#because now it's evidence against your claim that you can't just ''do things on command'' or automatically

[melonisopod]

Oh god, the last part about remembering to take your habit-making pill.

Hi I was today years old when I realized some people truly don’t have to think about every single thing they do. They don’t have to have an imaginary set of rules (I’m not allowed to put on my bra until I’ve brushed my teeth) to function.

[kiryoutann]

Before reading, please check series masterlist to read the warning(s), disclaimer, and to make sure you’re on the right chapter. Minors do NOT interact.

Simon fucks you like a lover returned home from war.

Strong hands lifted you onto the kitchen counter; the sudden movement made you gasp before it was swallowed by his lips. He kissed with urgency, almost brutal in its intensity—tongue tracing each of your teeth, sucking lightly on yours as he tilted his head to continue deepening the kiss. You sigh—thighs clad in thin stockings clamp down on his hips, feeling his jeans against the inside of your knees.

Much like a stray dog ​​to an open door of a house. Like fangs on flesh. His entire digits are famished, looking for solace that seeps through your skin. He traces the curves of your body as if time is his biggest enemy and every second snatched is a victory.

You tangle your fingers in his blonde hair, pulling him to trail kisses down your jaw. His stubble scrapes your skin. Your pulse sped as you felt him begin making his way down your neck. Placing a hand against his solid chest, you pushed him away, creating a small distance between you.

“Wait,” you interrupted. “Please don't leave marks. I have practice early, and the director, he'll..." Your words trail off in a mumble.

The disappointed grunt that he lets out almost escapes your notice. “Right, can't be having that, now can we?”

Simon, in opposition to what he had said, leaned closer still and planted his lips in the hollow of your neck. It curved your back, drawing a breathy gasp out of you. His hand slides down to grip your ass, bringing you closer against the hard evidence of his arousal. Slowly, his fingers slipped under your sweater. He finds your breasts, giving one experimental squeeze before the second. Your head was thrown back as you let out a sigh.

“Fucking things,” Simon grumbled almost offended when he felt the barrier between his palm and your thigh – your stocking getting in the way. He lifted his head and looked at you, “Let’s get you out of this, yeah?”

A shy smile curves your kiss-swollen lips as you give him a nod. It was quite amusing, seeing a man his size so undone by a thin piece of fabric. You straightened your legs to make his job easier.

“Good girl,” he says, and your core throbs excitedly from the praise.

Simon rolled the stockings down your legs, calloused fingers rubbing over your shins. You hold your breath from the contact. As the lace is finally removed, your feet feel a sudden exposure to the coolness. You watched him slowly roll the stockings into a slim coil before placing them on the edge of the counter.

When he leans in close again and claims a spot between your spread legs, you take the chance like the sly fox that you are. Overpowered by the desire to feel him again, you wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him in for a new kiss. Simon's teeth graze yours as he grips your curved spine and grinds his hips even harder into your soaked underwear. Needy moans spill from your throat.

Then your hands flew to his trousers, fumbling for the zip. Simon grabbed your wrist, ending the kiss, and pulled back just enough to see what you were going to do.

“What’re you up to?”

It's frustrating; he's frustrating. He knows what you're trying to do, yet he still asks, as if he's waiting for you to openly admit it. 

Biting your lip, you try, “I want to feel you.”

For a moment, he hesitates in consideration as he sweeps his gaze over your exposed position. Panic seized you for an instant. Just because you did it last time doesn't mean he's necessarily okay with doing it again. Perhaps your eager desire has clouded your judgment, and you wonder if all he wanted was some harmless make-out, nothing more.

“Turn around for me, love.” He rasps before you can speak again.

Your eyes flickered at his command. Giving a hesitant nod, you turned around; elbows resting on the cool granite beneath you. Your thighs clenched self-consciously.

Glancing over your shoulder, you ask in a small voice, “Like this?”

“Aye, just like that,” he replies, burning a hole in the back of your head.

Despite the sense of vulnerability that came with surrendering control, it ignited something within you. This trust you placed in a barely known man, this risk you took—was it bravery or recklessness? Like clay for his hands to shape, a canvas for his passion to paint. The thrill of not knowing in which way he would touch you set your pulse racing, making your heart beat faster with each passing moment.

When his fingers hook the waistband of your panties, you hold your breath. Slowly, he pulls the lace down your thighs, and you heat up with each new patch of skin revealed. By the time the fabric reaches your feet, you well realize you're a dripping mess—this tight, little hole begging for his touch, his mouth.

Gripping your thighs, he spreads your folds open before bending to place an open-mouthed kiss. You gasp, your back arching as he explores with his lips and tongue. His nails dig deeper holding your writhing form. The sounds that came out of you increased in pitch with each swipe and suck.

“Mmmfh—! Haah~! Simon!!”

Simon removed his lips from your cunt, replacing them by planting two digits into your silky hole. He's knuckle-deep in your heat. One thickly corded hand circles around your shoulders, aligning your soft curves to his hard chest. Your moans become more intense when his fingers curl inside you, opening you even further with slow, steady pumps.

It was a beautiful painting, and Simon weaved this moment by moment into his hippocampus. Your sweat-slicked hair. Your lips, he knew, were gaping with desire. The perfect cheek of your ass as he continues to hitch your skirt higher to access your swollen flesh further. All else is insignificant, though, when you utter his name aloud like a reverent preacher's prayer—this one has the ability to make his cock throb for attention beneath his jeans.

“Relax that gorgeous body for me, darling.” He whispered next to your ear, his warm breath sending shivers down your spine.

The words he growled became indistinct as he continued to gently seal his lips around your earlobe. His inked hands embrace you tighter. White patches began to form in your mind; your breath came in short gasps. Your focus spreads before narrowing at the sensation of the knot threatening to untie in your lower stomach.

Quickly, Simon withdrew his fingers to work open his zip. Pulling out his cock, he clicked his tongue, seeing the glistening pre-cum on its tip. He was ready to sink home at last, to breach inside. However, his semi-conscious brain was spinning, knowing that he had forgotten something

"Shit, where's the rubber?" he asked.

“Don’t bother.”

Your murmur shocked both you and Simon. No sensible woman would risk it all just for a taste, and only the reckless would dare to bet on the possibility that carnal pleasures could bloom into something real. However, the words have been spoken, and only a coward would take them back. You never claimed to be the wiser. This oblivion is the only type of surrender that you can provide.

Simon doesn't seem to be all that different either.

In one deep thrust, he sheathed himself to the hilt, seating his thick girth in your tight channel. Simon could hardly contain the moan at the corner of his throat as your raw, exquisite heat enveloped him. His massive hands gripped your hips hard enough to bruise as he tried to find his pace. As he began to move consistently, your throat remained tight and continued to drag out the strings of his name in the lewdest way.

Your thoughts were cloudy, centered solely on the feeling of his naked cock clamped between your walls. His wandering hand moves upwards, palming the swell of your breast through the sweater. But it isn't enough; he must feel you, skin to skin.

In one smooth motion, he hitches the garment up and slips it into your bra. With a practiced flick of his wrist, he released a plump breast, weighing the soft fat in his palm.

“Fucking perfect,” he said.

The sensation of fullness in your pussy shortens your breath. He rolls your nipple between his digits—his side entertainment as he continues his pounding.

Your spine forms a beautiful curve when he moves his finger to circle your clit. Each breathy sigh and needy mewl throbbed his cock. Your hand reaches back blindly—an invitation for him to come closer, and as a good guest, Simon accepts the siren's call by taking your earlobe between his teeth.

“So fucking wet for me, darling. You like having my cock buried deep, don’t you?”

“Mmh—! Yes, yes!”

A deep chuckle shook his chest. This little ballerina was so cock-drunk that she was unable to talk, behaving like her tongue was chained and her lovely lips could only produce vulgar moans. Flames burned higher and higher—the whole room caught fire. He feels a faint, growing throb within you before it becomes more pronounced and stronger.

Hesitant to stand on your wobbly legs, you surrendered and bent your back. Goosebumps crawl all over your body when the cool granite touches your sensitive breasts. The new angle gives Simon more access to redouble his efforts. He watched, delighted, as his fat cock disappeared between your folds, only to reappear slick and pulsing.

“Simon—ah! Simon- I’m—! Ohgodohgod..!”

A few more thrusts, and he feels your tight walls hugging his cock as it starts to flutter and ripple. Heat collects in your lower stomach. Short gasps of breath escape you as your heart races. With a keening wail, your climax bursts out in waves.

Simon tightened his hold on your hips as his own orgasm began to peak. Thinking through a thick fog of ecstasy, he reaches for the tissue at your side before pulling out of your quivering cunt and letting his angry tip finish on the material. The room fell silent again, with the exception of the refrigerator's gentle hum and the sounds of two people catching their breath.

Slowly, the fog of pleasure lifted. As his brain winds down, reality comes crashing back in. The poor woman is still draped over the counter, trying to calm her heaving chest. He hurriedly adjusted his trousers.

“Shit.”

At Simon's curse, you attempt to turn around, but your legs feel weak and shaky, unable to support your body's movement. Recognizing your struggle, he moves closer and settles his big hand to help you seat yourself on the edge of the counter.

