunk. “Oh. This… it’s about-” he flailed for a second, clearly unable to say the name. “This is about him, isn’t it?”

There was no use in denying it. Sara nodded miserably, blue sleeve pressed to her eyes in an attempt to stifle the flow of tears. 

A very awkward silence pervaded the room as Kanna lay a gentle hand on Sara’s knee and Sou fumbled for something to say that could bring any normalcy to the situation. 

“I… I couldn’t save him, you know?” Sara mumbled out, twisting her hands together. “I… I see how everyone looks at me. I’m supposed to know everything and I’m supposed to get everyone out alive, but… I couldn’t even get my best friend out alive. Just… god, this is such an awful situation.” 

Sou pressed his lips together, reaching a hand out to comfort her then quickly drawing it back. “Y...yeah. It really is a terrible situation. But… you know, it isn’t your fault, Sara. We didn’t ask to be put in this situation. You couldn’t control Joe getting the Sacrifice card.”

“I know, and th-that’s the problem!” The tears were overflowing now, and Sara ducked her head, shoving her fingers into her hair. “I can’t control any of this, I can’t help anyone! This is fucking awful!” 

With a muttered “oh, fuck,” Sou shifted back. 

The quiet filled the room once more, Sara’s choked sobs dotting the silence. Kanna mustered feeble “shh” noises, doing her best to soothe the weeping girl, while Shin only dug his fingers deeper into his hair. 

“Sara…” her sobs eased a little bit. “God, I- I know it hurts. I know how awful that helplessness feels. But… you’re strong, Sara. Everyone trusts you for a reason, don’t they?” He smiled uneasily, meeting her tearful gaze. “They do. I know they do. And we can still fight against the floormasters with that strength. I promise we can.” 

As carefully as he could, he reached out and gave her knee an awkward pat. Kanna, far more affectionate, threw her hands around Sara’s shoulders and buried her face in her blazer. 

Slowly, hiccuping with tears, Sara nodded into her knees, and let out a choked laugh. The hallucinations were receding a bit, reduced to glimpses of red in her peripheral.

She didn’t feel quite so useless after all. 

[hasquetzorkukudoneanythingwrong]

Quetzal woman: the movie

(Pt. 1)

For ages, humanity depended upon the gods to provide, care for, and guide them. How the gods viewed humanity varied greatly. Some saw humans as pawns, and that their rightful place was under their boot. Other gods cared greatly for humanity, they found joy in helping them. Eventually tho, humanity gained independence from the gods. They developed technology and sciences that lead them to no longer have need for the gods. Many gods hated this, seeing this as the ultimate blasphemy. But others still, found joy in their newfound independence, tho were sorrowful at no longer being needed. Regardless of the feelings, it could not be avoided that the gods were no longer needed, and so the gods shut themselves away, as to not interfere. Even in times where humanity seemed to need their protection again, they would not interfere. Or atleast that's how it should've been...

The mesoamerican goddess, Quetzalcoatl, watched upon the humanity she cherished so much, as they marched onward without her. But in recent times, it seemed like they may have needed her guidance once again.

Quetz: ...humanity is not doing well. Starvation, war, the changing of the climate, corruption, and so on. Many humans have the resources to change it all singlehandedly, but choose not to in favor of hoarding said resources greedily. They need our guidance once more...

Then a mysterious voice spoke up, it was not clear who they were, but what was clear was that they were powerful. More so then even Quetzalcoatl.

Voice: we are not to interfere Quetzalcoatl. Even in their darkest moments, we are to no longer meddle their affairs.

Quetz: they clearly need it!

Voice: you said it yourself, they have the resources to help themselves. Even if those resources are currently in the hands of greedy and selfish individuals, things will eventually take a turn for the better. It has happened before and it shall happen again.

Quetz: I understand what you mean... I'd love for humanity to overcome this hurdle, and reach great new heights. But... they are currently lost. Even a nudge in the right direction would be enough.

Voice: interference is interference. No matter how small.

Quetz: *sigh*

As this went on, Quetzalcoatl noticed something specific in the tropics, near the Caribbean. A lone young man, on an isolated beach, was being attacked by creatures who should no longer have a place without the gods.

Quetz: look upon that island!

Voice: hmm?

The young man was being attacked by sirens. Horrid bird like beasts, that were long lost once the Greek pantheon was no longer needed by their people.

Voice: what!? Sirens?!

Quetz: that young man is being attacked by them! Now can I interfere?!

Voice: hmmm... fine. But this is only because it would seem the Greek pantheon is interfering in mortal affairs themselves. It was only a matter of time.

Quetz: yes!!

Voice: but before you go, make sure they longer interfere in mortal affairs! No matter how long it takes, but once it's done return to the heavens at once. You understand?

Quetz: of course!

Voice: then go! He doesn't have much time!

The the sun goddess left, and went to save the young man.

At the beach.

???: wtf are these things?! Some kind of bird monsters?!

Sirens: *horrendous screeching*

???: I should've brought backup, I'm fucked now since I'm alone!

Then suddenly, a large storm appeared overhead. Lightning struck and thunder roared!

???: wtf!?

Then a huge fireball flew from the clouds, striking the earth near the sirens. The impact left the beasts flying, even injuring them.

???: holy fuck...

The sirens weren't done yet, but they focused their attention on the impact sight instead.

Then, arising from the impact, was Quetzalcoatl.

???: woah... she's... beautiful...

The sirens immediately went to attack her, but were met with tremendous force. Powerful flame attacks, along with lightning and wind aswell. She was a force to be reckoned with.

After the beasts were taken care of, the goddess went over to the young man and offered her hand to get him off the ground.

Quetz: are you ok?

???: yeah... I am now. Are you... a goddess?

Quetz: si, actually. I am!

???: oh... wait! For real?!

Quetz: si! I am the goddess Quetzalcoatl!

???: well... if it wasn't for the lightshow and that monster beat down I wouldn't believe you... that was amazing...

Quetz: gracias! Now I've told you my name, what's yours?

???: oh! Right, my name's Rex! Nice to meet you... Quetzalcoatl...

Quetz: you can just say Quetz, and nice to meet you too Rex!

Rex: Quetz huh...?

Rex: wait a minute, if you're real then, how come we don't hear about you and the rest of the pantheon anymore?

Quetz: because humanity no longer needs gods. So we shut ourselves away. The only interaction anymore is once a human goes to the afterlife.

Rex: oh... I mean, I'm not one to question the choices of gods but... sometimes it feels like we could still use a bit of help...

Quetz: I agree actually, but we aren't supposed to interfere anymore. The only reason I can now, is because it seems others have decided to interfere themselves.

Rex: ah... explains the... birds.

Quetz: right, I need to find out whose involved and put a stop to it, then return.

Rex: oh... how do you plan on doing that?

Quetz: well... I planned to blend in with humanity for the most part, until I can find whoever is responsible.

Rex: oh! OK.

Quetz: um... but I'll need some help doing that... I don't exactly have access to normal human things...

Rex: I can lend a hand...

Quetz: oh really?! I mean, I don't want to impose.

Rex: I insist, you literally saved my life. And you're a literal goddess! It'd feel wrong not to help!

Quetz: gracias! That's so nice!

Rex: of course!

Eventually the two leave for Rex's current living space on the island.

Rex: make yourself at home! It's not much but it'll do...

Quetz: oh... it's not so bad.

Rex: gracias! So... any idea how you're going to start looking for whoever caused those... things to show up?

Quetz: well... the only surefire way is to look out for other signs of divinity. Creatures such as those are a pretty good sign. But I'm note sure where else they'll show up...

Rex: there's also the fact that you can't just bust in and kick their asses like that so easily. It was whatever last time because there were no witnesses other then me but... it'll be crazy to see a woman just... do those things!

Quetz: that's a good point... how do I handle that?

Rex wasn't sure, but then he looked over at a shelf of books nearby, and inspiration struck!

Rex: hold on

Quetz: ok...

Rex went over to the shelf and picked up a comic book, then showed it to the goddess.

Rex: you could be a superhero!

Quetz: eh...? Ques eso?

Rex: these heroes with amazing abilities and colorful costumes! They protect people for good and righteousness and such!

Quetz: oh! That'd be amazing! That's exactly why I'm here so it fits!

Rex: yeah! But we need to make a costume...

Quetz: hmmm...

Rex: oh! I know, back to our homeland! Kinda...

Quetz: eh?

Rex: it's been a while for you, but the people of Mexico have invented a new type of fighting style called lucha libre, it fits the superhero image perfectly! They wear masks, and perform bombastic moves that look like flight! It'd fit you perfectly!

Quetz: wow! That sounds increíble!

Rex: then let's make you a lucha hero!

After an extensive montage of gathering the materials, learning the moves, and practicing a bit, Quetzalcoatl was ready to be a lucha themed superhero! She wore a red leotard, with red boots and gloves, green cape, and a red and gold lucha mask!

Quetz: wow! With this, I feel like a new me!

She said this with much excitement as she floated off the ground.

Rex: I'll say! It's incredible!

She zipped towards Rex, grabbing him by the shoulders, with a grateful look on her face.

Quetz: thank you so much Rex! You've been a big help!

Then without thinking she kissed him as thanks. After she finished tho, she realized what she did and the two got embarrassed.

Quetz: ah... sorry about that...

Rex: no it's... fine... kinda nice actually.

Quetz: really? Well... gracias...

The two stood together awkwardly, before an emergency broadcast was heard on the radio!

Radio: emergency alert! Emergency alert! There seems to be a huge whirlpool in the middle of a highly trafficked fishing spot in the sea, and it appears a large monster is at the center!

Rex: looks like it's time for your debut!

Quetz: looks like it! Let's go!

Then Quetz picked Rex up, ready to take him to the location.

Rex: uh...

Then boom! They were gone!

Meanwhile, in a secret underwater base, a shady old man is discussing his plans with an unseen partner.

Old man: charybdis has been unleashed master, just as you requested.

Master?: excellent! These foolish humans have gone long enough without us gods. soon, with enough sacrifices, I'll regain my full power then they'll see!

Old man: and you shall grant me great power in return for assisting you, right master?

Master?: of course! I always make good on my promises! Just do not screw things up!

Old man: of course not! I am an unparalleled genius! I shall make no mistakes!

Master?: see to it that you don't! Or there will be consequences!

A/N: so! Finally the first part of the movie event rewrite! Took too long, and the event's long since over but here we are! Hopefully I'll finish it off in one more part, but I'm fine with 3 parts! Hope you guys like the story!

Tags

@hasspartacusdoneanythingwrong @haspaulbunyandoneanythingwrong @hasishtardoneanythingwrong @hasereshdoneanythingwrong @grievouslyxorvia @exmeowstic @renmeo @kazosaurus

[scenecipriano]

Curse of The Fold (5)

Chapter Five: Haunted

Description: The year was 1692, a time where women, children, and men feared for their lives of possibly being accused of witchcraft. Two men though, don’t allow this mass hysteria to come between them. Even though the madness Janus and Roman manage to keep their relationship a secret…That is until the summer of 1692.“The only thing that could hurt us. Is the curse of the fold.”

Characters: Patton Sanders, Roman Sanders, Remus Sanders, Janus Sanders, Logan Sanders, Virgil Sanders, and Thomas Sanders

Relationships: Roman/Janus

TW: Unsympathetic Patton, Unsympathetic Remus, major character death, death by hanging, death by fire, executions, witch trials.

Other(s): Based on Salem Witch Trials and not fully historically accurate.

Chapter TW: attempted drowning, Unsympathetic Remus, forced kissing, non-con touching, knives, and blood 

—————

March 2nd, 1692 Salem Massachusetts

Roman has to get away, the town was becoming too hectic. Two executions back to back happened, one of them a woman in her early thirties and the other a man who was about Roman’s age.

He rushes through the woods, just desperately trying to get away from it all. The death was taking a toll on him, Roman just knew that it was.

“Would you slow down! I can’t keep up!” Virgil yells.

Roman forces himself to come to a halt, he glances back and watches as his skinny friend struggles to catch up, his breath coming out in short puffs.

“Apologies, Virgil… I just need to get away, that town and my father are running me crazy.”

Virgil nods and takes a moment to catch his breath before walking towards Roman, once the two were side by side Virgil gestures for his friend to continue walking at a slower pace.

“I know what you mean… The hangings are haunting me you know, to think I could have been one of them if it hadn’t been for that medicine this witch gave you,” Virgil says as he stuffs his hands into the pockets of his black trousers.

Roman glances over and narrows his eyes at Virgil, “For the last time, Janus is not a witch. You can make medicines and not be a witch, Virgil.”

Virgil shrugs and leans his head back, his dark hair tumbling past his shoulders a bit as he closes his eyes.

“Whatever you say, Roman. He better be as nice as you say he is, or I’m not going to like him.”

Roman huffs and crosses his arms over his chest, he doesn’t understand why everyone accuses Janus of being a witch. They must not be horrible accusations seeing as he’s never been tried, or maybe the others were just too scared to pursue him… Even then, Roman knows the man isn’t a witch, witches aren’t real.

‘ Or maybe they are, you’ve said it yourself. You feel an unnatural pull to this man, the way he's singing has you in a sort of trance whenever you hear it.’

Roman shakes the thoughts away, he didn’t fall into a trance whenever he heard Janus’ singing, he just found the man… alluring.  

“I was only five when my father died, and I feel like a part of me lies with him~.”

The two of them stop, Roman can’t help but smile. He gestures for Virgil to stay quiet as he pulls his friend to the sound of the singing.

“With a drink in his hand, he bid the world farewell. Such a waste of life on just a little thrill~.”

The two of them hide behind a set of bushes that were nearby, they peek out and see Janus kneeling by the round lake that was hidden from their original path’s view. The smaller man was gathering the water in buckets, setting them aside as he did.

“In my younger days, I never could find a light to guide my way~.”

Roman sighs softly as he stares at Janus, he could never grow tired of looking at this man. Oh, how Roman wishes to one day wake up next to Janus, to one day hold him tight and never let go.

‘ What the hell are you on about!? You can’t hold a man like that!’

Roman smacks the voice down, he was not about to let his father’s teachings disrupt the pleasant fantasy that he was having.

“Why are we hiding here? I thought you wanted to speak to him,” Virgil hisses.

Roman blinks and looks over to his friend, he sighs and goes back to staring at Janus. He should have told Virgil that he could meet Janus another time.

“I know you’re back there, come out and face me like a man you disgusting cretin,” Janus speaks up, not bothering to turn around.

Roman frowns when he notices how tense Janus looks, ‘ Has something happened to you, my sweet angel?’

Both Roman and Virgil move away from the hiding spot, Virgil jumps back when Janus suddenly turns, a knife held tightly in his left hand as his bicolored eyes regard them coldly. Roman frowns as the fight drains from Janus’s body, his shoulders sagging down, the hand holding the knife up drops to his side.

“Oh… It’s… It’s just you, Roman. Good… Who might you be?” Janus asks as he gestures towards Virgil with his free hand, causing the man to flinch slightly.

When Virgil stays quiet, Roman huffs and nudges him slightly, gesturing for him to speak.

“U-Um… Virgil, Mr. Wi- I-I mean, Janus Delvaux,” he stammers, avoiding eye-contact with Janus in fears of the man possibly hypnotizing him.

Roman feels his heart flutter when Janus lets out a chuckle, he watches as the beauty of a man puts his weapon away. Janus offers Virgil a kind smile as he steps forward, his right hand stretched out for him to shake.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Virgil. Please, just call me Janus or even Dee, it’s what old friends of mine used to call me. Are you the same Virgil that deals with those agonizing fits?”

Virgil hesitantly takes Janus’s hand and gives it a small shake, he glances up and offers him a small smile in return.

“Y-Yes… Thank you, by the way for the medicine. Do I… Have to repay you in any way?”

“Yes, you owe me your firstborn son,” Janus deadpans while staring directly into Virgil’s eyes.

The two friends stare at him in shock before Janus breaks down in hysterics, his laughter was loud and boisterous and honestly, it sounded like music to Roman’s ears.

“I’m kidding! Oh, your faces! Ah… No, Virgil, you don’t owe me anything. If you ever need any more just let Roman know and he can tell me. It’s not hard to make so I always have the needed supplies,” Janus explains as he wipes away an imaginary tear.

Virgil laughs nervously and mumbles a thank you before stepping behind Roman, who rolls his eyes at his friend's unnecessary fear.

Roman offers Janus a small smile.

“Anyway, how can I help you fine gentlemen on this beautiful day? Are you in need of something, or did you just fancy a visit to the old witch of the woods?”

Roman frowns.

“You’re not a witch, I refuse to hear it from everyone else, that includes you too, but no, we don’t need anything. We were just on a stroll and we happened to hear your lovely voice,” Roman replies as he tries his best to give his own version of a sauve smirk.

Janus feels his face heat up as he turns away, he kneels back down and returns to filling his last bucket with water.

“Honest, Roman, you’re such a flatterer. Tell me, Virgil, is he always like this, or am I just a lucky man?”

Virgil snorts and shakes his head, “I suppose you’re lucky because usually it’s his brother that’s trying to lay it on thick.”

Roman can’t help but notice how Janus grows tense at the mention of his brother, he frowns.

“Well… His brother must be the real cock of the town, hm?” Janus asks, his voice was tight.

“You could say that, but, Roman we should get going. We had those errands to run for your father remember?”

Roman huffs and rolls his eyes, he looks back at Janus and smiles when he notices the smaller man staring at him with those mismatched eyes.

“I’ll return later, we can sit and catch up.”

Janus watches silently as the two of them walk away, he lets out the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. He turns back to his buckets, these should be enough for his new batches of medicine and a rabbit stew he was planning to cook for supper that night.

“Man, I thought they would never leave!”

Janus tenses up when hears that nasally voice speaks from behind him, he quickly turns around and tries to pull his knife from his pants pocket, only to have the air knocked from his lungs as he’s pushed against a tree.

He grimaces in pain as Remus bangs his left wrist against the tree over and over until he’s forced to drop the knife to the ground.

“There we go! Can’t have you going for a blood sacrifice, now can we?” Remus mocks as he pins Janus’s hands behind his back.

Janus bites back a whimper at the force of which his wrists were being held.

“W-What the hell do you want?” Janus stammers, he mentally curses himself for showing his fear.

Remus hums and tilts his head, a grin breaks out across his face as he leans in close, his lips almost brushing against Janus’s.

“Something I can’t have, daddy always said I was a brat.”

Janus opens his mouth as a means to scream only to have Remus’s tongue shoved down his throat, he squeezes his eyes closed tight and does the only thing he can think of, and that’s to bite down.

Remus pulls back with a yell, blood slipping past his lips, pale green eyes glare at Janus with such an intensity that it causes the smaller man to shudder.

“You’ll fucking pay for that, witch,” Remus hisses as he grabs Janus by his hair causing him to scream out.

“Okay, so maybe he’s not so bad, but that firstborn joke was not funny,” says Virgil as he and Roman make their way back to town.

Roman rolls his eyes and goes to reply, only for a scream to startle them both. He and Virgil turn back and share a look before running towards the scream. They ignore how the low-hanging limbs snatch at them, trying to keep them away from the horrifying sound.

They both come to a stop when they hear the sound of splashing water and sharp gasps for air to their left.

‘ That’s where Janus was!’

Roman is the first to run back to the lake, leaving Virgil there to ponder what was happening before snapping out of it and following his friend.

“Oh, would you look at that! The whore of a witch isn’t fucking sinking, looks like it's the rope for you! Unless you want to make my wound feel better?”

The both of them stop when they hear a familiar nasally voice, the sound of gasping and coughing sounds along with splashing water.

“P-Please, please just leave me alone!” Janus cries.

The sound of water splashing sounds again, accompanied by a scoff.

“Wrong answer, guess I’ll just hold you here until you agree!” Remus exclaims.

Anger courses through Roman as he stomps to where his brother is, he shakes off Virgil when his friend tries to stop him. His anger only burns hotter when he sees the way Janus erratically kicks, hoping to free himself somehow.

Roman rushes over and jerks his brother away, tackling his twin to the ground.

“Ro-Ro! I thought you and Virgie had some errands to run!” Remus exclaims, a bloody grin on his face as he stares up at an irate Roman.

A gasp sounds from behind him as Janus pulls himself up and away from the lake, Roman listens as he struggles to catch his breath, coughing the whole time as he does.

“What the fuck were you doing, Remus? You could have killed him!” Roman yells as he grabs the front of his brother’s shirt.

“It’s what the whore deserves! Besides, why do you care? Unless, you’ve been sneaking around and getting your dick sucked by this pathetic, witch.”

Roman clenches his jaw, his knuckles going white from how tight he was holding onto his brother’s shirt. He wanted to hit him, but Roman knew better. If he were to hit Remus, then he would spin it into something ten times worse to their father, which led Roman onto the man’s bad side.

Roman breathes deeply and stands up, he pulls Remus up as he goes and shoves him towards the direction of the path.

“Get out of here, Remus. Don’t let me catch you around him ever again, you hear me?”

The two brothers stare each other down before the youngest relents with an angry huff, Roman watches as Remus pushes past Virgil.

“I um… I’m going to make sure he actually goes home, you make sure Janus is okay,” says Virgil, his tone meek as he leaves Roman and Janus alone.

The two of them stay silent save for Janus’s labored breathing, Roman sighs and moves to kneel in front of Janus. He gently tilts the smaller man's head back and gazes into his blue and green eyes.

“Are you alright?” Roman asks.

Tears burn in Janus’s eyes, he tries his hardest to keep them at bay only for them to slip past without his permission. A choked sob leaves his shaking form as he throws himself into Roman’s arms.

Roman holds to Janus tightly, ignoring how the water on his body seeped into his clean shirt. Roman cards his hand through the smaller man’s hair and softly shushes him.

