#hiding this in the tags to not sway results if this ends up making rounds

[sad-leon]

This poll inspired by a discord convo i watched happen,, somewhere,,, <- i forgor what server it was in, but i've been meaning to make this poll for a while

[harryandmolly]

fear and loathing in mandeville canyon *7* - final

A/N: thanks for hanging out, guys. always a pleasure 💜

summary: Shawn & Lilly, derailed, detoured, but maybe not destroyed

warnings: language, butter, adulting

wc: 5.6k

----------

Lilly takes shallow breaths, all her tight core will allow as she carefully raises her legs back up over her head. The pressure at the crown is almost unbearable -- she’s probably still not totally strong enough to support all her weight in her core and arms like this in a tripod headstand, but she’s never been able to successfully raise her legs off the floor. So she can ignore the pesky brain pulsing. For a few seconds.

Lilly huffs and lowers her legs slowly, spread as wide as she can get them, until her feet hit the floor, taking some of the weight off her head. She unfurls to sit, blinks quickly and grins, catching a glimpse of her bright eyes and flushed cheeks in the reflection of the open glass door. Lilly straightens her back and admires herself, strong and stable, the result of a lot of hard fucking work.

She completes her practice as directed by her perky online instructor and lies in supported fish pose a little longer than usual. She rolls her hips, noticing the way it affects each notch of vertebrae in her back.

Her phone buzzes beside her mat. Her nose twitches as she fights a smile. She glances at it, though she doesn’t need to to know who it is.

Shawn: you coming?

Lilly closes her eyes and types back by muscle memory.

Lilly: shhhhh I’m zen

She rests her phone on her stomach and enjoys the way the night breeze sifts through the room.

The phone makes an angrier but muffled sound on her skin. She checks it, expecting a whining plea or a series of emojis. Instead her jaw drops and she chokes on a breath and pushes herself to sit.

Lilly knows this house as well as her own now. She traces her fingers lovingly along the hallway walls as she winds her way down the stairs and follows the music. It’s Harry Styles, which explains a lot.

The sliding doors to the pool are unlatched but shut to keep out the dreaded mosquitos. It’s past dusk now, the sky will go from cobalt to midnight soon. The pool lights make the water glow a smooth, clean turquoise. It’s interrupted by the boy in the shallow end with his arms hanging on the side, wearing a smirk that barely contains a goofy grin.

Lilly toes carefully over the gravel, hissing as it bites at her feet. The song changes to “Watermelon Sugar,” which incidentally is very appropriate, given the contents of his last text. He notices it too and that smirk gets even dopier.

Lilly shakes her head and glides to the edge of the pool, curling her opalescent painted toes over the edge. She crosses her arms and waves her phone.

“Is this a tease or an actual invitation?”

Shawn lifts a shoulder coyly. He draws a hand into the water and wiggles his fingers through it, looking casual. “Both, I guess. I got you out here, didn’t I?”

Lilly laughs and nods, glancing around. He already grabbed towels for them both when he came out here an hour ago to do laps, part of his regular routine now.

She hears movement in the water and looks down to see him wading toward her. He blinks innocently through wet, dark lashes and places a gentle kiss to each of her big toes, then rests his cheek on her feet.

“Your sushi’s inside on the counter,” he murmurs.

Lilly nods. “I’ll get it later.”

While his eyes are down, Lilly lifts her ribbed crop tank over her head and tosses it on a nearby chair. He lifts his head in time to watch her bare nipples harden in the breeze. His eyes bulge.

“Uh oh, I’m in trouble now,” he teases, kicking off the wall to float on his back as he watches her undress. She wriggles out of her leggings and panties while keeping her eyes on the hills and valleys of his torso.

As she rounds the corner of the pool to take the stairs, Shawn straightens up, sniffing and pushing his hands back through his hair. He opens his arms to her. She walks right in, tucking her arms and legs around him. His content sigh is so heavy the water ripples around them.

His hands wander her back and tangle in the ends of her hair, which looks redder and silkier in the water. Their heads rest side by side like they each need the other to hold them up. Lilly turns her face into his ear, giving his cartilage a lick and greedily sniffling the chlorine in his hair.

“I’m pretty sure that’s the dirtiest text you’ve ever sent me.”

She feels him chuckle and holds him even tighter. He scoops his hands down around her ass and starts to wade deeper into the water.

“You inspire me,” Shawn whispers, swaying with her toward the edge, where he can pin her up against the tile wall. She hisses upon contact with the cool stone and he takes the opportunity to steal a kiss.