“Should've wrapped it. Wasn't thinking straight.” He continued, apologetic underneath.

Reaching for a towel, he runs it under warm water before returning to you. At first, he was hesitant—not sure whether to give it to you or do it himself. He ends up dabbing it on your thighs. His brows were wrinkled in concentration as he cautiously swept the towel. You can't help but let out a giggle at that.

"Something funny?" he asked.

“Nothing,” you shook your head, still smiling. “I just never thought I'd see this side of you, is all.”

It's an unexpected turn of events, indeed. When the day began, you would never have predicted that you'd be seated on the kitchen counter with Simon gently cleaning you up with a damp towel, paying you such intimate attention.

This time, it was his turn to chuckle. Your heart nearly jumped out of your ribs when a pair of brown eyes met yours. “Yeah, well. Don't get used to it, alright?”

Simon gently put the towel aside. He rested his large hand on your thigh, squeezing it lightly. You swept your gaze over his face. He seemed tired—his eye bags were darker than before, and his blonde hair was slightly longer than when you last saw him. If he made any attempt to appear less zombie-like, it was through his recently shaven stubble. For a moment, the two of you remain silent, attempting to relish the comfortable quiet while his thumb traces idle patterns on your legs.

“I never thought I would see you again after that night,” you mutter timidly.

Simon doesn't say anything. The weight of his gaze still remained on you, as if he knew you had more words to say. And he's right. There's this itchy question scratching at the back of your throat, demanding to be answered.

All this time, where did he go? Where did his long strides carry him in those months, when failure was the only thing you found every time you tried to look for him? Did he return to some house tucked away in the countryside? Is there anyone else with the privilege to claim his time – a family, or worse, a lover you won't be able to compete with? You ache to understand what took him from you and what pulled him back into your orbit.

"Where did you go?" The words stumbled out in a rush before you could stop yourself.

At your question, something shifted in his gaze, but it was gone before you could decipher it any deeper. Simon transferred his weight to his other leg.

“Got deployed.” The only answer he can provide.

"Oh." You breathe, almost to yourself – the reality of Simon's life settles upon you once again.

Your eyes scan him intently, observing every visible part of him with a new sense of awareness. His face remains unharmed. The backs of his hands bore no new marks. His neck is also untouched.

“Are you hurt anywhere?”

But, you ask anyway, wanting—needing reassurance that the t-shirt he's wearing isn't concealing any fresh injuries he has brought home, that no part of his body is in need of healing.

“Just a few bumps and bruises, is all. Comes with the job.”

He responded in a casual manner, showing little to no care for his well-being. It was as if this was normal—and, in fact, it is for him. He knows that every mission he takes could be his last, so coming out with just a few bumps and bruises sounds like a pretty good aftermath.

But still, you want to be the judge of that. After all, being able to endure it does not mean he is obligated to withstand it. You want to see it for yourself, to actually assess the extent of his injuries and make sure they're as minor as he claims.

As he begins to pull away, you feel a surge of panic at the thought of him leaving. Without thinking, the words tumble from your lips: “Wait!”

Simon froze immediately, turning questioning eyes on you. You bit your lip, looking for an excuse to prolong your time together. Your gaze falls on the cabinet where you keep your coffee grounds, two packs of Earl Grey tea, and a bottle of foreign drink.

“I don’t know much about bourbon,” you admitted, hoping he could decode the meaning beneath your lines. “But I think I bought the one you liked.”

He left the offer hanging as he searched your gaze for something. Your heart pounds a frantic rhythm against your ribs. Please understand what I ask of you—stay for a bit longer. There's a heavy longing that lives in my chest, and it's weighing me down to the floor. The night is too cold for me to feel that undefined ache alone. Please, please, please—

However, whether he got the message or not became unimportant when he gave the answer.

"Alright then, pour us a drink."  

@strawberrygato

SUPPORT ME THROUGH KO-FI! CHECK MY WRITING COMMISSION. SHARE YOUR THOUGHTS HERE.

[leportraitducadavre]

“(Hayate is a good proctor solely for a shy Hyuga heir it seems.)” YAS QUEEN! Call out the Hyuga clan. God, they’re fucking awful and Neji and the other second branch characters deserved better. Konoha ain’t shit. I love your re-readings! Are you re-writing them, btw? Just asking to know if I gotta re-read the ones I’ve read before. You’re reading everyone’s favourite characters to filth, even some of mine, and I’m loving it lol

Lmao.

No, I'm not rewriting them, those posts are simply comments while I re-read the manga, the only ones I'm re-writing as of now is the S//S post, the N//H post, and an analysis I made of Sakura's character and her relationships with Naruto, Sasuke and Ino.

You’re reading everyone’s favourite characters to filth, even some of mine, and I’m loving it lol

I'm not sure about reading them to filth, I'm literally pointing out things that are canonically mentioned. I'm not even exaggerating those readings -Kishimoto made a conscious decision when writing those stuff, fans choose to ignore them in order to protect their faves.

And I'll say this again, you can like a controversial character -that's not my issue. If people like Hinata, I have no problem, but denying core aspects of her character? Stating that she's not part of the Main Branch simply because Hiashi "treats her badly" is the same nonsense as saying "she isn't in love with Naruto''. She has no Caged Bird Seal as everyone does in the branch family, and FOUR jönins jumped down to protect her from Neji, when none of them moved a muscle to save anyone before. If that's not a privileged girl, I don't know what it is.

And listen, Hinata's anxiety/shyness is often presented as arguments to justify her inaction when it comes to her clan's enslavement; if those are valid enough arguments to excuse her deliberate ignorance on the matter (and yes, she ignores her clan's slavery on purpose because she's aware of what's going on, she even witnessed Hiashi torturing Hizashi and acknowledged the real reason why Neji was so mad at her), then those too are equally valid arguments to disregard her both as a possible leader (of her clan) and shinobi:

She can't be a jönin responsible for a squad if she's too anxious to give someone an order and live with the consequences -I'm not even bringing up her incapacity to fight or plan (some people simply doesn't like to be a ninja, Hinata clearly dislikes it, so stop forcing your fantasies on her and obliterating everything she canonically is), but her lack of commanding skills.

And since I’m here, I’ll like to point something out that I didn’t on my “Who’s the strongest kunoichi” post (which I’ll probably add): There’s a relatively constant occurrence in the pro-fandom of the most famous female characters (and no, I do not mean the usual use of pejorative terms like "misogynist" against those who do not match their perspectives, which is also very common); which is the naturalization of the argument "why is it difficult for you to accept that XXX character is inferior?" (of course I’m paraphrasing, but this line -or versions of this line- can be observed in many of their posts/comments).

This is often brought up with the sole purpose of diminishing the “anti”’s arguments against the pro-fan favorite character, or in favor of their chosen character, without committing to the debate and presenting true evidence of their claims (which, unlike those of the antis, are true until proven wrong and not the other way around). In lesser terms, they demand the performance of a specific attitude/introspection that they’re not willing to conduct themselves.

[wr1t3-my-wr0ngs]

Good Soldiers - chapter 4/4

Remembering Yesterday’s Tomorrow (In the Here and Now): Part 4 COMPLETED

Rex isn't happy with resorting to Plan B, however, he's not surprised that Plan A didn't work out. Disappointed, but he knew that it was a long shot getting a Jedi to intervene.

At least Plan B has the benefit of working before, but it will still be a bloodbath. Not even the best of troops can hope to match an armed and trained force user, and it's not vanity when he says that his men are the best.

He felt like a cheat when he had described the plan earlier.

"We lead him to the nearest Vixus."

"You want us to go near one of those things on purpose?"

Rex couldn't blame the men for their incredulity, not after one of the creatures had nearly eaten almost every person in the room only hours before. He's not exactly thrilled at going near the sarlac-like thing either. But they aren't fast enough to take Krell in a fair fight, not with his four lightsabers and absolute willingness to maim anyone in his path. (Too many limbs, too much speed, too little empathy.)

Every word from his lips felt like a lie, a stolen idea that he parroted as his own. In a way, they were. It had been Tup who had thought of using the Vixus to capture Krell, a stroke of genius that had ended a horrific fight, and it grates that Rex can’t give the trooper the recognition he deserves.

"What the Captains trying to say, " Fives chimed in after watching Rex flounder for a moment. "Is that we need this to be on our terms. He's not going to come quietly if he is a traitor."

Rex nodded, both in thanks and in confirmation.

"If you think you have a shot, take it. The faster the fight is over, the better it will be for everyone, but we need to aim to arrest him if possible."

"And if we can't?"

"Have your recorders on and let the bastard incriminate himself."

In true GAR fashion, the plan had spread like wildfire, and soon enough, every last soldier knew their task.

Rex hardly needs to issue the orders, but he does anyway, following the formalities because he knows that, despite what General Skywalker may sometimes claim, appearances and regulations do count.

The ride up the tower is quiet, and from the corner of his eye, Rex can see a few of the younger troops nervously adjust the grip on their blasters. He has to fight the urge to fidget or even reach up and place a hand over his ring, doing his best to project confidence for both the men and himself.