“It’s going to be okay… You’re okay, I’ll protect you from him and everyone else…”

‘ I promise…’

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

A/N: owo

~TAGLIST~: @imma-potatoo @feminine-femme

[kylorengarbagedump]

Little Bird: Chapter 25 (NSFW)

Read on AO3. Part 24 here. Part 26 here.

Summary: All right, well, I guess no one's gonna go swimming in that pool, anymore.

Words: 6600

Warnings: cw--a kylorengarbagedump special: tons of graphic violence and gratuitous bloodplay

Characters: Kylo Ren x Handmaid!Reader

A/N: HI, HELLO, what the fuck am I doing! I'd like to give thanks to @faestae and John Wick for this chapter. Without them, I'd be completely fucked. For some reason, I keep writing shit that demonstrates how little I know about writing anything other than sex. Please let me know what you thought! I'm interested to see what people think about this bit.

I love y'all so very much! Thank you for always offering kindness and encouragement. <3

You hadn’t taken your eyes off of your Commander since entering the car, hoping that, if you stared long enough, you’d be able to identify any hint of emotion, any flicker of feeling in his inscrutable expression. But Kylo Ren sat, back against the partition, hands at his sides, a veneer of distance cast over his face. The harder you looked, the further away he seemed--like a void, emptying itself, slowly, of vulnerability. 

“Do you know how long I’ve known your Commander?” said Snoke. You felt his spider-leg gaze crawling over your figure. “Since he was a boy.”

Unsure if you were supposed to respond, you dipped your head in the tiniest nod you could muster.

“And there was a period where he disagreed, you know. With the idea of Gilead. Did you know that?”

Ren was solid, unmoving, staring through the back windshield. He didn’t blink, didn’t twitch. Swallowing, you allowed yourself to peer over at Snoke. He was watching you expectantly.

“Um.” To be fair, you did know that--you just didn’t know to what degree, and for how long. “I didn’t know that, no.”

“Well, it’s true.” His focus drifted back to Ren. “He was so unsure of himself, back then. Couldn’t ever make a decision. Afraid to let himself achieve what he was truly capable of.” A dark, breathy laugh escaped him. “He was so sensitive, so scared.”

There, right below his nose, you saw it--a twinge of muscle.

“But, thankfully, he’s resolved those doubts, now.” A wicked smile twisted through his skin. “Haven’t you, Ren?”

His eyes, like slate, met Snoke’s for a millisecond. “Yes.”

“Yes.” Now Snoke turned his attention to you. “He believes, like I do, in the roles of society. In the order we can provide by enforcing them.” A glance at Ren. “Isn’t that right, boy?”

“Yes.” His back straightened. 

“He agrees with me that Handmaids are one of those unfortunate necessities of society,” Snoke said. “If we had a perfect world, we wouldn’t need you at all.” He shrugged. “For now, both of you have your roles. Separate and equal.” 

Not that nonsense again. It sounded just as repulsive as when it had come out of Ren’s mouth. “I think we’re both more than that.” You peered at your Commander, who observed you with guarded confusion. “More than our roles.”

Snoke’s eyes sparkled with some sick delight. “Really, now.” He looked to Ren. “We have to make sacrifices, don’t we. To ensure our vision survives to the next generation.”

He averted his gaze, nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“You’ve made many sacrifices for Gilead, Ren.” 

Snoke’s hand laid on your knee, squeezing it, red fabric bunching in his skeletal grip. Your throat thickened with fear, your breath stolen. Ren’s chest filled with slow, tense air, his jaw tight. The knife in your sleeve seemed to sear you with its presence--you imagined whipping it out, swiping the button, slamming the blade right into the old man’s wrinkled neck. Instead, you sat there, watching his hand creep higher, your focus switching between his fingers and your Commander.

Do what you wish with it.

If you tried to attack him now, here, in his car, both you and Ren would end up dead. You shoved the urge into the bottom of your brain, chin trembling as the bony excuse for a hand grazed your thigh--Snoke’s eyes were trained on Ren, daring him to move. 

But he did nothing.

A whirr of a winding engine cut through the silence, and Snoke removed his hand--you sagged with relief. He rolled down the window, making a quick motion with his wrist, the limo stopping for a brief moment. Then it pushed forward, past a gated entrance staffed with at least two guards armed with rifles. Fear dug its claws into your chest. 

The limo coasted up a long, winding driveway, up to what you could only define as a mansion, and came to a halt. Snoke glanced at the both of you, popping the door open.

“We’ve arrived,” he said. “Come, now.”

Ren met your eyes for a brief, electric second before he exited the vehicle. Steeling your nerves, you followed, feeling significantly hampered by the rustling of your dress. As you clambered into the sun, you breathed the heavy summer air and glanced over the property.

A white stone gate with the pair of sentries encircled a ring of decorative topiaries, bushels of red flowers poking through the mulched landscape. The driveway looped like a racetrack through the yard, up to the bleached cement plaza that opened to a glittering fountain pond. The center of the fountain was dominated by a marble carving of Jesus on the cross, his head craned toward the sky, water gushing in clear, noisy rivers from his hands and crown. In front of you, the staired entrance led to a grand, columned pavilion that guided you toward the front door, a glass and iron arch with concentric rows of windows radiating out to the walls. 

All of this might have been beautiful, you thought, had you not been a slave, invited with your owner under the pretense of interrogation.

That, and the two guards coming to escort you to the entrance--also armed, of course.

They bookended you in a line--Snoke, Ren, and you--through the front door, into the vaulted foyer, ivory granite floors stretching out into a wide parlor room, light streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Through them, you spied the backyard, complete with a glimmering Tuscan-style pool, enclosed also by that same white stone. And more guards marching in assignment.  

Silent, you kept close to your Commander’s heels as you all climbed the one of the two curved staircases, ascending past an enormous chandelier, tiers of glowing crystal casting flakes of light onto your skin. Despite its warmth, at the last step, you fell cold--there were still more riflemen at the top. The guards ushered you down an empty hall to an open door. They stood at either side of the entrance, and, blood escaping your face, you followed Ren and Snoke inside.

Cherry wood-panelled walls wrapped the oval stone floor, a circular Persian rug rolled out underneath a huge teak desk. It was accompanied by a tall Chesterfield throne upholstered in red leather, two smaller, sister chairs attending the sides. Behind the desk, built-in shelves were lined with heavy, hardbound tomes, all illuminated by two sets of double-necked glass sconces at the two ends of the room.

You stood next to Ren, hands strangling each other as Snoke closed the door and wandered around to the head of his desk. His stride was slow, deliberate, crossing the room like it was slick with molasses. Arriving at his chair, he opened one of the drawers, carding through it before pulling out a folder and plopping it on the flat surface. With precision, he plucked a few pages from it, pushing them forward. 

“Do you remember signing these, Ren?” 

Kylo Ren’s eyes flicked between the paper and his superior. “Yes.”

“Your very first acceptance to the order,” Snoke said, gazing at it. “The evidence of your commitment.” He turned his attention to you. “You said that you think you’re more than your roles. But I know that isn’t the case.”

You cleared your throat, spine straightening. “And I know it is.”

“You’d be wrong,” Snoke said. “Because Kylo Ren is a facade. An identity--a role. Just like yours.” He paused, waiting for Ren to react. He didn’t. “Before he was Kylo Ren, he was a lost, lonely little boy. Always winding up in fights. Parents too busy to care.” 

Ren rolled his tongue along the inside of his teeth, but said nothing.

“But I saw potential in him. Didn’t I, boy?” Snoke offered him a small grin. “I could see the greatness, the cunning, the power you could have.”

“You did,” Ren muttered.

“And this is all you’ve become. Your heart hasn’t hardened. You’re soft. You could never hope to be Kylo Ren.” He sighed, and leered at him. “And I’m disappointed to see that this is the case.”

He was silent, chin raising, stare toward the floor.

“You’re still fighting it, aren’t you?” When he didn’t respond, Snoke’s entire face twisted in a frown. “Answer me, boy.”

“I’m not.”

“No?” Snoke opened the top drawer of his desk and produced a massive silver revolver, tossing it on the desk with a thunk. “Prove it,” he said. “Shoot her.”

Your heart shot between your ears, eyes darting between Snoke, Ren, the gun, Snoke, Ren, the gun, Snoke, Ren, the gun. Kylo Ren was as unreadable as ever--he considered the revolver as if Snoke had thrown down a ballpoint pen. A tiny breath escaped him.

“Everything I’ve done has been for Gilead--my commitment has never wavered--”

“Don’t lie to me, boy!” Snoke’s gaze flashed with barely-leashed rage. “I see how you respond when I touch her, I can feel your weakness for her.”

Ren’s lip twitched. “Weakness. For a Handmaid.” 

“I know your mind, Ren. I know every little thought that goes through your brain. Your impulses are raw, you allow Gilead to suffer under your foolishness. This paper...” He held it up, pointing to the signature--beautiful, loopy letters that read Ben Solo. “The boy that signed it still lives. And he is weak.” 

Snoke pushed off the desk, stalked over to you--before you could even think to move, his hand gnarled in your hair, fingers scraping like screws over your scalp. You whimpered, thinking to scream, to fight, to beg--but worried Snoke would shoot you himself if you did. 

“Show me who you’re meant to be, Kylo Ren.” He ripped you to the floor, shoving you onto your knees near his feet. Then, at the back of your head--something hard. Cold. Another gun. “Or I’ll show you myself.”

In the back of your mind, it seemed strange--for all the scenarios you’d imagined being on your knees in front of your Commander, this had never been one of them. Terror shuddered you, but you stilled the quaking of your flesh, meeting Ren’s eyes, sticking your chin into the air. He stared into you and through you, hooking into your hidden fear, finding himself there. Your chests rose and fell with the same breath, lips parting with the same awful knowledge--there was no scenario where he could save you, no reality where your story could’ve had a different ending. For all of your emptiness, loneliness, wanton need, this was your destiny--two souls, desperate to know the other, denied for every unchangeable reason fate could offer.

Part of you knew that Ren had to kill you. Part of you hoped against hope that, somehow, he wouldn’t.

But then he moved. And he picked up the gun.

“Good,” Snoke said. “Good.”

Ren stepped toward you, face blank, and aimed the revolver until it was inches from your head. You gazed at him, thankful that you’d known relief at least once in the past few years, somehow more thankful that he’d been the one to give it to you. Heat stung your eyes. You wouldn’t cry, not now. You’d wished for death too many times at this point to begrudge its arrival.

“Good choice, my boy,” Snoke said. He jerked your scalp. “Would you like to have a prayer for your last words?”

He scoffed. “What use does a dog have for prayer?”

A hearty chuckle. “Oh, I’m nothing if not a man of God.”

“Last prayer, then.” Ren blinked. “Do what you wish with it.”

In your chest, breath hitched, your pulse flying. The switchblade. Swallowing, you glanced at the floor to Snoke’s foot beside you, then back up, meeting Ren’s eyes. A spark, a crooked crackle of light--you were seeing them, seeing him, seeing yourself, a reflection, an echo, pure resonance in the emptiness of his mind--and in that moment, you knew.

You knew him.

Clearing your throat, you began, “O, Lord Jesus…” 

You pressed your palms together, bowing your head to conceal them as you used the heel of your hand to guide the blade up your sleeve.

“... pour into me the spirit of your love…”

The handle poked through the edge of fabric, the wooden scales cool and smooth. Your tongue was paper, scratching at your mouth.

“... that in the hour of my death…”

With the switchblade fully encased in your hands, your finger dipped to find the safety and flick it free. Perspiration had it slip in your grip, and you flinched for only a second, pinching it tight between your palms. 

“... I may be worthy to vanquish the enemy…”

Your thumb fumbled for the safety, now, finding it behind your sweaty skin.

“... and receive the heavenly crown.”

Pushing it up, you drew a long, deep breath through your nose. Ren cocked his gun. 

“Amen.”

The blade sprung free, and you drove it, a stake, straight into Snoke’s hapless foot. He screamed, his gun clattering to the floor--in that instant, Ren cocked a brow, raised the revolver, and fired. Snoke blew back, blood spattering your crown, a crimson spray cast over the desk, onto Ren’s face, and the body hit the floor behind you with a fleshy thud. 

You blinked, gasping, trembling, too terrified to look behind you, too anxious to not confirm he was dead. A quick peek--a massive crater in the lifeless facade of his skull--and you swallowed, looking to Kylo Ren, without breath, without speech, without pretense. His eyes were wide and wild, his chest heaving with something like excitement--then, outside the study, the guards stirred. 

“Commander Snoke?” one asked.

Ren glanced at the door. His pupils swallowed his irises, and at the corner of his lips, a smirk. He tore off his tie, tossed his suit jacket onto the floor, back and shoulders swelling like mountains underneath his shirt. 

“We’re coming in, sir.”

“Get down,” he muttered as he cocked the gun, aiming it at the door. “Come in.”

You scrambled to the side of the desk and tore off your wings so you could see, curling over your knees, and the door squeaked open. The moment the guard’s head breached the entrance, Ren fired, and you jolted--blood spurted, painting the wall, the body dropped. A second guard flung the door back, rushing Ren before he could reload, but Ren threw his elbow into the man’s chin, wringing his arm around his neck and shoving him to the ground. He drove his heel into the guard’s neck before cocking the gun and blowing a hole through his face.

Heart flying in your chest, you stared at him, mouth open, almost unable to believe what you’d just seen. In the recording, you’d heard Snoke call him a warrior--you just hadn’t known until now what that meant.

“We’re moving.” Ren stalked over and snatched your wrist, but you winced. 

“Hold on!” You tugged away and snagged the switchblade from Snoke’s foot, sheathing it and shoving it back up your sleeve.

“Come.” He grabbed you again, leading you over the leaking lump of the guard and into the hall.

As you breached the threshold and crossed the hall, two guards turned the corner--the ones from the top of the stairs. Kylo Ren shoved you behind him, gunshots spearing your ears, a body falling; then he slammed you against the wall, the trill of wide rifle bullets whizzing by your skull. You screamed, covered your head, and Ren reached out, wresting the barrel of the offending gun and wrenching the guard flush with his chest--he shoved the revolver up to his chin and fired, viscera erupting from the man’s eye sockets and coating you both. 

You gagged, mind whirling--but Ren was crazed, rippling with the heat of exhilaration. He ditched the revolver and tucked the rifle under his arm, shrugging the body off and grabbing you again. Ren hugged you tight to his frame as he marched through the halls; panting, you gazed up at him, futilely trying to process that he had not only murdered his leader, but now apparently planned to gun down the entirety of this estate--when he all he had to do instead was kill you.

He cursed when you reached the steps. A pair of guards was posted at both sets of stairs--and, seeing you, they shouted and charged. Ren’s attention darted between them, landed on the chandelier. He shouldered you back, running forward and leaping from the banister. You squeaked, hands clapping your mouth--but he grappled the chain, feet stumbling over the metal frame as the crystal behemoth swung like a sparkling pendulum in the foyer. The guards hollered, racking their rifles--but Ren fired first.

Using the chandelier like an assassination assistant, Ren pinned the gun to his body and pulled the trigger, spitting a storm of bullets into the staircase, littering pockmarks over the walls. The guards quailed, ducked--Ren jerked the fixture’s chain, rolling his legs down, and he spun, a carousel of death, firing next at the guards climbing the other steps. These two were not so lucky--you caught hot streams of blood splash over the balustrade, and then Ren swung again,  crystals clinking like chimes as the chandelier bowed in wide arcs. Face tight with frenzy, he fired, and you watched the bodies crumple like marionettes and tumble down the stairs.

Bobbing in the air, he cast his gaze around the room, back hunched, an animal starved. You grimaced, crawled forward, gripping the banister, and when he met your eyes, he shifted, making to swing.

“Stop!” came a voice from the back of the home. 

From underneath the balcony, you saw two guards run forward, rifles pointed up--before you could shout, they fired into the ceiling, clouds of crystal fragments spewing into the air. Ren wobbled, dodging with surprising grace, then flung the chandelier back. 

You watched him, lids wide, as he stepped, one foot, another foot, skating over the steel and lurching forward, yanking on the chain like a rope and throwing his legs into the air. His other arm, still occupied with the rifle, swung down, and as he launched himself toward the banister, he fired, sparks snapping, the chain severed. Ren connected with the railing as the chandelier exploded to the floor, crushing the two guards in a splintering spew of metal and glass. Without thinking, you scampered to him, clutching his arms, straining as you helped haul him onto the balcony. He stumbled to his feet and ripped you up by your wrist.

“Commander--”

“Quiet.”

Adrenaline coursed through him into you, absorbed like warmth through your skin. He dragged you down the steps, tossing his current gun and grabbing a new one while you fled over the ragdolled corpses covering your path. In your dress, it was difficult to maneuver, but Ren pulled you through, jaw set firm, ravenous fury dancing in waves from his body. His eyes were focused and feral, a predator, a true, live killer, consumed with a hunger you’d never before seen--not up close. 

He led you toward the front door--beyond the mottled glass, you could spy a pair of guards sneaking close, decked in armor, guns raised. Cursing, he doubled back, your arm popping while he hauled you toward the other end of the home. Then two more guards, also in armor, crept across the pool deck in the same formation, heading toward wherever the back entrance was. Grumbling, Ren tore to the right, wringing you forward--you’d been thrust into a huge kitchen, replete with white quartz countertops and oak cabinetry. You had little time to admire it before he shoved you under the hood of the breakfast nook. Breathless, you pulled your knees to your chest, trying to become as small and unnoticeable as possible.

Slinging the gun over his shoulder, he grabbed two long knives from the butcher block on the counter, sidling up to the wall next to an archway that opened to what appeared like a mudroom. The first sentry peered around the corner, and Kylo Ren snarled, driving the knife through the man’s throat. He choked, gasped, writhing as he fell to the ground, rivers of blood spilling over the floor. The second guard flinched, went to raise his rifle at Ren--but the second of hesitation sealed his fate. Ren jammed his foot into the man’s chest, knocking him onto his back, and stomped his face before shifting the rifle into his hands and ending him with a pop, pop.

Flustered with fear, you made to move--and then spotted that the two guards from the front had made their way into the home, crossing into the kitchen. Before you could warn Ren, one fired, a quick burst, striking him in the side. He roared, crumpling to the floor, a bloom of bright blood staining his side--your body burst with fear, with rage, your mind making decisions without a second of uncertainty. 

As the guards pushed toward Ren, you threw yourself into their path, a human speedbump; they tripped, stumbled over you, over each other, trampling you as they both collapsed to the ground. You craned your neck to see your Commander--he seethed as he stood, punching himself in his wound, each strike punctuated with a furious grunt.

Kylo Ren flipped the free knife into the air, caught it by the handle, and sneered, stabbing one of the guards through the eye--his body jerked, twitched on top of you, and Ren rolled the other man with his foot, aiming his rifle at his exposed face and riddling it with holes. You squealed as his frame jolted with the shots, trying to scramble free--but Ren caught you by the arm again, prying you to your feet. He started toward the back door, but you jerked away--he spun, hair tossed in choppy waves over his face, teeth bared, entire form trembling with the throes of bloodlust.

“The--the front,” you managed to eke out. “You’re injured, let’s get out of here.”

He growled, seizing your wrist and tugging you forward. “We’re not done yet.” 

You swallowed. This was no longer about escaping. It was about revenge.

Led through the mudroom in the wake of his wrath, Ren discarded you to the side of the door and shouldered it open. Two guards stood, anticipating, at the exit, two more chasing around the pool. Your Commander wrapped one of the guards in a headlock, using him as a shield while he surged forward, facing the closest guard while shooting over his arm at the other two. They shook, barraged with bullets, toppling back until they both splashed into the pool, crimson fog weeping into the water. The guard in his grip kicked back, and he faltered--the man closest to him took this as an opportunity to lunge, and smashed into Ren, knocking him and his hostage to the ground.

Chest tightening, you made to move, but hesitated--what would you do? Shoot them? Your brain raced with the possibilities--at this point, you’d picked up a pistol, but you’d never pictured yourself as someone who could end a life. You’d also never pictured yourself as someone who would speak back to the lead Commander of Gilead, get belted over a knee, have her pussy stuffed with a gun, or feel worry for the man who owned her.

That last one caught you by surprise--you weren’t just worried, you were terrified. And not for yourself, but for him. 

Kylo Ren rolled as the other guard approached, his rifle raised--he ducked behind his captive, using him like a barrier and reached down to the man’s side, stealing a handgun from his belt. The other guard went to dodge, but was blasted in the face with two shots, raining blood over the brick patio, crumpling to his knees and smacking the ground. 

Caught in a struggle, Ren went to shoot his final victim through the skull--but the man had already produced a knife from the other side of his belt, and slashed up, ripping Ren across the shoulder and slicing his face. He howled in pain, and the guard took the opportunity to tear himself free, scurrying to his feet, reaching for the gun in Ren’s hand.

Something possessed you--fear, indignity, affection, something--and you dashed through the door, grappled a gun from the corpse closest to you, and cocked it. Maybe, before Gilead, you weren’t a person who could end a life. But now, you were a survivor. And you would be damned if you or your Commander would die here.

Taking the pistol in both hands, you aimed at the guard’s torso. “Hey!” you shouted for absolutely no reason. He glanced over, confused. “Fuck you!”

You pulled the trigger, ears ringing--the bullet nailed his chest, and he staggered, jaw dropped, perhaps wondering if he had really just been shot by a Handmaid. Ren, face smothered scarlet, swung to his feet, swiping the knife from the ground. He snatched the man mid-fall, hoisted him into the air and, snarling, shredded his throat with the blade. A geyser of blood gushed from his neck, bathing Ren in its fever, soaking his shirt, coating the curls of his hair. His shoulders crowded with the desperate cycle of his lungs as he loosened his grip, letting the body hit the ground, crimson bubbles seeping from the wound.

