#he’s seen his reflection so many times but today it sparked VIOLENCE

[gaypplshallarise]

Things we left behind

This fluffy with slight tension(?) one shot of shadowpeach first meeting was brought to you by yours truly!

A/N: I've never read JTTW, or know the timeline exactly, so, if you're easily triggered by the inaccuracy to JTTW, stop scrolling! As for you, lovely reader who decided to stick around. I hope you enjoy!

Summary:

So, Sun wukong did the first thing he could think of to the unconscious monkey. Like any intellectual stoned-monkey.

smack!

The king waited for a reaction.

No response.

Okay. Maybe that wasn't the best way to approach the situation.

The sun shone, it lit up the whole forest, lights peaked through the leaves, birds chirping in the distance. A perfect weather to go on a walk. Sun wukong stretched his limbs, he'd spent too much time napping on a tree it seemed.

He hopped down, dusted some twigs off and skipped through the forest, feeling refreshed. Normally he'd prefer to just walk, but today's wind was friendly. So he summoned this trusty cloud and let it guide him, basking in the wind and morning light as he ascended up. The calm breeze felt nice against his golden fur.

The sun has always been a welcoming company, warm light grace his fur, as though intending to scoop him up in a warm, cozy blanket.

Not to mention, the view was breathtaking.

Below him, lay his island. Blessed by the jade emperors, gifted by divine beings themselves. Thick healthy shades of green covered the mountain area. No doubt he'd taken good care of this place. Even looking down from the cloud, the flower fruit mountain radiated life.

Next to the lush green essence, came the shore, sunlight casting down, virtuous sand sparkling, in response to the sun's nifty mood. Glitters of light reflected on the sea, horizon tattered with fishing boats and transportation ships.

Sun wukong could never get tired of seeing such view, no matter how many times he's seen it.

Just then, far corner of his eye, he spotted something on the shoreline.

Upon closer look, it seemed like a... black figure?

Oh. Someone's moving closer to the shore!

Holy shit. Someone was evading his kingdom? It's been so long since someone has ever stepped on this place. After all, who would dare to challenge the great sage equal to heaven?

No matter, he'd just get them out of here real quick. There wasn't a thing a bit of violence can't fix.

Shaking his pride away, he made his way to the target.

--

Now though, with shorter distances, he could make out the figure more. It was a macaque monkey, a knocked out one at that. Much to his disappointment.

He landed and approached the humanoid-monkey figure. Male, tan, with athletic build. gash and bruises scattered throughout the body, some were so prominent it was visible through the wet slacken dark fur. Sparks of salt were widespread amidst his obsidian black fur. Those scars were wide open.

Eh, nothing too severe.

But now, he'd have to figure out what to do.

So, Sun wukong did the first thing he could think of. Like any intellectual monkey.

smack!

The slap was loud and sharp, but not enough to do any real damage.

Wukong waited for a reaction.

No response.

Okay. Maybe that wasn't the best way to approach the situation.

Sun wukong has only seen someone else in a coma a few, never actually had any experience in properly handling the unconscious body.

Thus, the king tried to recall the moments when he snuck in a human village. Limited with only ever witnessed humans taking care of other sickly sleeping humans— There wasn't much he could revoke from the memories.

He checked the simian's heart rate. Inconsistent. Very Low. In fact, it was barely there at all. He was starting to question his actions now if saving the simian was worth anything.

Time was ticking.

On one hand, he could let the simian rot here and die.

"Nah, that would be too cruel." The king pondered.

On the other hand, he could gain more followers, saving him would mean the monkey would be indebted to him. He could use some help tending his garden— and this obscure simian seemed to be the perfect monkey for that. Sure, he has his loyal subject, but they were just regular monkeys— not the brainy ones.

It's settled then, he'll help this monkey.

--

The weight in his arms were heavy, which was nothing, of course. He'd have to be extra careful with the gash though.

The obsidian furred simian was already dried up by the time they arrived at his palace. Now seemed to be a good time to put it to use. He laid the dark furred simian on his bed. Not really sure where to go with this, he'd just have to think of something along the way.

Sun wukong retrieved his recollections of something related to taking care of sick humans, given he never knew how to, he supposed it would be the same for monkeys.

When someone's hurt they have to rest. But the guy is resting, for heaven's sake!

--

Finally he opted to take a wooden bowl nearby, very convenient, other hand plucked his fur out and blew on it.

The fur glowed a golden gleam before stretched and twisted, as if morphing itself into liquid. The matter became clear by the end of the process. It fell down the bowl with an oddly satisfying plop. Water done, he continued to do the same process to another group of fur, this time creating a piece of white cloth.

He began to shush the wet fabric around the other simian's body, upon closer inspection, the monkey had an odd looking six ears. Feathered red markings across the eyes, those were not scars though, it seemed to be the same part of the dark furred simian's face— Similar to the hearted peach-coloured marking on his own face.

The dark furred monkey stirred, snapping the king out of his thoughts. His gold eyes flickered to meet wukong's.

The king's thoughts were cut short as he found himself flipped, and pinned down. Sharp talons on his throat. The movement was so abrupt that it took him by surprise. His stomach were suppressed by the other party's knee. Which, admittedly, hurt. Both wrists bind by the tight grip above his head. Creating an awkward angle.

Moreover, Wukong was impressed that the dark furred simian was this strong. But also concerned about the fact that the other monkey's first instinct was to take him by his throat.

There was no doubt that wukong was stronger, but he also couldn't deny that the other party was impressively strong, despite having just woken up in a weakened state. Something in him ticked, but also excited.

Barely contained euphoria danced around the king's tail, forasmuch of the prospect of such a strong opponent.

He looked up, the other simian's golden eyes bored in fury towards him.

"Where am I" The dark furred simian hissed.

The grip on his wrists tightened, pair of golden eyes inched closer, zeroed on him intensely, warm breaths ghosted over his face.

Wukong suppressed a shudder as he replied, "O? I helped you. And this is how I'm treated?"

They stared at each other, unmoving. Sun wukong was the first to snap out of their deliberate state, "well?" He questioned.

No response, the other simian stared at him, unblinking. It was a little unnerving how still he was.

Gradually, the pressure on him slackened.

Figure above him pushed himself up, ready to make an escape. As soon as he did though, he tumbled down the wooden floor. The great sage bit back a laugh, whilst helping the dark furred monkey up.

Untrustful thoughts adorned the other's face, "No problem by the way" came the great sage remark. The other merely scoffed as he tried to pry the helping hand away. Wow. How unresentful.

He resisted the urge to slap the monkey in the face again.

"I was tryna help you man." Wukong complained.

"I'm fine."

Fine? He's talking nonsense at this point. This obscure monkey couldn't even walk without falling! and he's saying he's fine?

"you couldn't even walk without falling! and you say you're fine? Oh don't bother" Thoughts turned into words. He let his emotions mirrored the other simian's displeased face.

The dark furred monkey finally relented as he let his displeasure known. Wukong helped the dark furred simian get in bed again.

"Not even a 'thank you'?"

The other simian paid no heed. Instead, The king was met with a questioning look, golden eyes settled at a piece of wet cloth on the bed, probably being dropped at some point when he was pinned down. Wukong flushed at the mere memory of being tacked down so suddenly.

"What are you doing with it?" The obsidian furred raised a single brow, thus snapping the out of his inner-self rumination.

"Helping you duh. Y'know the cold compress thingy"

"Are you stupid or what?"

Sun wukong frowned, irritated, his tail dropped.

"That is for someone with a fever or swollen wounds. I have neither of those"

The king's face burned in humiliation, tail lashed uncontrollably.

"O-Oh yeah. I already knew that. Just wanted to do that. Haha— better safe than sorry" He was sweating profusely at this point. Damn to his short lived memory.

"anyways— I'll go get s'more herbs n' stuff"  He plummeted, voice weaving. The dark furred simian didn't have time to ponder much as Wukong raced through the door.

Even without looking back, the sense of eyes bored through his skull were so intense Sun wukong almost wished someone would just trap him under a mountain for 500 years.

He went to a far corner of the palace, recollecting everything that happened in a span of twenty minutes.

First thing first, he found a close-to-death monkey. Then he helped the simian out. Third, the dark furred pinned him by surprise, not to mention naked—

Oh heavens. That was so awkward.

__

By the time he came back, dark fur noticeably sank back into the cover. Granted, he looked more pleasant, unlike the previous bastard he was. He couldn't help but stare, drinking the sight in.

Sun wukong tried not to think about the fact that the other was naked too much. Instead, focusing on the closed eyelids, the calm rise and fall of his chest, as if the simian wasn't in pain right now.

From the light seeped from square shaped window, those obsidian furred seemed to suck in the light, imprisoned them without an escape.

The more he looked, the more he thought about how alike the obsidian fur was to shadows drinking in the lights like that.

The more he looked, the more he thought how those obsidian fur appeared messy, yet looked so soft.

The more he looked, the more intrigued he was.

Without thinking, he reached out to feel the fur against his palm.

"I advise you not to."

He retracted his hand. Oh shit— what was he thinking? reaching out like that? "I wasn't gonna do anything." He denied, although voice weaving.

"bullshit"

"You don't even look— how would you know that"

"...."

"See? I—"

"I heard you"

______

Ever since he's conscious, his senses heightened by ten folds. From the combination of monkeys and birds and variations of wildlife, Macaque couldn't extinguish the sound anymore, hustle of bushes and trees, flows of water in the distant and yet they seemed so close in his very mind.

The strongest sound of them all, a rhythm of heartbeat. Constant and strong to the six eared macaque's exposed sensitive flesh. Deepened his headache even more. He momentarily bit back a groan, instead, trying to turn it into his advantage, he willed himself to focus on the troubling sound alone.

Adjusting a while, the strong pulse drowned other sounds into white noises. Better.

Now without noises that intended to flood him, he then realized that he was laying in bed. Soft, silky linen beneath him. It has been a while since he'd had something this fancy. Macaque's eye lids felt too heavy, he couldn't will himself to open them.

A shuffling sound inched closer— With all his might, he ignored the throbbing pain all over his body and tackled the owner of the other heartbeat.

Golden figure became clear. Beneath him, shown another pair of golden eyes, surrounded by peach coloured markings. Their pulses quickened, his vision blurred. Chill wind met his scars. The feeling of pungent spread all over him. Macaque hated how exposed his body felt.

Rush of pain nearly made him wince. But once again, he forced them back.

Golden furred simian was warm. It exceeded throughout him, creating a buzz of unknown feeling in him. His gut coiled. His already fast pulse elevated. Sounds of their heartbeat alone were unbearably vociferous.

They stayed like that for a moment, the other's heartbeat never relented.

Macaque deepened crease on his brows, golden furred simian beneath him reeked of adrenaline.

"Where am I?" macaque inquired, although it came out more like he was threatening. His very own voice sounded hoarse to each set of ears.

Irritation flarred through him as the other simian stared at him with unreadable expression. Albeit inefficient, macaque formed numerous escape plans. You could never be too trustful of a stranger's intention.

--

The event ended with him trying to escape unsuccessfully.

Of course it would. How could macaque be so naive to even let himself believe it for a moment.

Where else would he be then? He could barely walk, Macaque blamed the myasthenia gravis, and had a massive headache. Wind has been acting up again, he shivered, tail shook and squeezed him tight.

Macaque found himself missing the warmth of a certain golden simian.

Sore limbs urging at him to give in to the warmth of silky texture under him. So he did. He gave up on escaping. His master would've found him in such pathetic state. Oddly enough, macaque couldn't bring himself to care.

So, the shade sank back, as if trying to feel the welcoming warmth the golden simian gave off not long ago. To have this kind of luxury. Moreover, he couldn't comprehend why someone that wealthy would help him.

With an aching body, his mind drifted into oblivion.

--

Pulsation flared anxiously, a pure mimic of chaos brought his senses back.

He heard the other lift a hand, for whatever reason he could not grapse, but there was no malice behind the action. But then why?

The shuffle sound's moving closer, almost like—

"I advise you not to."

An empty threat. He knew he couldn't lay a hand on the other even if he wanted. Hum of powerful magic was an indication of that.

A shufting sound drew backward. The other's heartbeat sped up again.

"I wasn't gonna do anything!"

How shameless. The golden furred was clearly trying to touch him. "bullshit" Macaque retorted.

"You don't even look— how would you know that!"

Of course he'd known. How the owner of the chaotic rhythm's breath struck his throat, momentarily forgot how to breathe.

Pumping of an anxious rhythm, threatening to over take all his hearing capacity.

The other simian rambled on about something he couldn't make out. Macaque, instead he chose to reply to the previous question.

"I heard you. You move too loud, it's like a fuckin earthquake in here."

He hoped that it wouldn't give away too much of his hearing ability.

The other made a grunted noise.

The smile threatened to overcome his face. Closing his eyes, the shade allowed himself to show the satisfaction.

"Ahem so anyway— How are you feeling?"

"Shitty" He groaned.

"Then rest!"

"Then leave me alone!"

"What— this is my room! Leave here by yourself"

He scrunched up his nose.

"Then I'm leaving" Realising his mistake, he tumbled down the bed. Fallen to his knee. Heat of humiliation crept up his face. Limbs felt jelly upon trying to move them, He couldn't even muster the strength to properly get up.

Pathetic.

It was like a deja Vu, golden furred simian helping him up again. But this time, he chose to not hissed or pushed the other away.

A 'thank you' wasn't necessary, but showing a little gratitude wouldn't hurt anyone, and this wasn't the time to held up his pride. If he was going eat a poisonous food, might as well did lick every inch of the plate. In addition, getting on the other simian's good side would only benefit him.

"...Thank you, errr—"

"Sun Wukong, King of the Flower fruit Mountain. Also known as great sage equal to heaven. Call me by whatever you want"

"....."

The other golden furred simian— Sun wukong grinned smugly, giving him an expectant look.

"Right.. Thank you, Sun wukong."

The king's face brighten, his whole posture seemed a lot more alight, tail swaying rapidly, resembling an excited puppy— or to be more precise, a monkey. Macaque almost snickered at the accuracy.

Wukong's shenanigans weren't done though. Golden fur ball continued on with his nonsense.

"What's your name?"

"I'm six-eared Macaque."

"That's a very accurate name."

The stupid grin adorned Sun wukong's face was impossibly wider. It was annoying.

So, so, annoying. Does this monkey think he's cute doing that?!

"What else can i help you?"

'What's the point with this?'

"What do you mean by that?" His face fell, the king sent a disappointed look.

Has he really wondered it aloud? Curse him.

"You. Helping me. Why?"

The king did not falter under his stare, he went silent for a moment, as if trying to conjure up the best answer.

"I just wanted someone to tend my Garden."

The shade quirked a single brow. Sun Wukong's posture shifted slightly, seemingly more reserved.

"Bahh, That's not really the true reason— but honestly that was the first thing i thought when i met you."

Since when, he did not know, Sun wukong has already seated himself on a chair. The shade wasn't entirely sure what his impression gave off. Macaque guessed that his silence was taken as a permission to continue. "But seriously, I think it's just.. I'm so lonely, y'know what I mean?"

He searched the simian's face. It gave off nothing but sheer honesty. The six-eared macaque then focused on the pulsation. Stable. No trace of lies.

"..I feel like that too"

Before he knew it, he'd already admitted that. Suddenly feeling like a prisoner confessing his crimes.

There was something about Sun wukong. Something that made him feel warm, and weird, and lighter— fuzzy feelings, blinding him, as though to forcing him to spill all his past, his secrets and insecurities.

He swallowed them down like a bile.

He would not tolerate any more reckless behavior.

A warm hand met his. Macaque never noticed that his fists were clenched. The king fixated his gaze on the shade. His body was radiating warmth, much like the name "Sun wukong"

The great sage rubbed their hands reassuringly. Macaque, unwillingly, relaxed himself against the contact.

The shade mentally cursed for letting himself get so heavily influenced under the king's gentle hold.

"But enough of those depressing shit. How can I help you?"

"How about leaving me alone?"

"After I poured my heart out like that? Nuh-uh!"

The mood changing was so abrupt. But he was glad to finally deal with something lighter.

They bantered for a while, as though they've known each other for ages. The ability to exchange snarky remarks and occasional jab was something he admired about Sun wukong.

After a while, he was exhausted with all the energy used, despite having only spoken and laughed. The great sage seemed to notice. Soon, without the other's initiating, their conversation died down.

"You sure don't need other thing?"

"God. You're impossible! Fine, Just give me something to eat. Whatever."

Sun wukong happily skipped away, humming an unfamiliar tune.

"How about some peaches?"

His ears perked up, and Macaque merely nodded.

[cyarskj1899]

Black Luminaries, Celebs and Activists Reflect On The One Year Anniversary Of George Floyd's Death

LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA - JUNE 14: Protesters crowd Hollywood Boulevard during the All Black Lives Matter solidarity march as unrest continues in the wake of the death of George Floyd, on June 14, 2020 in Los Angeles, California. Floyd died while in Minneapolis police custody on May 25, sparking protests around the world. Black LGBTQ leaders organized today's event, meant to honor Tony McDade, the transgender man shot by Tallahassee police last week. (Photo by Mario Tama/Getty Images)

"Like the man himself and the size of his heart, George Floyd left behind an outsized legacy. He awakened the world to the reality that Black people in America are brutalized daily, and their lives are treated as disposable. He ignited a relentless demand for change, starting with police and spanning every other system plagued by racial injustice. And he inspired us to imagine a nation that lives up to its ideals, where Black people, finally, can breathe free."

Attorney Benjamin Crumpnone

Every time I see George Floyd’s face or see his name I force myself to remember him as a man first. He was not a martyr. He was a murder victim. On the anniversary of his death I want to lift up his humanity. Father, brother, uncle, lover, friend. Gone too soon. We can lionize the Movement but we have to always remember the life that was lost.

Tarana Burke, activist, community organizer and founder of the "Me Too" Movementnone

“George Floyd was a loving father, a devoted brother, a caring partner and a friend, and he deserves to be remembered as those who love him remember him—someone whose smile lit up the room.

In the wake of George Floyd’s murder, we watched as millions of people took to the streets to say 'enough.' We have seen a nation awaken to the reality Black Americans live every day. Americans from all walks of life marched side by side demanding change to a system that failed George Floyd and so many others before and after him. This is not a problem that we can afford to push aside. What this moment so urgently demands is not just the right words, but bold action. Changing the reality we live in is not the responsibility of a few, but rather our collective calling.”

Senator Cory Bookernone

“The death of George Floyd had an effect that was beyond anything I have witnessed in my lifetime. It included all ages, races and determined demonstrators beyond this America into faraway places. This was NOT a Black demonstration, this was a human demonstration. It took his death to effect all industries with a conscious move toward racially diverse inclusion."

Bethann Hardison, Diversity Advocate and Luxury Brand Consultantnone

“George Floyd’s murder changed the course of racial and economic justice around the world, and pulled so many new supporters and activists into this movement. For me, I saw an opportunity to activate my network, and hold companies accountable to their stated commitments to drive economic equity. As a Black small business owner, I started the Fifteen Percent Pledge because I know firsthand that Black businesses need more than lip service, and major corporations have a responsibility to use their power and resources to uplift those of us who have been historically excluded from economic growth. What started as an Instagram post is now a full-fledged non-profit organization, and we’ve partnered with 25 companies, including Macy’s, Sephora, The Gap, Bloomingdale's and more to create over $4 billion dollars in opportunities for Black businesses. Our momentum is only growing, and we look forward to continuing our work in the fight for racial justice."

Aurora James, Founder of Brother Vellies and The Fifteen Percent Pledgenone

It was a year ago that, not only America, but the entire world woke up and witnessed the violence and abuse that the Black community has been facing for generations. The death of George Floyd sparked an uprising across the world, demanding police reform and for officials to be held accountable for their actions. If we look at the past year and the collective work that has been done to restructure systems that perpetuate racism in our nation, then you know we have a lot of work to do. If we ever want to reach racial justice in America, we need to continue to work together because it's not just a top down effect, change needs to happen at every level. George Floyd rests in power and we will continue to say his name."

Hannah Bronfman, Author, On-camera Personality, and FOUNDER OF HBFITnone

"A year after the death of George Floyd, the only thing I can think about is him. He wasn't trying to be a martyr. He wasn't trying to be a symbol. He was a human being going to the store. He didn't wake up with an intent to change anything. He was just George, and him being him was enough to have the state take his life. I look at a society that continues to add more names to the list of state sponsored public executions. I see politicians on Capitol Hill argue over how to best mask the symptoms, instead of how to cure the disease. I see white supremacy ever emboldened, and seeking to take its rightful place among American mainstream consciousness. Despite this, I'm hopeful. Hopeful because we are equipped to push forward, and we are doing so. I take solace in that. But unfortunately I am not inspired nor comforted when I think of George Floyd, I'm just f---ing pissed off. Pissed that his actual life—his real existence, the only one you get—was turned into a legacy he never asked for. May God continue to bless his family and loved ones. "

Van Lathan, host and media personalitynone

"We’ve heard that 'Awareness is the greatest agent for change.' Floyd’s legacy is one of awareness. The protests sparked by his death have caused greater awareness of systematic racism that has forced transparency and accountability in many organizations. We have a long way to go, but I see more progress with fashion and retail brands in the past year than I’ve seen since starting HFR [Harlem's Fashion Row] 14 years ago. Now, I hope that we see more long term commitments."

Brandice N. Daniel, CEO and Founder of Harlem's Fashion Rownone

“When you think of anniversaries, you think of moments to celebrate and commemorate. As I reflect on the one year anniversary of George Floyd’s murder it’s hard to use the term 'anniversary' because there is simply the knowledge that this should never have been his fate in the first place. However, with the realities we continue to face even after his murder, this day reminds me that the work is not complete and we must collectively share the burden of responsibility to create a new reality and that one verdict does not stop the need for demands from within our community to be heard, met, and implemented for a brighter future for all.”

Eden Bridgeman Sklenar, Chairwoman, EBONY & JET none

“George Floyd’s murder was a watershed moment for all of humanity. I still remember that video of little Gianna, sitting on the shoulders of her father's friend, proudly stating, ‘Daddy changed the world!’ A year later—with the historical conviction of his killer, disgraced police officer Derek Chauvin and the worldwide protests that ensued—Floyd’s daughter certainly spoke truth into action. We still have a long way to go, but that countless folks are finally having the kinds of conversations around race that build empathy and understanding is a boundless victory. Today we honor Floyd’s legacy. But I will refrain from celebrating until the horrific police violence that resulted in his tragic murder and that of countless Black bodies is eliminated from the fabric of our existence.”

Marielle Bobo, Editor-In-Chief and SVP, Programming, EBONY Medianone

"When George Floyd was pinned to the ground under the knee of Derek Chauvin, gasping for air and pleading for his life, the nation and the world saw the brutality, inhumanity and injustice that far too many of us have endured for years. His gruesome death galvanized demonstrations demanding police reform and accountability—issues that I have worked on for decades. One year later, we await the George Floyd Justice in Policing Act to become law so that no other family suffers from the anguish and devastation that Floyd’s loved ones have experienced this past year. In Floyd’s honor, in the family’s honor and in honor of all those we have lost to police brutality and racism, we will not rest until we see national reform."

Rev. Al Sharpton, President and Founder, National Action Networknone

Sights, Sounds and Style at Afrochella 2022

Sent from my iPhone

[arthurgalgo]

Dickhead (affectionate)

[sailorhyunjinz]

~ ℙ𝕦𝕣𝕡𝕝𝕖 ℍ𝕖𝕒𝕣𝕥 𝕀𝕀 ~

𝕎𝕒𝕣𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕘𝕤: SMUT! Dom!Minho x sub!reader criminal!skz, gang!au, angst(?), criminality, mentions of scars, mentions of blood, mentions of injuries, explicit language, mentions of robbery, mentions of police, mentions of cuts, alcohol consumption, mentions of fights, public sex, PIV, fingering, unsafe sex (STAY SAFE), orgasm (m/f), cum, slight bulge kink, squint to see the degradation. 

PLEASE READ THE WARNINGS SINCE THIS PIECE CONTAINS VIOLENCE!

𝕎𝕠𝕣𝕕 𝕔𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕥: 2.6 k 

ℕ𝕠𝕥𝕖: EEEEP part 2 of purple hearts that is more of a background story to the first one so if you haven’t read the first one please do so here!~ (also jesus fucking christ did i struggle with this sooo... don’t expect much lmao)

OH if you want a song recommendation; A good song never dies - Saint Motel (fits this fic heheh...) 

A loud bang erupted through the room alerting the 7 other boys. Bangchan’s fist was firmly planted on the table as he looked at the shoked faces off the seven boys.

“We can’t go on like this anymore”

He spoke in a raspy voice, his breath quivering as the other boys avoided eye contact with both Bangchan and between themselves.

“Did you see what happened out there?!” Felix flinched at Chan’s loud shout as Changbin smirked, spinning in the office chair and staring at the ceiling. 

“It’s not that serious, Chan! Just a couple bruises tha-” Changbin started speaking but was soon cut off.

“Nonsense!” Chan growled out. “All of this because that son of a bitch won’t get a job, we included you because you were a detective. You were useful once, Minho”.

The entire room glanced over at Minho. His cheek scarred, a droplet of blood desended down from his knuckles as he swept his hair back with one hand. 

“Not my fault, you wanted me to plan the different robbing schemes so how the fuck can I work, huh? Ever though about that?” He spat on the floor as his gaze was locked with Bangchan’s. The leader getting visibly annoyed by Minho’s tone. 

“Calm down everybody” Seungmin said, carefully nudging at the curtain infront of the window and looking down at the blue and red lights that was flashing all over town. “Continue like this and we’ll all be dead meat for the police”.

Hyunjin was sitting across from Changbin, only the big white table seperating them as a lonely lightbulb hanged in the middle. 

“I agree with Chan, Minho used to help by getting access to information only the detectives had but now... well, he’s not doing much” he scratched the back of his neck while talking. 