Krell is waiting for them, facing the window, one set of hands clasped behind his back.

"CT-7567, explain yourself."

Rex readies his blasters, switching off the safeties and aims at the Besalisk.

"Pong Krell, you are under arrest for treason against the Grand Army of the Republic and the Galactic State which it serves. Do you comply peacefully?"

Krell turns, malice written in his face and eyes.

"You know, I'm surprised you were able to figure it out for a clone. Tell me, when did you first suspect?"

Rex ignores the question, refusing to be goaded by the man before him any more than he already has.

"Do you comply?" He puts more force into his words than before, using a tone of voice he would never dare to use on a commanding officer.

Krell looks around, almost lazily, and takes in the various troopers - all with blasters pointed his direction – and smiles in a way that is anything but friendly.

"You think you can stop me, Captain? I have trained for more years then you have been alive, and I will not be stopped me some creature bread in a tube."

Without further preamble, Krell pushes out with the Force, sending every trooper slamming into the walls. Those unfortunate enough to have stayed on their feet during the assault are quickly cut down by the blue-green pair of saber staffs, and Rex watches from his place on the ground as the fallen Jedi jumps out the window.

He scrambles to his feet and rushes out the door, brushing past medics on their way in to try and stabilize those they can. He does not envy them their job, one which he knows will only get harder the longer Krell goes unattended to.

The sound of boots fills the night air as soldiers pour from the base and onto the hard pavement of the airfield. Krell is nowhere in sight, but the evidence of his departure lies scattered on the ground.

Passing the bodies that litter the ground outside the airbase doors, Rex has to swallow past the rising bile as he takes in his brothers: some still breathing, others lifeless. He charges on more determined than before, no time to pause the pursuit and tell the living from the dead before crashing into the underbrush.

The forest is quiet and incredibly dark, the helmets night vision thrown off by the red glow of the bioluminescent trees.

"Does anyone have a visual?"

"Negative Captain, he's —"

The sound of a lightsaber crackles through the comms, the distinctive hiss as it cauterizes and cuts, distorted and warped by the tiny speakers.

"You should have kept quiet, Captain."

The back of Rex's neck tingles as Krells' voice echoes around the landscape, seeming to come from all directions, shifting on a nonexistent wind.

"You've led them to slaughter in a fool's errand. I have seen the future Captain, your life, and that of every clone is expendable. You and your so-called brothers: specialized rats bread in a lab for just one reason. The Jedi will fall, and in its place, a new order will rise and rule. Yet you rebel in a misguided notion of liberty, and now your men will pay the price."

Displayed on his hud, Rex can see the blinking light of the recorder, and even though he hopes it won't come to it, they need a back up should Dogma fail to reach General Kenobi. He keeps Krell talking, shouting into the eerie red nothingness, turning all directions in the hopes of catching sight of the six-limbed man.

"You're a Separatist?"

Krell's laugh is merciless.

"Not hardly, I serve none but myself. But soon, I shall reap the rewards, and my new master will grant me a seat of power in the Empire that shall arise."

A twig snaps from somewhere above their heads, and it's all the warning Rex and his men get before Krell is in their midst, dual staffs slashing without remorse, skillfully dodging every shot aimed his way. Rex is too busy firing his blasters, shouting for his men not to get too close, to stay out of lightsaber range, to notice at first. Eventually, he hears the shout of his name, and the Captain spots one of the men signaling to something on the ground roughly fifty yards away. Despite his dread and increasing panic, he grins to himself, and relays the information into the comms, alerting all units to draw Krell his way.

Navigating the vine limbs of the Vixus proves challenging, especially with the Besalisk hot on his tail. He should have known that things were going too smoothly, should have expected that something would go wrong (and it makes him sick to his stomach to think, however briefly, that the death of so many of his brothers is according to plan). When it happens, it stirs up disappointed resignation and panic in equal measure. Time seems to slow as his foot catches on something, and he watches the rapidly approaching ground in horror, twisting at the last second to avoid landing face first atop his blasters.

His blunder is all it takes for Krell to be on him, lightsabers baring down with unnatural swiftness. With the adrenaline coursing through his veins, Rex freezes, and he can feel the heat of the green blade through his neck gasket as it flies toward its target. He should move, or fire a shot -anything- instead, his thoughts drift to Ahsoka.

Her skin set aglow by the light of a dying fire beneath a star-studded sky; dirt-covered and sweaty, kneeling next to him as they sew seeds on Lothal; graceful in battle, twisting through the air, elegant and lethal and incredibly kind.

All at once, the heat from the blade disappears and time reasserts itself, leaving the Captain momentarily disoriented until he can process the slashing of sabers far overhead as Krell battles against the vine wrapped around his waist. There is no time to berate himself for either his blunder or for freezing up, and he shoots to his feet, blasters drawn and firing.

Around him, his men are doing the same, some aiming at Krell while others aim for the flailing arms of the Vixus as it attempts to grab anything within reach. Undercutting the din of battle, Rex can make out the tell-tail click of blasters being switched from stun to kill, can feel the increase of energy electrify the air like an oncoming storm. A shot fires and between one heartbeat and the next, Krell is falling, having managed to sever a limb and free himself.

He hits the ground hard, and the shooting ceases, soldiers approaching with a careful tread, ready for the Besalisk to spring up. Instead, Krell lets out a ragged cough into the dirt, and Rex cautiously approaches, DeeCees at the ready, and carefully rolls the fallen Jedi onto his back. Blood gurgles from Krell's chest where a blaster bolt made its home in a lung, whether intentionally placed or a mistake is unclear and, frankly, Rex doesn’t care.

Krell has moments left, and the Captain is seized with the need to make eye contact with the force user one last time. Slowly, he kneels and pulls off his bucket, taking a moment to make sure he has the Besalisks attention.

"I've lived your future, " he whispers, quiet enough that the various recorders can't pick it up. "It doesn't last."

It is satisfying to watch Krell's face fall as he searches the force, feels the veracity of Rex's statement— Realizes that for all his gifts and abilities, a clone knows more than him. Satisfying to know that its the last thought he will ever have.

Words form on the force users' lips, but all that comes out is a cough followed by a rattling breath and then - nothing.

Everyone is quiet for a moment, as the enormity of what just happened registers with the gathered troops. Some take off their helmets, most simply stare in shock. It doesn’t last long; the area is still a live war zone, and all too soon, the sound of steadily approaching enemy bombardment draws everyone from their stupor.

Rex pulls on his helmet and orders everyone back to base. It takes some time, now that they aren’t running after the Besalisk - longer than it usually would have, considering they are hauling Krell’s corpse and the numerous wounded with them. Some of the men had wanted to leave him where he lay, claim that it had been lost in the darkness and confusion of the planet. But the Captain hadn’t wanted to risk being ordered to send anyone out on a retrieval mission. Didn’t want to risk losing more men over the fallen Jedi.

No one speaks as they trudge through the dark landscape, and in the pressing silence, one thought relentlessly hammers away inside the Captains mind:

What now?

His instincts still tell him that this isn't a dream, and Rex is still inclined to trust them. But with his mind no longer occupied with the survival of his men and himself, the doubts that had reared their head when he had woken have returned. Is this death? If so, what does it mean for him now that Umbara is over? Or if it's a dream? Or, even more daunting, what if it's not? What if, by some insane occurrence, its exactly what he thinks it is?

He’s no closer to an answer by the time they reach the base, and in his meditative state, he almost misses the arrival of General Kenobi’s transport.

“Captain!”

Rex has to work to keep his face impassive, even as he salutes (its a different kind of pain seeing Kenobi again then it was from seeing his brothers. Less piercing, more bittersweet, aching like a day-old bruise that you can’t help touching, just to make sure it's still there).

“General,”

“I would ask what’s so urgent that you would send a trooper to collect me in the middle of a delicate campaign, but your man was very thorough in his explanation.”

Behind the Jedi, Rex can make out Dogma - a little cut up and bloodied but in one piece - side-eyeing the trooper next to him. Rex’s heart stops for a moment as he takes in the distinctive orange paint of his batchmate. He should have known that where General Kenobi goes, Cody would follow, but somehow it hadn’t clicked. (Cody shifts and Dogma nervously straightens. There’s a story there, and Rex resolves to get it later —if there is a later).

If Obi-Wan notices the Captain's momentary discomfort, he doesn't say anything.

“We had hoped that you might have been able to assist us in dealing with Krell.”

“I see.” The Jedi pauses for a moment, taking the time to really look at Rex. His next words are terribly kind, and the clone's heart swells with affection for the man.

“How are your men, Captain?”

He thinks of Dogma, the betrayal and the pain that he knows the rookie must still be dealing with, thinks of his own distress at watching Krell cut down brother after brother and chooses his words carefully, voice low.

“We lost a fair number in the fight, and I think the men are more shaken they would like to admit.”

Obi-wan looks sad at the confession but nods understandingly.

“And Krell?”

“Dead, Sir.”

Someone comes up beside him; he's not sure who, but judging by the sound of the footfalls, he thinks its either Jesse or Fives. Looking confirms that its the former.

“Report?”