Hands quaking, you lowered your arms, dropped the gun. You couldn’t find your breath, chest fighting for air. Ren turned, eyes tracing the bodies, until finally, they landed on you. Heat hit you, strangled you, wrapped you like wire in a suffocating, powerful, need. Both of you, sprayed with blood, panting, aching--everything you had done, you’d done for the other. His transgressions faded to shadows in your mind. Against every single governmental pillar and logical instinct, you were alive because of him. And you wanted nothing more, now, than to be in his arms.

The word fled your lips, a caged dove. “Kylo…”

Kylo Ren threw down the knife, rushing you, and your feet moved too, carrying you on feathers to him, until your bodies connected, his arms coiling around you, his mouth bruising yours, the taste of iron fresh between your teeth. He was damp with blood, his skin spilled copper into your nose--but despite it all, you groaned, flooded with passion, burning in his embrace. Ren’s tongue drove into your mouth, his hand cupping the back of your head, wetting your hair as he crushed you to his frame. Thighs thrumming with desire, you kissed him back, nipping his lip, threading your fingers through his sticky waves--he moaned, crumbling to his knees, his hold taking you with him. 

“You saved me,” you muttered against his lips. “You saved--”

Ren silenced you with a kiss. “Little bird...” He nibbled the line of your jaw, jerking a fistful of hair and burying his face in it, inhaling deep. “Get these clothes off.”

You shivered. “Yes, sir.”

Keeping his gaze, you gathered the hem of your dress and peeled it over your head, his eyes leaping over every bit of exposed flesh as it was revealed to him. You tossed it and your switchblade to the side, his hands grappling with your hips, sliding up your sides, smearing crimson over your skin. Whimpering, you reached toward your feet, pulling your boots off and throwing them to the side, attempting valiantly to remain kneeling while you inched your underwear down your hips and over your calves. Ren watched, trained on your naked cunt, as you finally flung it behind you.

When you went to begin the arduous task of unhooking your bra, Ren growled, your knees scraping across the pool deck as he yanked you into an impatient kiss. You whined in pain, soothed by his soft lips working yours, new blood from the wound on his face dribbling into your mouths and over your wrestling tongues. He wrested your tits from your bra, dying them red, thumbs skating delight over your stiffening nipples. Moaning, you writhed into his chest, and he gripped your face, nails scraping your scalp while he pulled you closer, groaning into you, leaning--you followed him, chasing his kiss until he was on his back, your legs straddling him, palms planted on his chest.

A soft, anxious breath escaped his throat, and he swirled his tongue over yours before biting your lip and pushing you up, hands settling on your thighs, rocking you back and forth over his thick erection. He watched you, panting in rhythm with you, and you admired him--how fucking beautiful he was, even (or especially) doused in blood--his eyes stark with need, his mouth parted in open anticipation, his muscles tensing as he gripped and squeezed you, jerking his hips into your heat. If he was in any pain at all from the gash on his face or the bullets in his side, it didn’t show--he rolled into you as if he cared for nothing other than the sight of your body over his own. 

“Are you okay?” You placed your hands on his, squeezing them. 

Ren frowned and swatted you off, gathering both wrists behind you in a tight vise. “Interesting question to pose while you’re already grinding onto me.”

You blushed. “I just wanted to make--” 

He shoved two bloodied fingers in your mouth, depressing your tongue, cranking your jaw open. “Ask me again after I’ve fucked that little cunt raw.”

Shuddering, you clenched, and nodded.

“There we go.” He released your tongue, popping your wrists back--your tits swayed from the movement, and he hummed in satisfaction, kneading and groping at the flesh, teasing your nipples. “You’re gorgeous…”

“Oh…” Submerged in desire, you could barely process his words. He twitched underneath you, drawing another spasm from your core. “Kylo…”

He sucked in air through his teeth, digging his fingers into your breast. “You want my cock? Hm?” He reached down, brushed his thumb over your clit, and you whined. “You want me inside you, slut?”

“Fuck,” you whispered. “Fuck, yes, please.”

“Good girl…” 

Ren kept his grip on your wrists, working at his pants until he’d managed to pull his long, heavy cock free. You ached at the sight of it, wanting to slide it between your folds, feel it pulse inside you, bask in its swollen heat. Ren slapped it against you and shifted his hips, pushing you higher, hand stroking his length as he guided it to your entrance. Stoked on adrenaline, on some sort of intoxicating infatuation, you were wet and wanting and warm with need--you sank onto him, crying out when he broke you open, letting him drive deep into your belly. 

“God,” you hissed, “you feel so good…”

He throbbed at the base, rutting up into you and popping your wrists again. “Shh.” His free hand clutched your hip. “I’ll tell you when to speak, little bird,” he muttered. “Be quiet and take this cock.”

Ren’s strength overwhelmed you--he slammed you from below, fucking up into you, forcing gasps and squeals from your lungs. Bliss blazed through your blood as the force of his thrusts throttled you, body quaking, breasts bouncing. His face was screwed in a twist of lust and effort, lip furled, strangled growls escaping his chest--he pumped hard, fast, pinching you in his hands as his own pleasure built. 

“Fuck,” he growled, “that’s right--do you like that?”

“Yes…” The words were as unfiltered as you were. “I love it…”

“Good--good girl.” His stare devoured you while you rode him. “So beautiful… so perfect…” A hand glided up your side, cupping one of your tits. “And all mine…” He grunted, punished you with a particularly hard thrust--you yelped. “Say it.”

A twinge in your heart, distant and irritating. “But I--”

He yanked your wrists, straining your shoulders, branding a bruise into your breast with his fingers. “Say it.” His pace switched, and he rammed your cunt with brutal, deep strokes, striking your cervix with white streaks of pain. “You’re mine.”

“Kylo--”

Ren seethed, throwing you off of him and onto your back, wincing when he loomed over you, and he pounded his side, hissing in pain. Your eyes widened--in seconds, he’d spiraled into mania, his face wrought with possessive fervor while his fist pummeled his wound. If he’d looked beautiful before, now it was sinful: dark hair matted in messy clumps around his crown, his brow drawn in focus, his shirt, torn from the knife, flopping over to reveal his bare chest, showered with blood. He peeled your legs wide, ankles in his fists as he lifted your ass from the ground--and, sneering, he split you, cock cleaving your cunt. In pleasure, you sobbed. 

“Fuck,” he growled again. “You’re so fucking tight…” Ren started fucking into you, slipping in to the hilt, hips hitting yours with loud slaps. “You feel so good around my cock…”

Whinging, you lolled your head on the deck-- his words sent a torrent of yearning through your flesh, and your clit screeched for attention, but part of you knew that touching it yourself would deny you release altogether. So you stared at him, chin tucked to your chest, each stroke bringing new, desperate breath to your lungs as your back scratched the smooth stone underneath you. 

“Nothing to stop me,” he said, “nothing to keep me from you.” He jerked you closer, and you wailed from the depth of his thrusts. “You’re going to be mine…”

“Kylo--”

“No,” he hissed. “Say it.” He propped one of your legs on his shoulder, his hand diving between your legs to rub your clit, covering it in blood--you cried out, clenching, convulsing, pleasure creeping into your vision. “Say you want to be mine.”

The earth turned beneath you. Everything, all of it had been for you, but not in the way that you had hoped. No, it had been to alter the universe to his own whims, to construct a galaxy where he could possess you, keep you, trap you in a tiny, wire cage. His little bird. 

You wouldn’t accept that--not after today. You couldn’t.

“Only if--ah--you’re mine, too,” you replied. “I can’t just be yours! You--you have to be mine!” 

“What have I told you?” Ren groaned, deep and low. “If that’s what you want…” He gathered some of the blood from his face onto his thumb. “Then you’ll want for nothing.” He slicked your clit while he fucked you, the fluid warm and wet and spinning you to the height of euphoria. “Say it.”

“I’m--I’m yours!” You shut your lids, awash in the elated reality of his admission. “I’m yours, Kylo!”

“Cum then,” he ordered, “cum on this fucking cock...”

You were drawn and quartered by ecstasy, spine arcing toward the sky as your core clamped his dick, limbs shuddering with the waves of your epinephrine-injected climax. Ren growled, leaning over you to hammer into your cunt, strangling his groan as he poured his cum into you, rolling his hips until he was empty--empty of rage, lust, and energy.

Swallowing, you heaved, eyes fluttering open, seeking out your Commander’s gaze. Not that his position mattered, in this hazy purgatory of existence. In this moment, the laws and regulations of Gilead didn’t apply to you and Ren. You’d defied them, destroyed them all. Together. 

Something, some emotion you’d wrestled into submission so many times before slithered out of its grave--like hope, but more poignant, more powerful, not just the faith that you could survive. No, it was the dream that you could thrive, that Gilead would crumble underneath both of your feet, that--maybe--you could take a canvas and paint a future with him in it. 

Locking eyes, you spied it there, too, beyond the lowered shield of his anger: a mirror of your mind. His hand fell between your breasts, his lip quivering, fingers skimming down your sensitive, starlight skin. How long you laid there, you weren’t sure, but it was after his soft cock had slipped out of you, after your breath had leveled. Sweat glazed you both. 

“Why did you do it?” you asked, finally. You fumbled for his hand, laid yours over it.

Ren paused, staring at the image of your hand--so much smaller--wrapped around his, analyzing it in his mind like a puzzle.  His jaw tensed, and he pulled away. A piece of your heart wilted.

“I told you,” he said, beginning to adjust himself to decency. “Gilead is flawed. My vision will perfect it.” He met your eyes. “You’ll be mine. And you’ll want for nothing.”

“But…” You narrowed your lids. “You’re mine, too, then.”

“I am.” He stood, gazing over the carnage of the yard--the bodies, the blood, the dyed-red water--all of it turning rancid in the summer heat. “Your Commander.” 

There it was. The mallet of his intention, shattering your dreams to disasters. It was as if you had been thrust into the pool yourself, drenched in cold, icy admonishment. How stupid, how foolish were you to imagine that Kylo Ren could consider bringing Gilead down? How short-sighted had you been to believe, for one moment, that he would ever renounce his ownership of you? How horrible, how awful were you that the tiniest, most foolish part of you wanted to accept this--agree to his terms, as long as he’d stay, somewhere, in that canvas.

He held out his hand. “Come.”

Shaking your head, you grabbed your underwear and pulled it on. It seemed silly, getting dressed when half of your clothing would be muddied with blood. You glanced up at him, mapping the wounds in his body. He was hunched, but not hampered. 

“Are you really okay?” 

Ren still had his hand extended. “Yes.”

You frowned, slapped it away. His eye twitched, attention switching between you and his hand--and, to your surprise, he shoved it in his pocket. You grabbed your dress, tugged it on.

“Continue getting dressed,” he said. “I’ll contact my men and tell them--”

“Hello? Who’s out there?”

The voice, tight with fear, froze you both--Ren’s fists clenched, your heart falling somewhere into your ass. From inside the mudroom, a young woman cloaked in blue emerged, and you recognized her immediately. Snoke’s robot, er, Wife. Christine. She hadn’t spoken once at the dinner. 

Between the gloves, the hat, the heeled shoes, it was obvious she was just now returning home. As she surveyed the yard, her gaze fuzzied, and she tumbled into the threshold. Neither you nor Ren made a move to help her.

“What… what happened here?”

It was a fair question. But admitting you’d both participated in a coup likely wouldn’t go over well. You weren’t sure what Ren’s plan was, but you knew the Eyes could have you both killed if they learned this had been your doing.

“Commander Snoke is dead,” Ren said. “I killed--”

“The guard,” you said, glaring at him. “He killed the guard who killed Commander Snoke. After that, the entire place went up.” Looking back at her, you gestured to Ren. “You need to call an ambulance, he’s been injured.”

Christine, appearing dizzy, pushed off of the doorframe and nodded. “I’ll… I’ll get help. Just…” She waved her hands in circles. “Don’t move.”

With that, she stumbled into the home, the click of her heels growing distant. 

You sneered at Ren, pulling on your boots and stuffing the switchblade in your sleeve. “You’re welcome.”

He watched you as you stood, said nothing for a moment--a twitch of pain crossed his face. “When I’m taken to the hospital, you’ll be questioned,” he said. “Say nothing. I will handle this. And when you get home, bathe and get into bed.” His eyes raked over you. “Do you understand?”

You nodded. “Yes, Kylo. I do.”

Ren exhaled, drinking you in. “I’m going to contact my men before the ambulance arrives. They’ll have work to do here.” He reached out and cupped your face. “Be good, little bird.” He patted you on the cheek, and walked into the home. 

[enby-hawke]

Chapter 6 Summary: Malcolm and Leandra finally have the night to themselves or do they.

Warnings: Racism, Mageism, Gamlen’s an asshole, and songs

Word Count:10,037

A03:

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Malcolm was nervous, gut-nervous, like he’d just come from a Fade jump and his stomach was still doing all the roller coaster flips, threatening to empty out his hard-earned dinner. It didn’t help that the mountains of half-eaten food piled in the dumpsters were starting to turn along with the pungent aroma of the fish stew that gave the alley a rather wet smell. He couldn’t help but feel that this was a terrible place to meet Leandra. This held none of the grandeur of the Palace, the walls defaced with graffiti that had yet to be painted over. And since no one important usually came back here, they wouldn’t bother to for a while. The dumpsters were leaking what Malcolm hoped was just leftover soup, still dripping and draining down the gutter into the sewers below. Hardly romantic.

As the minutes dragged on he made wet tracks into haphazard circles as he found new anxieties that weren’t there before, seeds of doubt cracking into his confidence. What if he was not worthy of her? It wasn’t that he was an elf, though that difference did come to the forefront of his mind often, but what could he possibly offer her to sway her from the lover that already claimed her. He was a mage in the Circle, which meant he had no means to provide for her. He couldn’t compete with the wealth of a billionaire, couldn’t take her to the finest restaurants in Kirkwall to sample cuisines from far lands, couldn’t woo her with expensive gifts like bouquets or beautiful jewelry. He couldn’t even afford the suit the Circle loaned him. Would this night be all he had? Would she have her fun with him and go back to her wealthy fiance, and live her charmed life, and leave him with a broken heart?

And she would break him. He could feel it. He would spend the rest of his days aching for a taste of her lips. His hand clenched and unclenched, feeling so empty without her hand. He clenched it once more and punched the wall, the pain of the brick against his knuckles enough to shock him back to his senses. “You are not a coward!” he growled at himself.

But the seed of doubt rooted deeper. What if this is all she wants from him? A good time. A new experience. What if she didn’t see him as a man willing to love her but some plaything?

The door opened behind him and Malcolm wouldn’t say he jumped, but his feet definitely left the pavement. He straightened himself out to hear the alley suddenly echoing with a bounding argument broiling between Leandra and another man who looked similar to her in the way their scowls matched, but his eyes were not starry black but a shocking blue against his tawny beige skin.

“I’m telling you this is a bad idea. Now let’s go home before we’re caught.”

Leandra snarled, her face more akin to a warrior than a prim noblewoman. “Oh, please, you’re lecturing me?” she snapped her hand back from his muscled grip. “I thought you’d be more supportive considering all the times I’ve covered for you and Mara.”

Another woman in a red dress the same color as the man’s suit followed close behind, trying to keep the two of them apart, but it wasn’t working. Her cat eyes were pulled in a glare as she stayed close to Leandra’s heel. “Gamlen, for Maker’s sake give it a rest.”

Malcolm didn’t know who this man was to Leandra, but he didn’t like how handsy he was being, jerking her arm this way and that in forceful attempts to get her to follow, and Malcolm’s temper quickly snapped as he raced forward to defend Leandra.

“Hey, what’s your problem, asshole?” He balled his fists, rolling up his sleeves as he glowered up to the taller man, knowing he couldn’t use magic but he reckoned he could bet his Ferelden pride he could throw a better punch than a prissy Kirkwall nobleman.

The man looked down at the shorter elf’s stature and snorted, utterly unimpressed as if a kid had challenged him. “Run off, rabbit, this doesn’t concern you.”

Malcolm snarled ready to swing but Leandra instinctively put herself as a shield between the two men, “Malcolm, wait!”

Malcolm pulled himself back from the momentum, almost tripping over himself as he tried to veer direction. He was dazed in that moment, off-balance first by the sudden realization that this was the very first time she had ever said his name. He was so puzzled about how she even managed to remember it with dream fog he almost didn’t realize Carver had just walked through the door and had witnessed most of the exchange.

Carver walked up to Malcolm and pulled him back with force so Leandra, the man and he were now a good distance apart. “What are you doing starting fights?”

“Did I start a fight?” Malcolm shook himself back to reality, a new glare settling at the man who was holding Leandra’s wrist hostage. “Or did he?”

“Yeah, Gamlen, what’s your fucking problem?” the woman marched up beside Leandra as if to protect her.

Malcolm was about to say something else when Carver slapped the back of Malcolm’s head, not hard enough to hurt but the metal of his gauntlet still made a satisfying thwack. “Use your head. This is not some Circle brawl where you’ll get detention. Assaulting a nobleman has real consequences, Malcolm.”

The pushy man made a satisfied smirk at being defended, before it quickly dropped. “Wait, this is Malcolm?”

Malcolm’s ears twitched, not liking the accusatory way he used his name.

Leandra looked at the man as if she was pleading him not to say whatever was about to come out but still he just gawked at Leandra as he pointed at Malcolm with the force of a smack. “Are you kidding me? He’s an elf!? Are you trying to kill Mom and Dad?”

And there it was, the metaphorical elephant in the room that had plagued Malcolm’s thoughts had been spoken aloud and was staring him in the face. So this man was her brother. How unfortunate. He could see the resemblance now in the shape of their eyes and flat of their noses, and Malcolm suddenly felt self-conscious. Already her family disapproved of him, and he didn’t realize how badly he wanted their approval until now, but he knew how ridiculous it was to even have the expectation. He knew the raw ugly truth about how people would look at their relationship, but he wasn’t looking at her brother’s grimace, but at Leandra.

Her shoulders snapped back as her fury exploded like cannon. “When did you ever care what Mom and Dad think!?”

The other woman also didn’t look pleased with Gamlen’s confession. “Did you forget my grandfather is an elf?”

“Mara…” Gamlen sputtered. “It’s not the same. That’s your grandfather. You’re practically human.”

Mara’s smile turned chilly as she cocked her head at the statement, squinting her eyes. “Am I?”

The man sputtered again as Malcolm crossed his arms and rocked back on his heels thoroughly enjoying himself now. The man seemed to understand that this was the wrong answer but from the look of his face everyone could tell he was confused about why. “I mean…it’s not only that. He’s a mage, too.”

“And we have family that are mages,” Leandra countered.

His head was turtling into his shoulders as the two women stared him down with equally withering glares, but still Gamlen pleaded at them to listen. “Think this through, Leandra. You’re practically married. Do I have to remind you tonight was literally your Betrothal Ball. Think of how selfish you’re being.”

Leandra was tiny for a human woman but she had the ferocity of a warrior when she was angry, and it spilled out in a gushing tsunami at the accusation of being selfish. She shoved the other man off of her. “I supported you!” she cried and then shoved again, “had your back against mom and dad at every turn, and now I’m supposed to self-sacrifice and play good child so you can do whatever you want?” Gamlen balked at every shove, not expecting Leandra to fight back so fiercely, and he held her wrists as she attempted to hit him in the face but she was much too short to get a good swing so she started jabbing her heels into his legs. “When is it my turn? When do I get to be happy?”

Malcolm covered his mouth in amusement as the tiny woman beat back her brother with shorthanded swipes looking oddly like a housecat trying to beat back a confused crocodile. Her temper was beautiful, like the oncoming rage of a storm, leaving him in awe of her.

At the sound of Malcolm’s laughter she dropped her shoulders suddenly looking sheepish.

“Oh don’t stop on my account,” Malcolm grinned at her. “I’m enjoying the show.”

She looked at Malcolm with wide eyes suddenly uncertain and shy and she tucked a loose strand of hair that had come undone behind her ear, trying to look prim again. 

Malcolm was disappointed. He would have liked to see at least one more kick.

“I like Malcolm,” she announced, not quite able to meet Malcolm’s gaze though her voice remained steady. 

Malcolm blinked a couple of times unsure he had heard right, but then she marched up to Malcolm and picked up his freckled hand like it was the most precious thing in the world. “I want to explore what that this means,” then she glared back at her brother over her shoulder. “So can you kindly butt out?”

Malcolm didn’t mean for a laugh to escape. Maybe he was relieved to hear her say that. Maybe it was because that furious expression didn’t quite match her soft personality. And then her anger softened into a shy smile when he squeezed her hand in silent thanks, her whole demeanor suddenly demure again.

Malcolm could see the man confused, as if he didn’t expect her to take such a strong stand.

Leandra ignored her brother, her attention only on Malcolm. “I’m so sorry. I hope my idiot brother didn’t spoil our night.”

The smile that was already on his lips pulled wider. Our night.

She then glared at her brother. “He won’t join us.”

“Fine!” Gamlen barked. He snapped his fingers. “Mara, we’re leaving.”

Mara snorted. “You sure? Cause I think I’m going with Leandra, tonight.”

Gamlen narrowed his eyes, his voice taking on an edge of possessiveness. “Mara, we’re publicly together now. I know we don’t always agree but you’re supposed to be on my side, not Leandra’s.”

Mara laughed which seemed to confuse Gamlen and she took Leandra’s other arm and wrapped herself around her. “You’re just my boyfriend. Leandra’s my best friend. Get the hierarchy?”

Leandra looked utterly disappointed in Gamlen. “Need a shovel for the hole you’re digging?”

This time Carver joined Malcolm’s laughter. He had been standing silent the whole time, making sure Malcolm’s temper didn’t get away with him again, and he didn’t bother to hide his amusement as he met Malcolm’s gaze. “She’s a keeper,” Carver nodded approvingly, earning a pleased but flustered blush from Leandra.