Minho was aggrivated by his words, ready to lunge at anyone that dared to open their mouth about how he wasnt helpful after he’d been fired from his job as a detective.

“I-I’m gonna find a job, not like you fuckers sitting here and living off others pain”. He tried to defend himself but only earned a scoff from Felix.

“Please,,, don’t try to judge us when you’re in it yourself” Felix remarked snarkily, sitting on the cold stone flooring. A first aid kit was laid out infront of him as he treated a big wound on his forearm, wrapping bandage over the cut and hissing as the material stinged against the raw wound. 

“I’ll find my ways, don’t worry” he devilishly smirks, many of the boys sighing and rolling their eyes. All except one. Bangchan. His blood was boiling. Did Minho not see how the whole groups future was hanging on by a thin red thread? The red representing how much blood has been shed by these boys in order to survive in this vile world.

Silence filled the room, only the faint sound of police sirens could be heard from outside. Minho clenched his jaw, looking around at the silent boys before grabbing his coat from the wobbly coathanger and exiting the mobs headquarter, shutting the door loud enough to startle both Jeongin and Jisung. Confused glances were exchanged while Bangchan just stood at the end of the table, staring out into the dark night. 

---

The nightlife was well and alive in the big city. Music blaring, people chattering and cars humming. The neon lights were all around him as well as the vast crowds of people enjoying the night. Minho walked into a bar that was a couple of blocks away from where he and the boys had been moments earlier, robbing a jewely store and beating up the owners until puddles of blood formed around them. Most of the times it was easy but today the police were a step ahead and bad planning by Bangchan almost led to the boys in handcuffs. Luckily, all eight managed to escape, leaving the bodies and the spray painted SKZ mob logo on the old fashioned walls of the jewerly store. 

The bar reeked of alcohol as the lights were low, only a couple of silhouette visible. Unsteady bar chairs decorated the dim bar along with a wall of fancy liquor bottles and as Minho sat down he looked down at the bar table before croaking out;

“One boulevardier“ 

He licked his lips as he looked cockily at the bartender that quickly nodded, intimidated by the wound on his cheek. Minho rubbed the back of his neck whilst comtemplating his life choices. Graduated with a law degree, once being a well respected detective but what was he worth now? He was just a dirty criminal, ruining lives in order to survive. The drink was placed infront of him, a coaster on the bottom of the wide glas as the drink condensed, forming beeds of liquid on the rim. Just as he lifted the glas to his chapped lips you tapped him on the shoulder. 

“Excuse me” 

You stood behind his hunched figure and met his gaze as he turned around, drink in hand. You show your detective badge before speaking.

“y/n, y/l/n. Happened to see any commotion here tonight, sir?

He scoffs which makes you confused as you look him straight into his cold brown eyes.

“Detective? At least you got to keep your job”

Minho turns back and you stand there, wondering if he’s drunk or just refusing to cooperate.

“Sir, I asked you if you’d seen anything that could lead us to the SKZ mob? I’m pretty sure you know who they are. You know, the ones that makes the entire city shake of fear.” 

“Sure, I know of them.” He smirked with his answer.

He patted the empty bar chair next to him, signaling for you to sit which caught you off guard. You were hesitant since he didn’t look like the friendliest type but you nodded, slowly sitting down next to him. 

“Look, I might even surprise you about how much I know” he remarked, steadily raising the glas to his dry lips. 

“Is that so? How do you know so much?” you asked, geniunly interested in him and that scar on his cheek.

“Former detective” he stated simply. 

Your eyebrows jerked at his words. ‘Former detective?’ you thought, losing his job must have been hard on him judging from his scruffy appearence and by the way he waved his finger at the bartender, ordering another drink. 

“Then why did you lose your job?” Curiosity was going to be the death of you.

“Aren’t you asking too many questions, baby?”

Who was he calling baby? The two of you had met minutes ago but something in the way his voice rang through that word caused shivers to descend down your spine. 

“I’m a detective, that my job and you should know that” you replied sassily, not knowing what to do with the butterflies in your stomach upon hearing him call you baby. 

“I could help you but it comes with a cost.”

He moved his hand in a circular motion, swirling the liquor as the floating ice cubes bumped against eachother, the sound being completely masked by the distinct chattering of other guests. 

“Well,,, what do you want me to do?” You looked at him as he stared straight ahead, his silvery earring swaying as he turned his head towards you, grinning. 

“A job and you.” 

His deep brown eyes seemed to draw you in but you had to resist, you were on a patrolling shift after all. 

“I’m s-sorry,,, This is not appropriate behaviour” you say as you try to get up before being abruptly pulled back by your wrist, the purple heart on your bracelet reflecting in the minimally lit bar. 

“I know damn well that there is a promotion looming in the air” he said, not breaking eye contact with the bracelet on your arm. He was right. If he had valuable information it could change your career, make you climb higher in the ladder of success and peer down at all your co-workers that were once laughing at your lack of skills.

“H-how’d you know?” you said, flustered at his big hand that was still tightly gripping your wrist. He flashed his devilish grin before yanking you by the arm, dragging you to the bathroom. 

“W-wait,,, what are you-”

Pushing the door to the bathroom open, he slammed you against a cubical as he crashed his lips onto yours. Luckily the bathroom was empty leaving Minho without any hesitation to fuck you so hard that you’d be longing for more, fuck you so that you’d be left with no other choice but to hire him. You melted in his touch and as much as you knew how wrong this was something about his mysterious aura had you answering his kiss, pursing your lips and slipping your tongue inside of him. The kiss quickly got heated, sparks flying as his fingertips lightly nudged on the band of your jeans. Minho tilted his head, cupping your warm soft cheek with his brittle and bloody hands as you moaned into the kiss, adrenaline rushing through you at the thought of getting caught at any moment. 

Minho pulled you into a cubical, your bracelet jingling from the sudden movement. Locking the door, he put his hand by the side of your head and towered over you making you feel helpless. You needed him inside of you. 

“Deal?” he leaned over to your ear, his hot breath tickled your ear and all you could do was nod as you desperatly clenched around nothing. 

You reattached your lips on his, the bitter taste of liquor spreading in your mouth as your tongues fought for dominance. Minho stroked your hair until his hand slowly moved to peel off your shirt, exposing your bra strap. His touch on your bare shoulder made you shudder and your core quivering in anticipation, feeling a wet patch on your underwear. His hand unbuttoned your pants causing you to gulp loudly, holding the back of his neck to deepen the kiss.  Without warning his cold fingertips slid down beneath your panties, grazing your sopping folds and feeling himself get painfully hard, not wanting to admit the effect you had on him. 

“Already this wet, babygirl?” 

He broke the kiss, looking at your pained expression as he inserted a finger into your dripping pussy. Your eyes tightly shut as your hands wrapped around his arm, needing something to hold on to before your trembling legs gave up on you. You quickly stripped yourself from your pants and underwear, the fabric pooling around your feet and touching the surprisingly clean bathroom tiles. 

“Needy I see” he scoffed, inserting a second finger and sending you over the moon with pleasure, your hands still wrapped around his wrist. 

“s-shut up, you m-made me like this” you stutter back at him, trying to impose some sort of dominance but Minho only swiped his tongue across his bottom lip, looking at you with hungry dark eyes. A broken moan escaped your lips that glistened from saliva, Minho curled his fingers upwards, grazing your g-spot with every move. Before another strained moan managed to escape your lips he retracted his fingers, lapping off your juices from his long fingers with a mischievous look in his eyes. 

“Turn around”

His cold voice pierced your eardrums and as if you’d been hexed you complied, your body moving to his command. Your hot cheek pressed up against the cubical door as Minho’s body was dangerously close to yours, his clothed bulge rubbing against your bare ass. The sound of his belt unbuckling echoed as you pressed your ass up against his bulge, desperate for his cock. 

In a swift motion both his pants and underwear dropped down to the floor, his erect veiny member springing out, the tip shining with precum. He pumped his length a couple of times before rubbing the tip against your dripping heat making you mewl out in suspense, the burning feeling in your core growing stronger. Minho alined himself with your entrance, slowly pushing in the tip to which you hissed, a momentary sting hitting your senses. He teased you by dragging his fingertips across your buttcheeks and up your spine, goosebumps erupting. 

Not being able to control yourself you pushed your butt out making you sink deeper on his length, earning a groan from the dark haired boy. 

“Desperate much?” he cooed from behind you. 

Your hands formed into fists as they held you body up from the door.

“F-fuck,,, hurry, I’m still on my shift you know?” you spat out at him, your legs shaking from how his dick stretched out your tight walls. 

“Whatever you say”

He laced his fingers through your hair, grabbing a fistful before turning his hand and yanking you towards him, your back arching as his hips slam against yours causing your butt to jiggle. You choked on your own moan as Minho’s hand tightly held you by the roots. 

The movement repeated and got harder by each thrust causing you to bite your lip in order to stop from screaming out in pleasure. Heat rose to your cheeks as your eyes rolled back into your skull, stray pieces of hair landing infront of your hair. Sweat beaded on Minho’s forehead, his groans getting louder as he neared his sweet release. 

“S-so tight,,, fuck.” He spoke haltingly, hating the fact that you made him weak. In order to hold on for longer you clenched around him not knowing that he’d grunt loudly.

“Now you’re c-clenching around me like a little whore?” 

A string of moans ensued from your delicate lips upon hearing his new nickname to you. How did he know that you liked it? You could only nod, your speech all slurred from the impact of his dick burrowing deep into your cervix. The knot in your stomach tightened, your head dazed as Minho’s thrusts became uneven, the grip on your hair tightening. Not feeling your legs any longer the knot unraveled, your body shivering from the orgasm that washed upon you, your juices coating Minho’s dick that was still pounding into you at an immense speed. 

“A-aah,,,s-shit!” you screamed out as he rushed after his own orgasm, overstimulating you in the meantime. Tears prickled in the corners of your watery eyes as Minho’s last moan echoed in the room, the moan being high in pitch. He pulled out of you leaving your cunt dripping as he pumped his length a couple of times, throwing his head back before his white cum spurted onto your butt, feeling the warm substance drip down your leg. The two of you panted, chest heaving as your forehead made contact with the door, legs weak. 

In your peripheral vision you see the boy stretching out a paper towel, his chest heaving as he wiped off the small sweat beads with the back of his hand. You shake your head in order to come back to earth before taking the paper towel from his hand, muttering a small “thank you”. 

“So what you say, babygirl?” His dick turning flaccid before pulling up his pants, looking at you wonderingly. You wipe off the cum and discard the paper in a small waste bin before you reach down to grab your panties and pants, pulling them briskly up. You reach for your back pocket, holding out a business card between your pointer and long finger with one hand, the other hand messing with your hair, making it look presentable. 

“Call me on Monday” you say before stumbling out of the cubical, leaving the grinning boy behind you. 

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

August 18, 2021

Heather Cox Richardson

It is still early days, and the picture of what is happening in Afghanistan now that the Taliban has regained control of the country continues to develop.

Central to affairs there is money. Afghanistan is one of the poorest countries in the world, with about half its population requiring humanitarian aid this year and about 90% of its people living below the poverty line of making $2 a day.

The country depends on foreign aid. Under the U.S.-supported Afghan government, the United States and other nations funded about 80% of Afghanistan’s budget. In 2020, foreign aid made up about 43% of Afghanistan’s GDP (the GDP, or gross domestic product, is the monetary value of all the goods and services produced in a country), down from 100% of it in 2009.

This is a huge problem for the Taliban, because their takeover of the country means that the money the country so desperately needs has dried up. The U.S. has frozen billions of dollars of Afghan government money held here in the U.S. The European Union and Germany have also suspended their financial support for the country, and today the International Monetary Fund blocked Afghanistan’s access to $460 million in currency reserves.

Adam M. Smith, who served on the National Security Council during the Obama administration, told Jeff Stein of the Washington Post that the financial squeeze is potentially “cataclysmic for Afghanistan.” It threatens to spark a humanitarian crisis that, in turn, will create a refugee crisis in central Asia. Already, the fighting in the last eight months has displaced more than half a million Afghans.

People fleeing from the Taliban threaten to destabilize the region more generally. While Russia was happy to support the Taliban in a war against the U.S., now that its fighters are in charge of the country, Russia needs to keep the Taliban’s extremism from spreading to other countries in the area. So it is tentatively saying supportive things about the Taliban, but it is also stepping up its protection of neighboring countries’ borders with Afghanistan. Other countries are also leery of refugees in the region: large numbers of refugees have, in the past, led countries to turn against immigrants, giving a leg up to right-wing governments.

Canada and Britain are each taking an additional 20,000 Afghan women leaders, reporters, LGBTQ people, and human rights workers on top of those they have already volunteered to take, but Turkey—which is governed by strongman president Recep Tayyip Erdogan—is building a wall to block refugees, and French President Emmanuel Macron asked officials in Pakistan, Iran, and Turkey to prevent migrants reaching their countries from traveling any further. The European Union has asked its member states to take more Afghan refugees.

In the U.S., the question of Afghan refugees is splitting the Republican Party, with about 30% of it following the hard anti-immigrant line of former president Donald Trump. Others, though, especially those whose districts include military installations, are saying they welcome our Afghan allies.

The people fleeing the country also present a problem for those now in control of Afghanistan. The idea that people are terrified of their rule is a foreign relations nightmare, at the same time that those leaving are the ones most likely to have the skills necessary to help govern the country. But leaders can’t really stop the outward flow—at least immediately—because they do not want to antagonize the international community so thoroughly that it continues to withhold the financial aid the country so badly needs. So, while on the streets, Taliban fighters are harassing Afghans who are trying to get away, Taliban leaders are saying they will permit people to evacuate, that they will offer blanket amnesty to those who opposed them, and also that they will defend some rights for women and girls.

The Biden administration is sending more personnel to help evacuate those who want to leave. The president has promised to evacuate all Americans in the country—as many as 15,000 people—but said only that we would evacuate as many of the estimated 65,000 Afghans who want to leave as possible. The Taliban has put up checkpoints on the roads to the airport and are not permitting everyone to pass. U.S. military leaders say they will be able to evacuate between 5000 and 9000 people a day.

Today, Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff Mark A. Milley tried to explain the frantic rush to evacuate people from Afghanistan to reporters by saying: “There was nothing that I or anyone else saw that indicated a collapse of this army and this government in 11 days.” Maybe. But military analyst Jason Dempsey condemned the whole U.S. military project in Afghanistan when he told NPR's Don Gonyea that the collapse of the Afghan government showed that the U.S. had fundamentally misunderstood the people of Afghanistan and had tried to impose a military system that simply made no sense for a society based in patronage networks and family relationships.

Even with Dempsey’s likely accurate assessment, the statement that U.S. military intelligence missed that a 300,000 person army was going to melt away still seems to me astonishing. Still, foreign policy and national security policy analyst Dr. John Gans of the University of Pennsylvania speculated on Twitter that such a lapse might be more “normal”—his word and quotation marks—than it seems, reflecting the slips possible in government bureaucracy. He points out that the Department of Defense has largely controlled Afghanistan and the way the U.S. involvement there was handled in Washington. But with the end of the military mission, the Defense Department was eager to hand off responsibility to the State Department, which was badly weakened under the previous administration and has not yet rebuilt fully enough to handle what was clearly a complicated handoff. “There have not been many transitions between an American war & an American diplomatic relationship with a sovereign, friendly country,” Gans wrote. “Fewer still when the friendly regime disintegrates so quickly.” When things started to go wrong, they snowballed.

And yet, the media portrayal of our withdrawal as a catastrophe also seems to me surprising. To date, at least as far as I have seen, there have been no reports of such atrocities as the top American diplomat in Syria reported in the chaos when the U.S. pulled out of northern Syria in 2019. Violence against our Kurdish allies there was widely expected and it indeed occurred. In a memo made public in November of that year, Ambassador William V. Roebuck wrote that “Islamist groups” paid by Turkey were deliberately engaged in ethnic cleansing of Kurds, and were committing “widely publicized, fear-inducing atrocities” even while “our military forces and diplomats were on the ground.” The memo continued: “The Turkey operation damaged our regional and international credibility and has significantly destabilized northeastern Syria.”

Reports of that ethnic cleansing in the wake of our withdrawal seemed to get very little media attention in 2019, perhaps because the former president’s first impeachment inquiry took up all the oxygen. But it strikes me that the sensibility of Roebuck’s memo is now being read onto our withdrawal from Afghanistan although conditions there are not—yet—like that.

For now, it seems, the drive to keep the door open for foreign money is reining in Taliban extremism. That caution seems unlikely to last forever, but it might hold for long enough to complete an evacuation.

Much is still unclear and the situation is changing rapidly, but my guess is that keeping an eye on the money will be crucial for understanding how this plays out.

Meanwhile, the former president of Afghanistan, Ashraf Ghani, has surfaced in the United Arab Emirates. He denies early reports that he fled the country with suitcases full of cash.

—-

Notes:

https://www.nytimes.com/2021/08/18/world/asia/ashraf-ghani-uae-afghanistan.html

https://www.worldbank.org/en/country/afghanistan/overview

https://asiatimes.com/2021/08/the-root-of-russias-fears-in-afghanistan/

https://www.sigar.mil/pdf/quarterlyreports/2021-07-30qr-section2-economic.pdf#page=14

https://www.reuters.com/article/usa-afghanistan-funding-int/u-s-other-aid-cuts-could-imperil-afghan-government-u-s-watchdog-idUSKBN2B72WJ

https://www.dw.com/en/eu-will-have-to-talk-to-taliban-but-wary-of-recognition/a-58890698

https://www.washingtonpost.com/us-policy/2021/08/17/treasury-taliban-money-afghanistan/

https://amp.cnn.com/cnn/2021/08/18/business/afghanistan-lithium-rare-earths-mining/index.html

https://www.washingtonpost.com/world/europe/russia-taliban-afghanistan-putin/2021/08/17/af53a9ec-ff4c-11eb-87e0-7e07bd9ce270_story.html

https://www.washingtonpost.com/world/2021/08/18/afghanistan-kabul-taliban-live-updates/

https://www.washingtonpost.com/national-security/aid-groups-warn-of-possible-refugee-crisis-in-afghanistan-far-beyond-western-evacuation-plans/2021/08/18/0d7094fc-0058-11ec-825d-01701f9ded64_story.html

https://www.npr.org/2021/06/21/1008656321/how-does-the-u-s-help-afghans-hold-on-to-gains-while-withdrawing-troops

https://www.washingtonpost.com/world/2021/08/18/afghanistan-kabul-taliban-live-updates/

https://www.reuters.com/world/canada-accept-20000-vulnerable-afghans-such-women-leaders-human-rights-workers-2021-08-13

https://www.nytimes.com/2019/11/07/us/politics/memo-syria-trump-turkey.html

https://www.politico.com/news/2021/08/18/afghan-refugee-debate-fractures-gop-506135

​​https://www.cnn.com/2021/08/18/politics/us-must-rely-on-taliban-for-evacuation/index.html

John Gans @johngansjrFrom what I'm seeing and hearing, the reasons for the mess in Afghanistan might be far more 'normal' than many are suspecting/suggesting -- driven more by typical pathologies in government & Washington. More to be learned. But a few thoughts. 1/x

533 Retweets2,195 Likes

August 18th 2021

https://www.npr.org/2021/08/15/1027952034/military-analyst-u-s-trained-afghan-forces-for-a-nation-that-didnt-exist

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

HEATHER COX RICHARDSON

[lastsonlost]

All this over the Japanese liking a game they don't like...

Ghost of Tsushima opens with a grand wide shot of samurai, adorned with impressively detailed suits of armor, sitting atop their horses. There we find Jin, the protagonist, ruminating on how he will die for his country. As he traverses Tsushima, our hero fights back the invading Mongolian army to protect his people, and wrestles with the tenets of the Bushido code. Standoffs take advantage of perspective and a wide field of view to frame both the samurai and his opponent in something that, more often than not, feels truly cinematic. The artists behind the game have an equally impeccable reference point for the visuals: the works of legendary filmmaker Akira Kurosawa

“We really wanted to pay respect to the fact that this game is so totally inspired by the work of this master,” director Nate Fox said in a recent interview with IndieWire. At Entertainment Weekly, Fox explained how his team at Sucker Punch Productions suggested that the influence ran broadly, including the playable black-and-white “Kurosawa Mode” and even in picking a title. More specifically, he noted that Seven Samurai, one of Kurosawa’s most well-known works, defined Fox’s “concept of what a samurai is.” All of this work went toward the hope that players would “experience the game in a way as close to the source material as possible.”

But in embracing “Kurosawa” as an eponymous style for samurai adventures, the creatives behind Ghost of Tsushima enter into an arena of identity and cultural understanding that they never grapple with. The conversation surrounding samurai did not begin or end with Kurosawa’s films, as Japan’s current political forces continue to reinterpret history for their own benefit.

Kurosawa earned a reputation for samurai films as he worked steadily from 1943 to 1993. Opinions of the director in Japan are largely mixed; criticism ranges from the discussion of his family background coming from generations of samurai to accusations of pandering to Western audiences. Whether intentional or not, Kurosawa became the face of Japanese film in the critical circles of the 1950s. But he wasn’t just a samurai stylist: Many of the director’s films frame themselves around a central conflict of personal ideology in the face of violence that often goes without answer — and not always through the lives of samurai. In works like Drunken Angel, The Quiet Duel, or his 1944 propaganda film The Most Beautiful, Kurosawa tackles the interpersonal struggles of characters dealing with sickness, alcoholism, and other challenges.

His films endure today, and not just through critical preservation; since breaking through to the West, his visual ideas and themes have become fodder for reinterpretation. You can see this keenly in Western cinema through films like The Magnificent Seven, whose narrative was largely inspired by Seven Samurai. Or even A Fistful of Dollars, a Western epic that cleaved so closely to Kurosawa’s Yojimbo that director Sergio Leone ended up in a lawsuit with Toho Productions over rights issues. George Lucas turned to Kurosawa’s The Hidden Fortress in preparation for Star Wars; he’d eventually repay Kurosawa by helping to produce his surreal drama Dreams.

Ghost of Tsushima is part of that lineage, packing in action and drama to echo Kurosawa’s legacy. “We will face death and defend our home,” Shimura, the Lord of Tsushima, says within the first few minutes of the game. “Tradition. Courage. Honor. These are what make us.” He rallies his men with this reminder of what comprises the belief of the samurai: They will die for their country, they will die for their people, but doing so will bring them honor. And honor, tradition, and courage, above all else, are what make the samurai.

Except that wasn’t always the belief, it wasn’t what Kurosawa bought whole cloth, and none of the message can be untangled from how center- and alt-right politicians in modern Japan talk about “the code” today.

The “modern” Bushido code — or rather, the interpretation of the Bushido code coined in the 1900s by Inazō Nitobe — was utilized in, and thus deeply ingrained into, Japanese military culture. An easy example of how the code influenced Imperial Japan’s military would be the kamikaze pilots, officially known as the Tokubetsu Kōgekitai. While these extremes (loyalty and honor until death, or capture) aren’t as present in the myth of the samurai that has ingrained itself into modern ultranationalist circles, they manifest in different yet still insidious ways.

In 2019, to celebrate the ushering in of the Reiwa Era, the conservative Liberal Democratic Party commissioned Final Fantasy artist Yoshitaka Amano to depict Japanese Prime Minister Shinzo Abe as a samurai. Though described as being center-right, various members of the LDP have engaged in or have been in full support of historical revisionism, including the editing of textbooks to either soften or completely omit the language surrounding war crimes committed by Imperial Japan. Abe himself has been linked to supporting xenophobic curriculums, with his wife donating $9,000 to set up an ultranationalist school that pushed anti-Korean and anti-Chinese rhetoric. The prime minister is also a member of Japan’s ultraconservative Nippon Kaigi, which a U.S. congressional report on Japan-U.S. relations cited as one of several organizations that believe that “Japan should be applauded for liberating much of East Asia from Western colonial powers, that the 1946-1948 Tokyo War Crimes tribunals were illegitimate, and that the killings by Imperial Japanese troops during the 1937 ‘Nanjing massacre’ were exaggerated or fabricated.” The Nippon Kaigi, like Abe, have also pushed for the revision of Japan’s constitution — specifically, Article 9 — to allow Japan to reinstate its standing military.

This has been a major goal for Abe as his time as prime minister comes to a definite close in 2021. And from 2013 onward, the politician has made yearly trips to the Yasukuni shrine to honor the memory of war criminals, a status of which his own grandfather was accused, that died with the ethos of the modern Bushido code. Abe’s exoneration of these ideals has continued to spark reactionary nationalist sentiment, as illustrated with the Nippon Kaigi and their ultranationalist ideology. These traditionalist values have encouraged xenophobic sentiment in Japan, which was seen in the 2020 Tokyo elections with 178,784 votes going to Makoto Sakurai, leader of the Japan First Party, another ultranationalist group. Sakurai has participated in numerous hate speech demonstrations in Tokyo, often targeting Korean diaspora groups.

The preservation of the Bushido code that was highly popularized and utilized by Imperial Japan lives on through promotion by history revisionists, who elevate samurai to a status similar to that of the chivalric knight seen in Western media. They are portrayed as an honor-bound and noble group of people that cared deeply for the peasantry, when that was often not the case.

The samurai as a concept, versus who the samurai actually were, has become so deeply intertwined with Japanese imperialist beliefs that it has become difficult to separate the two. This is where cultural and historical understanding are important when approaching the mythology of the samurai as replicated in the West. Kurosawa’s later body of work — like the color-saturated Ran, which was a Japanese adaptation of King Lear, and Kagemusha, the story of a lower-class criminal impersonating a feudal lord — deeply criticized the samurai and the class system they enforced. While some films were inspired by Western plays, specifically Shakespeare, these works were critical of the samurai and their role in the Sengoku Period. They dismantled the notion of samurai by showing that they were a group of people capable of the same failings as the lower class, and were not bound to arbitrary notions of honor and chivalry.