“All men accounted for, Sir. Wounded are being taken care of now.”

Rex nods.

“Get some rest; you've all earned it.”

Kenobi waits for Jesse to leave before he picks up the conversation.

“Who fired the shot?”

Truthfully, he doesn’t know. In the chaos and confusion, the blaster fire had blurred together. But it was his mission, his orders that the men followed, his responsibility. His fault.

“I did, sir.”

Obi-Wan sighs, looking pained, and Rex understands. A General is dead, an act that cannot go unseen to, regardless of if the general was corrupt or not —there must be a hearing.

"I'm sorry, Captain, but I'm afraid I have to place you under arrest."

Rex nods solemnly.

Appearances and Regulations, his mind supplies, and as much as he doesn't like it, he would rather it be him who takes the brunt of a Court Marshal than any of his brothers. Something he had taken into account when he had first come up with his plan.

Kenobi nods to one of his men, who steps forward with a pair of cuffs.

"Those won't be necessary, will they Captain?"

Mild amusement flickers through Rex at Obi-Wans tone, and he flashes a brief smirk at the General, who, despite the regret etched on his face, has an answering twinkle of humor in his eyes.

"No, Sir."

The trooper shrugs and puts away the restraining devices then reaches out and relieves the Captain of his DeeCees's, before leading him by the elbow toward the tower and the brig.

Behind him, the General calls out.

“We’ll get you out of this, Rex.”

He doesn't need to ask who “we” is.

----

Despite the exhaustion that has settled in his bones, Rex spends his first hour in the brig with his head in his hands, sedately running them over his buzzed hair. Various people stop by, sometimes offering updates, sometimes to provide words of support. They don’t stay for long, recognizing the fatigue, and leave the clone to himself. As a result, he doesn’t look up right away when he hears a set of boots approaching. What does make him look is the sound of his cell door opening, and he is just in time to see Fives, dressed in his blacks and some of his armor, walk-in before shutting the door.

"Hey, " the goateed man greets, walking over to the bunk and sliding down the cell wall, sitting on the ground.

"Hey." Rex returns.

They sit quietly for a few moments, both worn and weary from the horrors of the past 24 hours, the sound of their breathing echoing slightly off the walls.

"I didn't think anyone was allowed inside the cell."

Fives huffs in what could be amusement.

"I don't think anyone is taking your confinement too seriously after what Krell put us through. Pretty sure they would let you out for a walk as long as you have supervision."

They both laugh without much heart before lapsing back into a silence that seems to be building a soft sort of anticipation — a tension, not unpleasant or overwhelming, but constant and steady. The seconds stretch into minutes, all the while the anticipation builds, culminating in a sigh from Fives.

"I believe you."

Rex, arms resting on his legs, looks at his little brother.

"I can't explain it, but —” the ARC trooper shakes his head as if doing so will set his thoughts straight — “you know things. Things you shouldn't have been able to know. And I can't put my finger on it, but you're different, smile more but at the same time are so...sad."

He looks at Rex.

"And I don't know what it is or what it could be, but we've seen some crazy shit together. Dying and coming back to the past is as good an explanation as any. So, I believe you."

Rex doesn't know what to say, doesn't think they are words in basic or mando'a that can encapsulate the affection and love he feels for his brother. He settles for a smile, and it's probably wan and maybe a little teary, but he hopes it can say what he can't.

"Thank you." He tries, and the ARC Trooper nods, smiling back.

Fives eyes catch on something on Rex's person, and the blonde watches as his brother's face goes from understanding to curious.

"What have you got there?"

Rex looks down and sees his wedding band, still attached to the chain, in his hand. It's an old habit, fiddling with it when thinking or just bored, and he hadn't realized he'd started playing with it until his brother had pointed it out.

"Is that a ring?" Fives sounds positively gleeful, and he pulls himself up onto the cot, seating himself practically in Rex's lap to get a better look.

"It is!"

"Get off–!"

It takes some effort, removing Fives from his lap, and it almost dumps both of them on the floor in the process. In the end, they both stay on the bed, Fives leaning far too close into Rex's personal space.

"I didn't think you were the jewelry type."

"For the right person, I am."

He's said too much if the unholy grin spreading across his brother's face is any indicator. He would be more upset at his slipup, if it weren't for the matching grin, he can feel on his own face and the lightness in his heart he hadn't expected to feel for weeks.

"What kind of person could be crazy enough to catch your eye?"

"Watch your tongue, that's my wife you're talking about."

Fives' face is priceless as he processes Rex's words and their implications, and Rex can't help himself. The laughter that bubbles out of him feels both freeing and wrong; Wrong after all that happened, when so many of his brothers lay dead, after so much loss; Freeing, to know that he still can, that despite everything he did, Krell couldn't take this from him.

And he knows his vod'ika has a million questions, can see them flitting about behind golden eyes. He prepares himself for the onslaught when Fives opens his mouth, only for the question to be transformed into a jaw cracking yawn.

Rex shakes his head, amused and fond.

"Get some sleep, Fives."

His brother looks like he's about to protest when a second yawn overcomes him and grudgingly concedes the point.

Fives stands, one finger pointed at Rex.

"I want answers.”

"Later, " Rex promises, all but shoving his brother out of the cell. "Sleep well, Vod."

The door closes with an electric hum, and Rex makes his way back to the bunk.

Exhaustion claims him the second his head touches the pillow, and all too soon, he finds himself falling asleep.

He keeps falling...

Falling...

Falling...

Falling through blood and death, the noise of battle raging around him. It is a kaleidoscope of sound and color, screams, and blasters blurring together until it's impossible to tell the sound of his voice apart from the bark of his DeeCees. Through it all, he spirals from battle to battle: the heat and sand of Geonosis, his armor still unpainted and new; to the frozen moon of Pantora, snow gear frosted over and growing heavier with each passing minute; the choking taste of the Blue Shadow Virus, each breath harder to take than the last, until all at once, his feet hit the deck, sending shock racing up his calves and spine.

The ambient noise of the star destroyer is defining after the chaos of the battles, the hum of hyperspace hardy even background to the ringing in his ears.

He can hear himself speaking, but it's without his permission, his words and actions separate from his thoughts.

“Yes, Lord Sidious.”

No, his mind screams, and within the confines of his own body, he rails against the inhibitor chip. No, he screams as the doors open, and he pulls out his blasters, leveling them at the young and confused face of Ahsoka Tano. He fights harder, thrashing against the walls of his skin, will be damned if he lets the order take him without a fight. Find him. Find him. Fives. Find him! FIVES!

Its a battle unlike any other, waged against himself, the most important in his life. But he cannot hold out, cannot win, and at the end of things, he fails. Mind exhausted and worn, he loses what little control he had scraped together, pulls the trigger. The programming takes over, and Rex can do nothing but watch as he and his men fire volley after volley at the former Jedi. Locked in the deepest corner of his own mind, he can only pray that they don’t find her as they comb the ship. Silently weeps when she steps out, distracted from the droids behind him long enough for the electricity to coarse through his body - vision going white.

The light spreads, at first cold and sharp, but soon enough gives way to the soft yellow glow of the morning sun filtered through closed eyes.

He's roused by the sensation of fingers lazily dancing over an exposed hip.

"Morning."

Her voice is light and playful, and he takes a moment to grin into the pillow before opening his eyes and looking behind him.

In the light of dawn, with the sheets pooled around her waist and sleep shirt slipping down one shoulder, she looks like an angel: her blue eyes sparkle, and the sound of birds caries through the open window.

"Morning."

He rolls over to face her, and she combs her fingers through his beard, eliciting a smile at the sensation.

“We slept in, didn’t we?” his voice rumbles in his chest. Beside him, Ahsoka hums, lips pulled up in a grin. There is a glint of mischief in her eyes that holds the promise of something more, coy and inviting, and no small amount exciting.

"Just a little."

“Then we better get up,”

He can’t hide the smile in his voice, but two can play at this game. Rex sits up and makes a show of stretching - careful not to look at her or else lose his resolve- and he can feel her eyes on him, searing into his skin. In his mind's eye, he pictures her smile growing, teeth bared, and cheeks dimpled. A quick peak confirms his suspicion.

“Long day ahead of us, can’t start if we’re still in bed.”

She slides up next to him, turning his face toward hers with a delicate finger, one of her white eyebrow marks raised in challenge.

"Is that so?"

Her grin is infectious as she settles herself across his hips in a fluid motion, her head tails swaying with the movement. He brings both hands up to her waist both to steady her and to hold her close, thumbs running gentle circles over ochre skin.

"Prove it, Captain."

She leans in and kisses him, slow and deep, and he lets his hands wander underneath her shirt. Over soft skin and up, following the dips and curves of her body, feeling the strength hidden there. Her hands wander in turn, roaming over his chest and arms, slipping under the waistband of his sleep pants. He can feel her tremble oh so slightly under his touch, muscles coiled with anticipation. It spurs his hands higher, fingertips ghosting over sensitive flesh, cupping a -

A loud bang jolts him into consciousness, and Rex instinctively reaches for the warm body that should be there with him. Instead, his hands find nothing but air, and it takes him a moment to process the too harsh lighting and hard metal bunk, the hum of the energy shield that separates his cell from the rest of the room.