It’s languid, exploring. She’s pretty sure he knows better than to try to fuck her in the pool. That’s only hot in movies. She thinks maybe he just missed her.

“How’d it go today?” she hums.

“Good. Mostly. There are still a few pieces that need to come together for the first two tracks and I’m still not quite getting what I want for track eight, but it was productive.”

Despite their circumstances, Lilly and Shawn have been pseudo-functional adults lately. Once the tent (as they’ve taken to calling the makeshift recording booth) went up, Shawn buckled down to focus on recording and working with producers and the other musicians tracking instruments. Lilly has finally tossed herself full time into writing, breaking for yoga and snacks and to visit him, if she’s super quiet, which she’s not, so she always gets politely kicked out after a take or two.

“How ‘bout you?”

Lilly pecks at the corner of his mouth and nods. “Also good. I almost totally rewrote that scene from yesterday but honestly I feel a lot better about it. It has some life in it now.”

“Good,” Shawn purrs, aiming his lips down at her shoulder. She smiles and tilts her nose into his hair again. Greedy, greedy.

“And… I finally did it.”

Shawn lifts his head and watches her like her face will give him a clue. In a matter of seconds, he lights up.

“Shut the fuck up. The whole way?”

Lilly’s cheeks scrunch with the effort of her smile. “The whole way. Probably killed a bunch of brain cells, but I did it.”

“Lill, that’s nuts! That’s so awesome!” he cries, squeezing her tighter, “Shit, I wanted to film it! I was gonna put it on Insta and tag you as #fitspo!”

Lilly snorts and drops her forehead to rest against his. “What a fun way to announce us to the world.”

“That I’m having really hot yoga sex with my really hot, stretchy girlfriend? I love that for me.”

Lilly cackles, dropping her head back against the stone. Shawn plods kisses up her throat.

“Will you show me later?” he asks, speaking into her wet skin.

“Not tonight, you’re going to be very busy, remember?”

Shawn goes quiet and still for a moment, then jolts with a laugh. “Uh huh, right. So busy. All night long kinda busy.”

Lilly can’t hide her squirm. Shawn gathers her in off the wall so she’s plastered against him, their noses brushing.

“That’s the best kind of busy.”

+

“Don’t headbutt me, don’t headbutt me, don’t headbutt me…”

Lilly’s quite sure he can’t hear her, even though he’s lying on top of her. He refused to get out of bed to get the phone charging cord, so he rolled over onto Lilly, his head on her chest under the sheets, as his hand flails toward the ground.

Lilly’s face scrunches up as he grunts and wriggles.

“Don’t headbutt me, don’t--”

“Huh?”

Shawn lifts his head straight into Lilly’s chin, even as she tries at the last second to tilt it away. His enormous head smacks into the base of her jaw, making her clench down on her tongue. She wails.

“Shit! Fuck, I’m sorry!”

The cord is forgotten. Shawn pushes himself up over her and cups her jaw, nudging his lips over the bridge of her nose. He pulls back after a few seconds to inspect her.

Lilly swats at him. “Fuck. God, you’re like Megamind only… less blue. I think my tongue is bleeding.”

She sticks her tongue out and lifts her eyebrows. “Ih ih ee-ing?”

Shawn looks closer. “Nope.” He cradles her face in both hands and kisses her soundly, sliding his tongue against hers, pressing a warm sigh out of her sleepy morning body.

“There, all better,” he determines, folding himself down beside her.

“That’s as close to vampirism as I ever hope to get with you,” Lilly grumbles, reaching for her phone. She allows his apology kisses as she scrolls through Twitter and brushes her toes against his calf.

Her shoulders drop. She exhales and puts the phone down. The sheet comes up over her head. Shawn follows curiously.

“What?”

She’s quiet for a few seconds. “Lover Fest is cancelled.”

Shawn makes a murmur of acknowledgement and tucks his arm around her, pulling the covers higher over both of them. The morning light is diffused through the clean white sheet.

“You kinda knew it would be, though,” he points out, sounding dejected for her.

Lilly’s face crumples into a pout. “I mean, yeah, but I just think it sucks that the universe has chosen to keep me from Taylor. My spiritual big sister. My celestial homegirl. Fate keeps us apart and its cruelty is weighing on me.”

Lilly feels safe enough to get melodramatic in front of Shawn for several reasons, not the least of which is that he, too, can pitch an impressive fit when he wants to. He also chooses not to judge her for complaining about a cancelled concert when millions of people around the world are sick and dying, of which she’s well aware. The guilt hits her secondarily, a privilege in and of itself.

“I’m so gross. I have no right to be upset about this right now.”