Unlike Kurosawa’s blockbusters, his late-career critical message didn’t cross over with as much ease. In Western films like 2003’s The Last Samurai, the audience is presented with the picture of a venerable and noble samurai lord who cares only for his people and wants to preserve traditionalist values and ways of living. The portrait was, again, a highly romanticized and incorrect image of who these people were in feudal Japanese society. Other such works inspired by Kurosawa’s samurai in modern pop culture include Adult Swim’s animated production Samurai Jack and reinterpretations of his work like Seven Samurai 20XX developed by Dimps and Polygon Magic, which had also received the Kurosawa Estate’s blessing but resulted in a massive failure. The narratives of the lone ronin and the sharpshooter in American Westerns, for example, almost run in parallel.

Then there’s Ghost of Tsushima. Kurosawa’s work is littered with close-ups focused on capturing the emotionality of every individual actor’s performance, and panoramic shots showcasing sprawling environments or small feudal villages. Fox and his team recreate that. But after playing through the story of Jin, Ghost of Tsushima is as much of an homage to an Akira Kurosawa film as any general black-and-white film could be. The Kurosawa Mode in the game doesn’t necessarily reflect the director’s signatures, as the narrative hook and tropes found in Kurosawa’s work — and through much of the samurai film genre — are equally as important as the framing of specific shots.

“I don’t think a lot of white Western academics have the context to talk about Japanese national identity,” Tori Huynh, a Vietnamese woman and art director in Los Angeles, said about the Western discussion of Kurosawa’s aesthetic. “Their context for Japanese nationalism will be very different from Japanese and other Asian people. My experience with Orientalism in film itself is, that there is a really weird fascination with Japanese suffering and guilt, which is focused on in academic circles … I don’t think there is anything wrong with referencing his aesthetic. But that’s a very different conversation when referencing his ideology.”

Ghost of Tsushima features beautifully framed shots before duels that illustrate the tension between Jin and whomever he’s about to face off against, usually in areas populated by floating lanterns or vibrant and colorful flowers. The shots clearly draw inspiration from Kurosawa films, but these moments are usually preceded by a misunderstanding on Jin’s part — stumbling into a situation he’d otherwise have no business participating in if it weren’t for laid-out side quests to get mythical sword techniques or armor. Issues like this undermine the visual flair; the duels are repeated over and over in tedium as more of a set-piece than something that should have a component of storytelling and add tension to the narrative.

Fox and Sucker Punch’s game lacks a script that can see the samurai as Japanese society’s violent landlords. Instead of examining the samurai’s role, Ghost of Tsushima lionizes their existence as the true protectors of feudal Japan. Jin must protect and reclaim Tsushima from the foreign invaders. He must defend the peasantry from errant bandits taking advantage of the turmoil currently engulfing the island. Even if that means that the samurai in question must discard his sense of honor, or moral righteousness, to stoop to the level of the invading forces he must defeat.

Jin’s honor and the cost of the lives he must protect are in constant battle, until this struggle no longer becomes important to the story, and his tale whittles down to an inevitable and morally murky end. To what lengths will he go to preserve his own honor, as well as that of those around him? Ghost of Tsushima asks these questions without a truly introspective look at what that entails in relation to the very concept of the samurai and their Bushido code. This manifests in flashbacks to Jin’s uncle, Shimura, reprimanding him for taking the coward’s path when doing his first assassination outside of forced stealth segments. Or in story beats where the Khan of the opposing Mongol force informs Shimura that Jin has been stabbing enemies in the back. Even if you could avoid participating in these systems, the narrative is fixated on Jin’s struggle with maintaining his honor while ultimately trying to serve his people.

I do not believe Ghost of Tsushima was designed to empower a nationalist fantasy. At a glance, and through my time playing the game, however, it feels like it was made by outsiders looking into an otherwise complex culture through the flattening lens of an old black-and-white film. The gameplay is slick and the hero moments are grand, but the game lacks the nuance and understanding of what it ultimately tries to reference. As it stands, being a cool pseudo-historical drama is, indeed, what Ghost of Tsushima’s creators seemingly aimed to accomplish. In an interview with Famitsu, Chris Zimmerman of Sucker Punch said that “if Japanese players think the game is cool, or like a historical drama, then that’s a compliment.” And if there is one thing Ghost of Tsushima did succeed in, it was creating a “cool” aesthetic — encompassed by one-on-one showdowns with a lot of cinematic framing.

In an interview with The Verge, Fox said that “our game is inspired by history, but we’re not strictly historically accurate.” That’s keenly felt throughout the story and in its portrayal of the samurai. The imagery and iconography of the samurai carry a burden that Sucker Punch perhaps did not reckon with during the creation of Ghost of Tsushima. While the game doesn’t have to remain true to the events that transpired in Tsushima, the symbol of the samurai propagates a nationalist message by presenting a glossed-over retelling of that same history. Were, at any point, Ghost of Tsushima to wrestle with the internal conflict between the various class systems that existed in Japan at the time, it might have been truer to the films that it draws deep inspiration from. However, Ghost of Tsushima is what it set out to be: a “cool” period piece that doesn’t dwell on the reasonings or intricacies of the existing period pieces it references.

A game that so heavily carries itself on the laurels of one of the most prolific Japanese filmmakers should investigate and reflect on his work in the same way that the audience engages with other pieces of media like film and literature. What is the intent of the creator versus the work’s broader meaning in relation to current events, or the history of the culture that is ultimately serving as a backdrop to yet another open-world romp? And how do these things intertwine and create something that can flirt on an edge of misunderstanding? Ghost of Tsushima is a surface-level reflection of these questions and quandaries, sporting a lens through which to experience Kurosawa, but not to understand his work. It ultimately doesn’t deal with the politics of the country it uses as a backdrop. For the makers of the game, recreating Kurosawa is just black and white.

[true-blue-megamind]

Daylight and Dark Ch. 1 - First Night

Photo by Joe Waranont

Read the full fan fiction HERE

This is an excerpt.  Due to Tumblr’s regulations, the second half of this chapter is only available on AO3.  The full fiction is not child-friendly!

Summary: Months after Titan's defeat, Roxanne faces concerns as she and Megamind's relationship grows more serious. Soon, however, she learns that may be the least of her problems. Metro City's new hero has a dangerous past, and loving him comes with as many perils as benefits. Mystery, drama, romance, and humor.  RATING: Explicit.  WARNINGS: violence, sex, language, references to prior domestic abuse, and rock n’ roll!

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f I should labor through daylight and dark, Consecrate, valorous, serious, true, Then on the world I may blazon my mark; And what if I don't, and what if I do?

                —Dorothy Parker

Roxanne Ritchi stared at her reflection without really seeing it.

Tonight. It was going to be tonight. She had waited, fretted, but no more. It had to be tonight.

Perhaps this moment had been too long in coming. It wasn't as if she didn't want it to—she adored him, she was undeniably attracted to him, and she was completely unbothered by their physical differences—but there was a part of Roxanne that had been affected more than she liked to admit by past disappointments.  She described her approach to relationships as "circumspect" and "judicious," but, if she was honest, she was, in reality, a coward.  Not that she was afraid of Megamind, of course; that would have been ridiculous.  Her concerns were harder to define than that.  What she feared was, she supposed, perfection, or rather the relentless feeling that anything this perfect had to be inevitably doomed.  After all, past experiences with men had all ended in disaster—she was either too aloof or too intense, depending on which of her exes you asked— and it seemed that the better relationships were in the beginning, the more spectacularly they failed in the end.  In fact, the reporter had already resigned herself to a single life, throwing herself completely into her work, when along came a certain blue alien.  Now, deep down, she was afraid that something would go wrong—especially when their relationship was already complicated by its very nature.  Perhaps that was the real heart of the issue: her love affair with Megamind was complex in so many ways, even more than the expected difficulties entailed in dating any Defender, and some of those issues revolved around things neither she nor her blue boyfriend could control.

Even so, she had made her decision, and she wasn't going to back down.  It was going to be tonight.

A knock snapped Roxanne's eyes back into focus, and she frowned at her incomplete makeup. Hurriedly finishing her mascara and applying some russet red, long-wear lipstick, she swept all her cosmetics back into a drawer.  An extra spray of perfume for good measure, and that would have to do. Fanning her mouth with her hands to dry the lip color, Roxanne walked briskly through the living room to her apartment's front door.

Megamind was standing in the hall, eyes fixed pensively off into the distance. It was a look she was growing to expect whenever she left him waiting too long; the double-edge sword of his massive intellect was that he was always thinking, always wondering, his thoughts never still. The sound of the door brought him back to attention, and he smiled. She threw her arms around him— their usual greeting— and gave him a quick peck on the lips.

Nerves sang and sparked. She hated that she was as fidgety as a maiden bride.  While she believed that, like alcohol and tobacco, sex should be "enjoyed responsibly," Roxanne had slept with a respectable number of men.  It had been years since the idea of it had made her jittery.  Until now.  Maybe it was her long hiatus from the dating pool—very few men were willing to move on a woman supposedly dating someone with lasers in his eyes—or maybe it was Megamind's charm coupled with the intensity of her feelings for him, but, whatever the reason, something about the city's hero made her feel like she was in high school once more: heart fluttering and stomach slightly queasy.  If only that were the sole reason for the butterflies beneath her skin.

"Sorry to keep you waiting," she smiled again, looking into eyes so green they glowed.

His expression was tender as he turned his gaze down to her's— something that, at only two inches taller than Roxanne, he only managed to do when they were this close. And when she was wearing flats. For a moment Roxanne silently praised the work-sore feet that had prompted her to opt for more comfortable shoes this evening.

Clearly, the blue alien had been on duty today as he was dressed in his familiar dark leathers. For a short time, Megamind had tried wearing white— had even gone as far as to build a new super suit that imitated Metro Man's powers— but thankfully Minion had convinced him that it was better to be his own brand of hero. And he'd been right. Not only did Roxanne prefer her boyfriend's bad boy look for reasons of her own, but even the most hardened criminals had grown to fear the black-clad Defender of Metro City while citizens had grown to accept Megamind for himself.

Will that continue after tonight, if people find out? Or will the same public that praises him today turn against him tomorrow?

"Don't worry, it's alright," the blue hero assured her. Roxanne startled for a moment— how did he know what she was thinking?— before she realized that he'd been referring to the wait. "I was just considering how I might turn one of your windows into a transparent glass monitor," he continued. "It would require some creative engineering, but I think it could be done. Then I could build you a smaller version of the supercomputer in my lair, and ta-da! It could function as a window until activated, and then you could use it to communicate with me in my workroom, or research, or to—" seeing her quizzically amused expression, he caught himself in mid-thought and cleared his throat. He and Roxanne had agreed to just have a normal, relaxing date, and it seemed to occur to him that this might not fit the description. "Erm, these are for you," he finished sheepishly, proffering a bouquet of yellow daisies, orange and gold cosmos, gardenias, and red and white roses.

He always brought her daisies, ever since she had mentioned once in passing how much she loved the ones in Hill Top Park.  Bouquets turned up at her office every Thursday like clockwork.  She didn't even mind that some of the interns got all girlish and giggly about it.

Roxanne accepted the flowers, inhaling the blossoms' sweet scents before saying: "They're beautiful. Come on inside." She pulled him in, leaning up to give him another kiss as she reached around him to shut the door. "I've always wondered: what are these?" she continued, touching tiny white clustered flowers with one hand. "It seems like they're in every single bouquet I've ever seen, but no one ever mentions what they're called."

"Ah, yes, that's Gypsophila, Baby's Breath. And you're right, it is a common addition to bouquets... I think for artistic reasons. What's wrong? Do you dislike it?"

"What? No, not at all..."

"What is it? You look like you just smelled something horrible. I can take the Gypsophila out."

"Oh, no, that's not necessary. It's nothing... just..."

Baby's breath.  Oh God.   Roxanne tried to ignore the skittering tightness in her heart.

What if she got pregnant?  What would the world say to the first half-human child?  She was a responsible adult, of course, and she wasn't rushing into this unprepared, but even so... Sex was designed to make babies, and no matter how careful a girl was, sometimes it did just that.  Her cousin Theresa, who had conceived her third child while she and her husband were using both pills and condoms, was living proof.

Realizing she'd been quiet too long, Roxanne thought quickly. "It's just that that's an odd name for a flower, isn't it? I mean, it doesn't really look like breath."

"No stranger than Forget-Me-Nots or Grandmother's Lace." He shrugged. "Flower names are just weird."

"At least Grandmother's Lace sort of looks like lace," she laughed, more at herself than anything else. "But you're probably right. Either way, these really are gorgeous," Roxanne smiled again. "I love them."

"I'm glad," he grinned. "I've been studying Floriography."

"Flori-what?"

"The language of flowers."

"I didn't know flowers talked," she joked.

"Very funny. You've read enough classic literature to know what I mean."

"I do, and you're very sweet," she answered, retrieving a vase from the small china hutch in her living room, and leading him into the kitchen. "Let's see… Roses are for love, right?"

"Love and affection, depending on the color."

"And these colors are?" She asked, setting the vase on the counter and turning to face him.

His cheeks flushed a little, the expression of shy pleasure at odds with his tough-guy persona. It was unreasonably adorable. "The red ones mean: 'my love for you is passionate,'" he explained. "And the white ones mean: 'my love for you is pure.'"

She felt her heart do a happy, ridiculous little flip, and turned her head to give him a smile that felt embarrassingly shy and girlish. "Oh."

This was always his way: thoughtful, charming, romantic, foolishly sentimental… Yet he never begrudged her her independence; never complained when she had to break a date for a hot news story or an overdue deadline. He just told her to stop by the Lair on the way home if she had the time, and sent over a packed dinner via brainbot with a note saying something like: "You won't forget to eat, will you? Love, MM." And then there was the way he fully embraced her for who she was, skipping typical dates in favor of afternoons in bookshops, long days in the park, weekends exploring quirky little-known museums, and dinners at hidden gems serving unexpectedly excellent cuisine or wonderfully authentic international dishes.

"Are you sure you're not telepathic?" she asked, only half in jest.  It was something she'd questioned him about before.

"I think I would notice if I were."  His expression turned teasing.  "Perhaps, Miss Ritchi, you are simply too... Predictable."

"Jerk," she laughed, trimming the edges of the flowers under the running tap.  

"Villain," he corrected, gesturing to himself.  "One of the good guys, now, but still a villain," he moved close.  "And a devilishly handsome one at that."

"Hmm.  I can't argue with the last part."

"That's because you have excellent taste."  God, why did his smirk have to look like dark secrets and wanton promises?  "Really, though, Sweetheart," he added, his smile gentling.  "I know you because I love you."

"I love you, too."

She truly did, and the fact that someone as brilliant and charming as Megamind loved her back sometimes still filled her with soft surprise.  More than that, however, he respected her.  He trusted her.  Following their defeat of Titan, Megamind had not only granted her nearly unfettered access to his secret Lair— something unheard of in the past— but, keenly aware that the sudden cessation of her regular kidnappings could affect her career, he had also allowed her to join him in some of his more noteworthy heroic battles.  While her blue beau insisted that she steer clear of the dangerous Doom Syndicate, together they had taken down two minor would-be villains: the first an ex-model with a scarred face and a terrible idea of revenge, the second a balding science teacher with an insane plan to make the pigeons in the park emulate Alfred Hitchcock's The Birds.  That last had been a monumental failure even by Megamind's standards.  The chemical compound the man had fed the birds had only succeeded in giving them explosive diarrhea.  It had been an incredible mess.

Thank God for brainbot cleanup crews!

"And just what are you snickering about?" Megamind asked her, cocking one eyebrow, green eyes shining with curious mirth.  "It's mean not to share," he added, adopting his best Hero-Giving-a-Life-Lesson voice.  Roxanne laughed harder.  That particular part of his new persona was definitely a work in progress.

"I was just thinking about the bird guy," she answered, turning to fill the vase from the faucet.

"The bird—Oh!  Ravenous!" he gave the word an odd inflection, putting an emphasis on "raven," just as the aspiring villain had.

"That was it!" she chortled.  "God, even his name sucked!  He got so mad at you for pronouncing it wrong, too."

"Excuse me," he grinned, leaning back against the counter to catch her eye. "I was pronouncing the word ravenous correctly.  It's not my fault he had an unnatural obsession with avians.  And, as I recall, it was you, my Dear Miss Ritchi, who insisted on pronouncing his name wrong—or rather right— on air, until you had the whole city doing it.

"Me?" she couldn't hide her smile.  "Look at this innocent face.  Would I do something like that?"

His laugh rang through the kitchen.  "Oh, yes, you would.  I always said you would have made an excellent Evil Queen!"

It was absurd how much her heart sped up when he said that.  "When did you decide to learn floriography?  I mean, it can't have been just for this," she asked, arranging the bouquet with more care and concentration than was really necessary.  "I can't imagine you taking an interest in it before."

"Yes and no.  I did learn for you, Roxanne, but," he seemed to swallow his sheepishness, "I've studied the language of flowers for years.  I... I used to imagine what I would say to you if I only had the courage to leave a tower of blossoms on your table after a kidnapping.  I never did.  I didn't want you to feel... uncomfortable, frightened, but...  Roxanne, I revolve around you.  Your smiles have been my drug for a long time."

She swallowed turned her head back quickly.  Her face felt like fire and she knew she was losing the battle for suave composure.  Damn it, I'm supposed to be the one seducing him!  

How could she not love him when he said things like that—said them and actually meant them?  Surely that was too much for any reasonable world to expect? And if others might not like it, well, so what?  She'd endured criticism of everything from her political stances to her hair, and God knew Megamind was no stranger to animosity.  Whatever storms this might brew, they would weather them together.

"The Gypsophila represent purity, too," Megamind informed her.  She could hear him grinning at her blush. "The cosmos are joy and harmony," he added, moving closer again. "Yellow daisies are for both true love, because each flower is actually two joined as one, and for new beginnings. Gardenias, now those are interesting. They represent feminine beauty, and can refer to a secret love, but," Roxanne nearly dropped the vase as he leaned against her back to breathe the last words against her ear. "Gardenias also mean: 'I will always protect you.'"

"Megamind," she breathed, gently setting the vase on the counter and turning to bury herself in him. He smelled like hot metal— he'd probably been welding something earlier— and expensive cologne, but beneath that was his familiar musk of leather, spices, and something warm and woody.

He began kissing along her ear and down toward her shoulder— something he had become extremely good at in the last few months. His goatee, warm breath, and gentle teeth were sweet torture against her sensitive skin. Clever fingers tickled up the nape of her neck and slid around to gently tangle in her short hair, making her shiver. She sighed his name again, tasting the syllables like a prayer.

Megamind. This was Megamind: fiercely loyal and endlessly affectionate. Of course, he would always protect her. Let the whole entire city, or even the entire planet, turn against them, and he would remain steadfastly at her side, determined and immovable as stone.  Certainly, they had had their share of arguments—what couple didn't?—but, in the end, he always had her back. He'd probably even do his best to shield her from the worst of people's biases.  Because that was the sort of man he was.

To hell with what people might think. I want this, now and always.

Roxanne leaned back just enough to kiss him with thorough passion, giving his mouth the full and undivided attention it deserved.  He matched her passion, tongue gliding past her lips to tempt and tumble against her own.  Almost of their own accord, her arms wrapped about his slender neck, pulling him closer, urging him on...

And her stupid phone timer went off, shattering the moment with an annoyingly jaunty little tune.

"I… um… I have dinner in the oven," she stumbled over her own words. "It should be... ready… almost... almost ready."

Mercifully, he took his cue. "Oh-ho!" he laughed, giving her one last peck on the lips. "Home cooking twice in one week! Just what are you up to, Miss Ritchi?"

Although Roxanne had learned to cook at her grandmother's elbow, she'd rarely felt it worth her time when she was single, preferring quick frozen meals she could leave in the crockpot or even pop into the microwave.  Since she had started dating Megamind, however, she'd dusted off the old cookbooks she'd inherited and started making meals from scratch once a week.  True, the hero had Minion to cook for him— and her skills were nowhere near the henchman's gourmet standards— but this was one of the ways she could show her affection, and it always seemed to please the blue alien.  Things like that had become important to the reporter as Megamind took up residence in her heart, which is why she found herself constantly making little gestures like buying him a blue teddy bear in a black leather jacket, or texting him funny pictures and thoughts she knew would make him smile.  So she had gotten into the habit of planning one special dinner each week.  But, up until now, it had always been only one.

I'd hoped he wouldn't notice.  I should have known better.  

She gave him her best calm reporter stare. It was ruined by the fact that her face still felt like it was glowing red. "Why should I be up to anything?" she asked coyly.

He lifted an eyebrow, his grin playful.  "Your wiles won't work on me."

That earned him a sultry look. "I was under the impression they were working pretty well just now."

"Wicked girl," he teased. Following Roxanne across the small kitchen, Megamind opened the oven and sniffed eagerly. "Mmmm... Lasag-na. My favorite. Now I'm definitely suspicious."

"It's lasagna, silly," Roxanne corrected fondly, moving past him to set her bouquet on the dinette table. "And can't a girl make her favorite hero a nice dinner without him getting into conspiracy theories?"

He only grinned at her again. "La. Sag. Na." That was one of the things Roxanne loved most about Megamind. He never let himself be embarrassed. Most people would have been mortified by constant mispronunciations, but he brushed them off with a smile.

Giggling, Roxanne swatted him playfully out of her way and found two oven mitts in a drawer before retrieving the dish from the oven. "Maybe I'll make you learn to say it correctly before I let you have any."

"Oh, you could never be so cruel!" he answered over his shoulder as he selected plates from the cabinet. "I should have brought a bottle of wine."

"I still have two from the last time you came over," laughed Roxanne. "I think we'll be okay."

"You make me sound like an alcoholic," Megamind complained, but he couldn't quite tame his playful expression as he began setting the table. "I simply couldn't decide what would compliment the dish best. Besides, I wanted to make sure I had something to eat my breakfast cereal with in the morning."

"Ewww!"

Roxanne loved Megamind's laugh. He was the city's hero now, but his rolling chortle still had a dark ring in it, and something about it sent delicious shivers down her spine.

"I'm kidding, I'm kidding" he assured her.

"I know, but... Ewww!"

He laughed again and motioned her to her chair. "Alright, okay," he said, helping her into her seat. "Whenever I stay here overnight, I solemnly promise that I will not eat cereal and wine for breakfast."

Roxanne tried to giggle but found her throat suddenly tight. Funny how that comment brought the conversation to the matter at hand.

Come on, Roxanne.  For God's sake.  Just ask.

She looked up at him, his face still glowing with humor, and gently placed her hand on his.

"Megamind, I was thinking, what about tonight?"

He looked confused. "What about tonight?"

"For that. For you to stay over. I mean..." she sighed.  Ugh... Why is this so hard?   "Will you stay here with me tonight?"

"Of course!" his easy tone implied he still didn't get her meaning. It wasn't as if he had never stayed over, after all... It was simply that they had never done any more than cuddle.

"No, I mean, will you—" Oh, God, I'm going to have to be specific, aren't I?— "Will you sleep with me? Will you spend the night here as my lover?"

That finally did it. His eyes widened in surprise, and then he glanced quickly down, trying unsuccessfully to hide his little up-to-no-good grin.

When he lifted his gaze again, however, his expression turned serious. "Are you... sure? I want you to be sure, Roxanne. Absolutely certain." He lifted his free hand to push a strand of her short hair tenderly back from her face. "No regrets between us. Ever."

She smiled. Doesn't he understand that that's what makes me so certain?  He's always ready to put me first.

Yes, he was an alien. Yes, she was going to be the first known human to sleep with someone from a different planet. Yes, in a society where too many still objected to relationships between different races and same genders, sharing her bed with an extraterrestrial was sure to stir up trouble. But it didn't matter. She had given him her whole heart, and after five months of dating— more if you counted the dates with "Bernard"— she wanted to give him her body, too. The time had come. Their relationship couldn't continue in this state of limbo. Either she stopped holding back or she broke things off, and she couldn't bear the thought of the latter. No matter what happened, no matter who judged them, no matter how many snide comments she had to hear about Stockholm Syndrome and tentacle porn, she would not—could not—let him go.

Fully meeting his look, Roxanne let her emotions— love, desire, trust, longing— fill her blue eyes. Her hands caressed the sides of his face as she pulled him down for another slow-burn kiss.

"I'm sure," she breathed when they parted for air. "I'm very, very sure."

He smiled and leaned back in, kissing her again, letting years of contained passion spill over her.  The chair skittered back as she rose, tangling her arms around him.  Clutching her, Megamind ran eager hands over her back, cupped her hips, and pressed her close to feel the proof of his desire. His kisses were hot, desperate, as if he were drowning and her lips held his only salvation.

Panting and flushed, the hero was the first to pull back. "I'm sorry," he said, motioning to the cooling meal on the table. "I don't mean to let all your hard work go to waste, but—"

"I have a microwave. We can heat it up."

He grinned. "Well, in that case..." he purred. Scooping her up in his deceptively thin arms, Metro City's blue hero carried Roxanne to the bedroom.

Tonight. It was going to be tonight.

Click Here to Keep Reading

[simsadventures]

After All: Chapter 4: Whatever

Summary: The next day comes and you built the walls around yourself higher than ever. Warnings: angst, tears, sad reader, fluffy Bruce, Bucky (I feel like he is a warning now), mentions of physical abuse

Word Count: 1959

A/N: What do you guys think, should the reader forgive him at some point, or do we want to see a different romance sparking? Let me know, love you all. xx

Series Masterlist __ Masterlist

< Previous Chapter 

You woke up with the biggest headache you’ve had since high school. Your whole body hurt, and for a second you thought you were abducted and now held prisoner. However, you soon realised that the nightmare you had was no dream at all, but your real-life and that your head hurt probably from the extensive crying you did last night, and your body was stiff from falling asleep in your bathroom.

You needed good 5 minutes to get up, your limbs not listening to your orders at all. When you managed to stand on your own, with just a slight help from the sink, you dared to look in the mirror. And you almost screamed from the shock you received. The reflection in the mirror looked like a completely different person. She wasn’t you. This was a broken person, her make up smudged across her whole face, eyes still red and puffy, but otherwise the shade of the skin was almost greenish. You shouldn’t even be surprised. Nobody was suited to cry as much as you did last night.