For the second time in as many days, Rex's mind must grapple with waking up after expecting to never do so again. But for the first time, he has more than an instinct or a gut feeling to go off of. He's in the same room, the same place as he remembers last being, has two sets of memories for how yesterday went down, and it pushes the few doubts he had left about his reality from his mind.

The future as he remembers it plays out in his mind's eye, and the question from earlier pushes to the forefront:

What now?

[sleepdeprivedghoul]

My Demon [JHS]

Genre: Angst 

Word Count: 5K

Pairing(s): Hoseok x Reader, Jin x Reader

A/n: Real quick this talks about abusive relationships, don’t read if triggered easily. If you do read please understand I’m not here romancing these relationships, this story is a fanfic and should not be taken serious. 

Paranoia... 

I’m paranoid... 

Delusional..

Stuck in my own head, deep in my own thoughts, that I can't even realize that he’s not real. Or so says my therapist, but I’ve never seen this man or experienced such feelings of being watched until I moved.

He’s real and he lives in my apartment. I’ve put him off for so long, at first he was just this constant, annoying buzz, like an angry fly, I could easily ignore him and push his presence off; because at that time I didn’t know. 

I had no clue that he existed outside of my nightmares, until I started to awake with bruises on my neck. Hickeys, that’s what they’re called, but to me I don’t see it. The bruises look more like someone was strangling me, I can just barely make out where the fingers were. 

Again, my therapist claims that these delusions are just in my head, and while I’m in one of them I could easily be hooking up with strangers. But something like that, I would know. I’d know what I was doing and where I was going. 

“Schizophrenia is hard to understand, most certainly for someone of your age, it’s hard for anyone to understand really,” she’d start as we’d sit across from one another in her office, the heavy maroon desk the only thing blocking me from her. Most sessions I never look at her face, ashamed of my disorder, and instead focus on the colorful hot air balloon hanging behind her, with the cheesy quote of: Life’s a journey, chase it. 

That was a measly three months ago, even when I took the prescription pills, which she said should help me cope, did absolutely nothing and he was still chilling in my home. Sometimes I’d come in after work and he’d be on the couch, his black hair styled neatly, his soft brown eyes watching me as I’d cross the room and head to my bedroom. 

Occasionally he’d follow me. 

Three months ago, God that feels like a lifetime from where I am now. He, Hobi, a demon, summoned by the previous tenant, stuck around in hopes that she’d return. Instead, I came into the picture, a new toy for the childish demon. 

“Y/n,” he groaned lying on my couch, his eyes closed and an annoyed look plastered on his devilishly handsome face. “What?” 

“The Tv’s out.” He grumbled sitting up and looking at me as I was typing up an essay. “The Tv needs some freetime too you know.” My words came out light and jokingly, only Hobi didn’t find it very amusing.  

“I’m serious,” he growled as he stared me down, if I knew one thing an angry Hobi was a scary one. 

“So am I, you’re always watching it and running up my bill. I barely have enough money to keep the lights on and to feed myself. It doesn’t help that you, a paranormal creature, keeps snacking on all my food and running up my bills. Seriously Hobi, aren't you like dead or something? You’re a demon not a human, you don't need to watch Tv or eat. You’re immortal.” 

His frown deepened as his calm brown eyes became a bright shade or silver as he glared me down, fear nested deep in my gut, telling me that I screwed up. “Don’t you remember, you’re a meek mortal that I’m allowing to live, out of mercy. Keep trying me and I’ll drag you down to Hell by your hair.” He snarled and turned his attention back to the dead Tv. 

The lights began to flicker, and I worried that the power company was about to shut off my power for being a week late with the payment. The ground shook as things began to rise from the ground and hover mid air, Hobi was raging. 

“Hobi! Calm down, please!” I yelled the lightbulbs instantly shattered, glass flying everywhere. “Ah, ow... Fuck.” I cursed under my breath as I pulled a piece of glass out of my forearm, biting my lip not to cry out from how deep the glass flew in, and the pain of removing it, instead I focused on how badly I was hurting my lip. 

“Y/n,” everything fell back into place, except the lights were still shattered and my arm was dribbling blood. The demons eyes softened as he took in the damage, his shoulders sagged a bit as he walked towards me, head down as he scowled.  “

Taking a step back to avoid the ill tempered demon I came in contact with the counter. “St-Stay back...” I managed while whimpering in pain. He growled and ripped my hand away from the cut.

“Stop,” I whispered as he sniffed my blood, his cold tongue darted across the wound making me gasp. “Hobi, knock it off.” He chuckled as he stared into my face, eyes full of mischief and glee. Whatever he was planning I didn't like it. 

Pinning my arm down he took his free hand and shoved his index finger into the cut, wiggling it around as I let out a scream in agony. “Stop trying to fight me,” he barked into my ear he released my arm, finger still wedged into my skin, his now free hand falling to my throat strangling me, my free hand fell onto the hand crushing my windpipe, my nails fell into his skin. 

My eyes began to roll back, black spots fell into my vision, my hand fell loosely from his, my body became limp. “You left me, Ro. You left me and here’s what you get!” His grip tightened, my legs gave out, I started to slide down, only for his tight grip to lift me up off the floor by my neck. His cold silver eyes met mine, widening slightly at the sight before him. I wanted to scream and beg for mercy and remind him, I’m not Ro. 

I fell to the ground in front of him, my hands flying to my throat as I tried to regain my breathing. The air burned as it filled my lungs, I looked up and onto his face, a mixture of emotions swam in his eyes, shaking his head he moved back to the couch and sat. 

“Pay the bill...” He grumbled leaving me on my knees, blood still oozing out my arm as tears clouded my vision. I stood up shakily, supporting myself with the counter as I glared him down. 

“I...I hate you! I hate you! I wish you’d leave me the fuck alone, I’m not Ro, I’m just Y/n! Whatever your business is with her you should take it up with her, not me!” I screeched, tears running down my cheeks. “I hope you rot in Hell,” I cursed and he chuckled. 

“Oh sweetheart I already have, that’s where I reside. My forever home, but you dear, you’re what’s keeping me here. Grounded and safe from the eternal misery, I could just drag you right down to Hell. Wanna go?” He asked a glint of amusement in his eyes. 

My lower lip trembled as I ran out of my apartment, down the halls to the stairs, taking two at a time, nearly falling but two strong arms captured me. “LET ME GO! LET ME!” I screeched, tears running down my cheeks as I fought against the demons grip. 

“H-Hey calm down, I heard what happened, I came to check on you after the commotion.” He released me as I turned around to face the male. He was quite attractive, a friendly face. Warm, soft brown eyes, a blonde mullet,and a soft face that could put anyone at ease. 

“Y-Yeah, um, sorry about that.” I whispered head bowed in embarrassment. “Holy Hell you’re bleeding, did he do this to you?” Asked the male causing me to look up and at my cut. 

“He?” I questioned surprised that this male knew of the demon. “Yeah, your boyfriend. I know it’s none of my business really but I can hear you two fighting through the walls, him yelling at y- Your neck!” He exclaimed fingers ghosting over where Hobi’s hand had been. 

“You don't have to remain in an abusive relationship, you can just leave him.” My eyes flitted to the ground as I shook my head in sorrow, “I really can’t. I have nowhere else to go, I spent all my money on that shithole of an apartment, plus all my belongings are in there.”  

“I have a friend, his name’s Jin, and I’m sure he’d love to have such a nice, pretty young lady around. Sorry that came out as creepy, Jin helps those who have been in abusive relationships, he’ll give advice and a nice place to stay until you can get back on your feet. Here’s his card.” I took the piece of paper and read it.

Dr. Kim Seokjin.

“Thank you, but really I-”

He grabbed my hands and looked into my eyes, “It’ll get worse if you stay with him. No matter how many times he says he loves you, it’s not worth it, he’s not worth it. You’re beautiful and young, you can find someone way better than him.” 

“I- Who are you?” I managed to ask and he smiled softly. 

“Right I forgot to introduce myself. My name’s Taehyung, but everyone calls me Tae.  Here I’ll escort you to Jin’s place.” 

“Th-Thank you but-” 

“Trust me going back there will solve nothing.” He grabbed my hand and started to lead me downstairs. “Y/n,” came Hobi’s voice causing me to jump slightly in Tae’s grip. 

“Wait for me in the lobby,” he whispered and released me, giving me a gentle shove towards the stairs. 

“Y/n, upstairs,” Commanded Hobi, anger evident in his voice. I blinked and looked between the two males, one a mere mortal the other a powerful demon. “Upstairs,” he gritted his eyes hard, a small whimper escaped my lips. 

“Go wait in the lobby, if i’m not down in five minutes go to Jin’s.” Whispered Tae looking me over one last time, obviously I wasn't his first case. “I-I can’t....” I whimpered and Hobi smirked in pride. 

“You can, just go to the lobby.” I shook my head and walked over towards Hobi, “I’m sorry Taehyung... Really I am.” I blinked back the tears and walked back towards my apartment, Hobi laughing as he put his hand on my shoulder leading me back. 