Gamlen turned his scrutiny on Carver. “Aren’t you a templar? What are you doing letting this mage off his leash?”

Malcolm bristled at that, but Carver just placed a hand on Malcolm’s shoulder, a squeeze reminding him to behave. Still, it was a friendly enough gesture that Gamlen seemed uneasy by it, as if he wasn’t sure what to make of this dynamic. “It may be a long leash, but believe me, there’s still a leash.”

Malcolm grunted at that, hating how true his words were, but Carver continued, “I know you have your doubts about mages, and I know fully the dangers that magic can bring, but Malcolm has opened my eyes many times to the wonders magic can bring.” He let his hand drop from Malcolm’s shoulder but didn’t lower his proud gaze. “He is a good man, a better man than many who serve under me and I’m proud to call him a friend.”

He had never heard Carver talk about him in such a way so to hear him come to his defense made him swallow a lump that suddenly crept up his throat like a frog, but it was apparent that Carver’s pretty words were not swaying Gamlen, though he looked like he was losing some of the fight out of him once he realized that he had no ally to turn to. So he resulted in sulking, hunching his shoulders and jutting out his lip which made him look like a mannish baby. “This is still a bad idea.”

Leandra nodded. “Noted. And ignored.”

“Then I’m coming with you,” Gamlen argued. “If only because someone needs to watch out for you tonight. He’s clearly got you under some sort of spell.”

Malcolm’s shoulders raised at the accusation. Gamlen was glaring at their intertwined hands with a sneer he couldn’t contain like she was touching a dirty animal. He was suddenly overcome with the overwhelming feeling like he would taint Leandra. Stories about how mages seduced their lovers by altering their minds with blood magic or how elven men tricked and stole the innocence of naive human women recounted in his head and though he thought he would have some sort of reply to that he found the words caught in his throat. Instead he held back a tremble as he struggled not to act on his temper and punch the man senseless, only to prove that he didn’t need a spell to rub that sneer off his face. But then even that was a trap, for it would only prove that he was uncivilized as the humans claimed elves to be even if humans never seemed to show much civilization.

There was no way he’d last the night.

Leandra glared. “As if! You’re being a real ass.”

“Well, how are you going to stop me?” the man’s voice took on a childish challenging tone as he dug in his heels.

Leandra groaned, knowing her stubborn brother wouldn’t take no for an answer. What brought on this bought of overbearing protectiveness she didn’t know, but she wanted to spend the night getting to know Malcolm, not bickering with her little brother.

“Fine, but if you say anymore idiotic things to Malcolm I won’t hesitate to knee you in the balls,” she huffed as she started dragging Malcolm and Mara around her annoying brother. “And you're taking your own cab!” she added with a snap.

They started marching out of the alleyway and out into the street where they found that the place was swarming with Guard and Templar cars in flashing red white and blue lights bathing the streets in headlights so that they all seemed exposed and Leandra froze at the thought of suddenly being caught and marched back to her parents.

“Follow me,” Carver spoke from behind them, and then marched past them as if there was nothing amiss about what they were doing.

Leandra dropped Malcolm’s hand and put some distance between them at the sight of the crowd that clearly saw them. Malcolm’s stomach dropped in disappointment. Though he knew an elf and a human holding hands would only invite more stares it didn’t keep his heart from aching, wishing just for a moment that he was human so that she wouldn’t let go.

The templars and guards glided around them without notice all seeming to have their own agendas and orders to carry out. There were news vans swarming the front of the Palace trying to make sense of what was happening and they took great care not to get in their line of sight.

Malcolm had a sinking feeling as he followed Carver, thinking that he’d return to his duties and let him have some peace with Leandra. Well, he and Leandra’s friend, who invited herself, but he knew the hierarchy. As they approached an armored vehicle with reinforced wheels and a red Chantry sun impaled a sword, the symbol of the templars, Malcolm realized another was joining the night. It seemed his leash was shorter than he thought, tonight.

Carver opened the door gesturing for the ladies to go in with a respectful bow.

Mara’s eyes gleamed in mischief as she inspected the back of the templar’s car, the armored barriers seeming more fit to housing dangerous apostates than escorting Kirkwall nobility. “Are we in trouble, Officer?”

Carver’s eyes crinkled in a smile but his face remained neutral. “Simply making sure you all get home safely.”

Mara bounced into the backseat. “This standard?”

“Perfectly,” Carver allowed a small smile.

Leandra, too jittery with all the people about quickly ducked behind Mara without a word, grateful to be out of sight.

Carver blocked Gamlen’s push forward so Malcolm could snag the seat next to Leandra and shut the door behind him.

Gamlen scowled, trying to look intimidating but Carver had a few inches in him and was in full armor and gear and didn’t bother to even look in Gamlen’s direction as he got into the driver’s seat and slammed the door.

Gamlen tried to get into the passenger’s seat but he found that it had been locked. Gamlen pounded on the tinted window demanding to be let in.

Carver rolled down the window only enough so Gamlen could hear him say, “I thought the lady told you to get your own cab.”

Gamlen’s face went slack with shock, his blue eyes glassy as he was not able to process what was happening. He could hear Mara and Gamlen’s laughter peeling out from the window, mocking him.

Even Leandra barked out a short laugh before she clapped a hand over her mouth, burning in shame. “That is not necessary, Lord Carver.”

But Carver was already pulling off from the sidewalk, a shellshocked Gamlen watching as they left him at the curb.

There was a satisfied smirk on his lips that no one else could see. “The silence might give him some time to reflect on what he said.”

But it seemed like silence wasn’t what Gamlen wanted. Mara’s phone started to ring, Gamlen’s ringtone, which was a high stringed addictive pop song that filled the cabin.

“With a taste of your lips I’m on a ride.”

Mara sighed raggedly knowing the tantrum that was sure to come. She clicked the button to answer, cutting the music and with a curt voice she said, “I’m not interested in anything but an apology.”

“Apology!?” his voice boomed loud enough from the speaker. “You should apologize. You ditched me and laughed!”

“That’s right,” Mara confirmed in a sing-song voice. “You’re being a hypocrite.”

“Mara-”

But she quickly cut him off with a snarl that was unlike her, “I’m turning off my phone. Maybe if I’m in a good mood I’ll text you where we’re at.”

Then she cut off the rest of his tirade by ending the call and did just that.

She then threw her head back in her seat, her face reddening as she muttered a string of curses under her breath.

Leandra looked at her friend feeling torn. On one hand she couldn’t excuse her brother but she felt her heart ache at what she thought might be the end of their relationship. She knew her brother was better than this and she hoped that somehow he’d find a way to fix this. Still she felt shame like somehow it was her fault the whole wonderful night had been left uncomfortable. “I’m sorry,” she said guiltily.

She found Malcolm touching her hand, unsure if the gesture was welcome, but just his hand being close made her fingers wrap around them to keep him there, hoping Malcolm didn’t think less of her. 

“It’s not the worst thing I’ve heard. They get more creative in the Circle,” he said it like a joke, but there was tenseness in the admission.

Leandra didn’t like the thought of that. She knew what her brother said was ugly, and yet to know it was not the worst experience he’d had made her squeeze his hand, the words to comfort him failing her.

“So I’m curious,” Mara’s voice cut between them. She leaned forward so Carver could hear her better through the bars that separated them. “How does a templar and a mage get so chummy?” There was mischief in her curiosity and Malcolm couldn’t help but feel like Mara was scrutinizing him, judging his every move, but unlike Gamlen, she seemed to have not come to a conclusion yet.

“Carver’s not a prick,” Malcolm explained which brought delighted laughter from Carver, a soothing sound like water bubbling over a brook.

“It’s easy to be friends with Malcolm, as long as you can handle some honesty,” Carver echoed back.

“Have you been friends for a long time?” Leandra asked.

“I watched him grow up,” Carver answered as he wove through the streets of Hightown. “He’s always been a bit of a scamp.”

Mara’s eyes lit up. “Ooooh then you’re the one to ask for all the juicy details.”

Malcolm suddenly felt uneasy, not sure exactly what Carver would share.

“That’s true,” Carver admitted freely. “I do have a few stories, but I’ll let you get to know him yourself. I plan to mostly stay out of the way tonight and let you all enjoy yourselves.”

Malcolm found himself sighing in relief. Carver was a true friend.

Mara started leaning on Leandra as she gazed at Malcolm, and he felt strangely like she was a cat and he was her new toy. “So who are you Dream Guy?”

Malcolm found the nickname brought a smile to his lips, especially with the way Leandra was reddening.

“Just an elf from Ferelden,” Malcolm summarized. “Not anyone special.”

“Ferelden?” Leandra asked. “You’re far from home.”

Malcolm nodded grimly. The homesickness burrowed in his gut. The food at the ball was delicious, but he found he missed his mother’s cooking, lechon at Satinalia, pancet at celebrations, adobo, dinuguan, even lumpia. Being a lone elven Ferelden in a Marcher state that kissed Orlais ass with the rest of the world was terribly isolating. It almost seemed fitting that it was an Orlesian that claimed Leandra. They claimed everything Malcolm knew.

Leandra seemed keen to know more. “What about your mom and dad?”

“My mom’s might be somewhere in Ferelden. I haven’t seen her since I was taken by the templars when I was 8.” Admitting this so freely felt odd to Malcolm. They weren’t exactly secrets but he kept his memories close to his heart, but Leandra wanted to know. “I don’t even know if she’s alive.”

Leandra could sense there was more to the story. Malcolm’s eyes were far away, watching the lights of Hightown’s neon bathing his dark skin in a heavenly glow.

“You don’t know what happened to her?”

“I mean when I was in Ferelden’s Circle I got a letter or two, but…” Malcolm sucked in a breath not admitting how the templars took those, too. “Nothing since Kirkwall.”

Leandra stroked his thumb with hers. “What about your father?”

At the mention of his father Malcolm’s whole body went rigid and his breathing got shallow. “Better off forgotten,” he muttered as he stared dully at the window.

The high cityscapes of Hightown receded into the bridge that was thankfully not filled with the usual traffic at midnight. Malcolm’s eyes were far away as his eyes passed over the neon marketing sign and art and competing billboards that seemed to permeate every corner. Kirkwall was a loud city, even at night, but the city seemed to be holding its breath. The high-tech architecture that was just on the other side of the bridge seemed to just die off into the archaic city of Lowtown. There were still ads and graffiti and neon signs on every street, but Kirkwall elite had not seen a purpose of modernizing most of Lowtown, except for the subway system that most of the inhabitants used for travel, so that the sounds of trains running through tracks was a constant echo across the stone. The snaking networks wound through the city but stopped at the bridge that connected Hightown. Lowtown only had so many major streets, the main one connecting to the Lowtown market where shops were piled on top of each other like shoeboxes, mimicking the cityscapes of Hightown but with the grace of a graffiti-filled dumpster. The city cleaners didn’t extend to Lowtown so debris covered the street, the car dipping into the cracks of the concrete and swerving to avoid potholes.

Leandra wanted to know him, but it seemed that poking at him only brought up painful memories, and it was already a painful night. She had no idea how she could even fathom what he went through. He was always carefree and smiling, but now he looked brittle, like he would break if she pressed him too far.

So she tried to change gears. “I have family in the Circle.”

“Oh?” That made Malcolm perk up, curiosity in his golden eyes, and his shoulders relaxed as he realized the interrogation was over.

“A niece in Ostwick, a nephew in Markham, and another nephew in Kirkwall.”

Malcolm seemed much happier to continue this conversation. “What a small world,” he hummed in amusement. “Well tell me about the one in Kirkwall. I might have met him already.”

Leandra was pleased that he wanted to know her family. “His name’s Isaac. He only came to the Circle last year around spring.”

Malcolm placed his free hand on his chin as his eyes reached up into his skull as he tried to summon a face. “Isaac…Isaac…” The name sounded familiar. “Wait does he like to make a lot of truck noises?”

“Yes!” Leandra jumped in her seat in excitement and then blushed when Mara snickered.

Malcolm smiled as he recalled the little guy, suddenly seeing the family resemblance in their eyes. He had life just like Leandra did. “We call him Lil’ Garbage Man. He’s the funniest dude.”

Leandra shook her head though a smile was on her face thinking of how horrified her Mother would be at the nickname.

“You call my nephew Lil’ Garbage Man? Why?”

“Cause he makes garbage truck noises when he busses people’s trays. Dude seems to have a blast doing it.”

Leandra laughed imagining the look on her parent’s face if they had heard that. “My nephew is bussing people’s trays?”

“Isaac is helpful and compassionate. He might be a little odd to people but he has a very good heart,” Carver’s voice came from the bars. “In fact, if you would like to see him, I think I may be able to arrange that.”

Leandra’s eyes widened pouncing on the chance. “Can you? I haven’t seen him since he was taken.”

“I’ll add you to the allowed visitors list in Isaac’s file. It shouldn’t be a problem,” Carver’s voice was steady and comforting, like a sturdy oak giving shade. “You’ll still need to come after Mass. There’s no way around that.”

Leandra felt positively giddy. She had tried to get on the visitor’s list before but Chantry policy only allowed immediate family members. The bastard father who abandoned him had more rights to see Isaac than she did, and she had given up on that cause for the moment but to just be offered as a gift was more than she had words for. She found grateful tears prick her eyes. “Bless you, Lord Carver.”

Carver chuckled. “I think at this point you may just call me Carver. At least in private.”

Leandra wiped her eyes before the tears could fall. “Do you think I can smuggle in a gift?”

Carver hummed on his answer noncommittally. “Toys will be taken if he’s not careful to hide them.” But he didn’t say no.

Leandra considered this as she brainstormed what she could bring. Nothing too big. It had to fit in her purse.

Before they knew it Carver pulled up to what looked like a ratty old bar. It was originally called The Caged Canary, but half the light bulbs were burnt out so it spelled Cage Cry with the ‘The’ blinking in and out.

Malcolm chuckled. “Here?” he asked Carver.

“It’s private and she liked your singing,” Carver replied. Malcolm could hear the smirk in his voice.

Leandra looked at the bar that had so many flyers plastered on the wall it looked like a Chantry board. There was graffiti layered upon layer, sometimes over the flyers, some beautiful mosaics and art pieces of colors. Birds behind bars seemed to be a theme throughout the patterns. It was a chaotic sort of art, the kind that would make her parents sneer, but Leandra found it beautiful, the many hands working together to make something so utterly unique, like a thousand memories cased in time speaking at once. “What is this place?” she found herself asking Malcolm as Mara started shuffling out of the car.

“A karaoke bar,” Malcolm said nonchalantly as he watched Leandra’s face which quickly drained of color.

She froze in the car as if she wasn’t sure she wanted to leave. “Oh, no, I’m better at playing the lute than singing,” Leandra blubbered, suddenly mortified at the thought of making a fool of herself in public.

Malcolm grinned. “Karaoke is not about sounding good, it’s about having fun.”

“Well, no one’s going to have fun once they hear me sing,” Leandra protested.

Mara peeked in the car from the other side, ganging up on her with Malcolm with a conspiratorial grin. “You should do more things you’re not good at, my lady. It will be good for you.”

Leandra pouted as Malcolm offered his hand to help her out of the car. She reluctantly took it, knowing once she did there was no going back.

Carver started pulling out his phone as he approached the group. “The address is 369 Copper Avenue if you would like to invite your brother,” he looked at Leandra as he said this and she was already pulling out her phone to text the details.

Then Carver’s eyes slid to Malcolm as he fished out his wallet and pulled out a sovereign bill and handed it to him.

Malcolm resented being handed money like a kid but it wasn’t like he was allowed to have money like a normal person. That didn’t stop him from finding his ways, but he hadn’t expected to go on a date tonight and didn’t bring anything with him. So he took the bill feeling like a teenager being chaperoned on his first date.

“I need to make a phone call. You can go ahead and order a round of drinks with the booth.”

Maker, at least he could drink. “You going to join us?” He wasn’t sure what he was hoping for.

But Carver said, “I have some reports to catch up on but you have fun.” Then Carver walked off into a corner to take his call in private.

Malcolm led Mara and Leandra into the bar which was smaller than anticipated. There was a TV with the news reporting on the incident on the Viscount’s Palace, speculating attacks and calling it the worst haunting of the new century. The bartender who was a pallid man with graying hair raised an eyebrow at Malcolm’s fine suit and the ladies’ gowns which were much richer than the sticky floors and peeling dull brown faded wallpaper that decorated the environment. 

Malcolm marched up to the bartender with confidence as the ladies inspected the furniture that had looked like it hadn’t been changed out since the place was built.  The grout of the floor was uneven and chalky. 

Malcolm placed the bill on the cracking counter and said, “A room and all the drinks this can afford.”

Would this afford much? He didn’t exactly know the prices on things.

The bartender looked at the bill and took it without question, though he was curious about the party’s outfits he seemed more interested in their money. “Room 3,” He leaned his head to point to a dark cove where a line of rooms were waiting. “And for the drinks?”

He looked to Leandra, who looked to Mara who said, “Shots. Tequila. Vodka. I don’t care.”

“You got it,” the bartender chirped.  

Malcolm led them down the corridor, jealous of the way Mara openly leaned on Leandra’s arm. He could tell the two women must be close and he felt in some ways there was a bubble between him and them.

“Charming place,” Mara cooed as she looked at the posters of different singers lining the walls, flowing locks and colorful makeup and costumes crooning into microphones. “You bring all your dates here?”

Malcolm chuckled. “The only time I’ve ever gone here is with Carver or Charlie,” he said.

He opened the door to the room for them which was a cozy little setup with a boxy couch that wrapped around the room, a table in the middle with a thick booklet, and a screen with a few microphones.

“Boyfriend?” Mara prodded as she passed Malcolm, cat eyes gleaming.

“Brother,” Malcolm countered.

Leandra perked up, trying to corral some of Mara’s teasing with a question of her own. “You have a brother in the Circle?” Her voice was hopeful and she gathered her skirts and took a seat on the square couch fully listening. 

Mara plopping beside her to take a look through the booklet, the laminated pages cracking and yellowing.

“Not a blood brother,” Malcolm explained. “We just grew up together.”

 Leandra tried to mask the disappointment in her eyes.  

He took a seat, close but not too close. He glanced at her hand which was relaxed at her side, tempted to reach out and grab it, but with Gamlen in his head he just clenched his fist.

“So what would you sing?” Leandra leaned over as Mara flipped through the selection as she tried to find something that she recognized.

The bartender came in holding a large tray of liquid amber and set it on the table without a word.

“Well first we’d get drunk,” Malcolm said, suddenly needing the liquid courage and he grabbed one of the glasses and knocked it back, the burn welcome and warming him, soothing his frazzled nerves.

“Smart man,” Mara grinned as she grabbed two glasses and handed one to Leandra without thinking. “But you’re breaking the party rules. We’re supposed to cheer before we drink.”

Malcolm reached for another glass with a chuckle. “I can just grab another drink.”

Mara gleamed at Leandra holding up her glass as she said. “To Leandra. She’s the most badass woman I know.”

Malcolm grinned at Leandra’s fluster as he held up her glass to match Mara’s praise. “She definitely is.”

Leandra clinked glasses with them and knocked back the liquid before coughing which brought chuckles out of Mara and Malcolm. “That’s much stronger than wine.”

Suddenly Leandra’s phone rang and she looked at the cell phone to see that Senhel was calling. In confusion she answered it thinking it was an emergency.

“Leandra Gloriana Amell,” the voice of her mother shrieked on her phone. “Do you have your Father and me on ignore!?”

Leandra grumbled, she was just starting to have fun. “Mother,” she hicced. “I thought I told you I’m resting.”

“You are certainly not in your room!”

“I’m at Mara’s.”

“Don’t lie to me. I sent Sylvain to fetch you and you’re not there.”

Mara and Malcolm looked at each other as Leandra slunk into the couch, looking ragged and tired. “Fine,” she snapped, her voice sounding like a tight thread. “I’m out having a drink with Mara. Because it’s been a night. And I deserve it.”

“Leandra Amell-”

“Goodnight, Mother. I’m turning off my phone,” then she powered down her cell and threw it back in her purse with a huff.

“Another drink?” Malcolm offered.

Mara was beaming at Leandra. “After standing up to the wicked witch of Kirkwall let’s have three.”

So they did, clinking their glasses each time as they knocked it back in unison, the alcohol starting to make them feel giddy and loose.

Finally Mara picked up the microphone and waggled her eyebrows. “Alright we’re supposed to be singing, right?”

Leandra and Malcolm cheered, raising more glasses sharing a grin.

Mara plugged in the song and with an upbeat piano that was as spunky as she was. She wiggled her hips as she grooved with her microphone, getting into it, her face goofy and carefree for the first time that night. 

“Why men great til’ they gotta be great,” she sang loudly and proudly off-key.

“I just took a DNA test

Turns out

I’m a hundred percent 

That bitch

Even when I’m crying crazy

Yeah I got boy problems 

That’s the human in me

Bling! Bling! Then I solve ‘em

That’s the Goddess in me

Malcolm and Leandra danced in their seats and Mara gave them a show, belting her frustrations into the mic and only slightly tripping over the words with her drunken tongue. The mistakes only made her laugh which made everyone laugh. Then she grabbed the mic with both hands, her face twisting in anger as she kicked off her red strappy heels so they bounced against the couch and wall, belting out with flourish,

“You could have had a bad bitch

Non committal

Help you with your career

Just a little

You’re supposed to hold me dooown

But you’re holding me back

And that’s the soooound

Of me not calling you back.”

Soon Malcolm and Leandra were trying to sing along to the chorus, though Malcolm didn’t know the words to this one. Still, Mara was fun and it was nice to see Leandra with that beautiful smile. He thought her laugh was the most gorgeous sound in the world and he’d never tire of it. 