Just the thought of what you overheard the night before almost sent you hurdling again, but you stopped yourself. You weren’t about to let them destroy you. Nope. You were stronger than that. You made the mistake of trusting people again, and you were damn sure you wouldn’t ever do it again.

You clenched your tears, tear up the dress that bitch picked for you only to be able to laugh about it behind closed doors with her precious Bucky. You cleaned your face, took a long hot shower, trying to wash away all the sadness left in you. You knew it would take time to get over this, because after a lifetime, you opened up to someone, only to let them rip you open and laugh about the shattered pieces.

But you weren’t willing to let them win. You would bet that they wanted to crumble in front of them, but not if you could help it. Your decision was quick and final. You would just ignore them. You weren’t the type of person to call people out, and even if you wished nothing more than to see them suffer as much as you did, you decided against it.

Karma would bite them both in their asses, you were sure of that.

You texted Tony that you drank a little too much and wasn’t feeling like working on the project today, which he completely understood because he apparently flew around in his Iron Man suit and was showing everyone how many backflips he could do until he threw up in the mask. You were just sorry you weren’t there to see this.

You also exchanged few texts with Bruce who was still baffled why you left so suddenly last night, but you had no energy to explain everything to him. Bucky was his friend, he was part of the team, and you weren’t. You didn’t need people telling you that you destroyed the Avengers by telling Bruce the truth. Not now, anyway.

At the same time, you couldn’t be entirely sure if he wasn’t in it with them. Your mind was screaming at you that Bruce wouldn’t be able to do such a thing to anyone. Still, the same mind was telling you just yesterday that Bucky was definitely into you. You had your reasons not to trust your own judgement right now.

You took a nap in your bed, to relieve your mind from the spiralling, even if only for a few hours.

It was around 6 PM that you heard a familiar light knock on your door. Your heart stopped in that very moment, and you had a lot to do not to vomit again. You pulled yourself together and went to open the door.

“Hey, doll,” Bucky smirked at you, leaning against the door frame. “You ran away last night, I thought you could take more.”

You huffed sardonically, and smirked at him, venom driving from your eyes. “Felt tired, you needed anything or?”

He looked at you, little surprised at your reaction. You were never this direct or unfriendly to him. “Well, it’s our movie night, so I cam here for the movie, you remember?”

Oh right, you even had a weekly movie night, because you thought you both liked spending time in each other’s company. “Not in the mood, Barnes. Goodnight, and greet Hannah for me, will you?” You smiled all too sweetly and closed the door in Bucky’s shocked expression.

“Hannah? Doll, I don’t even talk to Hannah, you know that.”

You didn’t even have the energy to fight with him, so you just laughed dryly and yelled back through the closed door, “whatever, Bucky, whatever.” He didn’t leave right after that, still tried talking to you, but after about 10 minutes, you got tired of his bullshit, telling you to open the door, that he doesn’t understand what’s gotten into you, and blah blah blah. You put on your earphones and watched John Wick without him. You didn’t need him. Hell, you didn’t need anyone.

You didn’t know how long it took for him to leave your door, but you were glad that by the time the movie ended, there was silence outside the door. Hannah sent you multiple messages, to none of which you have replied. She even texted you she was worried about you and you scoffed out loud. Worried my ass, you thought.

Next day came much sooner than you wished to, and it meant you had to go out of your room and face the world. Worst of all, you had an appointment with Bucky, to try some models of his soon-to-be new arm. You didn’t want to be that close to him, but there was no other way to deal with it. You needed to learn to share the same space with him and totally ignore him. That could become your life mission if need be.

You had a polite small talk with one of your colleagues, but not his too extensive or too detailed. She just told you about Tony and his drunk self and how her head hurt even today. You just nodded and smiled lightly, not willing to share anything.

About an hour later, the door opened, and Bucky came marching to you. “What the hell, doll? I was knocking on your door last night and you-“

You stopped him with a raised hand. “I wasn’t in the mood, and I’m not in the mood now. I have Dr Cho here to help me with your current arm, to make it as painless for you as possible, and so that we could safely try your new model. Can we start?” Your face was void of any emotion. You could see Bucky searching your face, trying to find a hint, anything that would tell him why the sudden change in your behaviour.

“Doll, I-“ he started again, but you weren’t having it. “Can we start now, Bucky?” you raised your voice a little so that he got the message you weren’t willing to talk about anything else that your job. He just nodded wordlessly and let you and Dr Cho do your job.

He was watching you intently the whole time, speaking up only when asked, and you made a little victory dance in your head. Maybe he’d actually stop talking to you, and your ignoring him wouldn’t be that difficult. This happiness, however, didn’t last long, because as soon as you were done, and sent him on his way, he grasped your upper arm, and whisper yelled at you, “mind if we talk, Y/N?”

You just clenched your teeth and nodded, you really didn’t need to cause a scene at work. You weren’t about to let him destroy the one thing that actually made you happy and feel like you could be yourself. When obviously, being yourself wasn’t enough for him, nor for Hannah.

“Care to explain why have you been acting so weird since the party?” He was seething, and all you could do was laugh. He really wanted YOU to explain yourself to HIM, hilarious.

“Look, we can stop pretending now, Bucky. Go your own way, I’ll go mine and the only place we will see each other will be here, and we’ll keep it strictly professional, ok?”

“What the fuck are you talking about? How can you go from us being that close to strictly professional, huh? What happened? Did someone tell you something? Because if so, I’m 99% sure they’re lying.”

Now you had to laugh out loud. “Oh, don’t worry, nobody told me anything. I didn’t want to do this, because I couldn’t care less right now but ok. Let’s do this. What the fuck am I talking about? I don’t know, Bucky, let’s ask your girlfriend Hannah, what the hell I’m all about.”

“I told you, I don’t even-“

“At least have the fucking decency and don’t lie to my fucking face, Barnes. I saw and heard everything, ok? I mean, why would someone like YOU be interested in someone like ME. I’m just a hideous lab rat, and you wouldn’t be caught dead actually seen with me.”

You were seething, venom dripping from your mouth. Bucky was staring back at you, horrified. “Doll, I-“

“Please, don’t. I got it, ok? She’s gorgeous, I’m not, I know that much, I’m not stupid. I just thought you could see past that, from how much time we spent together. I told you everything, Bucky, my secrets, my fears, all of it. I hope you two had a good laugh at all that, how a desperate, ugly girl fears someone will notice she’s just not enough. That must have made you snicker for days, huh? Or the fact that my own father beat the shit out of me when I was younger must have been a hilarious topic after you fucked her!”

You didn’t want to resort to violence, but your hand itched to slap him across his face.

“Look, Y/N, I would never-“

“I don’t care, Bucky, I really don’t. I hope you had a good time making the ugly girl feel worse about herself than she did in a long time. I’m not gonna be the entertainment for you and Hannah anymore, I was stupid enough to think that for once in my life, I would be important to someone, that just this once, I was the lucky one.

But it’s ok, I got this, just like I always had. So go, and enjoy your miserable life, because you can’t be happy if you’re able to do something like this to an innocent bystander. Just please, whatever your sick games, or foreplays, or whatever this is, are, stop it. I’m an actual real-life person, with genuine feelings, I’m not sure the two of you realise. I’m going to be ok without you, but some other girl might not, so please, end this, and find some other thing to rile each other up.

Have a good life, Barnes, I really wish for you to wake up one day, and try and redeem yourself, because you might be a hero out there, in the world, but here? You are just one rotten, sad guy, who doesn’t have a bit of respect for himself or anyone around you. Goodbye.”

Few tears slipped by now, but you didn’t care. You were proud of yourself for telling him all that, turned on your heel and went back to the lab.

Bucky was left in a hallway, staring at the door, through which you left, suddenly realising how big of a mistake he just did. And he wasn’t sure if there was any going back.

/ Next Chapter >

Tags: @iheartsebastianstan @owlyannah @readermia @kolakube9 @ibookishqueen @thewintersoldierswifu @emogril @the-melancholyfeels @pinkleopardss @supervengerslock @the-soulofdevil @jessyballet @sebbbystaaan  @38leticia @sparkling-gayyyy @bxrnsfeyson

If you’d like to be tagged comment/message/send an ask. If you like the story, please reblog :) any comments are appreciated, even the critical one. Always a space to get better, so let me know what you guys think.

[bexterbex]

A Soul to Mend His Own | Ch. 77

Warning, PLEASE CHECK TAGS IF YOU SEE SOMETHING YOU DON’T WANT TO READ THEN DON’T READ. | Tag lists are closed | INBOX OPEN

Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Will tag as I go along, Will update tags, Slow Burn, Influenced by Star Trek and other Sci-Fi themes, References to We Happy Few, Tons of References and quotes to George Orwells 1984 see if you can find them all, The First Order is the new Big Brother,  but who is really surprised, Blatant Nazi Symbolism, Interrogation Themes, Eventual Smut, Eventual Romance, Really just drawn out Slow Burn, Don’t repost without permission, Torture themes, Suggestive Themes, Execution themes, Disturbing Themes, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Verbal Abuse, Controlling Kylo Ren, Physical Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Kylo Ren is Not Nice, Kylo Ren Has Issues, Supreme Leader Kylo Ren, Possessive Kylo Ren, A character shamelessly based on Zelda

A Kylo Ren x Modern! Reader in a soulmate au with canon divergence. —————————————SLOWBURN————————————–

He is already the Supreme leader, searching the universe to find you, his Empress. Your name on his wrist has been the only constant in his life, while you have doubts about his existence and his acceptance of you. He isn’t in the database and why did the name Kylo Ren cover Ben Solo?

MASTERLIST

Chapter 77: Attack Dog

Kylo eventually brought you both back to the bed, your evening of lovemaking taking a toll on your energy. You were laying on his chest once more, a much more intimate sleeping position than you were used to, but seeing as many things had changed in the last 24 hours it was nothing new. “So, now that I am officially Empress, I feel different.”

Kylo glanced down at you, hand rubbing your bare back. “You are a different person now, the same in many ways, but different. So far I’ve seen you more sure of yourself if our lovemaking had anything to say. I would also say you take less shit, in general. You are now an Empress, and not so much my little Kitten anymore.”

You considered his words and his observation carefully, “Mmm yes, I guess I am more of a lioness now, but you can still call me Kitten when we are alone, especially when the beast is to come out.” You saw his pupils dilate with arousal at the mention of the beast, something he so desperately wanted to become again.

You shook your head knowing the question he wanted to ask., “No not tonight, I still need to be able to function tomorrow. When you return from your first mission, you can let the beast out but only when I tell you to. Do you understand?” You knew you would have to send him out into the universe away from you but you knew he would return to you.

He nodded, you could tell that he was still thinking about it as he licked and chewed on his bottom lip. The beast lingering below the surface.

“Tomorrow I will need my guard dog on his best behavior, we will be meeting with the Final Order High Command along with the First Order High Command. Seeing what our objectives are when it comes to defeating the Resistance.” You felt him shift underneath you. In his eyes, you could tell that it was his desire to please you, please his Empress by doing a good job. He was a guard dog ready for the order to attack. “Let us try to relax, we have a big day ahead of us tomorrow, and we have already exerted ourselves.”

He seemed to hum in agreement. You could feel the energy of the Force wrap around you, this time with a caress instead of a threat. It felt comforting knowing that all of him wanted you there with him at that moment. It didn’t take long for both of you to drift off into sleep while still entangled in each other, as one whole soul.

Your dream was different tonight, much different from when you first met your protective match. You were now with him, happily, near your throne. You were wearing a beautiful gown, and he was in his armor, but he didn’t seem scary. You were walking hand in hand as you walked away from your throne, a lazy sort of walk that meant you had nowhere to be. You were taking the lead as you two walked, but his body seemed relaxed in your presence as you came to a beautiful garden. That was alive, and full of greenery and running water. A little bit of paradise, you two seemed to not be bothered by any of the staff or guards that seemed to be present, along the edges of the dream world. It was like you two were left alone to your own little happy bubble. A place where you two could be one, without the interference of others.

As you came upon a large beautiful fountain in the middle of the garden space you and he sat along its edge. He removed his helmet without word or command. Losing his important piece of armor to look at you, his Empress. In the dream, you held hands and kissed sweetly, until you felt that familiar pressure behind your ear.

You woke up to being attacked with feather-light kisses, “I thought Kylo Ren wasn’t sweet.”

The kisses continued as he responded. “He isn’t but he does know how to worship his Empress. A loyal guard dog is loyal to his master.” His voice was laced with hunger, but you didn’t have time for that.

You took his head in your hands bringing his face to yours, “Now, now there will be playtime later, but now you and I must get ready for battle.” This caused a different type of spark to appear in his eyes, one that thirsted for violence.  One that would allow him to be not only your guard dog but your attack dog. A weapon of destruction that only obeyed you.

You got up from the bed and headed into your dressing room, where you called upon your ladies-in-waiting. You looked at your reflection in the mirror, the woman before you was much like Kylo said, more sure of herself and taking no shit. Confident, powerful, and badass were how you felt. Unfortunately, it took Kylo breaking your mind for you to fully see and accept the positive sides of yourself. You were an Empress, soon to be an Empress of the entire galaxy if Kylo had any say. You were about to rule over the greatest dominion that anyone has ever seen and you were living for it.

Adlez and Olivia-Rose entered and took an immediate evaluation of you. They weren’t allowed to take care of you when you got back, and that always seemed to worry them. They saw you several times a day, checked in on you personally, making sure you were still in one piece, and if not it was their job to put you back together.

Adlez eyed you with suspicion, “Something seems different.” It was more of an observation than a question. She took hold of your hair.

You lifted your chin to her, a signal of authority,  “It is, we now have an army to defeat the Resistance and the New Republic once and for all. We will bring order to the galaxy, and today I want my looks to reflect that.” You meant business today, whether she liked it or not.

Olivia-Rose seemed intimidated by this new declaration. Both of you had never been in any sort of galactic war before, your planet Earth being kept out of it for millennia.

“I am an Empress and I would like to look like one from here on out, nothing less, is that understood?” You were now taking command, usually, you let Adlez engage in the decision making, following her lead, but now you were going to be making all the choices, going with your gut feelings.

They got you ready in record time, both of them stayed rather silent throughout the rest of the morning, Adlez giving you looks here and there. Breakfast was a quick affair once you sent off your staff to do various projects, only Mitaka was to be with you for the rest of the day.

Kylo returned to your chambers only to escort you to your meeting, where you would be making final battle plans with your new combined High Command. You hadn’t decided on whether or not to keep the name First Order or to change it to the Final Order, both had their strengths and weaknesses in the name alone.  

You entered the room, all eyes on you faces you recognize and those you did not. You were in full command of an army, almost the entire galaxy, and the large room reflected it. The table felt as if you were in some sort of fantasy movie with its size, but that didn’t matter, what mattered was that you were now about to send out a full-fledged assault against the enemy. But you watched as the officials in the Final Order seemed to want to disregard your position as their eyes followed Kylo as he stalked around the room. A guard dog at the ready, one who refused to sit.

“Do we have a problem ladies and gentlemen? I know I am not the person you wished to become Emperor, rather Empress of the Final Order, of the Sith Eternal, but I am.” You spoke to those on your left, on your right was your trusty First Order High Command, along with Phasma and Pyre.

An older gentleman spoke up, “No, we will follow you, Empress. We just have the belief that the Sith should carry on.” His eyes and emotions seemed guarded. But his eyes flickered back to the large black creature you called your husband.

“Ah, I see. He was supposed to finish the ritual and become a Sith Lord was he not?” You glanced at your husband briefly, his body ready for a fight, before you turned back to the older general.

A female general spoke up this time, “He was. Now we have no Sith leader.” This was something that seemed to affect all the Final Order High Command.

You regarded this statement, “He could still turn into a Sith if he so chooses.” You wanted it to be his choice though, you knew very little about the ways of the Force and how it works and what the Jedi and Sith meant. You trusted that Kylo would make the right decision for himself.

Before your lovely guard dog could respond, Pryde spoke up, “Or you could have a child that would be.” His words made your blood boil and caused ice to shoot up your veins. Now was your chance.

“Ah, now Pryde? What was the rule that was made about that particular thing, Hmm? Not to comment on mine and Ren’s love life? I think you have violated that, wouldn’t you agree, Lord Ren?” You called him Lord Ren as he was technically no longer the Supreme Leader of the First Order, you were the one in command, you were the Empress.

Kylo’s lightsaber ignited in its glorious red fury, cackling and hissing at the opportunity that awaited it like it was a living being. Kylo drew close to the general whose eyes were wide with fear. Pryde wasn’t looking at you, where he should be, no, his eyes were focused on the deadly weapon in front of him. But Kylo looked to you, and you responded with a small, barely noticeable nod. And in an instant, Pryde was no longer a problem for you.

You could see Kylo shaking with excitement. This was the first time you had commanded him to use his weapon for you, for him to be your proper attack guard dog. You could feel the waves of pleasure through the static of the Force that he seemed to be generating around you, encapsulating you in a protective bubble. No longer were there dangerous mindless tendrils, now it was his pure energy and emotion as it surrounded you, making you aware of how he was feeling. You could feel a mix of pride, arousal, and hunger for power in his Force energy.

“Now that the trash is taken out shall we move on to our next tactic? I would like to capture as much of the Resistance as possible.” You felt smug, and you could see that this pleased the Sith Eternal, to watch your attack dog slay someone so easily. It seemed like a treat for them. One of the Final Order generals asked, “May I ask why Empress?” You knew among the most dedicated in most military regimes that being captured was the worst position someone could be in. There was honor in dying for your cause, but living and giving secrets made you the worst enemy possible.

You stared down your nose at him. Your body glowed with confidence. “I have my reasoning. I would like to see many of their leaders face to face before they end up meeting my husband’s blade. Is that too difficult general?”

You could see the nervousness in his face, he did not want to meet the fiery blade himself. “No, Empress it is not. We shall capture the leaders of the Resistance and kill the rest?”

You were pleased with his weakness of will against you, his desire to please.“Yes, that should be all. The new Chancellor Armitage Hux will go over the final battle plans with you all. I must prepare my best weapon.”

Hux regarded your statement with some minor glee on his face, you could tell he was holding it in. You just gave him a huge promotion. Something that after you conquer the galaxy, you could properly celebrate. But for now, you were off to war.

Kylo followed you out into the empty side hallway. No one wanted to stick around for very long while he wore his helmet and was now representing his title of Jedi Killer.

You ordered, “Helmet off.” He obliged, and it fell carelessly to the floor, making a loud thud sound that both of you ignored. You just gazed into his dark eyes that were hungry and waiting for you to give your orders.

“I will have two of the knights with me, unfortunately, Phasma and Pyre will be sent out along with the rest of the forces, but I will remain on this side of the galaxy safe, and out of harm's way.” Your hand stroked down the front of his chest, you could feel the tension that was building within him, he wanted to fight, but he also wanted to stay behind and protect. “You will do well, I will be safe. I need you to fight for me, I need my big scary attack dog on the front lines, slicing through our enemies. Do you think you can do that? Because when you return if you are successful I will have a treat for you.”

His breathing was deep and quick, holding back his lust for you at that moment, knowing that you needed him to be an attack dog in this moment, not your lover. All he could do was nod again, words lost to the mind of the beast. But he couldn’t help himself from placing a hand on your hip and kissing you quickly, holding back all of his need for you, for just one kiss.

You understood that you needed him to move quickly, “Go now, prepare to leave with the others. I want you personally to bring me the leaders of the Resistance. I want them to know fear, I want them to believe that I will show them mercy. I want them to have hope in that I will release them, let them go, but you and I both know that won’t happen. I want to crush all hopes of future rebellion from this galaxy.”

Kylo nodded quickly and swooped down to grab his helmet, but before he placed it back on his head he kissed you, “I will not fail you.” And just like that, he was down the hall with his black cape swooshing around him, like some sort of demon hell-bent on bringing destruction to the galaxy. Which wasn’t far off of what he would be doing. This was the official start and end of the war.

A/N: Insert “Dig Dong the Witch is Dead” song from the Wizard of Oz here. Pryde finally be dead y’all. And now to star/finish a war. 

[damn-stark]

Child of Ren Ch.9

A/N- I don’t know why I thought of this because this specific comment has nothing to do with this chapter, but Reflection from the Mulan soundtrack reminds me so much of reader, anyway that’s all, enjoy the chapter and let me know what you thought!

Warning- Violence, light swearing, angst, talks of death, loong chapter

Pairing- Poe Dameron x Reader x Rey, Kylo Ren x Reader (platonic)

Takes place: After TLJ & before TROS

(Let me know if you want to be tagged)

———

(POE DAMERON P.O.V)

What could he do?

What was he even thinking?

Their was too much on his mind, too many thoughts on the whole situation. Finn, BB8 and him had just escaped...well not escaped, but set free from being The Knights of Ren’s prisoners. And it was only thanks to one person...y/n. The exact person he was having trouble with. But he also knew that without her they wouldn’t have escaped, that’s where his trouble was. There and the fact that she had hid the truth of who she really was. The Child of Ren.

Finding that out from someone else that wasn’t her made him upset, finding that she didn’t tell him hurt him, it made him angry. More angry than knowing that she was in fact The Child of Ren, perhaps that fact should anger him too, make him beyond angry, it should make him just forget about her and leave her behind, but the truth was that it didn’t make him angry as much as the knowledge that she hid that truth from him.

The truth was that he didn’t know why that angered him more, why her hiding the truth upset him more. It shouldn’t, but it did...maybe it was because what he felt for her, the undeniable feelings that he knew he had for her, it was more than a liking or a lust for her....well it was both really, but he knew that he was feeling something more than just those two. That’s also the reason why he knew that he couldn’t leave her behind. Not after what he told her earlier today or what he found out later that day. As upset as he was, he couldn’t leave her behind, that just wasn’t him. He wanted to go back for her.

He was going back for her.

“Poe, what are you doing?” Finn asked as he noticed the ship turning the opposite way, the way they had just miraculously escaped from.

Poe muttered to himself, his friends concern going to the back of his head as he had trouble with the control board. “Do you think this ship has weapons?” Poe later asked, raising his head and flipping switches up top.

Finn just stared puzzled, “what? Poe, what are you doing?” Finn continued to look at his friends actions, seeing as he frantically searched the control board for something. “Poe, are you listening to me?”

“Ah, here they are.” Poe mumbled as the board swiftly turned longer, revealing buttons and toggles for weapons. Finally he turned his attention to Finn, “what?”

Finn shot him a narrowed look, “what are you doing? Why are we going back?”

“We’re going back for y/n.” Poe admitted, pulling his eyes back to the view ahead, ignoring the way Finn looked at him in disbelief and disapproval. “Look”

“No, you look,” Finn interrupted, “those are The Knights of Ren, Poe. The Knights of Ren. They won’t hurt her, but they will hurt us.”

“She won’t let it happen.”

Finn let out a deep exhale, “I know you like this girl, but she’s better off there, her home. You know who she is now. She’s not some ex-smuggler or spice runner, she’s a first order commander, she’s The Child of Ren.”

“Yeah I know, I heard.” Poe sighed, “but I can’t just let her leave, even after finding out who she is. That’s a problem for another time. Now, we have to get her back.” Poe paused for a couple seconds, recalling to the conversation he had with Y/N earlier that day. “That’s not her home, she said it her self and you heard them. They’re going to brainwash her, I can’t just leave knowing they’re going to do that to her. Even after knowing who she is.”

It was true, he couldn’t let her go back, even if he was upset with her, he couldn’t let her go back.

“She also said not to go after her! She specifically told you not to do so.” Finn argued.

Poe shrugged, and turned to his friend, “I know.”

Finn let out a defeated groan, “I’m not going to win this am I?”

“No.” Poe nodded, “plus what will Rey say when we come back with y/n’s ship, but no y/n?”

Finn didn’t answer and only shook his head, standing from the co-pilots seat to leave the cockpit, going off somewhere. BB8 rolled in seconds later, beeping complaints on what had happened to him before. “Yeah I know buddy, I’m sorry, didn’t want them to do that to you, but they did. Y/N saved you, you were about to be spare parts.” BB8 beeped urgently, asking where she was to thank her even if as he put it “still had differences”. “We’re going to her.” Poe informed his droid.

Finn came back around, holding a blaster rifle in his hand, y/n’s blaster. “If we’re going to rescue her, then we’re going to need this.” He said with a small smirk, lifting the blaster. Poe quirked his eyebrow and looked at Finn with a questioning look.

“Her blaster rifle? I mean, I guess, but we have cannons attached to the outside of this ship.” Poe shrugged.

“No, watch.” Finn slid his finger from the trigger and to a hidden button on the side of the blaster, “as great as she is, she’s not great at keeping things hidden.” Finn then pressed the button, the blaster swiftly retracting within itself and turning into a lightsaber hilt.

“Finn, buddy I don’t think you should—” Poe’s words were quickly cut as he jumped back at the sight of a raging, unstable, crimson red blade appearing from within the hilt. “Be careful with that thing.” BB8 rolled behind Poe’s legs at the sight, scared for what the outcome could be with Finn holding such a weapon.

Finn gripped onto the lightsaber with both hands and a small half grin showed on his lips, “this is how we’re doing this.”

—

(Y/N P.O.V)

Fear was overcoming every single emotion in your body, your whole being was on edge, not because you were going back to the First Order but because you were going to see Kylo again. You haven’t seen him since you left and you didn’t want too...well part of you did, but for the most part you didn’t. What would happen if you did? One thing is for sure, you wouldn’t run to hug him or jump for joy. Would you try and kill him? Hurt him?

“Hungry?” Trudgen asked snapping you away from your thoughts. You shot him side-glance before turning your body away from him. “You’re still mad?” He sat at your side and passed the bowl of heated food.