Taehyung grabbed my hand and pulled me back, “I’m sorry but I can't let that happen.” 

“Taehyung, just-” Before I could finish my sentence Hobi had Tae by the throat, his eyes a searing red. “This is my girl.” He growled, his grip tightening on Tae’s throat. His eyes pleading me, his mouth moving quickly shaping the word. RUN. 

There I stood momentarily frozen, eyes wide, tears falling quick.  “Hobi, let him go! I’ll go back and-and never leave. Just let Tae live.” He chuckled his grip loosening slightly, as Tae managed a breath in. 

“You will, after I make sure that this menace is dead. I can't have him getting any ideas.” Before I could say or do anything, Tae had shoved a knife into Hobi’s stomach. 

“Run!” He shouted and this time I did not hesitate, I sprinted down the stairs until I reached the lobby. Even as I got to the lobby I pushed open the glass doors and ran down the street, pushing past random pedestrians earning a few angry shouts in protest; but none of that mattered. 

Once I was a block away from my apartment complex I looked down at the card Tae had given me. I knew where Jin’s apartment was, I passed it daily on my way to work. Catching my breath I took off in a sprint and ran to the building.

Fifteen minutes later I was out of breath and standing in a fancy lobby, glass chandeliers hung from the high ceiling, marble floors, and rich wooden walls. I felt so out of place here, carefully I padded to the front desk and looked at the annoyed receptionist. 

“Yes, how may I help you?” He asked in a bored tone, obviously done with me. “I’m h-here to see K-Kim Seokjin...”

“Do you have a meeting?”

“No but-”

“Then leave.”

“No it’s important please!” 

“Security!” Shouted the receptionist. 

“No. no, Kim Taehyung sent me here. He gave me Seokjin’s business card. Please don't send me back out there. I’m begging you.” I wanted to scream and kick, anything to make the tired eyed receptionist understand my pain. 

“Please...” I begged falling to my knees crying while two arms grabbed me, a finger fell into my cut, forcing a scream out of my lips. “Stop,” ordered the tired receptionist looking at me, the guard let go and looked at his hand and my wound. 

“Stitches,” he muttered, the male behind the desk nodded, boredly, obviously not giving a single fuck. “Give me the card.” With shaking hands I did.

“Lead her upstairs and take her to Jin.” The guard nodded and grabbed my hand in his, my hand was so small compared to his. I was lead to an elevator and together we got in. 

The guard pushed his thumb to the fifteenth floor and the doors closed slowly. “What’s your story?” He asked in a gentle tone, he looked so shy and nervous around me. 

“Previous tenants ex-boyfriend showed up to my home...” I lied carefully and the guard nodded, sympathetic eyes landing onto me once more. “Your neck, he tried to strangle you to death.” I nodded my head slowly.

“But he stopped before I could die.”

“Doesn’t make it better.” 

“I know.” 

“How long has this been happening?”

 “He’s been staying with me for three months. No issues really at first, today was the first time it ever really happened, the Tv went out, because I hadn’t been able to pay the the bill. We got into an argument and then he choked me.” 

“And stabbed you.” Finished the guard.

“No, the lights shattered and a stray piece of glass flew into my arm and I pulled it out, then he shoved his finger into the wound.” I finished and the guard looked at me sadly. 

“That dude sounds like a real ass, no wonder his girlfriend left him, I’m sorry you got stuck with him.” 

“I am too, hopefully this Seokjin dude can help me.” 

“He can, he’s good at his job.” Finished the guard as we reached the fifteenth floor, the two of us got out, his hand still in mine as we walked down the hall and to his apartment. 

“Everything will be okay.” Spoke the guard giving me a quick hug before returning to the elevator. I softly knocked on the door. Waiting patiently for the man to answer. 

After a minute I knocked harder and louder. After a second I heard footsteps and the door swung open. “Ahh you’re the girl Yoongi just informed me about. How was the elevator ride with Jungkook, he was nice right? Didn't hurt you did he? Oh your arm, worse your throat. Oh dear, sit, sit.” He said urgently taking my hand and leading me to one of the couches. 

“Y-You’re Kim Seokjin, right?” 

“In the flesh,” he said with a soft smile as he grabbed a first aid kit from the kitchen. “I’m going to disinfect your arm, then I’m going to stitch up the wound, depending if it’s as deep as it looks. Are you okay with that?” Nodding my head slowly Jin gave me an empathetic smile. 

Wiping away the blood as gently as he could, he slowly grabbed a rag and the bottle of disinfectant. Resting the rag under the cut he poured the peroxide into the wound, a hiss of pain escaping my lips. 

“I know this hurts but it’ll feel way better after it’s treated properly, while I work on you, tell me something about your abuser please.” So I did, just not the part that’s he’s a demon, or that my therapist and the psychologist all claimed that I have schizophrenia, which has been proven 100% incorrect. 

“Do you know his real name?” 

“No, he just told me it was Hobi.” 

“And he never told you anything else about him?” 

“No I’m sorry, I probably sound crazy. I should g-”

“You’re not leaving here Y/n. Everything is fine, if you leave and go back to him... It could get worse, you could be dead by tomorrow.” 

“O-Okay, but where do I stay. I don’t want to mean you harm or anything.”

“You can rest here, I can show you to your room. You also mentioned Taehyung, I’m sure the accuser will be arrested thanks to Tae.”

“What do you mean?” 

“Taehyung’s a cop, off duty when this happened but a cop. He’s also my business partner.” 

“He was strangling Taehyung before I left,” Hurrying off the couch and looking at Jin with wide eyes, “H-he could be dead because of me. I-I-”

“Calm down Y/n, Taehyung’s a smart man, he would’ve radio-ed in before coming to your rescue.” Even as he spoke those words it was evident that he too was having doubts. 

“I’m so sorry, I-I, it’s my fault.” I mumbled sinking to my knees on the carpet and Jin watched my behavior in interest. 

“You blame a lot on yourself, but this isn’t your fault. He’s still alive, I’m sure of it. Did you see what else happened?”

“Tae stabbed him.”

“See he’s still alive then, no human could survive that.” Jin’s smile was too much and I felt bad, Hobi wasn’t a human and I knew that, only Jin didn’t and I can't tell him that or else he’d see me as crazy. Taehyung was most likely dead. 

“Come along Y/n, let’s go to your room. Relax and take a nice warm bath please.” He lead me down a narrow hallway and we came to a stop in front of a nice guest room. The space was much bigger than my own room, the bed was about the size of my kitchen. 

“Th-This place is too much. I-I can't stay here, I’ll ruin-”

“Stop Y/n, it’s all okay. You’re okay. Don't stress over it.” His hand fell to my cheek as he gently stroked his thumb over a tear I didn't know I had cried. “Go and make yourself comfortable, you deserve it after what he put you through, and wash off your feet, don't need them getting infected.”

Looking down I noticed I was in only one sock, my feet were dirty and cut. “I-I...”

“Stop, it’s okay, here. Go rest beautiful.” I blushed and moved into the room as he went over to the closet trying to find something for me to wear out of all the female clothes inside. A moment of panic struck me, why did he have so many females clothes? Then I remembered he helps abused girls get back on their feet. 

“This looks about your size,” he said handing me a black tee shirt and some sweats. “Thank you,” I whispered looking at the ground and he laughed. 

“You don't have to be so shy around me, I’m here to help you, I’ll be in the kitchen shout if you need me. After you’re finished let me know what you’d like for dinner, I can order takeout or cook it, whichever you prefer.” He smiled brightly at me before leaving the room and closing the door behind him. I moved away from the bed and to the attached bathroom. 

I pulled open the door and turned on the lights and gasped at my reflection. I looked terribly pale, bruises on my neck, blue veins popping up with my deep purple, dark circles. That wasn’t the only issue I saw in the mirror. 

“What’s so good about him?” Asked Hobi and I shivered as his hands fell to my waist pulling me into him, my hands dropping the clothing, mouth opening and closing like a fish. 

“Don’t fret princess, I’m not here to hurt you.” He spun me around and pinned me to the bathroom wall, my reflection showed my wide eyes and fear painted face. “Pl-Please...” I whispered, his cold brown eyes watching my every movement. 

“I’m sorry,” I whispered closing my eyes in fear of what he’d do. Releasing my arms he stepped back, peeking out at him I noticed him sitting on the sink, arms over his chest, ankles crossed. 

“Do I scare her that much?” He pondered aloud looking me over. Noting the fear in my eyes he sighed, “I do.” He muttered carding his hand through his rich black hair. 

“Am I...Harming you?” Obviously.

I nodded my head and his eyes landed on the gauze on my arm. “I caused that,” he acknowledged, sadness in his tone. He moved towards me and gently grabbed my chin forcing it up into the air, as his cold fingers trailed down my neck and to where his hand once laid. Taking in a few shaky breaths, afraid he’d kill me for real this time, instead he retracted his hand and looked into my scared eyes. 

“I never really met a human before, besides Ro, but that bitch chickened out and ran away. Afraid of me, you stayed and put up with my antics until today.” He whispered his fingers ghosting over my clavicle, my breath hitching in my throat. 