They were all thoroughly enjoying themselves so much that they didn’t notice that Gamlen had now perched himself at the door and listened to the man-hating song, a bouquet of what looked like store bought roses in one arm and a box of expensive fine truffles in the other, but Mara at one point noticed him, the song fading from her lips as the music continued and quickly wrapped up.

The silence was awkward and no one knew what to make of it. Everyone was staring at Gamlen but Gamlen was only staring at Mara. 

“I’m sorry,” he said finally. “I was an idiot.”

Mara huffed putting down the microphone with a thud, feedback shrieking through the speakers.

“No denying that but do you even know what you’re sorry for?”

Gamlen rushed forward and placed the gifts in Mara’s arms which she reluctantly accepted. “I was an ass. You told me that enough.”

Mara blew out air, ruffling her bangs. “But the comments you said about Malcolm said a lot about what you think about me.”

“I don’t-I would never,” he sputtered. “I just…Being an elf never seemed to matter to you before.”

Mara glared. “Of course it matters to me. I might not have the pointed ears, but Lolo is all I have left after the car accident. You know that.”

“Of course,” Gamlen said. “Of course it’s important. I just…” he blew out a ragged breath, his eyes flicking to Malcolm. “This is all so fast. Leandra just met him tonight.”

“But you heard Leandra, she likes him. This is not your decision to make.”

Gamlen looked like all the air had been taken out of him as he struggled to find an argument but failed.

Mara looked at Malcolm who seemed to have gone quiet at Gamlen’s presence. “I’m not the only one who deserves your apology.”

Gamlen looked conflicted as his eyes snapped to Malcolm who was knocking back another drink. Gamlen clenched his fists, as he looked over Malcolm, the disgust still clear in his eyes but from the look on Mara’s face she wouldn’t let this go.

Through clenched teeth he said. “Sorry,” but he spat the word out like a curse.

Malcolm discarded his glass and picked up another, feeling slightly drunk and still very very pissed off. “I don’t know, did I hear an apology?”

Leandra crossed her arms, matching Malcolm’s glare. “No, I don’t know that I did.”

Mara dropped Gamlen’s gifts on the table like she was dropping trash in a bin. “Care to try again?”

Gamlen’s eyes widened in fear and he swallowed his anger as he tried to suppress his glare at Malcolm. “Fine, fine. I’m really really sorry.”  

“For…” Malcolm drawled looking into his glass of amber liquid.

“For being an ass,” Gamlen chewed out.

“And…”

Gamlen narrowed his eyes, flicking to the other women for help but they simply waited expectantly for his answer. He wasn’t sure what else he was supposed to add. Apologizing wasn’t exactly something he did voluntarily.

He looked for Leandra to help but found her usual warm expression cold, but still she added, “And he won’t do it again.”

Gamlen bristled at that, seeming reluctant to actually say those words, but with Mara glaring at him, too, he repeated, “I won’t do it again.”

Malcolm grinned at that, all teeth. “Now that’s an apology.” Then he made a cheering motion at Gamlen and knocked back his drink.

Mara sniffed and sat down beside Leandra, satisfied but still seething. Gamlen followed her like a sad puppy and when he sat down next to her he tried to hold her hand but she snapped it back, still angry.

Malcolm sighed, feeling sloshed by now, but with Gamlen being so close he felt himself tensing like a stretched rubber band ready to snap. Still, getting the asshole to apologize was at least slightly satisfying even if Malcolm didn’t believe a word of it.

Leandra brushed his hand, bringing him out of his churning thoughts. Her eyes looked worried as she bit her lip, seeming unsure. “I’d love to hear you sing next.”

Malcolm did have a song in mind already, one that he heard long ago but didn’t have any meaning to him until meeting Leandra, but his eyes flickered to Gamlen who was sulking in the corner, unsure if singing it would bring more ire.

Leandra seemed to sense his hesitation and she was suddenly rambling as if she was nervous. “You don’t have to. I mean I can definitely try singing a song with Mara if you’re not feeling up to it.”

Mara leaned over to Leandra with a grin on her face. “What are we singing?”

Gamlen snorted. “You’re singing?”

Leandra glared. “Shut up! As if your voice is any better.”

“At least I know when to keep my mouth shut.”

“Not when it counts,” Malcolm’s unfiltered drunken thoughts blurted out which brought another laugh from Leandra and Mara and a scowl from Gamlen.

Malcolm smirk softened at Leandra’s laughter and he watched her with soft eyes.

She stopped when she noticed he was staring, his honey eyes drawing her in.

“I’d love to hear you sing.” Malcolm said in a voice so genuine she could only swallow.

Leandra dropped her eyes, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “I mean you’re going to have nightmares.”

“I don’t know,” Malcolm grinned. “Since meeting you it feels like I’ve been living a dream.”

She blushed deeply, her breath stuttering, a pleased smile forming on her lips as she choked on what she said. “I guess I’m drunk enough to sing.”

Mara cheered and Malcolm and her clinked glasses in a celebratory drink.

Leandra and Mara took the stage, their eyes on the screen as they huddled together.

A slow ballad filled the speakers, soft and sweet, just like Leandra was. Mara opened her mouth widely inhaling but as soon as the countdown signaled for them to start only Leandra’s voice sang out,

“Wise men say

Only fools rush in

But I can’t help

Falling in love with you”

Leandra’s eyes flew in panic as she realized that Mara was not singing along but looking at her with a smirk as she was forced to either stop or continue. Her eyes flew to Malcolm’s like a moth to a flame, her voice trembling in uncertainty. 

She was not as terrible as she claimed, not a singer’s voice sure, but Malcolm found he could listen to her all night. He watched the rosy glow of her cheeks as her eyelashes fluttered, looking so uncertain and vulnerable.

“Like a river flows

Gently to the sea

Surely how it goes

Some things were meant to be.”

Malcolm hoped that was what she was telling him, and his gaze turned so intense she could not bear the scrutiny, her voice shaky and faltering but she finished the song to the end. Malcolm and Mara then burst into applause as Leandra shyly tucked hair behind her ear.

She glared at Mara but there was no anger in her voice. “Traitor.”

Mara shook her head in laughter as she took her seat beside Gamlen.

Leandra sauntered up to Malcolm, closer than ever. He could feel the warmth of her body and smell the alcohol on her breath. She playfully grabbed his arm and brought him to the stage and pushed a microphone in his hand. “Ok, now it’s your turn. Better make it good.”

Malcolm was nervous, but the way she was smiling at him he couldn’t help but smile back. “I aim to please, my lady.”

“Well, then do it,” she commanded cheekily. “Please me.”

Malcolm’s eyes darkened at this challenge. Her cheeks were so rosy he had to resist cupping them, her smile brilliant as she sat captively in attention. He felt shaky with nerves, his stomach doing that warm flutter. He plugged in the song, a soft drumbeat pulsed through the speakers as he gazed in her eyes, feeling like there was no one else in the room. His heart sped up, aching to have her. His honeyed voice crooned through the speakers, begging her to accept him.

“I wish we were both someone else

So you wouldn’t be somebody else’s

I don’t want to lie here by myself

Ain’t afraid to say I’m selfish.”

“Don’t wanna lie to you, Don’t wanna promise something

Knowin’ I can’t come through, toast over this discussion

More of ignoring the rules, too close and then we’re touching

Now we’re both confused.”

Leandra found herself rising to her feet, her heart feeling the same ache in the lyrics. His hand seemed to beckon her to him as he looked at her with a yearning that made her feel alive.

“Something in the way you smell

Something in the way touch me

Maybe it’s the way you wrap your arms around me

Makes me wanna lay you down, Tell you all the things we could be

Tell me that you need me now, even though it’s not allowed.”

Leandra couldn’t help herself if she wanted to. Malcolm’s honest words crooning at her had her grabbing his tie before he could reach the chorus again and she answered him with a hungry kiss. He tasted strawberries and alcohol and her taste coated his tongue until he was lapping it up greedy for every drop of her. Hungry. That was the only way that could be described when their lips met. His hands snaked up her back untangling her braid loose as she held him captive by his tie, pulling him closer by his curls as they devoured each other, the beat still pulsing in the background. They stumbled, trying to find steadiness as their mouths refused to part, tripping into the table and almost knocking each other over.

Mara hooted encouragingly at the kiss and she tried to get Gamlen to join her in a cheer but he looked like he was trying to look anywhere but at his sister. When Malcolm had backed her into a wall and it was clear that they wouldn’t stop, Gamlen finally snapped and said, “Leandra!”

Malcolm pulled away, surprised by Gamlen’s shout but she held onto his tie and stuck out her tongue like she was five. “Grow up, Gamlen. I’ve watched you and Mara dry hump since tenth grade.”

Malcolm barked out a laugh, lipstick smeared across his lips. Then Leandra pulled him in for another sweet kiss. “Sing me another,” she asked against his lips.

The night seemed to go much better, the laughs easier, and after Malcolm sang a few more songs they went back to rotating. Gamlen mostly sulked throughout the night, giving a tight-lipped glare as Malcolm and Leandra shared kiss after kiss, feeling bolder and handsier, but other than some huffs he didn’t do much more to ruin the night.

Before they knew it Carver crept through the door, his face amused at the state of Malcolm’s lipstick smeared face as he and Leandra were cuddling in the corner sharing a drunken snooze, Leandra cradled on Malcolm’s chest.

Gamlen sat in the corner, tight-lipped, the same scowl he carried all night plastered on his face.

“So you all had a good time,”

Leandra and Malcolm stirred, both yawning and blinking.

Mara saluted drunkenly from the couch, in a fit of giggles. “Yes, Officer. Mission succeeded.” He had interrupted her from eating Gamlen’s apology chocolates, a pile of used wrappers piled on the table among the many, many drained glasses.

“Very good,” Carver had a satisfied smile on his face. “I’ll need to take you back to Hightown now if Malcolm’s going to make it back by First Bell.”

“Nope,” Leandra shook her head with a yawn, her words a little slurred. “Nope. No, my parents will kill me if they see me like this. Take me to Mara’s.”

Mara yawned and covered her mouth. “Good idea. You have the day off so we can just sleep.”

Leandra jerked, suddenly realizing, “Oh, no! I have a Cleansing today!”

Mara cocked her head. “What time? Maybe we can grab a nap?”

Leandra chewed her lip picking herself up from Malcolm’s hold so she could look through her bag for her phone.

It was full of texts from her Mother and Father. She scrolled through the lectures and threats to find that her Cleansing was early and not only that but the Du Lancets would be participating and the Guillaume would be at her side tomorrow. And then the bubble popped.

“Oh, how am I going to presentable by 10 am?” Leandra’s voice was filled with panic.

“Don’t worry, I’m on the case,” Mara patted her chest confidently. “As long as I can pass out as soon as I’m done.”

“You’d have earned it and your raise,” Leandra pulled herself upright and wobbled in her heels.

“Easy there,” Malcolm automatically moved to steady her and she placed her hand on his chest as she willed the room to stop spinning. He sat her back down allowing her to lean on him. 

“Something greasy will work wonders,” Carver said helpfully.

“I’ll whip up a bacon breakfast when we get home,” Mara yawned. “And lots of coffee.”

As Mara stretched she looked at the templar with renewed interest, the man seeming more like a statue to her than a person and she eyed him from head to toe. “Not going to sing at least one?” she said in a sing-song voice, her cat eyes gleaming with mischief. “Malcolm tells us you have quite the voice.”

Carver smiled, chuckling. “We don’t really have time.”

Malcolm was looking for any reason to make the night last just a little longer. “Oh, c’mon just one. For old time’s sake?”

Leandra blinked her doe eyes, batting them like a weapon. “Oh, please,” her words crashed together clumsily. “You’ve been alone all night, Ser Carver. I’d love to hear you sing.”

 “I’m tired,” Gamlen snapped. “Let’s go.”

Maybe it was the fact that the other three were pleading, their drunken stupor making the consequences of the night still seem far away. Or maybe Carver wanted to have one more opportunity to get under Gamlen’s skin, but he smiled wider than he did all night, fully coming into the room and headed for the stage, crooking a motion to Malcolm to follow him. “I’m only singing if you join me, Hawke.”

Malcolm pushed himself off the couch eagerly. “Deal,” he said grabbing one of the extra mics from the stand as Mara and Leandra cheered, no more alcohol to toast with but they still raised their hands up in the motion.

Carver plugged in the song and a high energy guitar riff started streaming. Malcolm grinned as he recognized it. Carver’s energy seemed to change, his stiff shoulders relaxing as his warm coffee eyes gleamed at Malcolm, still remembering how Charlie was there the last time they sang this. He raised the mic, a raspy baritone ringing clear and beautiful like a deep bell, belting the lyrics with confidence.

“She’s got a smile that seems to me

Reminds me of childhood memories

Where everything was as fresh

As the clear blue sky.”

His eyes flicked to Mara, his hands cradling the mic as the beat rocked. Their eyes met in a strange crackling energy that Gamlen didn’t seem to notice cause he was too busy sulking. Carver watched as her slow gaze inspected him in curiosity, following the lines of his armor.

“Now and then when I see her face

It takes me to that special place

And if I stared too long,

I’d probably break down and cry.”

Malcolm joined him for the chorus, harmonizing with him so beautifully that it brought goosebumps to the ladies skin.

“Whooooa, Sweet child of mine,

Whooooa, Sweet love of mine.”

Then Malcolm’s honeyed voice took over, his eyes meeting Leandra as he sang with a smile, his face smeared with Leandra’s kisses, light and life in every bounce of his step.

“She’s got eyes like the starriest skies

As if they thought of rain

I’d hate to look into those eyes

And see an ounce of pain.”

Her hair reminds me of a warm safe place

Where as a child I’d hide

And pray for the thunder and rain

To quietly pass me by.”

Carver joined him again for the chorus, his soothing deep voice weaving around his melody as they repeated, their gazes meeting in boyish mischief. 

Then soon the guitar break came and both Carver and Malcolm went into ridiculous scatting, mimicking the riffs as they pretended to play invisible guitars. When the lyrics came back they echoed against each other, the melody getting more complicated as they each broke into their own renditions, bouncing and dancing on the stage as they pushed each other, a couple of boys roughhousing. Leandra and Mara couldn’t stop laughing at their silliness, the song stretching on and on never seemed to end until Carver and Malcolm kept singing back to the other.

“Where do we go?

Where do we go now?”

It was the question in Malcolm’s mind. His eyes stayed drawn to Leandra, asking her. 

Then the song wrapped up with the same high energy and Leandra and Mara rose to their feet cheering drunkenly. 

“Bravo!” 

“Bellissimo!”

“Encore!”

Gamlen’s scowl looked like it had been carved into his face and would stay there forever. He glared at the two men as they made exaggerated bows at the ladies’ applause.  

“Now can we go?” Gamlen snarled.

Carver’s proper demeanor was back in place as he put away the microphone with care. “Yes, I believe that is best.”

"Wait, wait, wait," Leandra reached through her bag for her phone and turned it back on. Ignoring the new messages, she then went to her camera. "We need to commemorate the night."

Malcolm and Carver looked at each other. 

"I'm not sure we should be leaving more evidence," Carver's voice said nervously. 

Leandra blinked her eyes pleading. "Please, it won't leave my phone. I just need something to remember the night was real."

That was all the convincing Malcolm needed. He grabbed Leandra's waist pulling her in for a pose. She blushed and snuggled in closer, holding out the phone, their faces framing the screen.

Carver looked like he wanted to protest more but Mara grabbed his arm. "C'mon Officer, loosen up." He seemed flustered as the small woman led him. "It's just a selfie." She then motioned Gamlen to join her. "You too, Grumpmeister." 

Gamlen looked irritated to see Mara casually touching Carver's arm and so stormed up and claimed her with a possessive grab on her hip and yanked her to him. 

Mara seemed annoyed, but said nothing as they all huddled in close for the camera so their faces could fit. 

It flashed, and they all blinked, temporarily blind. 

"Sorry," Leandra said as they all peered at the picture. 

Carver was caught in the middle between Mara and Leandra looking out of place in his armor, his face grim like a statue. Mara leaned on Gamlen but her face was closer to Carver, smiling a model's smile as she posed expertly. Gamlen's face was cut off slightly, his ugly glare caught as he stared at Malcolm and Leandra pressing cheeks, her lipstick had left a clear trail of where she claimed him and they shared the same ecstatic smile.

Malcolm wanted something to remember the night, too. He grabbed Leandra's phone and texted himself the picture. He handed the phone back. "Now you have my number." 

She gazed at her phone blushing as she realized he inserted himself as "Dream Guy."

They left the club, the sky still dark among the high buildings, but there were still signs of the bus moving for the early commute. Carver drove them to Mara’s place in Midtown which bordered the edge of Lowtown and Hightown, a cut of suburbs that were newer and had a cookie cutter like appearance. There was already a car in the driveway, a nice but older SUV that had been handled with care. The streets were dark except for the street lights that marked the houses in neat little rows, flowering shrubs and gardens filled with knick knacks differentiating them.

Malcolm got out of the car and helped Leandra out, their hands not unlinking as she stepped out.

Mara pushed out of the templar car still yawning, Gamlen following quickly behind. “You can go to my room, but don’t be loud and wake Lolo.”

Gamlen nodded, keeping close to Mara as she dug through her purse for her keys. He cast a glare in Malcolm’s direction when he noticed he was holding his sister’s hand but he kept to his apology and said nothing, following Mara into her house.

Leandra and Malcolm’s stroll was a languid shuffle as if they slowed down the moment it wouldn’t end. Still Mara’s porch approached and it did.

“When can I see you again?” she asked shyly as she squeezed his hand harder instead of letting go.

Malcolm’s heart fluttered, his voice eager. “I’ll break out as soon as I’m able.”

Leandra seemed conflicted about that. She placed her hand over his heart, lines of worry streaking her face. “Don’t get in trouble on my account.”

Malcolm grinned cheekily as he leaned into her face. “I am trouble.”

He captured her lips in a hungry kiss, not knowing when he’d be able to taste her next. Their lips moved unhurried and slow, their fingers exploring over their clothing under the arch of the porch. One minute passed, then two. It seemed there was not enough time in the world to memorize each other, and they were soon interrupted by Carver’s loud but abrupt honk.

Malcolm grinned against her mouth. “See you soon,” he promised and he dashed off and hopped into the front seat of Carver’s car.

Leandra didn’t go inside until the vehicle pulled away from the driveway and disappeared down the street.

[gb-fics]

Chocolate Mystery

Fanfiction:

Kiryuuin Shou x Kyan Yutaka (Golden Bomber)

Note: A chocolate mystery is like a murder mystery, just that the stakes are way lower. Have a happy Valentine’s Day! (^-^)

Valentine’s Day was a waste of time, that was Shou’s opinion on it at least. Especially since they still had so much to plan and organize until the tour started in March. Mere weeks and they would start their program with two shows per day, not knowing how that would work out at all. They had more important things to do than act lovey-dovey with someone.

Shou felt that way, because he was a responsible adult, to whom the fans were more important than anything else, and not because he didn’t have a significant other to spend the day with.

His bandmates were a different matter of course. Jun was spending Valentine’s Day with his family and Kenji hadn’t passed on a single opportunity to bring up the hot date he had secured for himself. Yutaka hadn’t bragged, but Shou knew, that he always had a date on Valentine’s Day. Most years, he wouldn’t shut up about it.

So, Shou was the only one sitting at home on his own today; not because he was sad and lonely, but because he was the only one dedicated enough to make the sacrifice to ensure their tour would work out as planned. He was angry at the others for leaving all the work up to him - as always. He wasn’t jealous, because Jun had already found the person, he wanted to spend the rest of his life with, nor because Kenji would certainly get laid tonight with these obscene good looks of his, nor because of Yutaka.

The doorbell interrupted his negative thoughts.

Shou furrowed his brows. He was not expecting anyone. Absolutely everybody he knew had better things to do today than show up on his doorstep. Didn’t people know it was Valentine’s Day? They were supposed to be smooching or canoodling, or whatever you did on this day when you weren’t Shou.

Suspiciously he went over to the door.

“Yeah?”, he asked over the intercom.

“A delivery for Kiryuuin Shou”, a male voice said.

Shou hesitated. He wasn’t expecting anything. He hadn’t ordered anything online lately and when he did, he usually used his real name, since it was the one showing up on the bills as well. But it wouldn’t be the first time he had ordered something to the office and then forgotten about it. The staff usually forwarded the packages to him using his stage name.

He buzzed up the delivery guy and opened the front door already, so he wouldn’t have to ring again at the apartment door.

The young guy coming up the stairs wore a blue jacket with a logo patched to the shoulder, that looked somewhat official, but clearly didn’t belong to the regular postal service. He carried a small white box in his hand that seemed too delicate and quite frankly too clean to resemble a regular package.

“Mr. Kiryuuin?”, he asked.

“Yes, thank you”, Shou said and bowed his head lightly without taking the box. “What is this?”

The delivery guy looked down at the box in his hands in honest confusion. He looked so young, Shou guessed he was a college student working parttime.

“Well, it’s chocolates”, he pointed out dumbfounded. “It’s Valentine’s Day. I’m working for this start-up. We offer a delivery service especially for today. So, people can send chocolates to their loved ones. I’ve got a delivery for you.”

Shou stared at the box as if it might contain something poisonous. He sensed a cold and hard knot forming in his stomach. It was a very unpleasant feeling.

“Who sent this?”, he asked.

The delivery guy shrugged apologetic.

“Well, you’re the one who has to figure that out, dude. No girlfriend?”

Slowly Shou shook his head.

“I want to know, who sent this”, he inquired. “Can’t you check your records?”

“No, sorry, can’t do. Most girls pay cash and don’t leave a name. It’s not necessary.” He shrugged.

“Do you know what’s inside?”, Shou wanted to know.

Now the guy furrowed his brow. He looked annoyed. He probably had other deliveries to make. Maybe he had a quote to fulfil.

“It’s probably chocolates. What else would it be?”