“I rather hear Ap’Lek’s never ending stories about his latest conquests than sit next to you.” You snap with a venomous tone.

Trudgen clicks his tongue and sets the bowl on your lap, “now come on y/n, I didn’t do anything to you, it was Ushar.”

A small growl escapes your lips before you grip onto the bowl and spin around to face him, “it doesn’t matter you were still there.” You follow by throwing the food on him and attempting to storm out of the room. Before you could though Vicrul blocks your path. “Get out of my way.” You growl.

He pushes you back and you only get angrier, sporting a cold glare. He tilts his head slightly before placing a hand on the side of your head; “someone’s got to teach you some manners.” He threatens. You try and fight back but you’re quickly beginning to lose balance, your eyesight beginning to blur before your eyes roll back and everything goes black.

~

You let out a loud gasp as you sit up, a pounding headache making itself known, and the anger you felt before returning to overcome your feelings once more. Once you could see clearly again you noticed that you were still in the Night Buzzard. But this time something felt off, out of place. You swung your legs to the side of the bed, instantly catching sight of the smoke beginning to enter the room. You summoned your lightsaber to your hand and it flew from the floor to your hand....

...but...that’s weird...it was in the freighter with Poe and Finn—you examined the lightsaber for a brief moment before shrugging off the problem and standing to your feet. The smell of smoke was starting to sting your nose, causing your headache to worsen. You shrugged off that problem and began to stalk forward, gripping on to the hilt of your lightsaber more firmly. As you exited the room and entered the hall, you saw sparks fly everywhere, the smell of smoke worsening as you continued and made it to the main room.

Immediately you were welcomed with a familiar presence that you hadn’t felt before, a presence that you knew too well. You continued to move forward, and saw the table that once was attached to the floor was now on the other side of the room, broken in half, the holo-computers that once decorated the walls were now destroyed, sparks flew from them while one had fire burning from it. The knights nowhere to be seen. You continued to stalk forward, but quickly halted as you saw your boot step on...blood.

You let out a shaky breath before slowing looking down, your eyes immediately catching sight of...Poe, laid on the ground. You feel your heart drop and your breath catch in your throat. The sight of blood trickling from his mouth and blood flowing from behind his head made you step back in horror, only to be stopped as your heel bumped into something. You gulp as you hesitate to look down, but ultimately do, seeing Finn and....Rey, the blood coming from their heads and their mouths just like Poe.

Theirs nothing your mind could come up with at first, nothing that explained what happened or why Rey was here splayed on the ground along with Poe and Finn. All your mind knew was the panic, fear and confusion you instantly felt as you saw them. As you were going to check on them, to know if they were alive...or dead you froze, the previous familiar feeling looming behind you now. You didn’t want to turn around to see who it was, you knew already and you didn’t want to see him.

“They’re dead.” He deadpanned, making your eyes water and your bottom lip to tremble, he walked closer behind you, “it was you. You lost control and killed them.” His deep voice revealed making you immediately go in denial and grip onto your lightsaber tighter as you felt him behind you.

You shook your head and mumbled, “No.” a tear slipped from your eye before you moved to wipe it off, your mind wanting to believe that it was Kylo who had done it and not you. It couldn’t be you. You couldn’t have killed your friends. Your only friends. “It was you!” You accuse in a sharp voice as you spin to face him, your thumb hovering over your sabers button. He only looks down at you with an emotionless gaze, his hands clasped behind him and his shoulders squared and stiff.

“Look at them. They have no lightsaber wounds, it wasn’t me, it was you. You lost control and destroyed this ship and killed them. You killed your friends.”

You blinked repeatedly your head not wanting to grasp the thought and reality of what had happened. Every part of you wanting to believe that Kylo had killed them and not you. But you knew that wasn’t true, as much as you could deny it, or lie, it was you, because you lost control.

It took a minute as you tried to process everything, you sat in silence as you could hear your heart break in your chest, as one of your biggest fears came true. Tears kept flowing down and silent sniffles were heard in the room, Kylo attempted to pull you in for a hug, but your reflexes acted quickly and caught his arm. You pulled your eyes up to him and glared him, your mind remembering something he had taught you...turn pain into anger. Turn pain into anger. You twisted his arm and force pushed him back, raising your leg off the ground a couple inches before stomping it on the ground and igniting your unstable lightsaber all in the same time.

“I told you I was going to kill you for what you did to my father!” You pointed at him with your lightsaber, your glare basked by the crimson red blade, “I didn’t forget. You’re going to die for what you did.” You hissed as you ran forward before jumping up and swinging down at him, only to be met by his lightsaber crashing into yours, raging sparks wildly flying everywhere.

“Let your past die y/n. Stop holding on.” He growled as he pushed you back, causing you to stumble before you regained balance, the scowl that decorated your face turning deadlier at his words.

A single tear escaped your eye before you lunged at him, quickly being met by a swift block. You pushed the lightsabers up before twisting them and moving your free hand to snatch his lightsaber from him; followed by then moving your saber behind you and lunging his into his chest. He didn’t react with any noise, he just froze, his eyes just slid them down to see his unstable blade disappear from his chest and retract back into his lightsaber.

Realization then hit you, your anger disappearing and your eyes widening in horror as you dropped the now deactivated lightsabers to the ground. Kylo looked at his deadly wound and then at you in disbelief, before sliding to the ground, a hand falling on his wound as blood poured from it. You only stood frozen like a stoned statue, no feelings decorating your features, only the same look of horror in your eyes, not until Kylo coughed up blood did you react, snapping your eyes to what you had done before falling on your knees beside him.

You moved your hands to his wound, but you were utterly clueless on what to do, tears flowing from your eyes as you muttered to yourself, your mind unable to grasp what you did. If you heard your heart breaking in your chest before, now it was the only thing you could hear, echoing loud and cracking until their was nothing left to break. “No.” You mumbled. You blinked up to Kylo, to see his eyes only half open, his face paler than before, a look of betrayal painting them.

He grabbed onto your hands only for them to fall limp seconds later, a last breath of air escaping his lips before his head dropped to the side, his eyes lifeless and his heart without rhythm. You only shook your head before crawling closer to him, your ear falling on his chest to try and hear something, only to be disappointed as you heard nothing. Your breathing quickened and hot tears flowed down your cheeks as you rested your forehead on his.

“please don’t leave me..Kylo..please. I can’t lose you. Not you. Please...I’m sorry.” You sobbed. “No....please.” You killed him. He was dead, gone, the only person you had, the only person who was never afraid, who could help you remain in control, who you loved was gone. No. No.

~

“No!” You bellowed, snapping to reality, and shoving Vicrul back. “Get out of my HEAD!” You strode towards him, using the force to raise him over the ground and pushing him to the wall.

He snickered under his helmet, “it wasn’t my fault you’re weak, and your mind is easy to get into.”

“I’ll kill you.” You grimaced as you narrowed your look and began to force choke him. He began to struggle were he hovered and it only brought a smirk to your lips before you were harshly pulled back and lost concentration.

“What the hell is your problem?!” Trudgen shouted as he turned you around and pushed you back to your seat. “Vicrul leave before she finishes the job.” He warned, the knight not hesitating to obey. You open your mouth to make a witty remark, but a sudden hit to the ship made you close your mouth and jump to your feet. The ship shook again, all coming from the same spot, the ramp. The other four knights filed into the same room, all their heads turning to you.

“Looks like your friends are back, this time to play.” Ushar said to you with too much amusement. Your heart stopped in your chest as you swallowed thickly and your eyes widened.

“Time to blow some shit up!” Cardo exclaimed.

Trudgen shoved past you and stormed into the cockpit with Kuruk. You attempted to move forward but you were quickly pulled back. From the corner of your eye you saw Vicrul was the one that held onto you. “You’re going to watch all of us kill the scum you call friends.” He gripped onto you tighter, making you wince under your breath.

“Vicrul! Let her go.” Ap’Lek called, pulling said man back. The ship shook violently once more, making the panic you felt increase tenfold. You told them not to come back, you specifically told Poe not to, and he did so anyway. Yes a small part of you was happy he came back, but for the most part you were furious. Stubborn man. The next explosion caused the ramp door to burst open; taking this time that the knights were distracted you bolted to the now destroyed ramp, catching glimpse of who you knew was Poe on the pilots seat. He turned the ship around, making you now see an open ramp with Finn standing there with your lightsaber? In his hand.

“Jump!” He exclaimed, waving you over. You looked over your shoulder to see the knights all round the corner, with their weapons in hand. You tried to jump over, but you were pulled back. They wouldn’t hurt you that much you knew, even if they wanted too they couldn’t and wouldn’t dare to do so, but they didn’t care about hurting Finn or Poe—as you got back on your feet, Cardo sent a blast towards Finn, a blast Finn easily deflected as he used your lightsaber.

“Take her away from here.” Ushar ordered Vicrul, and said man obeyed right away, gripping your arm with a firm grip. Quickly you moved to the side, elbowing him before throwing your foot back to kick his crotch. He let out a groan but you didn’t wait to hear anything else as you slid past the other knights, using the force to pull their blasters out of their hands, you tried to jump off the ship, but the ship quickly turned around so the cannons from the ship pointed at Finn instead. Dropping the floating guns, your mind raced on what to do next, desperate to find a solution before Kuruk and Trudgen killed Finn.

You continued to walk to the edge of the broken ramp, the blowing wind of Coruscant hitting your face as you looked down, spotting your ship was now bellow the Night buzzard, you looked over your shoulder to see the knights walking your way, already attempting to get you back, you spun to face them, instantly using the force to freeze their movements. You could feel their attempts to fight back, but you were using your anger to fuel your power, making you stronger than the four of them combined. You took a step back, feeling your heel hover over the edge you looked over your shoulder to see nothing but sky, so with one deep breath you waved at them, before taking the last step back to throw yourself off the edge and free falling into the sky.

Their was nothing you could do but hope that they were going to see you, or else you would end up nothing but pieces on the ground. And luckily the force was with you, Finn had spotted you from the ramp, you couldn’t see his reaction but you knew it was one mixed with fear and surprise. As you were falling down, you saw both ships turn around, all coming to you, but Poe was a better Pilot than Kuruk, quicker in his maneuvers as he flew towards you, causing you to crash on top of the ship. “Ow.” You groaned softly, not being able to hold onto anything as you were sliding down.

With quick haste, before you flew off the top of the ship you managed to grab onto the edge, your body dangerously dangling from it before you threw yourself inside the open ramp, crashing into the ground with a pained groan. Finn quickly rushed to your side, but you waved him away, only raising your head inches off the ground to face him; “tell Poe to go, now!” Finn didn’t hesitate to listen, but before he could go, more blasts from the knights flew his way, all he surprisingly blocked and deflected with swift moves done with your lightsaber. All you did was watch him wide-eyed and impressed, nothing coming out of your mouth as you were left utterly speechless. He caught your gaze and smirked before shouting over his shoulder, “Close the ramp! She’s inside!”

The ramp closed seconds later, shots being hard as they hit the metal door, you pushed yourself to your knees, ignoring the sharp pain that shot all over your body. “HOLD ON!” Poe shouted from the cockpit, seconds later the ship zooming forward and Finn and you sliding back as Poe used lightspeed to make a hasty escape once and for all. You fumbled to get on your feet, but you managed, groaning softly as you felt the bruises forming all over your body.

“You okay?” Finn questioned as he walked over to you with a now deactivated lightsaber.

You nodded, “I will be.” You looked up him and for a flashing second you saw him as you saw him when Vicrul had gotten into your mind, bloodied and dead, but it was only a second, before you saw him clearly again. You swallowed thickly and tried to erase the image from your head, offering him a small tight lipped smile, “You?”

“Better than you.”

You let out a small amused huff, “oh, haha hilarious.” Your face grew serious as you remembered what had happened, what he and Poe and found out before. A truth you had been hiding, one you felt he knew. “I just want to say that I’m sorry, I know we don’t get along, but what I hid was horrible and I’m sorry...but just know and I hope you understand that I’m not that person anymore.”

He stood quiet for a couple minutes, processing your words before placing a hand on your shoulder and giving it a comforting squeeze, “we both were manipulated by them, you more than me, I understand. And I know we don’t get along, but I hope we do.” He offered you a reassuring smile before handing you your lightsaber. You took it and smiled softly, a smile that didn’t last as he left and you were now left to talk to Poe, a talk you knew wasn’t going to be the same as the one with Finn. Not at all the same.

—

You quietly hesitated by the cockpit entrance, debating with yourself on wether to talk with Poe now or later. You waited for him in the main room for a long while, but he never walked out, he had stayed even if the ship was flying in hyperspace on autopilot—he was avoiding you, that much you figured out. It was understandable. In all honesty you didn’t know why you were having so much trouble coming to talk to Poe, it should be easy, considering who you were...but then again Kylo was never good at spoken confrontation, which led to you not being so good at either; but you had to be as hard as it was. As much as it was going to hurt.

“Are you just going to stand there?” He asked, catching you off guard as you didn’t know that he knew you were here with him. “I saw your reflection through the transparisteel.” He explained almost quietly. With a quiet exhale you walked towards the co-Pilot seat, hesitating before taking seat, while also noticing that he didn’t even look up at you. Millions of thoughts ran through your mind all sharing the same concern, and fear. You knew that you felt something towards him, something more than friends, that almost kiss proved that. Those feelings were the reason you stayed quiet, unable to find any words until he did. “Does General Organa know?” He paused and remained quiet for a brief second, “Were you going to tell me?”

You began to gnaw on your bottom lip, keeping your eyes trained on him, even if he wasn’t looking at you. “She does.” You sighed, “and....I-maybe. I-I don’t know if ever was.” Mostly out of your selfish fear, reasonable yet selfish fear of being seen as a monster and being shamed away when you had nothing left. “But Poe—”

He let out frustrated sigh, causing you to stop; “so you were just going hide who you were for as long as you could? Without giving me or anyone else an explanation on who you were?” He rubbed his eyes and ran his hand through his hair, “You-you weren’t just some nobody y/n, you’re a first order commander, you’re a—the child of Ren. Were you not going to tell me? Why didn’t you?” He finally shifted his eyes to meet yours, every ounce of emotion shown through them, betrayal, anger, and confliction.

“Because...” you fumbled, tearing your eyes away and focusing on your hands, you wanted to say the real reason why, but you only told him part of the truth, “because I didn’t want anyone to see me as who I was before. When I saw you again at Ajan Kloss, it felt good that you didn’t see me as some—as it and i just couldn’t bring myself to do it...I’m so sorry.” You admitted softly, fidgeting now with your kyber crystal, expecting some touch of comfort or anything that showed he understood, but he only sighed.

“I can’t let the problem just disappear. I’ve spent part of my life trying to fight the man that raised you, the first order you lived with and fought for,” He swallowed thickly and looked away again, “and to find out you were one of them is hard. You not telling me is hard, hearing it from someone else that wasn’t you was hard too. You could’ve trusted me.” His last words were spoken softly just above a whisper. The softness, hurt and anger in his tone made your face fall, and tears to pool your eyes.

“I’m sorry Poe. I really am.” You attempted to reach out for him, but when you saw him shift away you pulled your hand back, a new feeling of hurt paining your heart. A bigger pain than hearing him call you by your name instead of the nickname he would usually call you by.

“Does Rey know?” He questioned after a moment of loud silence, his eyes falling on you as he waited for the response.

You parted your lips to answer, but instead you just nodded in agreement.

“Oh. Okay.” He let out softly, a hint of hurt expressed through his tone as he shifted his eyes away from you. “Just give me time y/n.” He got up and left you alone, with no room left to discuss or apologize, just alone with the tension that still filtered the air and the tear that rolled down your cheek. The sense of familiarity arriving and the scenery you once saw, blended into darkness, the echoing noise of hyperspace tuning out and hearing nothing but cold darkness.

I told you didn’t I. What they were going to think of you when they found out.

I don’t feel like going through this right now Kylo.

Don’t worry I won’t stay long. Just want to let you know that I care, I always will. I’m here.

You hesitated to answer him, hesitated to push him away, until you didn’t. You really think he sees me like that?

Yes.

You-you were right.

He didn’t answer nor did you, but you didn’t push him away and he didn’t leave your mind, you let him stay, finding comfort in his presence until you had to make him leave as you almost arrived to Ajan Kloss.

—

It had been a couple weeks since the fuel mission to Coruscant, a couple weeks since you’ve last spoken to Poe, just lingering glances past between you both, but no words. You wanted too more than anything but you respected the space he needed. He hadn’t told anyone of what him and Finn found out about you, you didn’t have the slightest idea why, but neither of them said anything to anyone else. That was the only good thing to happen really, nothing else.

Ever since arriving from Coruscant, it was hard facing Rey or Finn without seeing the terrifying image of them that Vicrul made you see in your head. The fear that he made you live through had affected you more than you thought, and Kylo talking and appearing at your lowest moments wasn’t easing the situation. He made you actually think of going back to him, he just left you more conflicted, made you think he was right about everything, that he was the only comfort you had when you isolated yourself because of your fear. Even if in that fear he was there too....but it was easier burying away the fear, that included him. You denied to yourself multiple times of what you had seen, you hated him, that fear couldn’t be true and it wasn’t.....was it?

The sounds of light footsteps trudging your way made you turn around, straining your eyes to see through the thick jungle, hoping that it would be Poe, but alas it wasn’t, then again you weren’t disappointed by who it turned out to be, Rey. Once she spotted you sitting on top of a thick tree branch, she smiled warmly, showing off her skills as she flipped onto the branch with you. “Finally,” she breathed, “you’re a hard person to find.”

You let out a forced chuckle, “yeah that’s been the intention. I haven’t been avoiding you...well a little, but I just needed some time for myself. I’ve been going through some stuff and well ever since Coruscant it’s just been difficult.” You explained.

She nodded in comprehension, “Finn’s filled me on what happened, with The Knights of Ren and well him and Poe finding out who you were.” You responded with silence, one she understood and took as an answer. She didn’t say anything for a moment, only after that silence she showed off a cheeky smile, “he also told me you both are starting to be friends now too.”

“Pshh,” you push her shoulder with yours in a playful way, “me, friends with a traitor like Finn? Never.” You joke, earning a giggle from her, “We’re starting to be friends, if only because I was impressed by his lightsaber skills.” You laugh, your humor not lasting as it died down after a couple of seconds, your face dropping and the tension around Rey and you turning serious. “I’ve been thinking about leaving, going back to Kylo.”

Her face immediately contorts into a confused one, “leaving? why?”

You sigh and turn away from her, “when I was with the knights, Vicrul, one of them, he made me see my worst fear. It was so vivid, it felt so real; but that was the intention, he was trying to hurt me and he did, more than I thought.” You close your eyes for a brief moment, the fear flashing in your head again, “it’s left me unstable, more than I was already. Just like when I remembered my past, I’ve been able to push that away, but with what Vicrul did it returned and it’s all stacked on top of each other, crowding me, I can feel myself losing control again. And I-I can’t let that happen. I-I can’t let my fear become real.” You cry quietly.

Her face drops, the anger and argument she wanted to give about you leaving instantly forgotten as she heard your words. You didn’t need to tell her that Kylo was talking to you, manipulating you in the way he knew he could to get you to go back, she knew, somehow. And she couldn’t let you go back, she cared too much to let you.

“And well, I-I can’t stay, I’m no good for anyone here, I’m not a nobody, I’m a monster of the first order. He doesn’t view me like that and he can help me.” You whisper, wiping away your tears before feeling Rey interlace her hand with the one that was resting at your side. She nodded before she scooted in closer, her shoulder pressing against yours, as she also cupped your cheek with her other hand.

She offered a reassuring look, “You’re not a monster, not to me or anyone else.” She spoke softly, wiping away your tears, “you’re the opposite of that, you’re sweet when you want to be, helpful, beautiful and you don’t only have Kylo to help you, you have General Organa, me. You don’t need him, not when I can help you.” You smile shyly at her words, your cheeks burning and your heart fluttering in your chest....the same way you felt when you were with Poe...in fact you shared the same feelings when you were both...even if you haven’t talked to Poe in a couple weeks, you still felt the same. You felt the same way for both Rey and Poe...but that couldn’t happen—could it?

It did.

Pushing away that trouble for now, you leaned in closer to her and stopped just inches away from her face, whispering “thank you,” as you cupped her cheek with your other hand, your heart hammering in your chest you swore she could hear it. You then began to feel nervous, just like her, neither of you closing the small gap that was left, the both of you just basking in each other’s presence, or maybe neither of you having the courage to close that gap. Not until your eyes shifted to her lips and you mentally encouraged yourself, inhaling deeply and going in to close the gap. Her lips taking in yours in a tender, long and sweet kiss.

You instantly felt her smile into the kiss as she moved her other hand to cup your other cheek pulling you in closer to her. Everything felt just like it was her and you, nothing or anyone else, the trouble you had, forgotten in that moment. You only parted away to show her your smile and catch your breath before you both went in again, this time the kiss becoming more deeper than the one before. It felt right and good and almost like a dream. It was just Rey and you. For now it was just her and you. Or was it?

—

(POE DAMERON P.O.V)

It had been a couple weeks since he had talked to y/n, weeks since he’s been close, only sharing glances from across the room before either person looked away. She had listened to his wanting to take time to think of what he found out, and he respected her for it. Even if at points he wanted her to go talk to him, he longed for it really, but then he would remember what secret she hid and he remembered why he told her to keep away for a while.

He would remember and get upset all over again. Not in the fact that she was this Commander of the first order, or The Child of Ren, because truth is, he dealt with that not long after he found out. He knew she wasn’t a bad person even if who she was before was, he saw that y/n wasn’t like that when he would talk to her, share moments, she had the chance to be cruel, to betray the resistance, but she never did. When he figured that out, he knew that he wanted to give her a second chance and not judge her, just like he didn’t judge Finn for who he was before.

The reason why he was so upset was because y/n had hid that truth from him, he thought she cared and trusted him enough to tell him. And to add more fuel to the fire was when he found out that Rey already knew, the fact that Rey knew before him angered him more, it made him jealous. That’s what pissed him off after he had his time to think. But after a while he came to reason, y/n and Rey were friends and seemed to know each other before, they shared a connection he saw and he assured himself it was because they both could use the force. That calmed him down, that thought. It was nothing else but that right?

Anyhow he knew he couldn’t go without talking to y/n for too long, he missed talking to her, he missed the training sessions on his X-wing, the fact that he was so close to kissing her. He wanted to actually to do it this time and not be close, he wanted to do it and he was, but not after talking to her first. Not after saying “Y/N, I understand.” “Y/N, it’s okay, I understand why you didn’t tell anyone who you were, I’m not mad, well a little bit but it’s okay, let’s talk it out.” He smiled at himself and straightened out his shirt, walking into the jungle where he had seen y/n walk into a while ago.

He let out deep breath and ran his fingers through his curls. He walked for a while, really just looking for her blindly and using his instincts. He walked and walked, keeping his eyes peeled, looking high and low, hoping that she wouldn’t catch him off guard and sneak up behind him like she would. But she didn’t, she wasn’t behind him. He finally spotted y/n and he couldn’t be more relieved, only than he saw she wasn’t alone, she was accompanied by someone. At first he thought it was just some vision, maybe he was space crazy, but he quickly figured that he wasn’t and that the person with y/n was in fact Rey....and they were kissing.

“What the hell.”

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A/N- so tell me something you want to see in the next chapter! Like a specific mission or more interactions or specific scenes with the characters, just before we move onto the main event of the story! I’ll make it happen, all except for smut...you’re girl cannot write it, even if I tried :( if I could, that would be in the next chapter but alas I cannot *sobs* (I’ll attempt to write some, try as close as possible, even just write something that hints at that, just because I know some people don’t like reading any of that stuff) Anyway if you guys want to share ideas or something, be free to do so! Also if you guys are wondering what Vicrul was doing with poor reader, hes known to project fear into people, (what a nice brother 😑)

Tagged- @jennibradley​​ , @xxrouge-lexxx​​ , @daniellajocelyn​​ , @tweedlydumbtweedlydoo​​ , @star-marvel-fangirl​​ , @leilei-draws​​ , @briesangel @lanatheawesome​ , @madamepsicose, @constantdisgrace​​ , @1-800-depressedlesbian​, @commondazy​ , @logiclies​ , @robindoesntloveme​ , @we-all-are-strange​ , @fandom-addict-aesthetics​ , @seninjakitey​

[the-odd-job]

Up in Flames chapter 9 - Under Your Spell (Ashes Part 2)

Warnings: Major Character Death, Chose Not to Use Category: Other Fandom: Transformers Relationships: Megatron/Sunstreaker, Megatron/Sideswipe, Sideswipe & Sunstreaker Characters: Sunstreaker, Sideswipe, Soundwave, Megatron, Thundercracker Additional Tags: Dubcon, Mechpreg, Sticky Words: 2818

( Previous )

Soundwave knows all.

How true was that and how far did it extend? What did it mean in practice, besides just him having intel that he had no right to have?

Sunstreaker accompanied Sideswipe as his brother set out to explore that very matter (in a very limited extent). They found Soundwave in the comms room as seemed to be the usual. Ravage was present too, and Lazerbeak was perched on Soundwave’s shoulder. Rumble and Frenzy though, were nowhere to be seen, but whether that meant that they were elsewhere on the ship, off the ship, or in Soundwave’s chest, he didn’t know.

It wasn’t really relevant either. They only needed Soundwave.

Sunstreaker hung back while Sideswipe traipsed right on over to the blue mech and leaned on the console next to him—though mindful not to press any of the many buttons on it. “Hi,” his brother grinned at the Decepticon TIC, getting nothing more than a blank look for his trouble.

But that was about what they’d expected, so Sideswipe wasn’t discouraged in the slightest. “So, being a tape deck and all, do you happen to have any music that isn’t just the same old, same old Earth stuff?” the red twin asked. If anyone would have some, it’d be Soundwave, right? Sideswipe enjoyed quite a few Earth bands, but there were other worlds out there with their own auditory entertainment.