“You don’t have to fear me any more Y/n,” he muttered brushing a kiss to my neck making me gasp as I pushed him away. “You’ve never feared me until today, I fucked up.” He mumbled, his lips now against the shell of my ear.

“But you no longer need to worry or fear me, I’m about to give you power over me.” I looked at him in confusion as he moved back to cup my face in his hands. “A demon's name gives you power over them, mine is Hoseok. Anything you say to me, a command or plea, anything, I have to abide with it. Kick me out of your life, make everything better.” 

He sat back on the counter looking me dead in the eye. 

“Okay... Hoseok why’d you stay, why didn't you leave when Ro fled.” 

“Denial.”

“Why didn't you leave when I moved in, Hoseok?”

“Interest, feelings. You were so innocent and soft, naive to the bad of the world. Something I was jealous of, but I got attached. I wanted to be human so bad, you don’t know this part, and you’re gonna call me creepy. Sometimes instead of chilling on the couch watching late night shows, and you were asleep in bed, I’d just lie with you close my eyes and act like I was normal. Act like a human, feelings, dreams, all that. And that I had a girlfriend,” his cheeks flushed. 

“I learnt anger today, but I used it wrongly. Nearly killing you wasn't an intention, nor was scaring you. Harming you was an accident. I’m sorry. I just want to be human, to feel. Obviously I’m still learning and trying to apply human emotions to my life, and I failed.” 

I bit my lower lip and stared him down, arms crossed an angry look on my face. “Just because you apologize doesn’t make what you did any better. How do I know you won't hurt me more.” Even as I said those words I felt a pang of guilt in my heart. He wants to be human, but he’s a demon by nature, and demons are cold, hard, vicious monsters. What if he’d never change and would continue to hurt me?

“Hoseok, if you stayed would you...hurt me?”

“No, unless you’d tell me to.” 

“Well I wouldn't, why the fuck would I do that?” 

“Some people like it rough,” he said with a laugh making me shake my head. “Oh God why?” I said with a snicker, he smiled softy at me, eyes warm and full of life. 

“Hoseok, promise me you’ll  never hurt me.”

“I swear I  won’t hurt you, if I do I’ll forcefully take myself down to Hell, and chain myself in the eternal flames. I swear it.” His eyes darkened with his words as looked down at me, wrapping his arms around me, pulling me into a tight embrace. 

“Ow Hobi you’re hurting me,” I whispered and he pulled back. “well fuck, I gotta go chain myself in Hell now.”

“You’re joking right?”

“No, I said if I hurt you that’s where I’d be.” 

“Ugh, you ‘re so stubborn sometimes. Hoseok, stay with me please? Just don’t hurt me on purpose or out of rage.” 

“That I can do.” he said smiling as he rested his forehead on mine. “Usually in late night movies this is where two characters have sex... So?” 

“We are not fucking Hobi.” 

“Please....?” 

“Maybe later.” 

“Okay can I kiss you then?” 

“Go for it.” Without a moment’s worth of hesitation he grabbed my chin and dipped his head down for our lips to meet. He was a soft kisser, surprising due to his hot, rough exterior. His hands slid down to my lower back, then to my ass, squeezing strongly. 

“Jump,” he muttered against my lips and I did as told, wrapping my legs around his well toned body. He started to walk out of the bathroom, lips still on mine. He moved one arm away from my backside, pushing open the window. 

“Hobi w-what are you doing?” I questioned and his dark eyes glimmered in mischief and lust. “Going home,” He muttered against my neck, softly biting the flesh. 

“That could kill us.” He chuckled against my neck using his free hands to brush my hair out of his way. “You seem to forget, I’m a demon. You’ll live, wouldn't let anything happen to you.” His eyes locked with mine and a smirk plastered on his face as he looked at my face. quickly he jumped, a scream escaped my lips, quickly capturing mine with his again. 

Clenching my eyes in fear I landed on a squeaky, but comfortable bed, his hand holding my head up while I was lying down. I opened my eyes and noticed I was back in my room.  His lips still on mine, he pulled back and looked into my eyes.  “You look tired,” he stated as he buried his head in between my neck and shoulder. 

“Hobi what are you doing?”

“You need to sleep and I’m just gonna rest here with you, taking in your scent.” His lips tickled my skin as he spoke causing me to giggle softly while I rubbed the back of his head. 

“Ugh, you’re heavy,” I whined playfully and he softly bit my neck. 

“And you’re sexy.”

“What?”

“Thought we were listing facts here.” 

“Funny,” I muttered raking my fingers through his soft, rich locks. “I’m a serious demon. I tell no lies, especially to you.” 

“Dork,” I mumbled closing my eyes to sleep. “But I’m your dork.” 

“Is Taehyung alive?” 

“Yeah, I didn’t kill him, I saw your fear there and how serious you both were. Hurting you like that scared me.” 

“Thank God he’s alive.”

“Why are you thanking him? I spared him...”

“Thanks Hoseok for not killing a cop who was trying to protect me.” 

“You’re welcome,” I rolled my eyes, it was obvious he didn’t know what sarcasm was. 

“Can I fuck you now?” 

“Hoseok what the fuck? You just told me to get some rest, rest does not involve sex.” 

“Can I fuck you after you rest?” 

“Maybe, depends if you’re nice to me. Relationships don't revolve around sex, you know.”  

“I know but come on, it’s been three months.”

“Three months of me annoying you.” 

“Fine you win. Sweet dreams beautiful,” he mumbled into my neck.

I awoke from my nightmare, in a cold sweat looking around me. I was alone on my side of the bed, Jin peering out the window as the mornings sunlight peeked in. That stupid nightmare of Hobi hurting me always managed to sneak up on me, even though I knew I was long gone, protected after the day I told him, “Hoseok go to Hell.” 

He was shocked that I had managed to see through the hazy dream like state he put me in, trying to make me stay with him. When I said those words his eyes softened and he looked down at his toes. 

“If that’s what you want Y/n. Goodbye, but I hope you know everything you saw and heard from me was the truth. I wanna be human for you, but right now I’m a demon and I’ll do as you wish and leave.” He had bowed his head 

Maybe his words were true, but I’d never know, after all I wasn't gonna stick around, I was afraid. He never snapped like that before and in the heat of the moment I made my decision, Jin was so much nicer anyways.

Staying with Jin had became something else besides a place to stay, slowly after a month of living with him, and the feeling had grown, we slowly began to express how we felt towards one another. I no longer lived with him as someone escaping a demon, but as his girlfriend. 

So, because of that I can really only thank both Hoseok and Taehyung. Speaking of Tae, Hoseok had been telling the truth when he said he spared him. Every few days Tae would show up and greet both me and Jin, more so me with hugs, and Jin with casual handshakes and news on how some of the other girl’s that they’ve helped or need to help. 

Everything ended up well in the end. But deep in my gut I still felt sorry for Hoseok. But seeing Jin smile at me, or just hold my hand, made everything better and squashed the sorry thoughts I felt for the demon. As did Tae’s presence, Taehyung could’ve died that day, but Hoseok had spared him for me. Even so, I still feel both sorry and angry with him, but because of him, I’m happy, I ended up with a top notch, caring boyfriend and an amazing, goofy best friend. 

A better life. 

[scottyallenw]

𝙒𝙃𝙀𝙉 𝙄𝙎 𝙏𝙃𝙀 𝘾𝙃𝙐𝙍𝘾𝙃 𝙂𝙊𝙄𝙉𝙂 𝙏𝙊 𝙂𝙍𝙊𝙒 𝘼 𝙋𝘼𝙄𝙍

(2,219 words)

Not long ago a female member of my extended family posted on social media the claim that President Trump fits the definition of a demagogue perfectly. I know that God has anointed Trump to shake up the Washington establishment, remove trade barriers, ignite political firestorms and prosecute widespread corruption. So I reacted angrily to the post. Fired up, I immediately typed the following comment on her post:

“Yes, Yeshua HaMashiach (Jesus the Christ) fits the definition perfectly. He went out of his way to piss off a large portion of the populace, sorry ass religious leaders, lawyers and politicians. Yeshua knew what he was doing; he knew what his enemies would do. The rest is history: the Roman proconsul, afraid of a large angry mob, turned Yeshua over to his soldiers for execution. Then he washed his hands of the whole thing. Today we have a President who like Yeshua is taking a wrecking ball to the political establishment, hurting people’s feelings and with his Twitter feed exposing hypocrisy. In my opinion we need more people like Yeshua and Trump, turning the world upside down.”

Shortly after this, the woman deleted my comment. I was saddened, and asked myself if I was too brutal. But no, it is the truth that is brutal. Having thought it over, I had no remorse.

But does Scripture reveal Yeshua's true character? Absolutely. Yet Yeshua is widely misunderstood to be simply an easygoing advocate of love and peace, making no demands of His followers. My reading of the gospels recognizes a Yeshua not only with a prickly side, but a Messiah with a fighting spirit. His actions and remarks often cut into the hearts of His adversaries. He was and still is a soldier in a war against hypocrisy. Some day Mashiach will return and put the wicked out of business. But I'm sure the Master would prefer His people finish the job first.