“What if someone sends a bomb?”, Shou asked.

The poor boy looked seriously troubled now.

“Why would anyone do that? We just deliver chocolates and flowers and stuff. Just take it.”

Briefly Shou considered to just outright decline it. But then, they would probably just throw out the box and he would lose every chance he had to find out who had sent it to him.

“Fine”, he said warily and took the box.

The guy held out a paper for Shou to sign and he did it absentmindedly, before he took the box inside with him. It really looked pretty and had doted ribbons wrapped around it, too. It seemed like something you would send your crush chocolates in on Valentine’s Day. Even if it were chocolates, it was still troublesome.

Shou placed the box on the kitchen counter and stared at it. He tried to breathe calmly. Just in case, he had locked the front door from the inside.

Whoever had sent him this box knew where he lived. A strange person – someone, who could literally be anyone – knew his address. They could be watching the building right now. There was nothing scarier than an anonymous present send to your private address, when you were a celebrity.

No matter how much Shou tried to fight it, he felt the panic rising in his chest, the anxiety drilling his stomach. He remembered all the trouble it had caused, when his address had gotten leaked the first time: The rushed moving, having to find a new place within a short period of time, organizing the transport of the furniture, while not being able to stay at his own apartment. He had crushed on Yutaka’s couch for more than a week and even after he had finally moved, Yutaka had needed to stay over the first night with him, because he had felt too tense to fall asleep alone at the new place.

More than the stress of moving, it was the feeling of being unsafe at a place that was meant to be his home – his safe space – that Shou dreaded. He didn’t want to go through it again. Constantly scared that someone was staring up to his window, while he packed up his things, scared to leave in the evening, because someone might be waiting on the street for him. Honestly, it had taken Shou months to settle into his new apartment. He still made jokes about being pissed, because someone had forced the trouble of moving upon him, but truth was, that even now, years after, he still felt his chest tightening occasionally whenever he came home late in the evening, not being able to shake the feeling of someone watching him as he unlocked the front door.

He turned around and drew the curtains, although his apartment was up too high for anyone to look in through the window anyway. Instead, he switched on the light overhead and felt a little bit calmer instantly.

He was still anxious, but at least the panic didn’t make him want to throw up anymore.

He considered taking the box over to the next police station. Maybe there were fingerprints on it. Maybe they could send someone back home along with him to watch the door to make sure no creepy stalker was sneaking around his neighbourhood while he slept.

But then the police might just laugh in his face, because a box of chocolates on Valentine’s Day wasn’t exactly much to go by. And he didn’t want to risk any publicity, before he had talked to the management. But could he really call them right now? It was Sunday and everyone was out of office, on Valentine’s Day for sure. Not that he wouldn’t be able to reach anyone, but he would feel bad for bothering them today. It would be better to inform everyone on Monday. No one had dropped dead animals on his doorstep after all. He probably wasn’t in any acute danger.

He really needed to talk to someone, though. Even if it was just to calm himself. Someone, who would understand and who was also affected, because a threat to Shou posed a threat to the entire band of course.

Shou took up his mobile and was about to dial Yutaka’s number, when he stopped short.

Would Yutaka really be okay with it, if he just called him now? He would probably scold Shou for bothering him. On Valentine’s Day moreover, when he had a date for sure. A small, mean part of Shou wanted to call him even more so. It would be the perfect excuse to ruin Yutaka’s date and take his revenge on him for being out having fun, when Shou was sitting home alone, working on the tour for all of them. But then he knew that he would never bring himself to be that much of a jerk. No matter how bitter he was, he didn’t want Yutaka to suffer because of his pettiness. The same went for Kenji, actually. He couldn’t call either of them and disturb their dates for selfish reasons. After all, they might be out with their future spouse this very moment. He couldn’t risk their chance of finding the right person.

So, he called the only person, who already had.

“Hello?”, Jun said after the fourth ring.

“Hey, Jun, it’s me, Shou”, Shou muttered.

“Oh, what’s up?”, Jun sounded tense, as if he dreaded the answer. Maybe he was scared Shou would make him work on his day off.

“I got Valentine’s chocolates”, Shou said. “That means, it’s supposed to be chocolates. It’s really just a white box. And I’m completely freaking out. I mean, it was an anonymous delivery. Jun, I think my address got leaked. Some crazy fan found out where I live and sent me this box and now, I’m not sure, if I should call the management or go to the police or …”

“Shou, calm down”, Jun interrupted him.

Shou took in another deep breath, trying to remind his body that he was not in physical danger right now.

“I’m scared”, Shou said quietly.

“You’re just being paranoid”, Jun said. “Those chocolates could be from anyone.”

“Exactly!”, Shou agreed.

Through the phone he heard Jun sigh.

“I just mean, they could be from the office. Or from someone you know. Have you opened the box yet?”

“Hell, you think I’m crazy?” Shou’s voice sounded too high-pitched in his own ears. “I’ve been sent teeth in the mail before. Fucking teeth. And those were sent to the office. Someone, who is crazy enough to sent it to my private address could be sending a severed ear, or a poisonous spider or whatnot. There is really no way I’m going to open this box.”

“You should just open it”, Jun said. “Didn’t you talk to the others yet?”

Shou stayed silent for a moment, clenching the phone tightly in his hand. He knew that Jun was really just asking about Yutaka, because he was always the one, whom Shou called first.

“I didn’t want to disturb them on Valentine’s Day”, he admitted weakly.

“Oh, but you could disturb me?”, Jun asked huffily.

“A sudden phone call can really ruin a first date”, Shou pointed out. “Your wife is not going to divorce you, just because you picked up the phone.”

Jun sighed once again.

“Okay, Shou, whatever you do, don’t take the box to the police, before even knowing what’s inside. I don’t think you should bother the management with it today either. Just take a look inside and if it’s something weird or dangerous, call me again and we’ll work it out. Okay? Just try to stay calm.”

“You’re just going to hang up on me like that?”, Shou assured in disbelief. “While my life might be in grave danger?”

“Well, it is Valentine’s Day”, Jun reminded him. “So, I’ve got to go. Open the damn box. Talk to you later.”

“Thanks for nothing”, Shou mumbled into the speaker, but the dial tone told him that Jun had already hung up. His bandmates really were useless.

He eyed the box again. Was Jun right? Was he overreacting? Maybe he should just brace himself and open the box. Not that he was going to eat the chocolates, if there were any inside. They might be poisoned. Or filled with a magic love portion. Or make him go bald. But at least he would know for sure what was inside the box.

He shook his head. No, he couldn’t do it. He just wasn’t brave enough. He needed to calm down first.

Turning his back on the white box as if he could trick it into thinking he didn’t care, Shou started pacing the apartment. He wasn’t sure if the movement actually helped to calm himself, but at least it gave him the feeling, that he was doing something. He stayed clear of the windows, though. You never knew who might be watching.

He got out his phone and checked it, although he didn’t know what for. He wasn’t expecting any calls.

Catching some fresh air would be nice. It would certainly relax him to go for a walk outside. But he didn’t dare to leave the apartment. He felt the anxiety rising in his chest almost physically. Moments ago, he had still considered consulting the police, now he couldn’t image going out on his own anymore at all. Eventually he would need to get new groceries. Maybe he could order something online? But how would he known whom to answer the door safely?

Shortly Shou closed his eyes.

His fears were getting irrational now. Maybe it would be better to stay inside today, but even if the box turned out to be from a creepy stalker fan, the management would come pick him up by tomorrow the latest. For that, he really needed to check what was inside the box, though.

There was really no point in avoiding it. He had to take a look inside, before he drew any conclusions. And really, how bad could it be? He had received teeth in the mail before and he had survived that, although it had freaked him out quite a bit. There was a fair chance it wouldn’t get worse than that, even if the circumstances were more frightening this time.

He went back over to the box and stared at it challengingly. It was just a box presumably filled with chocolates. It would not get the better of Shou.

Hesitantly he reached out.

The doorbell rang.

The sound was so loud and unexpected, that Shou flinched so hard, he hit his arm against the kitchen counter. He winced.

Who might that be? The stalker themselves? Were they testing him? Playing mind games?

But then, the explanation didn’t have to be so dark. Maybe Jun had changed his mind and come over to check on Shou. Quite a bit of time had passed since their call. Enough time for him to get here, if he hurried.

Shou walked over to the door and turned on the intercom.

“Yes?”, he asked warily.

“Buzz me up, you fucking moron”, a familiar voice shouted through the speaker.

Shou felt his whole body relaxing instantly. It was alright now. He didn’t know why Yutaka had shown up at his apartment, but it didn’t matter. Important was only that he was here now and just hearing his voice made Shou feel almost safe again.

He pressed the button to allow Yutaka into the building. This time, he waited before opening his front door, though. He stood behind it, until he heard Yutaka’s aggressive knocking. He never rang the doorbell like a normal person, but had to use his fist as if he was trying to pick a fight with the door.

Shou unlocked the door and yanked it open. The desire to just throw himself into Yutaka’s arms was almost overwhelming. He just wanted to be held for a moment, he just wanted to no longer feel alone but physically safe, and it would have been his reaction with any of his acquaintances showing up on his doorstep right now. Yutaka wasn’t special.

Yutaka’s facial expression stopped him short, though.

The lines showing on his forehead made him look grumpy, but he kept his eyes on the floor as if avoiding Shou’s gaze, which was pretty weird for someone, who usually never dodged a confrontation.

“What are you doing here?”, Shou asked.

Yutaka exhaled soundly and he finally looked up. He seemed oddly relieved, as if he had expected a different greeting.

“Jun called me to give me a heads up. He told me your paranoid ass was stressing over Valentine’s chocolate.”

Shou waved him in and made sure to lock the front door again. It made Yutaka roll his eyes visibly.

“It’s just weird”, Shou defended himself. “How would anyone know my private address? It’s scary they were delivered here.”

“The only thing weird about it is that anyone would send you chocolates to begin with. What a strange choice”, Yutaka muttered and went into the apartment without waiting for a proper invitation. He moved like he was at home here, too. “What’s with the curtains?”

Without waiting for an answer Yutaka went over to pull them open and let the daylight in again. He remained standing next to the window.

“Shut them again”, Shou asked. “I’m worried someone might be watching the apartment.”

“God, Shou, it’s probably someone you know. That’s how they knew your address. That’s the most reasonable explanation and what any normal person would assume first.”

Shou didn’t know why Yutaka sounded this angry. He usually had an aggressive way of talking, but at least with Shou he was normally patient. Maybe he was annoyed that Shou had ruined his Valentine’s date. The thought made him feel giddy and gleeful inside, but he tried not to pay attention to it. He was happy that Yutaka had chosen him over his date, but not in an inappropriate way.

“If they know me, they could have given the chocolates to me in person”, Shou said. “If we’re speaking of what a normal person would do.”

“Maybe they were scared of your reaction”, Yutaka said and crossed the arms in front of his chest. It looked funny how he remained standing next to the window instead of sitting down anywhere.

“If they knew me, they should have considered, that it would frighten me this way”, Shou insisted.

He smacked his lips, angry at Yutaka for scolding him instead of offering him the comfort he craved. But then he reminded himself, that Yutaka had probably given up on his date to be here in the first place and he should be less strict with him.

“Maybe they are just stupid”, Yutaka answered, his voice a lot louder than it had to be. “They have to be for liking you in the first place.”

“Why aren’t you on your date?”, Shou asked.

“My date?” Yutaka sounded so baffled, that he forgot to shout this time. “Who told you I had a date?”

Shou shrugged uncomfortably. He didn’t want Yutaka to think he had spent a lot of time picturing him on a date or anything.

“I just assumed”, he said vaguely. “That’s why I called Jun and not you. You always have a Valentine.”

Yutaka sighed.

“Well, this year I don’t. I messed up big time.”

“That doesn’t surprise me”, Shou mocked, more cheerful immediately. “I’m just surprised it never happened before.”

Yutaka gave him a dry smile and nodded over to the box.

“Now, just open the goddamn box already, so we can put that behind us. Whoever sent it probably left a note inside.”

Shou looked at him dumbfounded. He had to admit, that he hadn’t really thought of that yet. Just because the delivery boy hadn’t been able to give a name, he had assumed the box had been sent anonymously. He hadn’t really considered, that it might contain an actual confession.

“Alright”, he agreed sheepishly and turned towards the box. He waited for Yutaka to join him.

He didn’t.

Shou looked up. Yutaka had turned his back on him and was looking out the window as if he didn’t care at all, what Shou was up to. He had lowered his arms again and seemed unable to decide what to do with his hands. That was unusual for him. Normally Yutaka seemed very much at ease with his own body. Briefly Shou considered, that in spite of his dismissive words, Yutaka wasn’t entirely convinced that nothing horrible was inside the box either. Maybe he was also scared of Shou finding a severed ear inside and just tried to act tough to not worry him any further. He had the habit of acting more chill than he really was, just for Shou’s sake.

“Are you just going to let me do it alone?”, Shou asked incredulous.

“What do you want me to do?”, Yutaka asked and scoffed. “You need me to hold your hand?”

Shou felt his cheeks heating up and he lowered his gaze onto the box fast. Actually, he thought that it would feel nice, if Yutaka held his hand to comfort him, but he wasn’t going to admit that out loud.

“Of course not”, he said quietly and reached out to undo the ribbons around the box. With Yutaka by his side, he felt a whole lot braver than before.

Slowly he lifted the lid of the box.

There were chocolates inside indeed. Small, dark pralines that looked like they had been purchased from an actual chocolatier. The expensive kind.

Yutaka had been right about the note, too. On top of the chocolates sat a folded piece of white paper.

Shou took it up and unfolded it. His heart was beating very quickly. He felt scared, but strangely enough not in a dreadful way. He felt nervous.

His eyes fell onto the handwriting.

Shou, the note read. No “dear” or “beloved”, that would indicate a confession. The Valentine’s note started like an announcement. I don’t like admitting this, but I have romantic feelings for you. Since no one else will want you as their Valentine anyway, would you be mine?

The note was signed, too.

Shou put it back down onto the kitchen counter and licked his lips.

“You gave me a scare, idiot”, he said and looked up.

“I didn’t know you wouldn’t even open it”, Yutaka said and finally turned around to face Shou, although they were still several metres apart. “I’m sorry, though. I came here to miniate the damage. I wasn’t meaning to scare you.”

Shou nodded slowly. Yutaka looked lost as if he didn’t know what he was doing at Shou’s apartment any longer.

“Apology accepted”, Shou said.

“You don’t seem surprised”, Yutaka observed.

Shou smiled.

“Well, when you pointed out that the sender would have to be extraordinary stupid, I kind of figured. After all, you’re the dumbest person I know.”

“Alright”, Yutaka said and clapped his hands together. “I just wanted to assure there was no reason for you to be scared. Your address didn’t get leaked. You can sleep peacefully tonight. So, now that that’s settled, I’ll be on my way.”

He finally took a step away from the window to move towards the front door.

“Don’t you want to hear my answer first?”, Shou wanted to know.

Yutaka stopped short and looked at him wide-eyed. His face seemed to mirror the fear Shou had felt only a short while ago. Finally, Shou understood how much he had needed to overcome himself to show up here and face Shou, while he opened the box. He must have wanted to comfort Shou badly, if he was that scared of his reaction and had come here anyway. But then, it was very much like Yutaka to put his own worries behind himself only to take care of Shou – while being a total jerk about it at the same time.

“I think I better … I should …” Yutaka pointed towards the door helplessly. He looked like he wanted to just run out the door, before Shou could answer; like an animal in flight mode.

“Yes”, Shou interrupted him hastily to put him at ease. “Yes, I do want to be your Valentine.”

“Really?” The word came out incredibly soft and the tension disappeared from Yutaka’s shoulders visibly.

“Absolutely”, Shou confirmed and walked over to the window. Yutaka still looked like he could need some comfort. “I’m so happy the chocolates were from you.”

Gently he reached out and put his hands against Yutaka’s neck.

“I’m happy too”, Yutaka whispered.

Shou leaned in and rested his forehead against Yutaka’s. He sensed his body relaxing instantly. Being this close to Yutaka put him at ease like nothing else.

“I’m happy I’m no longer in danger of getting arrested by the police for having shitty taste in men”, Yutaka clarified.

Shou chuckled.

“And I’m happy that I won’t have to move”, he said. “It’s such a hassle.”

Yutaka laughed quietly. Shou sensed his body trembling softly against himself. The sound of Yutaka’s laughter made him feel safe. He leaned in and kissed him right in front of the window.

He didn’t even care to draw the curtains first.

[pretend-writer]

Down Below (Chapter 64)

Summary: After being sent down on Earth with the other prisoners from the Ark, Y/N Reyes faces series of events and learns about survival. With new things happening around her, she is now starting a new chapter in her life.

Pairing: Bellamy Blake x reader, Raven Reyes x sister!reader

Word Count: 1.8k words

Warning: swearing, mention of sex, mention of violence

Down Below Masterlist

✤  ·  ✤  ·  ✤  ·  ✤  ·  ✤

Everything we've ever worked for was gone; our home, our food and our leader who we thought we could count on no matter what.

I always knew that what Octavia and I did was for Wonkru, we always wanted the best for our clan. Even the toughest time, we told each other it was for survival.

What I have done in the past six years will never be forgiven but I knew in my heart that I've done the things I've done for the better. I've killed to protect my best friend, we've rationed human meat to help Wonkru survive.

Burning down hydrofarm could not be helping Wonkru at all. I tried understanding Octavia's logic but I couldn't get it. Maybe she had lost her ways, maybe the issue was deeper than Abby and her blackmailing two teenagers.

Either way, I felt a sense of responsibility on my end too. The problem with Dark Year all started from me after all; I was the cause of all of this mess. It was some sort of chain reaction, a butterfly effect.

That one bullet changed everything and I've ruined every single lives that I was supposed to protect, including the ones that were in the Ring. Because of what I've done, they came back to Earth and got involved in the mess I've created.

With a backpack full of ration we probably can't keep for six days, we marched toward Shallow Valley to take the only livable land on Earth. As I caught up to Octavia who led us, I tugged on her arm. 'Why did you do it?'

'We need the Valley, it's the only way Wonkru can survive.' She didn't turn around to answer as she kept her head up. 'Thought you'd understand.'

'Did you really tell Bellamy to kill Indra in the fighting pit?' I couldn't keep this to myself, the thought of Octavia betraying her people circled my mind.

She stayed silent for a bit before she answered. 'Since when are you and Bellamy talking again?'

'I had to go see him before he was sent off. Why wouldn't I go?' I bit my lips, 'You would sacrifice your family if they weren't blood? Is that all I am to you?'

Octavia quickly turned her head, 'Of course I would never do that to you Y/N.'

'Indra was someone who cared for you this whole time since we've been sent down. If you betrayed her, then I'm sur-'

'Can we not speak of this? You're speaking nonsense.'

'Nonse-' I sighed, trying to wrap my head around all of this. 'I've killed innocent people because Abby threatened to hurt you. I did all the things I was against to protect you.'

Octavia rolled her eyes, continuing to look straight into the sands. 'I never asked you to protect me.'

My brows raised, not believing what came out of Octavia's mouth. Despite me doing things that were wrong, I convinced myself it was okay as long as Abby didn't hurt Octavia.

I threw all my beliefs and morals away just to have Octavia tell me that all the shit I've done was unappreciated. I felt as though I've been living a lie for four years.

'Are you fucking kidding me?' I huffed, not knowing what else to say in such situation.

I've sacrificed everything for someone I thought was my best friend. Octavia was the only person I've ever cared about these past few years and now I feel stupid that I've changed myself for someone like her.

'Wait, Y/N. I didn't-'

'I've done everything for you, stood by you this whole time because I thought that I meant that much to you.' I shook my head and turned back around.

Octavia grabbed onto my hand as she tried to pulled me back to the front. 'Y/N, I'm sorry.'

While tears dripped down my face, I angrily yanked my arm away from her. Looking at her dead in her eyes, I took a deep breath and walked away.

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Eating my last small portion of my ration, I sat alone in front of the fire. In the corner of my eye, I saw Monty and Bellamy talking and smiling; They seemed so happy and I wondered how different my life would've been if I went to The Ring with them.

All of Spacekru were a big family, something I've envied since I was a little girl. I could've been a part of all of that but I gave it all up to be a better person instead of taking the suit from Emori or Echo. Instead I just to turned it all around to be the worst person I could be down at the bunker.

I stood up, pacing towards Monty and Bellamy thinking that I should try to talk to them. The closer I got to them, the harder my heart pounded. I was more than nervous to talk to the people I've known for years.

Bellamy and Monty looked up as they heard footsteps from my direction. Monty gave me a light smile, motioning me to come sit with them. Bellamy however looked away without a reaction.

'What do you want?' Bellamy said in a monotone voice as he stared at the fire.

'I was wondering if we can talk alone?' I held my breath, scared of him possibly yelling at me or saying something mean that I'd definitely deserve.

Monty looked at me with sad eyes and looked back at Bellamy. The way Monty have been treating me was something I did not deserve; he had every right to hate me but he didn't.

Bellamy let out a loud sigh and stood up. He walked to his tent and mumbled. 'Fine.'

I followed him in, balled my hand into a fist trying to maintain my emotions. I was scared that it might turn worse than it already was but I had to try. I needed to talk to him.

He crossed his arms, showing no interest of whatever I wanted to say. 'What?'

'I-I' My mind went blank, panicking as if this was the first time ever talking to him. Everything was intense starting with his body language, it already felt like I didn't belong here someway. 'I really don't know what to say other than I'm sorry.'

'You're sorry? Are you serious? That's not going to bring anyone back.'

'I know. All the things I've done in the bunker can never be forgiven, I know that too. But know that everything I've done was because I thought it was the best to protect Wonkru.'

'How am I supposed to understand that you've killed from the goodness from your heart? How am I supposed to be okay with that, Reyes?'