And more than that… There was Cybertron out there, as much as Sideswipe didn’t say so directly. Earth wasn’t the worst place to be, but they still missed home sometimes. 

They were in the presence of a telepath, though. Not everything needed to be spoken out loud for Soundwave to hear it anyway. The host inclined his helm, stayed still and silent for a while that the twins waited patiently during, before Sideswipe got a ping of a package that he accepted, briefly scanned and quickly opened.

It was full of songs. A whole load of songs. Cybertronian songs. Sideswipe didn’t recognize really any of them, but opened a few for inspection.

He nearly fell to the floor when they turned out to be Kaonite songs. There was no mistaking the harsh rhythms and heavy drums, the same stuff that had always played in bars and clubs—a reflection of the city, the constant hardship and fight for survival it was to just live there. The music was just as violent as the city itself.

And pits, but they hadn’t realized how much they’d missed that. It was their home, no matter how dangerous it had been and how badly they’d gotten treated by it. It was the city that had spawned and forged them into their utterly un-Autobot shape, and it was always a point of pride to have even survived life in it.

They were so far from home, but this… Was a piece of it. 

“Satisfactory?” Soundwave asked, and Sideswipe nodded mutely.

But then, “Jazz: visited you.”

Both twins froze, but there wasn’t much reason to wonder how Soundwave knew. Even if Jazz had managed to come and go without the telepath growing wiser to it—and that was a pretty big if right there—all the telepath needed to do was read their minds to find out the whole deal.

And now they were definitely thinking about that whole incident, and Soundwave, as well as Ravage and Lazerbeak, were all staring at them. Very much for Soundwave to read.

Nevertheless, Sideswipe nodded again to confirm it. 

Soundwave stayed quiet for a moment too long, and that was all the time to cook up wonderful scenarios of what might go down next. They had entirely failed to mention an Autobot had infiltrated the ship. Why? Because they still cared about the Autobot side? Or about Jazz specifically? Mech had been their friend, kinda.

He was a big ass risk too though, not just for them, but everyone else aboard too. That couldn’t look good for them.

But whatever Soundwave saw… He eventually just turned away. “Satisfactory,” he repeated, but this time it wasn’t a question.

Did that mean they were off the hook?

Maybe, maybe not, but Sideswipe still shook himself off. “Cool?” he said, though it came out more as a question, but… Soundwave didn’t do or say anything else.

Probably meant this matter was settled, at least for now.

Back to the original reason they’d come here, with just a little more anxiety over what the future might bring now that Soundwave knew (if he hadn’t always known).

There had been speakers in the rec room.

Sunstreaker moved out of the way when his brother bolted for the doorway. Sideswipe was already through it and two steps into the direction of the rec room before he remembered his manners and bounced back to the door, throwing a quick, “Thanks!” through it.

You know, for the music. Not for the scare of knowing about their illicit visitor.

And then he ran off. Sunstreaker went after him without much less speed. Of course his brother would want to show off a bit—show a bit of their culture, the one the Autobots had always denied and stomped all over as nothing but the savagery of lesser mecha. 

Would the Decepticons? He doubted it.

They were quick to fly through the hallways and to the rec room, almost all optics there looking up when they skidded into the room. Sideswipe went straight to the back of it where the speakers were, and connected to them. The music was quickly scanned so he knew what it was, the rhythm of it, before he put it to play. A grin spread over his face as the beat of the first song began to play from the speakers.

“Why did no one tell me Soundwave has Kaonite music?” he hollered over the song to the room at large to a few exclamations of, “We didn’t know you wanted Kaonite music!” worded in slightly different ways depending on whose vocalizer it was coming from.

Well, that was alright. They had their music now. Sideswipe’s grin widened before he—like the attention whore he was—began to move to the music, doing little more than nodding and swaying along at first while he tried to get his bearings. The Autobots absolutely hadn’t had music like this, or else no one had ever given them it.

The Autobots had wanted to strip their past from them, replace what they’d known with everything they’d wanted of them. 

This, too, they hadn’t had in so long. Even the Pits had had music, dancing.

The song started slower, calmer, giving few hints for what was to come, but everyone in the room who had heard the music of their city—and it was probably the vast majority of them—had to know it wouldn’t stay that way.

And it didn’t. The beat rose in the span of a few seconds and turned true to what Kaon offered.

It offered death and violence, suffering and struggle, and the only reward on the other side was that you were still alive, trekking in the dirt and grime that covered the city from the lowest decks to the highest towers.

It had been too long, but it was theirs. Their past, their home, their culture, no matter how the Autobots had tried to take it all from them. It was ingrained somewhere deep in their spine, and Sideswipe hadn’t forgotten. It took him a few moments, sure… But then he started to move.  

Violent. That was the one word that summarized what dancing to Kaonite music was supposed to look like, and Sideswipe had never been a bad dancer. Not among the Autobots either, but this here… This here was their natural element. Their upbringing.

Them.  

The beat of the music was heavy, so was the impact of Sideswipe’s pedes on the deck. His optics were closed, there was a smile on his face—not one of those empty grins he wore all the time, but a genuine one speaking volumes of how much he was enjoying this. Expressing himself in all the right ways, holding nothing back.

Fuck the Autobots. Fuck what they’d tried to make them. Fuck them for trying to make them deny themselves every step of the way.

Through every savage spin, every strike of his pedes against the floor, the clang of it that timed itself just right to the music because Sideswipe knew how… His field danced around him, blown wide to let every spectator know how much he loved this.

Mecha got up and began to gather around Sideswipe, curious, though giving him plenty room, never straying closer to him than what Sunstreaker did—and Sunstreaker stood off to the side, his spark fluttering with Sideswipe’s enjoyment.

And it wasn’t as if Sideswipe’s half was the only one to appreciate this. Sunstreaker‘s did too. 

Their spark danced as well… As did a little something more as well. Sunstreaker raised one of his servos to his chestplates, rubbing over his spark chamber—over his scratched out Autobot insignia—unable to deny the little something flaring along with his spark. It enjoyed itself as much as they enjoyed themselves. His emotions reflected in it as it tested out what it was like to feel.  

This was what it was like to feel, to feel the music pound through their lines, to feel their fuel pump join the rhythm, to move to it and forget everything else just for the time—work hard, play hard, as it’d always been. The miners toiled under the lived-in decks only to come up when they had free time, populate the bars and the clubs, wasting what little credits they had… Gladiators, the ones allowed to leave the arenas, getting up to much of the same. They danced, they sang, they fucked with the kind of abandon of mecha who knew they could die tomorrow, so let’s make the most of today.

A heavy field entered the room and Sunstreaker glanced towards the doorway to see Megatron walking in, Starscream trailing after him and Thundercracker after Starscream. Was there a bit of curiosity in Megatron’s expression? Drawn here by all the noise?

The warlord walked to the crowd that had gathered to watch Sideswipe. His soldiers stepped out of his way to allow him to the very front. It was definitely curiosity on his face, muted, but there. Sideswipe opened his optics, focusing on Megatron and grinning. Then he stilled and reached his arm, palm up, inviting the tyrant to join him.

Megatron was Kaonite too, wasn’t he? He should know how.

There was a moment of stillness in the room while everyone waited for what he would do, what his answer would be–

And it was a bit unexpected when Megatron did step forward and walked over to Sideswipe. His brother was practically vibrating with anticipation, moving in place restlessly, dying to join the music again. He still waited while Megatron listened to the music for a moment, catching onto the rhythm–

And then he moved, one pede forward, and Sideswipe moved one pede back, and that was all there was before Megatron took the lead. He broadcasted every move before he made it, but they were all familiar, and Sideswipe knew exactly how to match each of them. He didn’t have to think when Megatron led him through every motion, whether flowing or sudden—the clash of pede against the deck that vibrated under their combined strength, and the clash of palm against palm when they brought their servos together in a fleeting point of contact between them… The spins, the turns, the sudden reversal of your motion until your frame ached.  

How long had it been since they’d felt this? The sensation, both physical and that of the spark and mind as you were led through a dance that sometimes emulated controlled fighting in its savagery when one wrong move would have landed dents on the other.

But Megatron knew what he was doing, and so did Sideswipe. There were no dents, just the exhilarating close calls that were intended to be no more than just that: close calls, motions that were aborted and rewound inches from your partner—if you had the skill.

Megatron did. Sideswipe did too, even if Megatron did most of the work now, Sideswipe merely the one that answered the orders Megatron gave with his body. They went fast, they went heavy, just like it was supposed to go, and Sunstreaker’s vents threatened to seize every few moments from the sheer excitement of it. His spark pulsed fast, pulling the little one into its rejoicing.

And it was rejoicing. It was finding a part of themselves again, a part of the culture they had always been proud of and had never wanted to bury. But who among the Autobots would have known to dance like this, willingly risking injuries with a partner so much larger and stronger than you were? Jazz, maybe, that mech knew far too much about everything and hid far too many skills under his friendly facade.

But who among the Autobots would have accepted this, a piece of what was so inherently Decepticon? So inherently Kaon, where the whole damn enemy faction had come from.

Sideswipe was crying, in a way. Tears were running down his face even as he responded to every single move Megatron made, but it wasn’t pain, it wasn’t sadness.

Just happiness, and that knot in him… It unraveled further. This was staying true to themselves and the past they had never wanted to be ashamed of—and hadn’t ever been, really, no matter how many times they were told they should hate it, apologize for it, see the error of their ways, redeem themselves. 

Not here. There were smiles around them, some knowing, others just entertained. No judgment.

Sideswipe’s fans were whirring fast by the time Megatron stepped away from, only to–

Turn to Sunstreaker. And like Sideswipe had invited Megatron, Megatron now invited him, arm reached, palm up. 

Sideswipe grinned behind the warlord before quietly slipping to join the sidelines. Sunstreaker only waited long enough to fake consideration, but from the beginning… There was no question on what he wanted to do.

He stepped forward and placed his far smaller servo onto Megatron’s. It closed around his, and just like that Megatron tugged him over, Sunstreaker going without any undue resistance. He was released only after he stood in front of Megatron, and off they were. Megatron took the lead again, as if he was used to always taking control —and he probably was. And Sunstreaker knew just as well as Sideswipe how to respond to all of it, when to move back, when to the side, when forward, when to turn his frame, when to meet Megatron’s palm with his own and where.  

But Sunstreaker also knew how to turn the tables. He was the one that forced Megatron to retreat lest he break their dance, he became the one that directed the course of things, the one that led.

Megatron narrowed his optics at him, knowing exactly what he was doing. Sunstreaker’s mouth tugged into a smile, even more so when Megatron followed one motion of his only to throw it right back in his face and force him to follow unless he really wanted to get hit.

His fans were soon whirring just as hard as Sideswipe’s, his optics darkening as someone raised the volume of the music until it thumped through the air and throughout his frame. The sparklet pulsed urgently at him, demanding more of this, of the excitement that created a true storm in his spark—the experience of fighting Megatron once again, even if not in quite the same way he had before.

Back and forth, back and forth they traded their leadership, losing and reclaiming it in one rousing battle of wills—that Sunstreaker eventually admitted defeat on, when his frame began to betray him a bit too much for him to fully trust it anymore. Megatron, victorious, like he always was, led him even through the distraction of his titillation.  

Sideswipe grinned as he watched it all, flying on the high of their spark. This was… Better than he’d ever dared to hope. He had never forgotten Kaon, had never stopped considering it his home, the place where he’d always… Belonged, almost. 

He’d all but lost hope that he’d ever get even a fraction of it back, though. If the Autobots won, he could only imagine how thoroughly they’d try to wipe that aspect of their planet and species right off the map, because it was that that had given birth to the rebellion that had risen to threaten the Primacy. In that event, what would he have been except stuck with the reality and future the Autobots wanted to build?

But it didn’t have to be like that. They could have this, too. They could fight to make this the future.

Did they want to?

There was one sour face in the midst of it all, though. Starscream hung back, his face held in a firm scowl. 

But, extremely handily, Thundercracker was only a few steps away from Sideswipe, and the twin weaseled his way over to the Seeker to end up next to him. Thundercracker gave him a questioning look, but didn’t shoo him off. 

There was little hope of talking out loud with all the rhythmic noise filling the room, so Sideswipe employed short range comms instead. ::Why’s Starscream look like he tried to eat a lemon?::

Thundercracker glanced in the direction of his trine leader, then chuckled. ::He’s jealous,:: the Seeker grinned, and apparently now it was fully confirmed that Starscream just did not like the amount of attention Megatron was giving Sunstreaker.

But Thundercracker continued, ::Plus, Sunstreaker dares to be better at something than he is.::

Sideswipe laughed at that. ::The dancing?::

::Yeah.::

It made sense. Why would a Vosian know how to dance in the Kaonite style as well as a born and bred Kaonite did, if they knew how to dance in that style at all? And their wings would’ve been bound to get in the way, too.

Poor Starscream, getting outdone by a pretty frontliner way below him in rank. Didn’t sit too well with him, apparently. 

Sideswipe’s attention was drawn back to the dancing pair when Megatron pulled Sunstreaker against himself. That really wasn’t part of the usual moves, but Sunstreaker was venting hard and they were staring at each other in the optic pretty intently.

Sideswipe’s grin widened. ::Those two are gonna head somewhere more private right about now.::

( Next )

[newstfionline]

Wednesday, May 5, 2021

AP-NORC poll: Government should help Americans age at home (AP) A majority of Americans agree that government should help people fulfill a widely held aspiration to age in their own homes, not institutional settings, a new poll finds. There’s a surprising level of bipartisan agreement on some proposals that could help make that happen, according to the late March survey from The Associated Press-NORC Center for Public Affairs Research. For example, 63% favor more funding to help low-income people age at home, a policy reflected in President Joe Biden’s stimulus plan and his COVID-19 relief law. That includes about half of Republicans and about three-quarters of Democrats. Overall, only 10% are opposed. Behind it all is a deep desire among Americans to maintain their independence in an aging society.

Widespread Commodity Shortages Raise Inflation Fears (NYT) Commodity shortages are rippling across the United States economy as growing demand for housing, cars, electronics and other goods runs up against supply chain congestion and high tariffs left behind by former President Donald J. Trump. The shortages—and the price increases they are eliciting—are being watched closely by the Biden administration, which is under increasing pressure from industry groups and businesses to take steps to ease them. Automakers want the White House to help them get the semiconductors they need to make cars, while the housing industry is asking for tariff relief. Pressure to intervene could intensify as the administration pushes for a multitrillion-dollar infrastructure investment package that includes money for building roads, bridges and electric vehicle charging stations—all of which could become increasingly expensive if prices keep rising.

Heeding complaints, Biden lifts refugee cap to 62,500 (Reuters) U.S. President Joe Biden said on Monday he has resurrected a plan to raise refugee admissions this year to 62,500 after drawing a wave of criticism from supporters for initially keeping the refugee cap at a historically low level. Soon after taking office in January, Biden pledged to ramp up the program but then surprised allies when he opted to stick with the lower cap out of concern over bad optics, given the rising number of migrants crossing the U.S. southern border with Mexico, U.S. officials have said. But the refugee program is distinct from the asylum system for migrants. Refugees come from all over the world, many fleeing conflict. They undergo extensive vetting while still overseas to be cleared for entry to the United States, unlike migrants who arrive at a U.S. border and then request asylum.

New York Region to Accelerate Reopening (NYT) New York and its neighbors New Jersey and Connecticut announced on Monday that they were lifting almost all their pandemic restrictions, paving the way for a return to fuller offices and restaurants, a more vibrant nightlife and a richer array of cultural and religious gatherings for the first time in a year. The relaxation of rules starting May 19 is a testament to the fact that coronavirus cases are down and vaccination rates are rising. New York will also bring back 24-hour service to the subway on May 17, after a year of overnight closures, a move critical for night-shift workers.

Colombia protests (Foreign Policy) Mass protests in Colombia sparked by President Ivan Duque’s new tax proposals continued on Monday—a day after Duque withdrew the unpopular measures—and are expected to resume today. Finance Minister Alberto Carrasquilla tendered his resignation on Monday, saying in a statement that his presence in government would “complicate the quick and effective construction of the necessary consensus.” Although Carrasquilla’s connection with the tax reforms precipitated his fall, he had become a figure of ridicule after he failed to provide an accurate answer for the current price of a dozen eggs when questioned by local media last month.

A farmer moved the border between France and Belgium so his tractor could have more room (AP) The border between Belgium and France has been largely stable for 200 years. That is, until a Belgian farmer annoyed with the placement of one of the stones marking the storied territorial divide inadvertently shifted the border 7.5 feet so his tractor could move more easily. The Belgian village of Erquelinnes, which lies along the 390-mile border with France, had as a result grown by seven feet. The French town of Bousignies-sur-Roc in turn shed more than a few inches. The stone in question dates to 1819, one year before the signing of the Treaty of Kortrijk, which set the modern-day boundaries of the once-warring states, according to the BBC. Much has improved in relations between Belgium and France in the two centuries since Napoleon’s defeat at Waterloo. “We should be able to avoid a new border war,” Aurélie Welonek, the mayor of Bousignies-sur-Roc, told a French newspaper. Belgian authorities told the BBC that they will ask the farmer to move the border back. If he does not comply, they may need to seek help from the Franco-Belgian border commission, which has not been summoned since 1930.

Opposition chief calls for lockdown as India’s coronavirus cases cross 20 million (Reuters) Indian opposition leader Rahul Gandhi called for a nationwide lockdown as the country’s tally of coronavirus infections surged past 20 million on Tuesday, becoming the second nation after the United States to pass the grim milestone. India’s deadly second wave of infections, the world’s biggest surge in coronavirus infections, has seen it take just over four months to add 10 million cases, versus more than 10 months for its first 10 million. Currently, the country has 3.45 million active cases.

Day 1 of the End of the U.S. War in Afghanistan (NYT) KANDAHAR AIRFIELD, Afghanistan—A gray American transport plane taxied down the runway, carrying munitions, a giant flat screen television from a C.I.A. base, pallets of equipment and departing troops. It was one of several aircraft that night removing what remained of the American war from this sprawling military base in the country’s south. The United States and its NATO allies spent decades building Kandahar Airfield into a wartime city, filled with tents, operations centers, barracks, basketball courts, ammunition storage sites, aircraft hangars and at least one post office. The scenes over the weekend were almost as if a multitrillion-dollar war machine had morphed into a garage sale. At the airfield’s peak in 2010 and 2011, its famous and much derided boardwalk housed snack shops, chain restaurants, a hockey rink and trinket stores. Tens of thousands of U.S. and NATO troops were based here, and many more passed through as it became the main installation for the U.S.-led war in Afghanistan’s south. Now, half-demolished outdoor gyms and empty hangars were filled with nearly 20 years’ worth of matériel.

As Lebanese cry for justice, politics paralyzes the system (AP) Even after she was taken off an investigation into alleged financial crimes by a money transfer company, the defiant Lebanese prosecutor charged ahead. She showed up at the company’s offices outside of Beirut with a group of supporters and a metal worker, who broke open the locked gate. Ghada Aoun obtained data from Mecattaf Holding Company that she contends will reveal the identities of people who sneaked billions of dollars out of Lebanon amid the financial meltdown that has hit the country. The move was part of a public feud between Aoun and Lebanon’s state prosecutor Ghassan Oueidat, who had dismissed her from the case, saying she’d overstepped with two earlier raids. Their feud has turned into scuffles between their supporters in the street. That is the problem in Lebanon: The judiciary is so deeply politicized it paralyzes the wheels of justice, mirroring how factional rivalries have paralyzed politics. Political interference in the judiciary has for years thwarted investigations into corruption, violence and assassinations. But mistrust of the judiciary is thrown into even starker relief now, when Lebanese are crying out for politicians to be held accountable for the disastrous crises in their country—not only the financial collapse but also last August’s massive explosion in Beirut’s port that killed scores and wrecked much of the capital. The explosion has been blamed on incompetence and neglect. “Those who hold on to power have set up a judiciary that is loyal to them in order to fight their opponents and protect their interests,” retired state prosecutor Hatem Madi told The Associated Press.

Netanyahu misses deadline, political future in question (AP) Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu has missed a midnight deadline for putting together a new coalition government. His failure to reach an agreement late Tuesday raises the possibility that Netanyahu’s Likud party could be pushed into the opposition for the first time in 12 years. The turmoil does not mean that Netanyahu will immediately be forced out as prime minister. But he suddenly faces a serious threat to his lengthy rule. His opponents already have been holding informal talks in recent weeks to lay the groundwork for a power-sharing deal.

More than a dozen people killed by Islamist militants in northeast Nigeria (Reuters) More than a dozen people, including seven soldiers, were killed by Islamist militants in an attack in northeast Nigeria, four sources told Reuters. The militants arrived in the Ajiri community in the Mafa local government area of Borno state on motorcycles early on Sunday, killing an army commanding officer and six soldiers, the sources said. The assailants also killed six civilians, burned down nine housing blocks and carted away valuables, the sources told Reuters.

More veggies (WSJ) According to federal survey data, 76.6 percent of 51- to 70 year old women and 85.6 percent of 51- to 70-year-old men eat less than the recommended amount of vegetables. The thing is that’s actually pretty good compared to teenagers, who really need to eat some greens: fully 98.8 percent of 14- to 18-year-old girls and 98.5 percent of 14- to 18-year-old boys ate less than the recommended amount of vegetables, which is particularly bad developmentally speaking.

A good Samaritan (CNN) The 23-month-old girl who fell out of a car and into a bay Sunday after a multi-vehicle crash on a bridge in Ocean City, Maryland, is expected to make a full recovery thanks to a “humble hero” who jumped into the water to save the child, authorities said Monday. Eight people were taken to hospitals Sunday after the crash on the Route 90 bridge left a car dangling off the guardrail, authorities said. All eight were discharged from hospitals and are doing well, Ryan Whittington, firefighter and medic at Ocean City Fire Department, told CNN. Whittington said the man who saved the toddler is choosing to remain unnamed publicly. The fire department is calling him the “humble hero” for his rescue. The man was driving on the bridge, and his car was also involved in the crash, Whittington said. The drivers were pointing down to the Assawoman Bay, where he saw the girl lying in the water, face down. “He just jumped into action,” said Whittington, adding that the water in that area is about 5 feet deep, and the jump was more than 25 feet. “He saved a 23-month-old child. There’s no doubt in our mind that if he had not did what he did when he did it that we would be having a different headline to this story,” Whittington said.

[always-and-forever-a-killjoy]

Coming Home Chapter 2

Hello fuckers I know I promised this chapter yesterday but then I fell asleep because I was incredibly exhausted. So I'm posting it today because I deserve it Also, the song for the last chapter was Revolution Radio by Green Day, which no one guessed! I'll give you a hint for this chapter- it's very far off from Green Day or My Chemical Romance.

Title: Coming, Coming Home

Chapter Title: Cause I’m with you this time

Chapter Wordcount: 3333

Chapter Summary:

Cherri Cola settles into living with Dr. Death Defying and White Lily, figures out that someone actually cares about him, and makes some reckless decisions.

Warnings: implied/referenced past abuse, referenced past misgendering, light panic/anxiety attack, non-graphic/canon-typical violence and injury, uhhh i *think* that's it? (If you want to know what parts to skip, go to the end notes on AO3- I also put a brief summary of any important info in those parts. Stay safe!)

Taglist: @wishiwasthemoon-tonight @sleevesareforlosers @stressed-depressed-emo-mess @tasteofamnesia @dagger-queen​ @no-braincells-here @piratecherricola (message me, send an ask, or reblog/reply to one of my posts if you want to be added or removed)

AO3 Link

Chapter 1 AO3 Link

Chapter 1 Tumblr Post

(Actual fic under the cut)

It took a few months for Cherri to really settle in to living with the other two. He was younger than them, and lacked the shared experience of fighting in the Helium Wars. But all three of them had the shared understanding of having grown up too fast, the pain and weariness in the other’s eyes mirroring his exactly. Not to mention that running a pirate radio station and attempting to spark a rebellion did tend to bond people. Having each others’ backs in firefights, fixing the radio equipment together, and eating their meals as a group only aided that process.

So 109 WKIL slowly got off the ground, heading into the sky just as promised. Their transmitter was fairly decent, and so their range was large even if few listeners were tuning in right now. But the rebellion grew daily, neutrals and Battery City folk abandoning a more peaceful life under the hand of Better Living Industries for the wild world of a killjoy. White Lily spoke over the radio at least weekly, encouraging them to fight, to not let themselves be squashed under bli’s heel. 

“Power is not given, but taken. If you hate oppression, you better be ready to fight against the oppressor and give it everything you’ve got.” 

Cherri was sitting in his usual spot under the broadcast desk, making sure that all the equipment was running smoothly as White Lily spoke above him. Her voice didn’t have the deep, gravelly weight of D’s, but the fire in it was inspiring. There had always been something about White Lily that made people want to follow her, D had told him. Some spark in her spirit that kindled fires in others, bringing them together under her leadership. 

“Better Living may have bombs, and gas, and more ray guns than we can dream of getting our grubby little killjoy paws on. But we have something they can never replace: spirit. You can’t make a fiery heart with pills and white walls. They can take our bodies, shoot us full of plasma and throw us to the wolves. But they can never touch our spirit. Never. We will rise again, as many times as they try to throw us down.

"The spirit of the desert is something they can’t kill with any amount of laser beams. Any size of bomb, any number of exterminators. None of it will squash our spirit, and that’s what makes us invincible. As long as a single killjoy rises to fight, Better Living Industries cannot win. So get out there, crash queens! Get your vehicles, motorbabies. Angel kissers, grab your med kits, and kerosene saints, your matches. We’ve got a corporation to overthrow, and we’re not stopping at just nipping at their heels. Killjoys, it’s time to make some noise!”

She clicked off the radio. “How was that?”

“Good,” Cherri told her. “Inspiring. Makes you want to fistfight an exterminator.” 

“Oh good, that’s what I was hoping for.” Lily paused. “No fistfighting exterminators though, that’s a bad idea.”

“You can’t stop me.”