To properly appraise Yeshua's character one must study the man in action. Consider the following account in Luke 6 where Yeshua encounters on the Sabbath a man whose hand is withered. He wants to heal the man, but He also notices scholars and Pharisees nearby hoping to accuse Him of working on Shabbat.

Yeshua defiantly leads the man to a place where everyone, but especially His potential accusers, can get a good look. Yeshua asks the man a question that He really intends for the ears of the religious leaders:

“What is correct on Shabbat: to cause good or to cause harm? To rescue life, or to harm?” Yeshua “looked around intently at all of them,” before healing the man.

The scholars and Pharisees “were wild with rage...” It is exactly the reaction Yeshua intended to incite. Perhaps Yeshua even relished the anger directed at Him. He knew they would plot His crucifixion. With the Shabbat healing He had handed them as it were the hammer and nails to do the job. But He also knew His time had not yet come, and so He slipped away through the crowd.

John 6 relates an episode that epitomizes the notion that Yeshua, like Trump, was born to offend. It involves a vast crowd which has grown about Yeshua during a series of the Master’s signs and miraculous healings. Yeshua understands that most of the new followers are fake. The masses care only about the spectacle of signs and wonders. They also want to declare Yeshua King. They lack any interest whatsoever in obeying His commands or hearing His interpretation of the Torah.

Yeshua conceives a shrewd plan to thin the crowds. He recognizes that Jewish familiarity with Torah is widespread, particularly its prohibition against consuming blood and human flesh. This is abhorrent to all Judeans. So Yeshua turns to the crowd and makes this startling declaration:

“Amen, amen, I say to you, if you do not eat the flesh of the Son of Man and drink His blood, you do not have life within you.”

The people are stunned by HaMashiach’s words and begin to murmur. Yeshua’s assertion strikes many as repugnant, and even the Master’s close followers are confused. The crowd begins to disperse. As Yeshua fully expected, little more than the core group of 12 disciples are left. Unlike many 21st century mega church pastors, Yeshua is less interested in numbers than in devotion. By deliberately offending the masses, Yeshua is left only with the loyal few.

Matthew 23 describes another public demonstration of Yeshua's remarkable choice of words: it involves the Messiah’s fiery confrontation in the Holy City with His favorite target audience—hypocritical religious leaders. The passage is popularly known as the Eight Woes. Most Christian translations quote Yeshua’s string of rebukes with these words: “Woe to you scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites, because you...”

The original language of the New Testament is widely understood to be Greek. However scholars now believe the book of Matthew was originally written in Hebrew, and early manuscripts are being studied. The original language of Luke is also believed to be Hebrew and some scholars believe the entire New Testament was originally written in Hebrew.

A few years ago I was seated among a Grand Rapids, MI, congregation whose senior pastor had a background in Hebrew studies. The pastor explained what he regarded as a more accurate rendering of the Eight Woes passage. Yeshua's words are commonly translated from the Greek, “Woe to you...” Properly translated from Hebrew, Yeshua actually said, “GOD DAMN YOU, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites...,” (emphasis added). The pastor’s congregation was stunned by the language, as was I. The fighting words Yeshua used permanently altered my perception of the risen Savior.

Now imagine if you will a society in which ancient truths and assumptions once thought to be self-evident, are questioned and finally tossed aside. This of course is not hard to imagine; it is the current state of American society. Its citizens are told a man can be a wife, a woman can be a husband. and a man can bear a child.. Americans are even told an OB-GYN can treat a person with male genitalia—assertions which only decades ago would be thought absurd.. Such reckless claims are now accepted by a majority as fact!

The United States Declaration of Independence states: We hold these truths to be self-evident... Will these once-cherished convictions be among the next batch of truths to come under attack, and finally discarded?

The following few paragraphs will hopefully add clarity to what is at stake. High school geometry students are taught they must accept certain common sense assumptions on which to build a mathematical framework of theorems. Each of these are proved by a chain of reasoning. For example, students will readily accept the claim that two parallel lines will never intersect, even if the lines extend towards infinity. Widespread rejection of this common sense assumption would make the teaching of traditional geometry impossible.

College mathematics offers students a different perspective of not only geometry, but the nature of truth. A course called abstract geometry is built on a set of counterintuitive assumptions. To pass this course students must for several hours each week discard all notions of common sense. One proposition in this mathematical model is that two parallel lines will always intersect as they extend to infinity. If this is assumed along with other absurd truths, an entire universe of theorems can be proven. It works beautifully. I enjoyed the course. But after final exams we students set aside this nonsense and rejoined the real world. We realized abstract geometry is just mental acrobatics. It can't work in a functioning society. Could the Mackinac Bridge in Michigan have been built using this kind of math?

Abstract geometry is a type of an Orwellian world. It is similar to what our own society is becoming. Highly educated and experienced jurists have in recent decades rejected the bedrock truths of Mount Sinai in favor of new ideas that now enjoy widespread public acceptance. From the legalization of sodomy, these judges concluded by a chain of reasoning that same-sex marriage is a constitutional right. From the assumption that a human fetus is not a person, jurists rule abortion is a constitutional right. It's all perfect logic, but the proofs are based on false assumptions. Consider the following scripture:

“You shall not move your neighbor's boundary mark, which the ancestors have set...” (Deuteronomy 19:14)

Jewish sages explained long ago that this admonition has a metaphorical meaning in addition to its literal interpretation. It is a warning to elders and jurists: never overturn principles that have been widely accepted and have governed society for centuries, let alone millennia. One by one the courts have within less than an average human lifespan, torn down many of America's boundary markers.

Local school boards in California are already mandating indoctrination of children in Islamic and LGBT ideologies. Boys of believing parents possibly will be taught using artificial body parts how to sodomize another male. Officials are also talking about forcing believing parents who homeschool their children to do the same.

It's time for the Church to flex spiritual muscle. Our model is the biblical accounts of the Master Himself. Yeshua never allowed adversaries to force Him into a defensive posture. He stayed on offense. When accused, Yeshua responded with on-target scripture, a clever parable or pointed questions. He was unafraid to follow up with accusations of His own.

We live in an age when the ACLU regularly sues conservatives, Christian cake makers and flower arrangers for supposed anti-LGBT bias or religious expression in the public square. The Southern Poverty Law Center (SPLC) for the same reason puts churches and other religious organizations on its well-circulated list of hate groups. Both of these organizations want the public to believe they stand for justice, civil rights and goodness. In reality these are wicked people who are relentless, full of hate and attempting to oppose the Church's every positive move in America.

Why is it the ACLU and SPLC rarely get sued? It's time for the Church to fight back. Let's force the enemy onto the defensive for a change. For that we need generous believers who have money, lots of it.  It's time for wealthy believers in Yeshua to step up. The Church needs its own version of George Soros.

“No one would remember the Good Samaritan if he'd only had good intentions; he had money as well,” Margaret Thatcher (the Iron Lady) said years ago.

While big money is needed, the most important battles will involve our own interactions with others, especially on social media. Many of our best soldiers regularly get kicked off these platforms. Others suffer more serious consequences for standing on God's Word.

Ruach HaKodesh (the Holy Spirit) will give us just the right words to powerfully respond to enemy attacks. I was seated once again years ago with that Grand Rapids congregation listening to the same pastor. This time he read the English translation of an ancient Roman court transcript from the time of the early Church. This was a time when the Roman Empire clamped down ruthlessly on the Church, putting many believers to death.

The case involved one of the believers in Yeshua whom the Romans placed on trial for his faith. The man knew the Romans were about to sentence him to death. He addressed the judge and prosecutor with chilling words that brought his modern listeners back nearly two millennia. It was like we were in that courtroom with him. The brave man’s statement, as recorded on the transcript, went something like this:

“A time will come when you will be sorry for what you have done here today. Both of you will stand in a courtroom much like this one. You will be on trial for your lives before a prosecutor and judge, just as I am today. And standing off to the side you will see me, quite alive and well. I will be there to testify against the both of you.”

In his six-volume memoir of the Second World War, the former British prime minister Winston Churchill recalls the dark days of Germany’s relentless bombing campaign against London and other large cities. For an extended period early in the war the cities were all but defenseless, there being no anti-aircraft weaponry available. But eventually large numbers of anti-aircraft

guns were placed throughout the populated areas. War-weary British citizens huddling in bomb shelters heard not only the explosions of German bombs—they were exhilarated by the overpowering blasts of countless heavy guns firing back at the German bombers. The knowledge they were finally fighting back against their merciless enemy did wonders for British moral, and contributed to bringing about eventual victory.

Is the Church up to the task of confronting the forces of evil in America? Will the job require a leader in the mold of Churchill? My choice rather would be a great spiritual leader in the mold of Yeshua Himself. We must view the conflict as Churchill early on wanted his people to view the Nazi threat looming just across the English Channel: “regard the menace of invasion with a steady gaze.” ##

* 𝙔𝙚𝙨𝙝𝙪𝙖 𝙝𝙖𝙣𝙙𝙡𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙖 𝙩𝙤𝙪𝙜𝙝 𝙘𝙧𝙤𝙬𝙙