Was it wrong for me to think that Bellamy was being hypocritical? All the years he was apologizing for killing the grounders especially when they weren't attacking, I stood by him and forgave him.

After a whole bunch of mess we've been through together, I knew from the bottom of my heart that he was different. I gave him chance after chance and this one mistake just made him turn around and forget me?

It was stupid to think that because I know that I didn't deserve forgiveness. I should never be forgiven for killing my own people but given the circumstances Bellamy was in a few years back, I thought he'd at least understand where I was coming from.

This should've have never been brought up but my chest was hurting from pain, I had to let it out. 'You've killed people too Bellamy. You've apologized over and over, I always forgave you.'

Tears were rolling down my face, it was as if I forgot how to cry. These past years being under the bunker, I've told myself to not shed a tear and now I couldn't stop. I was finally letting all my pain and suffering out.

'I've already told you, I've never killed my own people but you did! You were okay with killing Wonkru!' Bellamy yelled.

'We both killed to protect our own, how is that any different!?' We were yelling at each other and I wondered if anyone outside the tent heard us.

'It's different because it's you Reyes!' He shouted as his eyes got watery. 'You were supposed to protect everyone like you've done since day one of being here on Earth. I'm just a mess up that always does something wrong. You were the leader for everyone, including Wonkru. We are not the same, I've always made mistakes but you...'

A sudden anger sparked in me, 'How selfish of you to fucking say that! You can make mistakes but I can't? All my life I tried to be good. Then I make one mistake and I'm a bitch that everyone wants dead. I wanted to leave with Jasper but you told me to survive. I survived for you!'

His eyes widened, surprised that I started crying and screaming. Bellamy reached out to me, trying to pull on my hand before I swiped it away. 'Get the fuck off of me! I'm so done. I'm done.'

'Reyes, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that.' Before I was able to storm out of his tent, he pulled me in. 'I didn't say that to try to hurt your feelings, I'm sorry.'

Pushing him away, I cried even more. 'I never asked to be the leader, I didn't even want to be in the fucking bunker. I'm tired of all of this. People want me to be perfect when I'm not, I'm not at all!'

Bellamy pulled me in again, hugging me tightly as he rubbed my back. 'Y/N, I'm sorry.'

Eventually giving up on struggling out of his grip, I cried into his chest. 'It's not fair, you told me to live and the bunker was the worst years of my entire life. I'm here all because of you.'

He reached for my chin and lifted my head up. With his thumb, he wiped my tears and looked me in my eyes. I didn't realize until now that I missed the way he looked at me the way he did.

Bellamy licked his lips before he slowly leaned in to lock our lips. It's been a long time since we've been this intimate, I almost forgot how it felt to be in his arms.

Wanting his taste, I kissed back passionately as I slid my hand into his shirt. Bellamy did the same to mine, except he broke the kiss to take my top off.

He didn't waste any time as he pulled me back in, sliding his hands up and down my sides. Eventually landing his hand on the band of my jeans, he unbuttoned them.

'Blake, I-' I mumbled under my breath in between the kisses. He traced my lip with his thumb as he shushed me.

'You don't have to feel alone anymore, I'm here.' He spoke softly, erasing all of the bad memories from the past few years. I nodded, still kissing him as he gently laid me on the ground.

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tag list; @jodiereedus22, @coffeebooksandfandom, @bellamyblakemorley, @wisestydia-15, @dbtvluv , @hurricane–amelia , @lexalexy , @olkathefoxi, @lena-davina, @kellbell44, @thehakunamatara, @akelly4477, @morgannope, @littlegirl-fox, @captainam-erika-trash, @greygarbage, @nathaliabakes, @eternallyvenus, @rauwz, @broco8, @eridanuswave, @minamisulemisa

[jooliargh]

Happy, NOW, like THIS

Not wishing put a downer on anyone’s Christmas any more than, y'know, 2020 has put a downer on everything in general, but I'm not the most Christmassy of people. I sometimes joke that I'm a bit "bah, humbug" but that's not quite true: I want everyone to have a great time, I get great pleasure giving someone a gift I know they’ll enjoy unwrapping, I just don't usually quite feel unbridled joy myself. I'm rarely actually unhappy, just sometimes a bit... meh. I don't have a tragic reason why I should be, in my case it's more that there's a limited, prescribed set of ways to be happy, and you have to do it on this one specific day (and then another kind of happy on this other specific day a week later and  by an accident of birth I have ANOTHER day I'm supposed to be happy slap-bang in the middle), and "be happy, NOW, like THIS" feels like a lot of pressure. Like... what if I don’t want to? What if I’d prefer to be just quietly content?

I imagine this is somewhat true even if the family you grew up in were like the OXO family, which most people's probably weren't. My childhood Christmases weren't awful, but they weren't like the ones you see on TV. At risk of launching into a seasonal version of the Four Yorkshiremen sketch, we were poor. Lots of people have it a lot worse - we had a roof over our heads and enough to eat - but for as long as I can remember, I was aware that my parents couldn't afford much, and any gifts I got were at the cost of sacrifices elsewhere.

My teenage Christmases... the less said the better. I got dumped in December three years running. (I volunteered for a few years at a hospital radio station, and one running joke was that any time I came to the studio in December, whoever was on air would cue up Lonely This Christmas by Mudd and leave the mic open so I couldn't loudly tell them to fuck off.) One of those Christmases I still lived at home, another I spent on my own, and one I was the charity case invited to my best friend's in-laws. (Which was actually pretty hilarious, and I am forever grateful. But nobody wants to be the charity case at their best friend's in-laws.)

So where were my family, you may ask? I grew up as an only child. For some reason people think that sounds tragic in itself but honestly it was fine. Or at least, the difficult things about my childhood wouldn't have been any better for having siblings living with me. Dad died when I was 11 (nope, that's not the tragic backstory either - happy to talk about it any time you like, but it would be a huge digression here), so for seven Christmases it was just me and my mum. I left home at 18 and while there was no bad blood between us, we just didn't see much of each other. She took to celebrating the solstice instead anyway. I have extended family on both sides and it's lovely to be in touch with them again the last few years, but we’d see each other a couple of times a year at most, then managed to go thirty-odd years without seeing each other at all, so clearly we're not a family that does family much.

Then just after Christmas, I have a birthday. Perineum birthdays (because that's the only description for the time between Christmas and New Year that ever seems to stick) are great as a kid - everyone comes to your party because everyone's parents leap at the chance to be rid of their spawn for a couple of hours, regardless of whether that spawn is even vaguely friends with the birthday child. For the price of a colouring book and some crayons it's a bargain. In the early 80s parties outside the home were for people with more money than sense, or nice things they didn't want kids to break. We had nothing worth caring about getting ruined so my parents were quite happy to let us run riot, and generally it was great fun.

As an adult, perineum birthdays are fine if you have modest expectations. There's no barb to that, I mean it quite sincerely. Most years I wouldn't throw a party if you paid me. Going to the cinema, having a wander around town and a meal out, seeing a few friends in the extreme case, is more than enough. The last big milestone birthday I decided to have my get-together in March just to save everyone the awkwardness of having to make excuses and myself the effort of making them feel better about having to make excuses. I like my friends; I'm not going to oblige them to celebrate with me when they could really do with a couple of days doing nothing.

And that brings us to New Year's Eve. One side of my family is from Scotland. I had one Hogmanay up there when I was about four years old and I think my general attitude of “could we just not...?” started there. I have the sketchiest recollection which consists of only: a real coal fire (a novelty having grown up in London), Andy Stewart on the telly, whisky, LPs of bagpipe music, and adults crying. To this day I associate bagpipes with crying. Sorry, Scotland. It may have also influenced my ongoing choice not to start drinking.

I have had some fun NYEs - generally the ones where a few of us got together at a friend's house and spent the evening on the sofa, playing games, talking and laughing. The shittest ones by far have been in pubs. Midnight was spent dodging either strangers who wanted to either kiss and hug everyone within range or strangers who wanted to fight everyone within range.

The one where my (then-)boyfriend went out and partied while I stayed at home with tonsillitis so bad I cried every time I swallowed was less awful than some of the NYEs I've spent in pubs.

I'm going to put it out there: any indoor New Year's celebration with over 20 people is shit. If you think I'm wrong, consider going to a massive New Year’s party, sober. I'm absolutely not the kind of person who abstains from alcohol and thinks everyone else should, drunk people can be very entertaining and I’ll happily spend an evening in the pub with a few friends any other time of year (except when there’s a plague on, anyway). But if you can't imagine having fun doing something without at least a few drinks, I hate to be the one to tell you this, but the thing itself is probably not fun.

So why do we have this image that staying in on NYE is like the black mark of social failure? And why do I stay at home with my partner, having a perfectly lovely evening, and yet still feel like I should be out doing something more extravagant, even though experience tells me I'd rather have tonsillitis than go to a pub?

Truly, I don't know. But please don't think I'm having a miserable time because I'm a bit quiet, or I'm not wearing a Christmas jumper and belting out Slade for all I'm worth, or not partying on my birthday, or not going to a pub on New Year's Eve. I'm fine. Probably quite content, in fact. The thing most guaranteed to put a serious downer on the festive season for me is being told these are the happiest days of the year, therefore I should be happy, NOW, like THIS.

[meta-squash]

BBC Les Miserables miniseries Grantaire

I’ve been thinking about Turlough Convery’s Grantaire from the BBC miniseries last year and how good his Grantaire was.

Here’s the thing about filmed versions of Les Mis: no matter how good or bad someone’s portrayal of one of the characters is, it’s dictated by what the director decides to put in and which shots we see of them when. This is so, so very different from stage because there you can choose freely to focus on whatever actor at whatever point.

So this is important to think about because Grantaire and really all the other students do have slightly more setup in the musical since they get a whole song to show each character’s personality plus One Day More plus the actual barricade bits. Film versions only have what they decide to put in. So the students in the miniseries don’t have quite as much setup time as the students in the musical. Plus it’s all about how much you can get in with body language etc with the screen time you do have.

The first thing we see of R in the miniseries is those quick introductions in the Musain (and boy do I love the actual student-ness of Les Amis making fun of Marius when he says he’s a Bonapartist and a democrat, it’s so good) and then his insistence of, “Well have a drink!” as we establish Grantaire as the drunkard and partier. Which is then further established by that fantastic shot of him and Courfeyrac singing drunkenly while Grantaire balances a tankard on his head. We get the briefest summary of a Grantaire monologue: “I say down with all nations! And down with all kings. [...] An emperor is just a king by another name, only worse.” An establishment not only of his drunkenness but also his alignment with Enjolras’ ideals despite his skepticism later. I love that there are little interactions here: Enjolras shoving Grantaire’s feet off the table while R laughs. And I love that he watches Enjolras go at the end of the scene.

In the next scene at the Musain we see him listening to Enjolras talk, making smartass remarks. An immediate introduction of him as the sole skeptic. Immediate introduction to him as the foil to Enjolras, adding to the introduction in the earlier scene. Also the only one aside from Enjolras to get a line in that scene, which I think is very interesting. Not necessarily because of any canon-related thing, but because most Modern AUs use Grantaire’s smartass remarks as the vehicle to prompt Enjolras into explaining his Ideals or Goals or plans or whatever is needed in the plot. So here’s the miniseries which is taking place in canon era using a modern AU tactic instead of having both Enjolras and Grantaire monologue like they do in canon.

And then we see him chugging beer or some sort of alcohol while Courfeyrac and two other unnamed characters (I like to imagine it’s Bossuet and Joly) cheer him on. But when Enjolras tells them of Lamarque’s death the first expression on his face is worry, which is then replaced with a sort of laughing skepticism. Grantaire doesn’t get any monologues in this version (sadly, because I would love to see some adaptation finally allow him all his word vomit) but so much of his monologues are essentially convoluted versions of exactly that: worrying about the practically imminent deaths of his friends and covering it up with jokes and long-winded skeptic remarks. “Another revolution? Is it really going to happen?” is what he says, looking completely skeptical and a little amused while Enjolras looks utterly serious. And as he listens to the workman, Grantaire’s expression goes straight back to concern.

And when Enjolras tells him to go home after he asks “Is it really gonna come to all that?”, his expression isn’t one of anger or feeling insulted. He just looks sad, like a kicked puppy.

And then his “I’m with you,” is so awkward, so reluctant. Not because he doesn’t believe but because he’s clearly terrified (and so is Courfeyrac) of that imminent destruction. So when Enjolras asks him “To the death?” and he replies in the affirmative, he does so with a smile that looks almost mocking but isn’t, and then as Enjolras walks away it turns into a “what have I done?” expression. Obviously this doesn’t at all follow with canon but I think it makes sense as a replacement for Barriere du Maine, in that R is essentially doing the same thing in that scene: pledging an allegiance and a belief that he later fucks up on in some capacity. (Barrier du Maine being dominoes, this one being him not participating on the barricade and then fucking off to sleep in the Corinthe as per canon.)

Also, I love that for some reason Grantaire comes with Enjolras and Courfeyrac to retrieve Marius from his rooms? And as soon as he gets inside he finds a bottle of wine and pours himself a glass. Excellent. And his expression when Enjolras says “We don’t need any romantic daydreamers or lovesick schoolboys” etc is such a perfect combination of “oh shit he’s getting schooled and we’re awkwardly watching” and “oh shit I’m getting schooled secondhand.” Also when he gets handed the gun at Lamarque’s funeral (because for some reason he’s also taken the role of Combeferre or something and is marching too beside Enjolras and Courfeyrac?) he just looks like he’s never touched a gun in his life and doesn’t know what to do with it.

Grantaire basically only pays attention to Enjolras and just kind of stumbles along with the crowd while staring at him. When Enjolras gets stuck on the other side of the gendarmes on the way, Grantaire yells his name. When he gets up to make his speech before building the barricade, Grantaire is reaching for him going “Enjolras, you’ve hurt your hand,” despite the fact that Enjolras brushes him off. He looks so damn enamoured with Enjolras while he’s speechifying, too. Grantaire’s next line is about how it’s quite handy that the barricade location is next to a pub, which sounds dickish but I think is actually really well placed. First of all, canon Grantaire is kind of an ass (although the word “impossible” is used instead). Second, he uses humor and ass-ery to cover up his hurt or worry in canon anyway (see: Eagle of Meaux, down with your claws, and the entirety of his Corinthe monologues). Lastly, it explains where he goes off to in the end without needing the scene between him and Bossuet and Joly in the Corinthe itself.

We’ve also got Grantaire harassing Matelotte (which is canon) and generally being an obnoxious bastard, which is good I think because most adaptations don’t ever show the way he is canonically with women.

And then R is back on the barricade for some reason but whatever. There are parts of this adaptation that are amazing and parts that are just so weird.

(On an unrelated note, two things I love about this adaptation is that they include grisettes in the barricade, and that they show how young and frightened most of these students are: there’s a lot of taking deep breaths and a lot of exhaling sharply.)

And okay I actually fucking love what they did with Grantaire on the barricade. Once the soldiers charge, all the revolutionaries begin shooting. And Grantaire is there in the midst of it all, frozen, paralyzed, holding a rifle but not using it, looking at all the death around him. There’s a brilliant shot of him inhaling sharply, almost a sob, as he realizes just how many lives are going to be sacrificed and what he’s in the middle of. And he watches everyone cheer as the gendarme retreat but he just looks absolutely wrecked.

I love that Grantaire and Courfeyrac are the ones carrying Mabeuf’s body inside. Both equally terrified young men carrying the body of an old man who (in canon) was relatively apolitical but turned political as his hardships deepened as the book goes on, who sacrificed his life for the revolution. Especially as Courfeyrac (at least in this adaptation) is clearly very scared but goes on to fight, while Grantaire is equally as scared but slinks back into the Corinthe. And yet obviously Grantaire’s political ambivalence takes a turn in the end as well.

Also I really like Enjolras’ frustration when he kicks at a sleeping Grantaire who doesn’t wake up. I think there’s a huge difference between an Enjolras who rolls his eyes at R’s skepticism and drunken slumber (2012 movie Enjolras) and one who’s actually frustrated, because frustrated Enjolras actually cares about Grantaire’s lack of belief (or lack of faith, I suppose) rather than just accepting that he’s a hanger-on. Anyway, I do kind of like that he’s asleep on the floor rather than at a table because when you’re asleep at a table during a fight, you still look asleep. Whereas when you’re asleep on the floor leaned up against the wall it’s pretty easy for gendarmes to assume you’re someone who was wounded and then propped against a wall and left for dead.

So we have Enjolras alone in a courtyard (?) and Courfeyrac sacrifices himself to save Enjolras despite the futility of the gesture, which is another thing I really like. Enjolras as a Symbol Of The Revolution who must be protected and sacrificed for no matter what. Which is a direct comparison to Grantaire’s sacrifice, when two seconds later when Grantaire steps out of the doorway with a drunk but quickly sobering “Find your own boozer!” Which, again, is not canon at all but I could easily see a bit more awake/coherent/snarky feeling Grantaire doing that in canon as a distraction, so y’know.

And I love that they shoot Grantaire in the stomach and then just kind of ignore him? Clearly they see him as a harmless drunk with no weapon but a bottle that he just threw at someone anyway (they’re kind of not wrong). It’s a little disappointing though because that means R’s whole thing of telling them to wait and joining Enjolras isn’t a surprise, which is kind of where the emotion lies in this whole thing. But still.

Grantaire says “Me, too” and “Long live the republic” straight to Enjolras, which is just so good. With this look on his face like he’s not at all there for the republic, not really there for the revolution at all and almost entirely for Enjolras. He’s fucking terrified but he’s doing it anyway. I love the “I piss on your blindfold” line which is so angry and crass but I think it does the same symbolic job as “I am one of them.” Grantaire isn’t going into this blind: he knows what he is sacrificing for and he know what all this death is for and he’s accepting that he is one of them, that he does believe in their ideals and he’ll die for Enjolras and his ideals if not his goal. And canon Grantaire is certainly verbose and eloquent but he’s also pretty crass and ridiculous, so I could easily see that line coming out of a particularly drunk (or perhaps terrifyingly sober) canon Grantaire.

They have both Grantaire and Enjolras smiling and almost laughing in this scene, which I think could easily go either way. Partly it makes the gravity of the situation less intense, which I think kinda sucks. But also laughter is a fear reaction and I think there is also some comfort taken on Enjolras’ part that he is dying beside a comrade (and not only that, but a comrade who before this moment was not willing to sacrifice himself) which explains the smile in canon and also the smile here.

I’m so glad that this version kind of had them die the way they died in the Brick, with Enjolras briefly still standing “as if pinned there” while Grantaire fell at his feet. Then they double down and have them die lying beside each other once Enjolras falls. Death, the great equalizer.

I just really like the body language and facial expressions Turlough Convery managed to get across with the screen time that he had. We get to see why the Amis like him; it’s mentioned in the Brick that basically they like him because he’s fun to be around, so we get to see that with Courfeyrac etc drinking with him. In the musical, we do get a little of R’s silly nature for about two seconds in Red And Black, but it quickly turns from Mock Marius Silly Times to Actual Revolutionary Fervor and we don’t really see much of jovial or sarcastic Grantaire. Most of musical Grantaire is sad and skeptic rather than long-winded piss-taking fuckery plus skepticism. This Grantaire gives us the silly piss-taking and the sadness and the internal conflict, which is really nice. We genuinely get to see the battle that goes on inside Grantaire, who believes in Enjolras, who agrees with the Amis’ ideals but is completely skeptical of their success and terrified for them. We get to see that skepticism win as he slinks back into the Corinthe to get drunk and fall asleep. We see his infatuation with Enjolras and the way that Enjolras’ disdain or anger upsets him, which again we only see briefly in the musical with “Grantaire put the bottle down” and his lines in Drink With Me. We see his terror and his ambivalence and all of that so clearly when he’s paralyzed on the barricade.

The way that the Orestes Fasting, Pylades Drunk scene is played out in this version means we don’t quite get to see Grantaire fully realizing the situation, at least not in the Dramatic way we got it in the 2012 movie. But I love the way Turlough Convery maintains Grantaire’s casual, mocking nature all the way up until the very last minute when it truly counts, and then he’s there beside Enjolras looking serious, looking earnest.

Basically I just really love the way that Turlough Convery played Grantaire because often Grantaire is either played as Silly/Drunk or Sad. Despite his little screen time and the fact that we don’t really get any of the Iconic Enjolras-Grantaire interactions, we still get a Grantaire that is surprisingly well-rounded. We basically get to see Grantaire’s lines in Drink With Me played out in this Grantaire’s actions, all his worries and fears and ambivalence, plus we still do get goofy, obnoxious Grantaire in the Musain and stuff like that. There were a lot of things that were great about the BBC miniseries adaptation and even more things that were horrible but this Grantaire was fantastic and Turlough Convery did a fucking great job.

[imagitory]

Star Wars Episode IX: The Rise of Skywalker review [SPOILERS]

Hey, everybody! So I just got back from seeing the newest Star Wars and...whew, am I tired!

For those of you who want a spoiler-free review, I’ll just say that there’s a reason people are so split about this movie. In some ways, I could argue that TRoS is trying to be its own stand-alone thing, and it does so by shoving in way too many plot beats and new characters without enough development or even a satisfactory conclusion for them...and yet at the same time, it tries so hard to evoke the original trilogy like The Force Awakens did, whether through iconography, cameos, or other kinds of fanservice. To put it very simply, if you disliked The Last Jedi, you might come out enjoying this more, since this movie and its director clearly shared your view, but even if The Last Jedi is a flawed film, I feel it still ended up having better direction, character arcs, and storytelling than this film did.

For those of you who don’t fear spoilers...journey on.

The Good!