“Oh yes I can,” Lily laughed. She was still grinning as she reached to help Cherri out from under the desk, a grin both achingly close and achingly far to one he remembered. There were days when she looked so much like his sister it hurt, not in her features but in the way she laughed and her teasing grin as she and D bantered back and forth. 

Cherri tried not to think about it as he pulled himself to his feet. “And how do you plan on stopping me?”

“Hmm…I think I shall tackle you.”

“Then what?”

“Make D lecture you nonstop until you fall asleep.”

Cherri laughed as they headed back into the house. "Good luck with that."

So far, they hadn’t had to move the van from its position in front of their home in Zone Four, but all of them knew it was only a matter of time before bli would be breathing down their necks.

“We have some time,” D said that evening. “Our signal will be hard to track, and we don’t have a wide enough reach to be a threat to Better Living Industries yet.”

“We’re getting there, though,” Lily commented, digging around for the last bit of power pup in her can. 

“True, we’ve got a lot more listeners now than we did before.” Cherri was already finished with his, playing with his dented spoon and reflecting the sunlight across the room idly. “It’s going to be hard to stay hidden for long, not when the other killjoys whisper about our station and spread the word between themselves.”

“The more people who know, the easier it is for Better Living to find us,” D agreed. “Of course, we need people to know so they’ll tune in, but we’ll have to be careful as we get larger.”

“Careful, careful, you’re always careful.” Lily leaned back in her chair, setting down her spoon. “I’m not saying we abandon all caution, but there’s going to be risks running a rebellion. A lot of the time, we’ll just have to decide if they’re worth taking.”

Cherri nodded, still examining the spoon. “And a lot of the time they will be.”

“Didn’t know you were such a daredevil, Cher.” He made to glare at Lily, but she went on. “You’re right though. Everything’s a risk, and we’re going to have to take a lot of them.”

“I don’t like that,” D put in.

“None of us do, except maybe Cherri the daredevil over here. But we’re doing it.”

“We’re doing it,” D agreed tiredly. 

“I’m not a fucking daredevil,” Cherri muttered. That was….mostly true. Risk for the sake of risk wasn’t exactly his thing, but risk for any other sake was. As long as only his life was at risk, it was a risk worth taking. He figured, at least.

“You’re pretty fucking daring, Cher.”

“Only risks that are worth it, though.” He pretended not to see the two older ‘joys exchange glances. 

-

True to their predictions, the rebellion grew. Their radio was a contributing factor, Cherri hoped. It certainly seemed to have grown in popularity as more killjoys entered the desert and more neutrals lay down their peaceful ways and took up arms alongside the killjoys. WKIL was something whispered about in killjoy circles, told to the newbies, the undergrads of the desert.

Cherri knew because he was the one who went and talked with them, the lesser-known face. Everyone recognized at very least the voices of D and Lily by now, the two radio speakers who rallied the rebels, but Cherri Cola was not a name whispered in legend yet. He was just a sixteen year old with a shitty ray gun and a bad haircut, which had advantages and disadvantages. 

One of the advantages was the ability to go talk to random people and be seen as relatively harmless, just a teen with a bright pink mask. There was nothing about him to suggest that he was an incredible shot with a ray gun or a dangerous fighter, not in the slightest. He wore oversized clothes and perpetually looked disheveled, so he had been told. And if you didn’t look too closely at his eyes, you wouldn’t even see the fire in them. 

So Cherri used that hidden advantage, appearing perfectly harmless to anyone who didn’t know him well. It was helpful for White Lily and Dr. Death Defying, since neither of them could go anywhere where there were a lot of rebels without being recognized.

And the rebellion grew and grew. Their voices were growing louder, their colors brighter even as Better Living Industries tried to squash them down. The spirit of the desert truly was rising, and a faint sense of hope had started to permeate the air. White Lily never promised that they would win. But she promised that Better Living Industries wouldn’t, so long as a single killjoy stood, and that was enough for most of the desert. 

They were teenagers, mainly. The bulk of the force that was forming the current rebellion was either teenagers, running from their pasts in Battery City, or twenty-something former soldiers of the Helium Wars, running from what they had done or trying to put it right. They were young and invincible, so it seemed. The reality that they could easily die doing this hadn’t sunk in for most of the younger population of the desert, intoxicated on freedom and the thrill of the desert.

D and Lily knew that reality all too well, Cherri knew. He knew they knew what all of them were up against, had watched death in their own right in the Helium Wars, had wrought it with their own hands. 

He knew what the consequences were too, a memory of bli employees in clean white suits coming to respectfully ‘recruit’ the person he loved most hovering behind a door in his mind. That door would remain closed, Cherri had decided. The past was the past- but he fought because of it anyways, knowing the horrors Better Living Industries had done.

Cherri might have been young, but he was no fool. He knew quite well that he could die, and he couldn’t be bothered to give a fuck, as Lily would put it. There were things more important than living to some grand old age, and this rebellion was one of them.

He would be lying to himself if he said that some part of him wasn’t in this for revenge, maybe a larger part than he was willing to admit. 

“If you take away someone’s world, they might just burn yours down,” Cherri muttered to himself, aiming his shitty old ray gun at the empty cans Lily had set up that day. Despite how long he had already been out here, they still hadn’t managed to locate him a better weapon. That was fine, he thought, he was deadly enough even without one, but D and Lily both insisted that it would be a lot easier for him with something that wasn’t outdated by at least three years. 

“What?” Cherri jumped as D came to stand next to him, aiming his own black and blue ray gun at the cans. “Did you say something, Cherri?”

“Oh, uh. Nothing.”

D shrugged, tilting his head to take aim. “You don’t have to tell me, I just figured I’d ask in case you were trying to tell me something.”

Cherri lowered his ray gun, glancing down. “I said if you take away someone’s world, they might just burn yours down.”

“Ah. True, and insightful.” Cherri didn’t have to glance over at D to know his face would be gently concerned. “Somewhat dark though, you could say.”

“Guess so.”

They were silent for a moment, apart from the zap of ray guns.

“Pasts are something to be forgotten here,” D said finally. “But if you need someone to talk to about yours, Lily and I will support you.”

“Thanks.”

“I mean it, you know.”

Cherri fiddled with his ray gun. “Yeah.”

“Just putting that out there.” D turned back to their target practice.

- 

Despite D’s words, there was a silent agreement amongst the three of them that pasts were not to be spoken of or asked about. Occasionally, D or Lily would tell a few stories, mainly from their childhood. They rarely talked about the Helium Wars, only occasionally with each other. And Cherri said nothing about his past. Instead, he pretended not to notice the days when the other two flinched at any loud sound, and they pretended not to hear him cry out in the night, when everything was silent and there was no buffer against the memories. It was a courtesy more than anything, a way to keep each other from having to speak about their darkest times. Usually, Cherri appreciated that, finding it easier to deal with any hurt alone than worry about burdening the others.

Tonight, however, was different. No matter how much he tried to calm himself down, his breath kept coming too quickly and he couldn’t drown out the voices of his past. Worthless, never going to amount to anything…should be more like Samantha…your grades are slipping again…never going to be a boy…

Cherri shivered violently, even though the blanket was tucked safely over him, and climbed off the window seat he had been using as a sort of bed, picking up said blanket. It was cold in the desert at night, no use leaving it behind. 

It took him more rests of leaning against the wall and trying frantically to draw a single breath than he wanted to admit before he was down the hall to the room D and Lily had claimed. Their door was cracked open, but Cherri pushed it open a little bit further to see both of them seemingly sleeping peacefully as he stood in the doorway.

“Cher?” That was White Lily, lifting her head a bit from the mattress. “Everything okay?”

He managed to shake his head, and she gestured for him to come sit. 

“What’s going on, friendo?”

“Bad dream,” Cherri whispered.

“Ah. Those are no fun. Wanna talk about it?”

“Not really.”

Lily nodded as if to say that didn’t surprise her, and she looked dreadfully like someone he used to know in that moment. “Come on then, lay on down. D won’t mind if you elbow him, he gets up at ass o’clock in the morning anyways.”

Cherri was quite certain D would, in fact, mind, but he did as she asked anyways, settling down on the creaky mattress. Lily put her arm out in what was clearly an offer, but didn’t touch him until he rolled over towards her. When he did, she wrapped her arm around him fully, pulling him closer, and Cherri felt like he could breathe for the first time since waking up. 

Lily didn’t say ‘I love you’ or anything of the sort, but she did ruffle his hair and give him a quiet “Goodnight, Cher.”

And Cherri didn’t say ‘I love you’ either, but he leaned into her embrace. “Goodnight, Lily.”

-

True to Lily’s words, it was, in fact, what Cherri would qualify as ‘ass o’clock in the morning’ when D woke up and proceeded to wake the other two up while getting out of bed.

“Is it even light out?” Cherri questioned as Lily gave a massive yawn.

“No, which is why D’s being an asshole.”

“I didn’t mean to wake you up, Lil. Or you, Cherri.” He didn’t question why Cherri was there, much to Cherri’s relief.

“You did anyways,” Lily grumbled, but she released Cherri and sat up. “I guess it would be time to get up soon anyways.”

“Exactly,” D huffed.

Lily just yawn-laughed as she got up, and Cherri reluctantly followed the others downstairs. They had quick breakfast in the predawn light, followed by a bit of fussing around as they got ready for D’s morning broadcast, organizing all the news and things that had come in yesterday. Killjoys had started to send them news of the desert, to the point where they got almost as much from what people sent in/dropped off/radioed to them as what Cherri found out on his almost daily runs. It was starting to pass what he could find out on daily runs, really. But he went anyways because they still needed his info, and they needed to eat.

“Bye, Lily, D!” 

“See you, Cherri,” Lily hollered back. “Be careful!”

“I will!”

The three of them split the tasks that living in the desert and running a radio station required. Today, D and Lily were taking the radio station van to drive around and talk to people, encourage them to join the cause. Cherri was taking the motorcycle to get any news and see if he couldn’t grab some power pup from a supply truck.

He sped down the road, getting in position to raid the supply truck. A one-killjoy raid was a dumb idea, for sure, but Better Living Industries hadn’t started to arm their trucks very heavily yet, and Cherri was confident enough in his ability to think he could pull it off. This was a small one, anyways. The initial raid went off without a hitch- the driver and few accompanying dracs were dead before they had time to see the teenage killjoy who hurried down from the dune to pull out as much of the contents of the truck as would fit in the sidecar of the motorbike. It was afterwards that became the problem, as a full two cars of bli employees came rushing towards the site.

“Fuck,” Cherri hissed under his breath. He quickly assessed his odds. One teenager with a shitty ray gun and a motorcycle against what must be at least one scarecrow and probably at least eight dracs was not good odds, but he doubted running away would be any better. They would chase him down, and then he wouldn’t even have the advantage of his higher vantage point. Hiding wasn’t an option either, given that dracs would search the entire area, so Cherri crouched behind the motorcycle and got ready to fire.

When the first person hopped out of the car, Cherri almost swore out loud. Not a scarecrow. An exterminator. He was so fucked. 

Cherri’s hands shook slightly as he lifted the ray gun and aimed. He had to take down that exterminator as soon as possible, or he was dead. The shakiness proved his undoing, as the shot whistled past the exterminator, missing by barely half an inch and causing the Better Living operative to turn.

Fuck it. Cherri got out from behind the motorcycle and ran directly towards them, firing off shots indiscriminately. His best shot now was to overwhelm and confuse them. It seemed to be working, given that one thing they did not expect was a teenager in a bright pink mask to come running directly at them. In fact, most of the dracs froze, enough that he was able to get in a few good shots before they realized what was happening. One shot even hit the exterminator in the shoulder, but unfortunately not their shooting arm, leaving them perfectly capable of raising their gun to retaliate. 

Retaliate they did, and Cherri screamed as a shot hit him in the side. “Fuck! Fuck you!” He was shaking too hard to shoot back as the exterminator held up a hand, quite calmly.

All the dracs stopped, and the exterminator strolled casually towards Cherri. “Greetings, rebel.”

Cherri spit at their feet. 

“Rather rude of you, wasn’t that? I’m tempted to kill you here, you ill-mannered rebel scum.” They reached out and tilted Cherri’s chin up to look them in the eye, letting him see the cold fire that lingered there. 

“Get fucked,” Cherri spat out as they took his ray gun from a shaking hand and tossed it over their shoulder. 

“I do appreciate the suggestion, but I suggest you keep your mouth shut if you want to live.”

Their ray gun was positioned at his neck, and Cherri knew he had a low chance of surviving even a stun shot to that spot at such a close distance.

“I would kill you now, ill-mannered rebel, but I think I’ll let you live for one reason and one reason only- I want you to go to that ‘Doctor D’ and his friend White Lily, and tell them they will not win. We will find the radio station you killjoys speak of, we know your precious leader is hiding out in Zone Four. So go, tell them. And pray you survive that shot.”

They shoved Cherri, and he stumbled away, ignoring the pain in his side as he climbed onto the motorcycle. He revved the engine, throwing it into action and barely caring if some of the supplies fell out of the sidecar. 

The exterminator watched him go with a cruel smile.

[onemilliongoldstars]

a crown seldom enjoyed - chapter 29

To maintain the fragile peace between north and south, Clarke of House Tyrell is sent to live in Winterfell as an act of faith between the two kingdoms. There, she is put under the protection of the first queen in the north, Queen Lexa of House Stark, Daughter of Wolves. A woman draped in steel and silver, wolves at her heels and rumoured to be a manifestation of the fury of the old gods; Clarke refuses to be awed be her quiet violence and cold smile. Instead of fostering unity, the meeting of the wolf and the rose lights a spark that spreads through the rest of Westeros, threatening to burn it to the ground.

29/33

clexa game of thrones au

read on ao3

---

Book Three- Chapter 8

Early summer in Kings Landing truly is beautiful. Before the days become so hot and muggy that you are forced to rest when the sun is at its highest, the city is engulfed in long, warm, dry days that seem to last forever and ever. When she thinks of her childhood in Kings Landing this is what she remembers: periwinkle blue skies, filled with hazy clouds, the sweet smell of flowers and fruit in the air, and days that never ended. Today is one of those days, and as she walks through the gardens of the Red Keep in her airy, flowing gown, she can almost forget the small circlet upon her head. Beside her, Lord Marcus matches her gait easily, and at her back are Octavia and Roan, their white Queensguard capes flowing. Despite the smiles and bows that people offer as she passes, she is not so naïve as to think that her fight for the throne is over.

“The nobles are beginning to wonder about Lord Pike’s whereabouts.” Lord Marcus’s voice is cast low to avoid them being overheard, and Clarke attempts to keep her expression as neutral as possible. “You will have to announce his arrest soon or appear a tyrant.”

“I will,” She pauses, smiles at a pair of passing nobles. “Everything is falling into place.”

“I don’t need to tell you that there will be outcry and opposition.”

“You don’t,” She agrees, calmly. “It is not those foolish enough to disagree with me publicly who I fear, it is those who whisper in private.” Her brows furrow and she sighs softly. “There will be many whispers and I must master them.”

“I will endeavour to find someone who can help with that.” Lord Marcus informs her, and when her eyes cut to him he offers a small smile and says. “That is what it means to be Hand of the Queen isn’t it?”

“Indeed it is,” She smiles at him and for a moment it is as if nothing has changed between them. “I am glad to have you, Lord Marcus.”

“I am glad to be of service, your majesty,” His eyes soften and he continues. “Your mother will be here soon.”

A sigh escapes her before she can help herself and she rolls her eyes when Marcus smiles. “I am aware.”

“She will be glad to see you,” Lord Marcus presses and she can only incline her head in agreement as they step into the dark rose tunnel, where the scent is so heady it makes her head swirl. She can’t help but think of her moments with Finn here, where she saw more the boy he was than the weak king he became and her heart thuds with pain. In the darkness they are more hidden and Marcus feels able to say. “You should be kind to her.” 

“I know,” Clarke hesitates, brushing her fingers across the petal of a drooping rose, heavy under its own weight. “I just- it will be strange to see her.”

“She is still your mother.”

“I’m not the daughter she left behind,” Clarke protests, “She always wanted to protect me and in the end… that isn’t what I needed.”

“You may think you are more your father than your mother, but I see much of her in you too.” Marcus gives her a slight smile and he seems suddenly older than he has before.

“Sometimes I forget that you knew her long before even my father.” Clarke considers him, “When she was just a girl.”

Marcus arches an eyebrow in her direction. “Your mother was never ‘just a girl’, she was utterly wild in her youth. I fear I was never able to keep pace with her games as she would have liked.”

 “I- I never knew that,” She admits. “It always seemed that she wanted me to be the perfect lady.”

“By forcing you to learn your histories and healing?” Marcus shakes his head, “She was preparing you, even if you didn’t know it. When she met your father she changed, he brought something out in her that I’m sure not even she knew existed. She was so very in love with him.” When his eyes flicker to her they are filled with pain and sympathy and she feels her heart ache. “His death almost shattered her.”

She considers his words in silence, letting the heady scent of the roses surround her. It reminds her of home, of Highgarden, and watching her parents smile at one another over their meals, as if they had a secret they wouldn’t tell.

“I wanted her here,” She murmurs, at last, unable to meet Marcus’s eyes. “I needed her.”

 Marcus nods slowly, and his voice is filled with understanding when he answers. “One of the sad facts of becoming older is realising that the people we thought invincible are just as human as we are.” He places a hand on her shoulder, something she is sure he would not dare to do unless they were alone. “Forgive her, if you can.”

When they step out into the gardens again, Clarke tells herself that it is the sunlight making her blink away tears, rather than Lord Arryn’s words.

They round a corner and Clarke feels her lips twitching into a smile at the sight of an ever familiar figure approaching. Lexa is flanked by Anya and Lincoln, Faith and Honour at her sides, and her usual dark jerkin is replaced today by a light linen shirt and waistcoat in the brightness of the day. Princess Arianna is walking alongside her, speaking fervently about something, but the moment their eyes catch Lexa cannot seem to tear herself away. Arianna cuts herself off when she sees that she doesn’t have the queen’s full attention, and follows her gaze with a slight smirk.

“Your majesty,” Clarke greets her when they meet on their path.

“Your majesty,” Lexa returns, and there is a softness to her gaze that bellies her polite tone. “Lord Arryn,” She adds, and Clarke flushes a little, her eyes darting to Princess Arianna.

“Princess.”

 “Your majesty,” The princess’s eyes are filled with mirth and Clarke hurries to speak before she can say anything too obvious.

 “Are you enjoying the gardens?”

“They’re lovely,” Lexa answers her, almost too quickly.

“Have you seen the reflecting pool?” Clarke’s eyes can’t seem to leave her face, watching the play of sunlight across her smile. “It’s quite wonderful on a warm day.”

“We haven’t,” Lexa’s smile only grows when Clarke says. 

“I would be happy to show you.” 

“Unfortunately I have seen the reflecting pool many times,” Princess Arianna puts in, her lips twitching, “I should find my sisters, your majesties.”

“I will accompany you,” Lord Marcus bows his head to them both, and Clarke watches as the pair fall into step together and walk away.

When she meets Lexa’s gaze, the woman gives her a rueful smile and says, “We were only recently with her sisters.”

Clarke’s brows twitch and she bites back a grin as they begin to walk together down the sloping path towards the reflecting gardens. “The Princess has always known more than she ought.”

“It makes her a useful ally,” Lexa adds, and Clarke nods her agreement. “How are you finding your hand of the queen?” 

“Lord Marcus is a good man, sensible. He advises that I have Pike’s trial soon.”  Lexa hums her agreement as they make their way through the orange groves.

“It’s only a matter of time before people find out, better that they hear it from you first.”

 “You’re right,” Her fingers slip up to touch at the chain around her neck, where the key to Pike’s cell is settled in her bosom. “I just don’t want to leave anything to chance, he has to die for all that he’s done.”

“The Gods are just, Clarke,” There is something so certain to her words that Clarke’s eyes flicker over to her again. “He will pay for his crimes.” There is not a flicker of insincerity to her, and Clarke shakes her head, a little awed.

“I wish that I could still trust in the judgement of the gods,” She says, wearily, as they step through an old archway and into the deserted courtyard that holds the reflecting pool. “They do not seem just or good to me anymore.”

“I know that they are,” Lexa counters, very quietly and reaches out to brush a touch over Clarke’s elbow, drawing their eyes back together. “They brought us back together when all seemed lost.”

 Her breath catches in her throat and she can’t help but think that here, in this small, sunlit grove, Lexa looks more beautiful than any woman ever has before. Lexa’s cheeks are flushed with her words, but she doesn’t avert her gaze, and eventually it is Clarke that has to pull her eyes away, because she knows that if she doesn’t their lips will meet again. They fall into step together, the guards stationing themselves by the archway, and Clarke leads Lexa towards the shallow pool at the centre of the courtyard, lined with low brick and filled with water so clear that when Clarke leans over it she can see her reflection between the still lily pads. 

“It’s lovely here,” Lexa breaks the silence, her eyes wandering across the courtyard to take in the oak trees with branches that spread wide and leave a dappling of sunlight on the sandy cobblestone floor below their feet. “Very peaceful.”

“Not many people come here,” Clarke admits, walking slowly around the edge of the pool. “Wells and I came a lot when I was a girl, it was a good place to find some peace.”

“I can imagine,” Lexa’s smile is soft and fond, “You spent a lot of time in the capital growing up?”

Clarke nods, reaching down to touch at a lily pad and bump it gently into its counterparts, watching as the motion sends a shiver through the still pond. “My father was here often and he brought me with him. I spent a lot of time with Wells.”

“You must be glad to have him back,” Lexa’s eyes do not leave hers, even as she perches on the small wall beside the pool, watching from across it as Clarke nods, her breath catching in her throat. 

“I am,” She cannot bear to keep their eyes together as they speak. “I- It is a little strange, after everything that has happened.”

“I can imagine so,” When she chances a glance at her, Clarke finds Lexa’s expression softly sympathetic. 

“He was my best friend,” With a soft sigh, Clarke rounds the other side of the pond and takes a seat at Lexa’s side. Above them jasmine grows around the trunk of the gnarled old oak and wraps itself into the tree’s branches, twisting and clutching like fingers and drooping down around them when it becomes too heavy. It’s white flowers bloom in little clutches, the scent heavy in the air and when Clarke’s gaze flickers upwards she can see sunlight glimpsing from between its thick foliage. “And now…” She meets Lexa’s gaze, considering for a moment, “Lexa, Wells has a son.”

Lexa blinks, and her eyes widen. “A son?”

“He’s the reason that Pike could make him go to Oldtown and be with the maesters, he’s the reason Wells didn’t run or confess or fight.” Clarke shakes her head, a low, rough laugh escaping her. “Wells was never one to be irresponsible but this…” Her eyes meet Lexa’s again, something desperate and raw in them. “Sometimes I think that if I were only born a man my life would be so different.”

“The world is not forgiving for women like us,” Lexa agrees, lowly. “Will Wells reclaim the throne?”

“He says he doesn’t want it,” Clarke half shrugs. “I can’t imagine…”

“And he will let you keep it?” Lexa’s hand slides hesitantly across the top of the stone wall on which they sit, her fingers glancing delicately over the back of Clarke’s.

“He will,” Clarke turns her hand over and catches Lexa’s fingers with her own, lacing them together, and a ghost of s smile flickers across her lips when Lexa’s breath catches in her throat. 

“And do you want it?”

Clarke meets Lexa’s eyes, the green so deep and lovely she thinks she can smell the forests of the north from here, pine and woodsmoke. “Do I have a choice?”

“We always have a choice,” Lexa assures her, gently, and squeezes their fingers. “I think you will make the right one.”

“When Wells and I were children we would play here all the time,” Clarke glances back at the small, peaceful grove, sunlit and lovely. “Once, when it was the middle of the summer and the sun burned so hotly everyone retired to their chambers, we stripped down to our undergarments and splashed in the reflecting pool.” She can’t help the laugh that slips through her. “Our Septa was so furious she nearly boxed our ears.” 

Lexa is smiling at her story and her thumb strokes gently over the back of Clarke’s hand. “You and he were good friends.” At Clarke’s nod she continues, “I am sure he will understand whatever your decision is.” 

“You’re probably right,” With a soft sigh, she allows herself to lean gently against Lexa’s side. There is no one to see them and she feels so world weary that she can barely stand the ache in her heart. Lexa’s hand curls more tightly around hers and she is glad that from here she can’t see Lexa’s face as she says. “I am glad you’re here, is that selfish?” 

“I’m glad I’m here too.” Lexa admits, after a moment of silence, and when Clarke glances up at her, she sees a flicker of worry and yearning in her eyes. 

“Marcus says my mother will return very soon,” She promises, her heart heavy with the words. “She is the only person left who can help me charge Pike, once that is done you can return to Winterfell knowing all is well here.”

“I’m not sure if I want to leave,” Lexa confesses, and it feels so soft and still, like something that should not have been spoken aloud. Clarke’s breath catches in her throat and she cannot tear her gaze away from Lexa’s face. “I worry about Aden and my home and my people, of course I do, but-” Her eyes meet Clarke’s and there is something earth shattering there, something that balances on the knife edge of heartache. 

Clarke’s fingers tighten around hers and Lexa swallows. They are so close to one another that Clarke can count the speckles of gold in her eyes, like a smattering of stars across the night sky. Lexa’s lips part, rosebud pink and so soft, and Clarke fears that she will not be able to stop herself when a voice from the archway breaks their reverie. 

“Your majesty.”

An exhale escapes Clarke, shivering from her chest, and she feels Lexa squeeze her fingers once more before she pulls herself away and moves to stand, wandering around the reflecting pool to gaze down into it. Clarke’s hand clenches into a fist at the loss and her pulls in a long breath before finally standing to face Octavia, stood in the archway to the courtyard. 

“What is it, Octavia?” If there is a bite of harshness to her voice she is only glad that it isn’t shown in her expression. 

“There is an envoy here to see you, from the Iron Bank.” 

Clarke’s eyes widen, and she turns meet Lexa’s surprised gaze as the northern queen crosses the courtyard to stand by her side. 

“The Iron Bank? Your letter can’t have been that fast.”

“He awaits you in your private quarters, your majesty.” Octavia’s eyes flicker between them, and Clarke feels curiosity burn in her gut. 

“Maybe they came of their own will to meet the new queen,” She muses aloud, and Lexa nods. Her fingers glance over her sword. 

“May I accompany you?” She asks, and Clarke knows how difficult it is for her to pose the question. 

“Of course.”

---

When the doors to her private solar are swung open, the first thing she sees as she steps inside is Lord Marcus. He is stood near the window speaking with a figure whose back is turned, and he smiles upon seeing her enter, bowing his head respectfully. 

“Your majesty,” He greets her, “I was just welcoming Cage Wallace, the representative sent by the Iron Bank.”

“Thank you, Lord Arryn.” The words die in her throat, her body freezing like ice as the figure turns to look at her. Though his hair is cropped short like all of the Bravossi bankers and he wears the expensive, dark coloured robes that Dante Wallace had worn, his face is utterly unmistakable. It is the face of the man from whom she had squeezed the life the night of her wedding. 

Her mind spins, struggling and before she knows it she has taken a minute step backwards. Her fingers grasp for her dagger but she does not wear it. The man’s eyes are utterly unmistakable, dark with thick eyebrows above them, age just beginning to leave its lines in the creases of his face. He looks out at her passively and she grasps for something to say, anything at all. Lexa beats her to it. 

“Are you well?” She is looking at her with concern and her own fingers are dancing across the pommel of her blade. Her gaze is searching and hard, reading the terror in Clarke’s features, and Clarke’s gaze flickers from the man professing to be Cage Wallace to Lexa and back again. At her side, Faith growls low in the back of her throat. 

“Are you, your majesty?” Marcus has come to stand beside the man and Clarke has to bite back the urge to grab him and drag him away. 

“Do you have anything to prove that you are who you say you are?” She asks at last, and her voice shakes just slightly. 

“Of course,” Lord Marcus’s face clears, though Lexa’s does not, her gaze still fixed to Clarke curiously. “You are wise to be safe, your majesty, but I have met Cage Wallace before several times with his father and though my eyes are getting older I still recognise him. I can vouch for him.”

“I believe you met my father Dante,” The man speaks at last and Clarke’s heart beats even faster. “He brought you wine, as he recalled it, and was rather taken with you.”

The words settle within her like a rock in her stomach and as she runs her eyes over this man she knows quite suddenly that they are all in danger. There is something about him that prickles her skin, and makes Faith snarl and snap, and when her eyes find Lexa and Marcus again a shiver of fear runs through her. 

“I’d like to speak to Cage Wallace alone, if you wouldn’t mind.” The pronouncement surprises everyone, not least Lexa who stares at her, eyes wide. 

“If you wish, your majesty,” Lord Marcus says at last, beginning to gesture people from the room. Only Lexa remains, her gaze hot against Clarke’s face. 

“Are you sure you wouldn’t like me to remain?” There is a note of confusion and frustration to her voice that Clarke tries her best to ignore. 

“Quite sure,” Clarke gives a nod, and when Lexa goes to protest again talks over her, her voice as hard as she make it. “Leave us if you would, Queen Lexa.”

The man’s eyes dart to Lexa with interest when Clarke says her name and it is all she can do not to launch herself across the room and rip his eyes from her face for even daring to look her way. Eventually, Lexa nods unhappily and walks from the room, bristling with fury. Honour accompanies her, but Faith remains at Clarke’s side and for that Clarke is immensely glad. 

The moment the door shuts she spins on her heel and grabs at the ornate gold vase on a pedestal near the door. It is heavy and unwieldy, but she is sure that she could smash it through the man’s skull if she had to and that is enough for her. Faith’s growl becomes a low, rumbling roar of fury, and Clarke scowls at him, holding the vase high and ready. The man stares back at her, unmoving and unaffected by her violence. 

“Who are you?” She demands on a hiss, and in the bright sunlight the man puts his hands behind his back and regards her with an utterly blank expression. 

“A man is no one.”

The words perplex and baffle her and she bristles at them, her grip on the vase not dropping. “No one is no one. You have- your face-”

“My face is not my own face.” The man says, quite simply and terror curls through Clarke’s heart at the words. 

“You’re a- you’re a faceless man,” She concludes aloud, her breath almost choking her. 

“A man is no one,” He says again, and then continues, “But for your court, I am Cage Wallace, banker of Braavos.” As he speaks something in his voice and manner changes, a sly smirk curling at the corners of his lips. “Cage Wallace is well known here, though not well liked. It was easy enough to find his way in the castle and get an audience with the queen of the south.”

“And you’re here to kill me,” She concludes, proud that her voice doesn’t shake. “Properly this time.”

“A man is not here to kill you, Queen Clarke.” His manner drops again, becoming unnervingly calm and blank. “It is not what the Many Faced God wills.”

“The Many Faced…” Her arms are beginning to ache but she cannot let her grip on her weapon go. She has not fought this hard to be baited into an easy kill now. 

“A man cannot kill out of anger or fear,” The assassin explains, his voice measured, as if he were talking of the seasons or the harvest. “To do so is to steal from the Many Faced God, a man may only kill when the price is right and the Many Faced God wills it.”

“And he- he does not will my death any longer?” Clarke feels spun out, like a child with her eyes blindfolded and twisted in circles.

“He does not.” The assassin confirms, nodding once. 

“Why not?” She can feel her voice ricocheting up with anger and fear. Where he is so emotionless and blank, she finds her own feelings bubbling to the surface despite herself. “Why change his mind now?”

Here, the assassin does smile just slightly. “Twice the Many Faced God has been asked to give you the gift of death and twice you have evaded him. You have evaded the gift that comes for us all.”

“It- it was three times,” She can’t help but correct him. 

“No, it was twice.” The man lifts his hand to his face and with one pinch he draws the face he wears away and sets it upon the long table between them. Beneath it is at entirely different face, with light eyes and darker skin. She knows enough not to think that it is the man’s real face. “Cage Wallace came to us from the Iron Bank and asked the Many Faced God for your death three times. Twice the Many Faced God tried to give you the gift of death and we did not succeed. When Cage Wallace came the third time, we refused him. It was clearly not the will of the Many Faced God for you to die.”

“But- but Cage’s face changed when I killed him, he was one of you.” Clarke protests, furiously, her grip on the vase slackening just slightly. At her side Faith is still growling softly, her hackles raised and her fur bristling. 

“Cage Wallace found out enough about us to know our craft,” The man’s face twists with displeasure, the most emotion Clarke has seen from him since she stepped into the room. “He fooled one of our novices and stole a face. It seemed he thought a face was all it took to kill someone.” A ghost of pleasure crosses his features. “You proved him wrong.”

“So why are you here?” Clarke cannot tear her eyes away from him. “If not to kill me, what do you want?”

“A life was taken from you using our craft.” He reaches into his robe and sets a heavy iron coin onto the table between them. “You are owed a life Clarke of House Tyrell. Choose one and the Many Faced God shall take it for you.”

With trembling fingers, she reaches out and takes the coin from the table, turning it within her hands. On one side is a man, whose face is blank beneath his hood, and on the other side are words. 

“Valar morghulis,” She reads aloud, her brows furrowing. 

“All men must die,” The assassin translates for her and she can feel his expectant gaze resting on her. “You may pick only one, however.”

Her eyes stay fixed to the heavy coin, turning it over and over in her hands, her fingers finding the grooves and ridges. She has had so many enemies over her time, so many people whose death would serve her well and now when faced with the choice she cannot think on one name. Pike sits on the tip of her tongue, like a habit, but she knows that if he were to be killed by an assassin he would only become a martyr to his cause and rally his people behind him. A wet nose pressing against her hand pulls her from her thoughts and she looks down to see Faith’s large head at her side, eyes gazing up at her. In that moment she knows what she will do. 

“I don’t want you to take a life,” She says finally, her voice low. Her eyes flicker up to meet his. “I want you to save one.”

He blinks, a flicker of surprise in his gaze. “Save a life.” He echoes, “We are assassins.”

“You owe me a life,” She reminds him, immediately, and curls her fingers over the coin. “I choose this one.”

He stares at her for a long moment, thinking on her words, before finally nodding. “Alright then, Queen Clarke. “We will protect a life for you. Simply say their name.”

She takes a deep breath and runs her fingers over the words on the coin again. All men must die, but they are not men. 

“Lexa of House Stark, the Queen in the North.”

---

When the Faceless Man leaves, she slips her way down to Grand Maester Orrin’s chambers, where the body of her attempted assassin lies upon a cold stone slab as the old man attempted to discover anything about his mystical powers.

When she steps into the room, a torch held aloft, her breath splutters. The face of the man on the slab is utterly blank, and upstairs in her chambers she finds that the assassin had left the face of Cage Wallace, perfectly preserved.

[trackmag]

Turtle Doves And Pigeon Shit

Romanticism And James Blake`s Can`t Believe The Way We Flow

Romanticism could be argued to be outdated, but once we look beyond the clichés and grasp the ideas behind it, we become aware of its relevance today; In how we live, in what we believe in and argue about. 

James Blake released the album Assume Form in 2019. He so far has released 5 Music Videos alongside it, one of which is the video for “Can`t Believe The Way We Flow” directed by none other than Frank Lebon. Frank`s approach to his videos and work so far has been a lush and somewhat wild mixture of techniques and media, leaving him with a massive pot of footage and tools for the hours he spends editing. To some degree even this approach of mixed media is in a sense very true to the fashion, believe and tradition of romanticism. This and many other aspects of the video, is what I hope to discuss and further investigate in the following TRCKMG entry. 

Still 01, Can`t Believe The Way We Flow, 2019.

A Short Introduction To Romanticism

Romanticism. I am not referring to roses, boxes of chocolates and the numerous red silk bows we see on valentine`s day. I hereby am referring to an epoch also known as the romantic period. Speaking roughly of romanticism we think of a time between the end of the 18th towards the end of the 19th century. This slice of our history is marked by many very major political and cultural events across Europe and the globe. Some worth mentioning here would be the French revolution (which is often believed to be a starting point of the French romanticist movement) and the industrialization, marked by heavy machinery, steam engines, factories and therefore factory labour. We do, however, believe that the origin of romanticism as a term and way of thinking lies in Germany. Friedrich Schlegel, a German philosopher, author and poet first used the term “romantisch” believed to be in reference to the word “Roman” which is German for novel. Romantic therefore being “novel-like”.

From there on romanticism spread fast across Europe supported by the events described earlier. More than just a fashion moment, romanticism describes a different way of thinking in direct contrast (and perhaps in protest) to the inhumane labour happening in factories caused by the industrial revolution. People needed to believe in something, in more relevant things, in nature, in purity, in emotion and in beauty. So not surprisingly romanticism manoeuvred like a wave, spreading across fine art, literature, poetry and even medicine. What we can see in many paintings of that time, are vast and lush landscapes. Nature at its most triumphant, often alongside a tiny human figurine, humbled by mother nature, reminding the human of his place and scale in this world. This emphasized by the Lyrics in the song: “I`m finding I`m a smaller piece than I thought. Oh no I really am”. Even back then, the immediate threat facing the natural world was carefully depicted in William Wordsworth`s poetry with the arrival of factory buildings and nearby compounds of living quarters for the workers. 

Painting by Hans Gude, “Fra Hardanger”, 1847.

With this surface level introduction to romanticism, we now can take a closer look at the actual Music Video for “Can`t Believe The Way We Flow”:

Act One: Red Lit Couples

Still 02, Can`t Believe The Way We Flow, 2019.

The Video starts off with a zoom into a mirror. The reflective image reveals James sitting on a bench. The continuation of the zoom is made with invisible cuts while dark silhouettes pass by, covering James for a mere flash of a blacked out frame. He appears closer and closer after each such black-out. Meanwhile you can hear the pigeons take flight, signalling a start to the song and video - take off. And with the first pigeon shit landing on James` cheek, it`s clear the video with its main plot now begins and the subjects appear. 

The 2nd time we hear Can`t Believe The Way We Flow in the Lyrics, the lips of the red lit couples meet. The images flashing by are fragments of their lives in relationships. We aren`t meant to immediately understand who they are, where they`re coming from and maybe more importantly what exactly they`re up to. We only see aspects that should be familiar to anyone who`s ever been in a relationship. For instance, being the most intimate during breakfast where spontaneous conversations can leave you happy as ever or absolutely gutted and devastated, maybe also depending on what occured the night before. 

Another place where we find a kind of intimacy where the shared space really gets noticeable to us as lovers, is the bathroom. Apart from the hints of breakfast scattered throughout the video there`s also the toilet. Waste. The toilet which stereotypically always seems to spark arguments. Flush the damn thing, put the seat down, put it up and then down. But it`s also the same space in which we share our toothpaste, standing in front of the mirror before bed. Leading conversations whilst getting ready to go out together. The point being, these images are highly familiar and highly emotional to us. The small window in which Frank lets these images flash across our screens is enough for us to recognize and connect. These are couples in their banalities. We aren`t meant to understand how they got there and where they`re going. We`re supposed to draw from our own experiences, our own relationships when seeing these fragments and glimpses into their lives. It`s a reflection. We still are looking into that same mirror from the first shot of the video, remember? 

Still 03, Can`t Believe The Way We Flow, 2019.

Cut between the kisses is a 2D animated kiss, in the same style as the quick drawing we saw flash by on a table earlier. It might be a glimpse into the Storyboard for the video, adding another layer and texture to the visuals. This approach alone can also be read as a nod to romanticism as there was a high exchange between different media and artists. Poets and painters, novelists and sculptor. All echoing and responding to eachother`s work. 

Throughout all of this we see James remain seated on that same bench, from the very first frame of the video. An observer. In romanticism, as a response to the capitalist mentality, the flâneur describes a person seen wandering around with nowhere to be or go. Observant, most likely unemployed, playful and sensitive to his surroundings. James is very likely maintaining this role in the video. The careful bystander, observing the beauty around him. Beauty that lies hidden for most others in their hectic lives. 

Act Two: Pigeons, Cupid and a Gun

Still 04, Can`t Believe The Way We Flow, 2019.

A culmination of shots of pigeons (and some seagulls) in flight. Close-up of a pigeon`s face, slowly revealed to be sitting on someone`s head. This someone is Frank Lebon`s dad, photographer Mark Lebon. Here he`s also cupid. A cupid who has aged and traded his bow and arrow off for a knotted sniper gun. 

Cupid is often described as a winged, nude, young boy armed with bow and arrow. He`s usually depicted as somewhat cruel and mischievous, very aware of what emotional turmoil he can cause in people. Cupid as a figure derives from roman mythology and is considered to be the god of love, or rather the god of being in love. The roman cupid is also understood to be somewhat based on the Greek god Eros, who some believe was a son to the goddess Venus. Eros and Cupid can`t be defeated, any- and everyone falls victim to them and their power. In the following painting, artist Julius Kronberg captured Cupid in his full demeanour in 1885, so towards the end of classic romanticism:

Painting by Julius Kronberg, Cupid, 1885.

Now in comparison to Frank`s take on Cupid we immediately notice the age difference. The world in many ways has become what romanticists had feared; Industrial, concrete, consumerist. Perhaps Cupid had to adjust to survive? Lose his wings and grow up. Wrapped in what seems to be a pvc jacket, not unlike the medical protective suits we currently see a lot. His outfit also contains sketches and scribbles of genitalia. Colours white and red, famously used in the medical field, also symbolizing purity, lust, sin and romance. He`s also wearing red earrings and cufflinks decorated with a more traditional depiction of cupid. 

The gun on the other hand, knotted, could also be a nod to the Non-Violance sculpture by Carl Fredrik Reuterswärd, which is in New York. Perhaps a rather twisted musical reference, as that sculpture was made in remembrance of John Lennon. The seemingly unusable gun however, does hold a heart shaped scope through which the absent minded and complacent looking Cupid is aiming to find his next victims. 

Enrolling the pigeons to take over the flying and firing arrows part, they soon after take flight once again and a montage of numerous pigeon shit landings are shown, including another drawn Animation of the pigeons` droppings turning into a falling human figurine. Perhaps falling, as in falling in Love, falling for you. Cupid bringing or rather dropping this person into your life. This sequence is concluded by acts of violence followed by tenderness. A slap, a hit, like when love “hits” you. Shortly followed by a gentle caress of the cheek, as though nothing ever happened. So in love that you`re not aware of the violence and force it potentially holds. Another short Animation, single flower turns into a tree, which transforms into a couple in love, a heart in the middle. 

Act Three:

Cut to seagulls instead of doves above James. Perhaps accentuating him to be different from all others around him, once again emphasizing his role as flâneur? Or maybe it`s just a subtle teaser for his following music video for I`ll Come Too, which was the next release, featuring a penguin and an albatross.

The couples, still lit in red are holding hands, and then facing the camera. Every individual on their own, staring into the lens, or at their partner. Keeping the mirror in mind from the beginning, this is another very common way for cinema, film and video to become reflexive (film with self-awareness) challenging the viewer in their passiveness and voyeurism. 

Still 05, Can`t Believe The Way We Flow, 2019.

The doves once again present by appearing as illustrations on the cushions of one couple. All the people involved appear in lettering over the faces of the couples, including a cameo by the director. Another beautifully added layer to this multimedia approach that lends it`s charm and texture to the entire complex romantic experience. 

There`s so much more to see and discover in the video than what I have tried to contain in this analysis. I do hope you`ll go on a search yourselves. The video for James Blake`s song Cant Believe The Way We Flow is linked below: 

[imagine-myhero]

Hero

Pairing: Dabi x F!Reader

Warnings: Abuse, Violence, Mild Angst

Summary:  You’d follow him anywhere, you both start to realize, because he saved you.

He had been assigned to find and evaluate potential recruits for the League of Villains. The ‘Boss’ had his own list of names for Dabi to look into in addition to his own field work, and he was disappointingly underwhelmed by each name he ended up crossing off the list. None of them had the right ideals, the right quirks, or the right skill to avoid being reduced to ashes by Dabi’s burning, blue flames. That was the test after all—if these wannabes couldn’t even last more than five minutes against himself, they didn’t belong in the League.

The current name on his list is Tenjin Masakawa, but he goes by the name Animosity due to his quirk of taking on the physical traits of animals. It’s a quirk with a wide range of use which can be beneficial to the League, so Dabi takes to watching him carefully. He spends most of his time in an underground fighting ring—not fighting himself, to Dabi’s surprise, but organizing and managing the money and enforcing. He’s a business man, likely with roots in the Yakuza or even the Mafia given his partial Italian heritage, and he is ruthless. As far as Dabi can tell, the man has no real ambition other than having as much money, drugs, and prostitutes as possible and as many people under his thumb to dispose of like chess pawns as he pleased. It’s disgusting.

That just makes it all the more surprising when he sees you for the first time. Animosity finally left the fighting ring after a couple of days and made his way to a luxurious home on the edge of town. Dabi hadn’t expected him to a have a wife waiting for him there; he didn’t seem like the type. You look fragile and meek beside the hulking beast that was Animosity, and when you speak to him your voice is as gentle as the rest of you looked. However, the hideous purple and blue bruising littering your body is anything but gentle. You are careful to avoid direct eye contact and keep your bandaged hands behind your back at all times, presenting your front in a show of submission commonly used among animals. It’s pitiful.

His blue eyes watch on with blazing intensity as Animosity raises his clawed hand, as you flinch in anticipation, as the loud crack of his blow rings through the slightly open window to his home, and as you disappear from his sight when you fall.

For a moment Animosity looks burning red and you look wintry white and Dabi feels a familiar terrible pit in his stomach.

It’s absolutely repulsive.

He steels himself. He’s not that person anymore. That’s not his past anymore.

Animosity barks an order at you, but it’s muffled and Dabi can’t hear it, before he leaves you and goes upstairs. Dabi doesn’t follow his trail this time; instead, he stays still and watches through the window. He feels his calves burn from the stretch to see past the windowsill to the floor where you lay, but he forces his heels back to the ground before he can see you.

He’s not that person anymore.

But still he doesn’t move until he sees you pick yourself up from the ground, three jagged claw marks freshly bleeding from your cheek and fresher tears burning in your eyes. You bite your quivering lip for a moment before taking a deep, shaky breath. You push the tears down and head down the hall.

Dabi does follow this time, adjusting around the corner of the gated house to peer through the bathroom window (he briefly notes how unwise it is to have all your windows open). He watches as you tend to your wound, disinfecting it and wrapping it up. You then pause for a moment, just staring at your own reflection in the mirror. Dabi stares at you just as observantly.

You then turn and your eyes almost meet his; he has to duck away to ensure he isn’t seen, but he still can’t stop himself from watching you. His heart races as your eyes search where he was just seconds ago and for a moment he fears his cover is blown until he realizes you are looking less outside and more at the window itself, as if just now realizing that it is open. The look on your face reads distress as you quickly reach over and draw the blinds.

Dabi is quick to follow you around the perimeter of your home as you rush from window to window, drawing the curtains over them all. He sees you take a bottle of nearly black beer from the fridge and a thick cigar from the counter before drawing the curtains on the final window and watches your silhouette fade from view as you finally go upstairs to Animosity.

He pauses when he hears the muffled bellows of the animal you’re dealing with, and his fists clench tightly as the sound stirs repressed memories. Without being able to look at you, the memories are stronger stimulated by the sound of shouts and breaking glass. His hands heat up as he feels rage and buried anguish surface in his chest; the feeling of his childhood clawing painfully at his ankles for attention has him all but sprinting away from your home.

He needs a drink.

*

Dabi is watching Animosity again, but despite his denial he realizes he’s looking more for a window of opportunity and less for intel. He knows all he needs to know. He decides today is a good enough day; he doesn’t feel like wasting another day on someone he’s sure is a failed candidate. Plus an aggravated fighter picked a fight with Animosity tonight and the brute got a nasty wound on his ribs from it before he could break the fighter’s neck.

He follows the limping beast home, noticing how agitated he is the whole way as he destroys public property at random and shouts at anyone who even glances his way. He’s also been so hunched over that it nearly looks like he’s bounding on all fours. When he arrives home, he is screaming your name before he even enters the doorway. You’re quick to appear before him, looking both meek and courageous all at the same time.

“Fix this!” Animosity roars dangerously. You hold reluctance in your eyes. You’ve been in this situation before. The man in front of you is a wounded animal; he knows you can aid him, but his instincts insist that you stay away. You’ve endured many injuries when he’s like this, and it’s all the more frustrating because you don’t even want to help him in the first place. Your hesitance enrages Animosity, and the next thing both you and Dabi see is his enormous hand wrapped tightly around your throat, sharp teeth bared. Your eyes widen and your mouth gapes, trying desperately to draw in air.

Dabi decides to initiate the test now.

In an instant, Dabi blows down your door in a rush of blue flames. You stare at him in shock, but Animosity quickly reacts and snarls viciously. He swings his arm and rips a gash into Dabi’s chest, knocking him back. Dabi lets out a pained grunt; a wounded beast is much more dangerous than a calm one.

“This is my territory. Beat it, two legs!”

To Hell with the test, Dabi decides. Hot flames lick up Dabi’s hands and arms as he grins maliciously at the man in front of you. You act quickly, digging your heel into the wound on Animosity’s side, making him howl and throw you to the ground in response. Before he can tear you apart, the blue flames rush to engulf him completely. He screams and roars in pain, writhing and falling until he is nothing more than a charred husk on the floor. You stare at his body in horror, the smell of burning flesh overwhelming you.

The man controlling the fire doesn’t move; his striking blue eyes just stare at you, almost as bright as the fire slowly dying out in his hands. You notice his black, messy hair and the decayed, scarred skin beneath his eyes and along the expanse of his jaw held together with metal staples. You watch as crimson blood wets and stains the front of his white T-shirt, but his face betrays no weakness. You stand on wobbly feet, clumsily making your way to him and carefully avoiding the smoking body heaped on the ground. He doesn’t move still, but his ever ignited eyes pierce you and never stray.

You stop just inches from him and let out a shaky breath as you finally break the eye contact, instead directing your gaze to his wound. You bring your hands up and suddenly a shimmering bio-field covers the expanse of his broken flesh. Within seconds, he felt the tingling sensation of his skin coming back together, sealing as if it had never been sliced open to begin with. When you drop your hands, Dabi peels away the collar of his shirt, still wet with his own blood, and is shocked to see no injury (well, aside from the scarring that had marred his skin for years now). He gazes back at you to ask about it but stops when he sees your expression.

“You saved me…” You whisper softly, eyes still trained on his chest where his wound once was, “You’re my hero.”

The word ‘hero’ snaps Dabi out of it and he lets out an amused laugh, surprising you. “I'm no hero, doll.” He says simply, a smirk still tugging at his lips. As he stares at you, an idea forms.

The League could use a healer like you.

Excitement sparks within him as he brings his hand to your neck, wiping the blood from where Animosity’s claws had pierced your flesh. Slowly, his own hand closes gently around your throat, making you gasp softly. Your doe eyes watch him carefully, but trust still lies within them. Trust.

You’d follow him anywhere, you both start to realize, because he saved you.

“Come with me.” He commands in a husky tone, his smirk only widening when your eyes go big.

Who would’ve thought that when he got sent out to recruit some vile beast for the League, he’d end up taking the little lamb home instead?

“Yes…” You answer breathily, eyes fearless and gentle as they gazed back at him admiringly.

For a moment, Dabi feels protective of you. He thinks about the way you called him a hero, a ghost of a smile gracing your lips, and a warm fire burned within him.

His hand tightens slightly on your throat as he guides your face to his, just inches away. He barely hears the soft sigh coming from you and feels your breath on his skin. A wild grin spreads across his face at the deliciously innocent look on your face.

He’s not that person anymore.

His hand relaxes and instead goes to cup the back of your neck, fingers tangling in your hair and thumb pressing against the skin behind your ear. You watch him through half-lidded eyes.

Right?