+Just like in the other installments in this new trilogy, there were some great action moments. I liked when Kylo and Rey were fighting over the First Order ship with the Force, pulling it back and forth like they had previously done with Anakin’s lightsaber. Poe’s lightspace jumping in the Millennium Falcon was a cool trick, and I actually really enjoyed the short suspenseful bit with Poe, Finn, Rey, and the droids sneaking around in the wintry planet Kijimi, too.

+The trick at the end where Rey passed Kylo Anakin’s lightsaber through the Force and the two battled side-by-side while in different locations was neat. I might’ve liked to see that trick used differently (see below), but it was still really cool.

+Poe and Finn were acting like SUCH boyfriends during this entire movie. I don’t care how much “NO HOMO” J.J. tried to slap on these guys in the script (and I’ll discuss that in a minute), these two were friggin’ boyfriends and that was canon, end of story.

+I liked that Leia was able to mentor Rey, and Leia’s death was appropriately sad. It felt like I was mourning Carrie all over again, especially since we’re so close to the anniversary of her death.

+It was kind of cool to see Luke’s old X-Wing again. I might’ve had it reappear in a different way, but it was still cool.

+Rey hearing all of the Jedi in her head for the first time when she was facing Palpatine at the end was great. I might’ve pushed it further and made it more visually interesting, but I’ll get to that in the more negative section.

+For all of the rather unnecessary fanservice, there were a few music cues that really worked -- namely, the Imperial March echo when Rey arrived in the old throne room on the Death Star, Leia’s theme upon her death, and the Jedi theme when Poe saw the fleet of reinforcements arriving.

The Not-So-Good...

+The Reylo-ness of it all. *dodges knives* OKAY. LISTEN --

If you’re a Reylo shipper, then good for you. I mean that sincerely. But I’m sorry, I am convinced that this ending could only have been satisfying to you if you were on the Reylo ship from the very start due to your own personal shipping preferences, because there is NOTHING in the films that justifies the powerful emotional bond that these two supposedly share. Rey and Kylo only met two movies ago, and in both movies, Kylo showed no interest in improving himself and being a better person. None. I don’t care if Rey “sensed” goodness in him -- that is a terrible, weak short-cut for a writer to use, to tell us that Kylo is good without showing it to us. We still see him slaughter people en masse in the very first scene of this movie. We still see him trying to force Rey to join him, even if it puts the people she cares about in danger. We still see him hooking up with Palpatine -- FRIGGIN’ PALPATINE -- after he’d only just rid himself of Snoke. I don’t care if Kylo thinks he can get rid of Palpatine like he did with Snoke -- I don’t care if he’s conflicted and worried about Rey -- we the audience see no evidence that Kylo has truly changed his ways and is worth saving. Leia SACRIFICED HER LIFE to try to help him -- for what?? I know she’s his mother, but I’m sorry, Leia: if your husband couldn’t save your son from himself, why would you be able to? Why didn’t you almost dying in The Last Jedi not affect your son more, if he really cared? Why was calling his name all you had to do? Why didn’t you do that before he started killing all these people? Because it wasn’t dramatically convenient? Because he was fighting Rey at that exact moment and the writers needed to find a way to end that action scene that otherwise could’ve ended with either Rey or Kylo dying? And I’m sorry, but this whole storyline resulted in the one thing I’d dreaded more than anything would happen in a story that shipped these two -- Rey became a tool to Kylo’s redemption. Rather than standing apart as someone with no legacy who builds her own through being a good, noble person, she became defined by her familial and romantic relationships more than she was by her actions. I know Rey ended up defeating Palpatine in the end, but most of her screentime still ended up devoted to her “bond” with Kylo Ren and showed how her love brought him back to the Light. Because seriously, screw the love Kylo’s parents showed him, or Luke showed him -- all they did was sacrifice themselves trying to help him while also standing by their morals and never being tempted to fall like Kylo did -- no, only Rey could’ve brought him back to the side of Good.

And before any of you even try to wave the Sith Lord of my Heart, Darth Vader, in my face, as Snoke said in The Last Jedi, Kylo Ren is no Vader. Vader was tethered to the Empire and to the Emperor, thanks to the injuries he sustained on Mustafar that left him trapped inside his mechanical suit -- if he’d left the Empire, he would’ve died, and on top of all that, he’d already lost his entire family and turned everyone he’d ever cared about -- who were all Jedi -- against him by falling to the Dark Side. Vader had been Anakin -- a slave who was bought out of enslavement by the Jedi, who then turned around and taught him to -- to borrow a phrase -- “conceal, don’t feel,” even if it meant turning a blind eye to the death of his wife and unborn child. Kylo Ren turned to the Dark Side because...honestly? WE NEVER GET A GOOD ANSWER. The best I can get from the films is that Kylo Ren was manipulated by Snoke, who went on and on about how powerful Kylo was and how he should use that power to “bring order to the galaxy” and stuff like that, and then one night Luke held a lit lightsaber over his head for a minute. That justifies falling to the Dark Side and slaughtering all the wittle Jedi? No! And yet Kylo never once has to grapple with what he did -- he never has to make amends. He’s just forgiven, like that! And although Vader likewise never got the chance to make amends, his sacrifice means more than Kylo’s because Vader, through his sacrifice, finally learned the true meaning of love after an entire lifetime of knowing so little of it. The only people who had ever loved Anakin either died or left him -- Kylo always had people who were willing to forgive him, and he spat in their faces. Vader had no one, until his son discovered who he was and tried to reach out to him. And when he reached out, Vader didn’t stab him through the chest or immediately brand him with the murder of his evil master -- Vader followed orders and brought Luke before the Emperor, yes, but when Luke was about to die, Vader saved him.

Kylo Ren’s story could not and SHOULD NOT be Vader’s story, so giving him the same ending is completely unjustified and mismatched with the story being told. Even if the story of a girl and a guy saving each other with “the power of love” was somehow equal in emotional resonance to that of a son trying to reconnect with his father and his father sacrificing his life to save him, that story of a guy and a girl was not built up properly, as we never get much backstory about why Kylo fell, much action on his part to acknowledge his mistakes, or rationale for why we should care about him despite what a terrible person he was and still is. He cares about Rey -- great! Does he care about the Resistance? Leia? Luke? Han? Lando? Chewie? ANYBODY excluding himself and Rey? Han as a Force Ghost at one point suggests that Leia will never die as long as they remember what she stood for -- since when is that something KYLO REN ever cared about?! Leia DESPISED the Empire and Darth Vader, and yet Kylo Ren and the First Order have done nothing but wrap themselves up in their rhetoric and iconography!

On that note, though, I will acknowledge that Kylo Ren, as a character, has always given me certain troubling real-world-like vibes, and that may be part of the reason why it really infuriates me that the movie tried to redeem him. Kylo Ren is a privileged young man from a respected, powerful family who embraces and romanticizes the atrocities of a previous generation, resents others (rather appropriately, a young woman and black man with no greatness in their family names) for taking what should be “rightfully his,” and vows to bring things back to when that previous evil institution was in its full glory -- isn’t that exactly what modern alt-right Neo-Nazi types do? Romanticize the Third Reich and the Klan and wrap themselves up in their supposed “glory,” while being nothing but a pale, pathetic, anger-driven imitation? Even if you don’t personally see Kylo the same way I do, I hope you will at least respect that -- given this lens I see the character through -- it makes sense why I dislike any attempt to give this character sympathy.

+ *inhales heavily* ...Rey...is a Palpatine. *groans in aggravation* J.J., ARE YOU FUCKING SERIOUS? Did you not get why Rian Johnson made Rey’s backstory the way he did, or were you just so in-line with anti-TLJ fans that you wanted to spit in his face in film-form? I know a lot of people were pissed off when Rey was determined to be a “nobody” after what felt like hints of a more developed backstory in TFA, but I seriously can’t help but think that those people missed the point. Rey being a nobody and yet being talented in the Force fixed the whole problem brought up by the Midiclorians in the prequel trilogy -- namely, the thought that you can only be born special, because of your genes. With Rey not being a Kenobi, or a Skywalker, or a Palpatine, it says, “Yes -- you don’t need to have been born special. Anyone can tap into the Force, because it is everything, as are we.” This is even why it’s hinted in previous movies (and once or twice in this movie, though it doesn’t go anywhere) that Finn is Force-sensitive -- Finn, a ex-Stormtrooper! But by turning Rey into a Palpatine all along, J.J. has once again made the Force only something that a select few can tap into -- only special people can have the power needed to stand up to evil. Sure, ordinary people like Poe and Finn can blow things up, but only special people like the Skywalkers and the Palpatines can stop the Sith from destroying the entire rebellion. Instead of this being a story about a girl who had no legacy and yet earned the title of heir to the Skywalker legacy purely through her noble heart and selfless deeds, this became a story of two people -- one from a good family and one from an evil family -- having to come together to deal with their family drama and save the galaxy. Maybe some people wanted to see that from the start, but frankly I didn’t, and even if that story could’ve been told well, it was not the story that we were set up to watch, after we saw The Last Jedi. It also irritates me because of how much the film tries to play Rey’s parents SELLING HER ON JAKKU as them “saving her” from Palpatine. I call BULL. Even Luke was only “saved” from Vader by being given to relatives on a backwater planet -- Rey’s parents ABANDONED her. If you thought that Frozen 2 retconning Elsa and Anna’s parents’ attitudes toward Elsa’s magic was problematic, whoa, boy, have a gander at this. (I actually kind of like Agnarr and Iduna as individual characters in Frozen 2, but I actively have to distance Frozen from its sequel because of canon discrepancies like this.) Rey’s parents didn’t need to have a “good reason” for dropping her off on Jakku -- this film even acknowledges that Rey’s real family is the family she found: Finn, Poe, BB-8, Chewie, Leia, and the Resistance. Rey’s parents could’ve been assholes. Many people’s parents are assholes. Rey is not their child anymore: she is a Skywalker, and that’s all that matters.

+Oh yeah, and speaking of The Last Jedi, NOTHING matches up in this. J.J. literally wrote two complete movies and shoved them together in this one in a vain attempt to completely retcon the last film. Poe earning back his position in the rebellion after learning a lesson about not always barreling into danger without thinking? His character arc has vanished and he shows no more talent for strategy or leadership than he did before. Rey only seeing herself when she was looking for her family? Nope, turns out she was a Palpatine all along: the Force was just trolling her, I guess. Kylo accusing Rey of killing Snoke? Doesn’t come up at all. The young boy using the Force to pick up the broom? Never appears. The signal sent across the galaxy asking for help? Poe says half-way through the movie that nobody came, so it may as well have never happened. Rose and Finn? No mention of the kiss on Krait or anything -- they act like they barely know each other, and Rose has almost no screentime. Even Lando’s return, which should’ve been great, happens when he appears on this random India-like desert planet -- why was he there? Why does he no longer live in Cloud City? Wasn’t he its leader? Wouldn’t he have better fit in a planet like Canto Bight, one that was glitzy and kind of seedy, instead of a pastoral place like that? It’s like reading the first six books in the Harry Potter series, only to end on a version of Deathly Hallows where -- surprise! -- Hermione was actually a pureblood witch all along and she’s actually related to the Lestranges and also Hagrid pops up in Godric’s Hollow to save Hermione and Harry from Nagini for no reason at all, plus Ginny is just a side character now and the author seems to want you to think Harry likes Hermione even if Ron and Harry totally have more chemistry but NO HOMO YOU GUYS COME ON.

+Hahaha, on that note, WOW, have I never seen a film more desperate to try to prove to its audience that its two male main characters are not totally boyfriends. Even though J.J. decided to placate angry fanboys by rather unfairly marginalizing Rose Tico (come on, she may not have been written the best in Last Jedi, but you’re not going to fix that by IGNORING HER ALL TOGETHER), he still thought it best to introduce two new female characters, Zorii and Jannah, who both could’ve been very interesting if they’d had their proper amount of screentime and development, but instead only serve to be substitute “love interests” for Poe and Finn. That might sound harsh, but they literally have no other substantial relationships that get explored in this movie outside of the ones with their respective “guy.” It felt like the film was going, “Look -- Poe’s not gay! He’s got history with this chick, and he gives her a look at the end! And look -- Finn’s not gay! He might’ve been trying to confess his feelings to Rey which totally made his not-boyfriend uber jealous BUT THEY’RE NOT GAY YOU GAIS, and he’s doing stuff with this girl, who was also a Stormtrooper!” Sorry, film, but methinks you doth protest too much. (Even Poe’s actor Oscar Isaac apparently thinks so.)

+Another theme from The Last Jedi that I loved and J.J. clearly didn’t is that the dichotomy between “Jedi” and “Sith” doesn’t inherently equate “good” vs. “evil,” and therefore just because the Sith are evil, it doesn’t mean that the Jedi -- who preached detachment from all affectionate emotions and familial ties -- were right. Even the Resistance is flawed. It’s actually something the prequels and the Clone Wars TV show preach too, and it brings so much more grayness to the Star Wars mythos. In The Rise of Skywalker, however, the Jedi and the Resistance are just seen as the good guys, period, end of story. Who cares if it results in your story being shockingly simplistic and oddly shallow, when compared to the rest of the Star Wars universe?

+The treatment of the Stormtroopers in this movie was actually kind of infuriating. We consistently get reminders about how the First Order’s Stormtroopers were child soldiers who were stolen from their homes and brainwashed, as evident by both Finn and Jannah, and yet throughout the entire movie, they still get cut down in the hundreds without care. Even Finn -- an ex-Stormtrooper himself -- shoots them up like they’re NPCs in a video game! For a film trilogy that did something so powerful by showing the humanity underneath the white helmet, we sure got a film that didn’t give a shit about these people unless they had their helmets off.

+Speaking of the First Order, I saw the Hux-as-the-traitor “twist” coming and I hated finding out that I was right. Honestly it could’ve been played very interestingly if Hux maybe tried to overthrow Kylo and take over the First Order himself, therefore showing how Kylo’s fear-stoking and hatred don’t bring out any loyalty in his followers, but it only results in Hux immediately getting axed off and replaced with another First Order officer we’ve never seen in any of the previous films and therefore don’t care about. Why couldn’t we have reused D.J. the hacker from the previous movie as the spy, or better yet, have the “spy” actually be Kylo, leaking information that he thinks might coax Rey to the Dark Side? The last two films built Hux up as an interesting character, but he was tossed out even more unceremoniously than Commodore Norrington was in the Pirates films.

+This problem of “replacing one antagonist with another out of the blue” is replicated on a large scale with the return of Palpatine. This entire film series has been centered on Kylo Ren and the First Order, but all of a sudden, out of nowhere, we’re just expected to turn all of our focus onto Palpatine and the Knights of Ren, both of whom have had no bearing on the story previously. It could’ve been cool to learn more about the Knights of Ren, but we don’t learn anything about them -- we just see them suddenly being there, when they’d never been there previously. As for Palpatine...did we REALLY need him brought back? Really? The First Order was a threat because they’d wrapped themselves up in their romanticized, false view of the Empire -- that was a choice they made. It didn’t have to be because Palpatine was secretly alive all along and was pulling the strings -- people can do things of their own accord, without a grand, evil mastermind coming back from the dead out of nowhere. Kylo Ren finally got out from under Snoke’s shadow in The Last Jedi and I was so excited to see him come into his own as a villain, but instead all he did was skirt around the coat-tails of Palpatine the entire movie, and it was really disappointing. I WANTED a final confrontation between Kylo and Rey in the climax, like the films had been building up to -- instead all we got was a half-baked “redemption” for Kylo where he teams up with Rey to fight somebody else who just wandered into the story out of nowhere. Even Palpatine’s plot didn’t make any sense -- he tells Kylo for the first half of the movie that they need to kill Rey even though Kylo really wants her to turn to the Dark Side instead, only for Palpatine to (I guess) change his mind at the last minute when Rey arrives in his lair, and yet they play it off as him having planned for that to happen all along because he needs Rey to kill him so she can become one with him and all of the other Sith -- look, I know Palpatine’s whole characterization is hinged on him being a criminal mastermind, but all I want is some consistency! How are we supposed to know what the threat is if we don’t know what our villains want?

+“The Force” is used to rationalize a lot in this movie, from where Rey decides to walk to what plot devices our heroes will need later to why our characters do what they do. Even Finn, who in The Force Awakens accented that he made a choice to break away from the First Order because he saw what he was doing was wrong, now apparently believes that the Force decided that he should join up with Poe and Rey...and I just don’t like that, let alone buy it. The Force was never equivalent to ��destiny” -- yes, Anakin was the Chosen One, but he only fulfilled it because the Jedi believed in it enough to train him and he fulfilled the prophecy in a way no one could’ve imagined...and even so, the Force doesn’t dictate everything. Everything is part of the Force, and the Force is part of everything -- but it shouldn’t just be a deus-ex-machina that moves the plot along or does whatever the author needs it to do. For instance, why can the Force suddenly heal wounds?? Since when is that something it can do?? If it could do that, and someone largely self-taught like Rey can do it, then why didn’t Jedi Master Anakin or Obi-Wan ever do that? Why didn’t Anakin use some of his life force to save his dying mother? Why didn’t he think to use it on Padme, or why didn’t Obi-Wan use it on Padme? Why didn’t Luke think to use it to save his father? The only reason why the Force can do that now is that the writers needed to justify why Kylo could give up his remaining life force for Rey, but in order to do that, they give the Force an ability it’s never had previously and doesn’t match up with the previous canon.

+If we’re talking about the Force, though, I have to write a separate bullet point accenting this -- WHY. DOESN’T. FINN. USE IT?? The film clearly likes the thought of Finn being Force-sensitive, but it’s too cowardly to just make Finn a Jedi. When Kylo and Rey were fighting over the ship, why didn’t Finn do something to help?? Why didn’t he blast Kylo or, more relevantly to this discussion, show off some of his latent Force talent by helping Rey yank the ship back? Why didn’t Finn use his Force ability to reach out to Rey while she was fighting Kylo, or fighting Palpatine? He could’ve been the one to wield Anakin’s lightsaber and fight side by side with Rey in that final battle, if Kylo had been the villain like he should’ve been. Maybe Finn confronts Commander Hux inside the command post while Rey’s fighting Kylo, and when Rey tries one last time to connect with the Jedi of the past, she’s able to connect to all of the Jedi, living or dead -- including Finn, as he also has been nurturing a talent in the Force! Through their new mental connection, Rey and Finn are able to help each other, while also being surrounded and spurred on by the corporeal, translucent spirits of Anakin, Obi-Wan, Yoda, Mace Windu, Ahsoka Tano, and the rest, all appearing and disappearing one after another around Finn and Rey as they fight. Poe should’ve been commanding the troops from above in Luke’s old X-Wing, it being the only ship he could get his hands on (because I’m sorry -- Han gave Rey the Falcon, she should be the one using it, yet this film just stubbornly kept her out of the driver’s seat for some reason), giving them all of the support he could from the air so that the rest of the First Order can’t interfere with the four-way duel between Finn, Rey, Kylo, and Hux. Maybe when the electricity in the ships gets messed up, Poe’s even able to remember something Rey or Finn told him to tap into the Force enough himself to keep himself airborne until he’s able to crash-land safely. While Hux and Kylo fight to destroy their opponents individually, each seeking glory and victory solely for themselves, Rey and Finn fight together as friends, taking lessons from the Jedi that are their mentors but also standing apart from them and being better than them.

+This movie really felt like two stories smashed together because there were way too many plot lines that were dropped like a hot potato not long after they were introduced. Finn having something to tell Rey? No conclusion. 3PO getting his memory wiped? Resolved quickly a few scenes later with little fall-out. Chewie supposedly getting killed? We find out within minutes that he survived. All of the new characters we meet, like Zorii and Jannah? They get one or two short scenes each where we barely get to know them at all. Even the India-inspired planet I mentioned earlier gets blown up because the First Order thinks it’ll upset the Rebellion and get them to come out of hiding, but...this film is the first time we’ve even seen this planet! We barely spent any time on it! This is really the obvious first choice of a planet whose destruction would upset the Rebellion? We don’t even know any of the characters who live on it personally! At least when Alderaan got blown up, Leia’s parents were on it, so we feel sad for Leia’s sake, but we haven’t built up any emotional investment in that planet that was just blown up.

+Along with this movie feeling like it had too much stuff in it, it also felt very, VERY long. The pacing was very bad, with there being no organic rise and fall to the action and the climax really just feeling like a bunch of plot turns stacked haphazardly on top of each other. When I came out of the theater, I even heard a little boy say to his dad, “That was really long,” and I had to agree with him. It’s not even that long compared to other Star Wars movies, but I just felt like I was being yanked around by the arm throughout the entire run-time, so rather than feeling invested in what was happening, I found myself tuning out and wanting the filmmakers to just get to a point.

Overall, I really don’t think I can recommend this movie. Every Star Wars fan should probably see it, and it’s possible that quite a few of you might get more out of it than me if you disliked The Last Jedi and want to see a movie that “sticks it” to that movie for whatever reason...but even if you do, surely you would agree that stories should not be written like this, where one part is completely invalidated by another and there’s no build-up for anything that happens? Stories should not be just something that you’re passively pulled through by the author -- they should engage you: make you feel for the characters, make you think about its themes, make you guess what might happen next. A story doesn’t mean less if you can make educated guesses about where the story might go if you see where it began -- it also doesn’t mean less if it subverts old literary or canon tropes. But this movie didn’t subvert anything -- instead it openly contradicted and retconned just about everything in the last movie, to the point that Rise of Skywalker clearly wanted to be two movies but didn’t have enough development or care put into it that could prompt a real emotional reaction from its audience. In short, it ended up being an overly complicated, watered-down retread of Return of the Jedi with none of the power in its supposedly “bittersweet” ending. The first two installments in this trilogy got me excited for a new take on Star Wars, to the extent that I for the first time actively looked into the fandom surrounding the films instead of just enjoying the films on my own. It’s therefore quite disappointing to me that the trilogy had to end on such a weak, petering note.

Overall Grade: D