Shawn lifts some coppery strands out of her face and tucks them behind her ear. “You’re allowed to care about both.”

Lilly remains grouchy and unconvinced.

“Plus, the universe can’t keep you from Taylor forever, since we’re friends.”

Lilly keeps her eyes down and sucks at her front teeth. Shawn nudges her.

“What?”

Lilly’s expression doesn’t change, save for her eyebrows lifting. Her eyes remain unfocused on her legs. Shawn noses at her temple. Her eyes shut.

“Lillian, what?”

Lilly squirms and lifts the sheet over their heads, letting the world back in. She slides out of his arms and out of the bed, crossing to the chair for her cozy shorts and a big shirt.

“... nothing. It’s nothing.”

She knows she’s not getting away with it, not even close. She doesn’t want to look at him to see just how much she’s not pulling this off.

“Baby, come on.”

Lilly takes a long moment to blink and turns to face him. He’s shirtless and flushed in their rumpled sheets. She tilts her head and sighs, drifting back to him. She gets a knee up on the bed and slides her fingers into his curls. They seem to hug around them like her hand belongs there. He’s staring up at her like a woodland creature.

“Nothing. We should stop fucking and go call our moms before they realize that we’re total heathens.”

Shawn swallows uneasily but seems ready to drop it, for now. He takes her wrist to his lips and chuckles.

“My mum already knows.”

“About you, maybe, not about me.”

Shawn smirks and releases her, watching Lilly trail off in search of a cozy phone spot.

“Tell your mom happy mother’s day from me,” he calls.

Lilly looks back at him as she pads down the hall. “And tell yours from me.”

+

Lilly watches, entranced, as each pat of butter melts seamlessly into the silky pot of mashed potatoes. She’s not thinking, she’s not measuring, just feeling. Butter. Butter. More butter. She adds a whole stick before she realizes what she’s doing. Her gaze darts over her shoulder. Shawn is facing away from her at the other countertop, muttering to himself as he pulls out ingredients for Yorkshire puddings. She mashes her lips together and turns back, whisking hard to incorporate all her sins.

Cooking has become nearly as meditative as yoga recently. After spending their first few weeks together abusing their bodies in different ways, cooking feels like healing now. The grill took them a few attempts to master, and they side-stepped some potentially life threatening disasters to do it, but now they char slabs of eggplant and zucchini and ears of corn wrapped in tinfoil. They roast potatoes in the oven with fresh herbs and olive oil. Cooking brings them together at the end of the day and gives them a way to take care of each other and themselves.

Mother’s Day presented the perfect opportunity to expand their repertoires and distract themselves from missing their families. The Sunday roast was Lilly’s idea -- whole roast chicken with thyme butter, creamy mashed potatoes, roasted root veggies and Yorkshire puddings with gravy. Mother’s Day Sunday roast is a Mendes family tradition, one Shawn hasn’t been around for in a few years. He had hoped to be home for this one. Lilly decides to bring some home to him.

His arm is hard and warm, wriggling between the stove and her waist as he winds it around her. His other hand presents her with a glass of white. She accepts the kiss on the side of her neck and pretends to stir to look busy.

“Oh, hi,” she murmurs into the wide-bowled glass.

“Oh, hi,” he chuckles, giving her a squeeze, “I saw the butter.”

Lilly huffs. “Goddamnit.” She can’t shake her stupid smile though. He was watching her when she wasn’t watching him.

“Gonna kill us both,” he purrs into her skin, like he doesn’t mind one bit.

“My plan all along.”

Shawn hums in response and backs off, to Lilly’s chagrin.

“Batter’s ready, chef.”

Lilly turns the range down low to keep the potatoes warm. She turns and waves him over, gloving her hand with an oven mitt to get the hot muffin tin from the pre-heated oven. She holds it as Shawn pours batter into each cup.

“The trick my mom taught me is not to open the oven door once they’re in there,” Shawn reports with a nod, watching as Lilly closes the door and sets a timer. Lilly glances at him suspiciously.

“This isn’t my first rodeo, kid, who do you think you’re talking to?”

Shawn raises his eyebrows, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “An American.”

Lilly’s eyes bulge and her jaw drops. She swats him across the chest with her mitt, but lets him cradle her up against him anyway.

“You take that back!” she squeaks.

“I know, I’m sorry, I know you hate being reminded.”

Lilly and Shawn sit on the floor and watch the little popovers rise. They don’t open the oven door even once until the timer goes off.

Lilly puts on John Mayer again over the house speakers. They’re eating in the actual dining room today to be fancy, figuring their setting should match their food.

“He’s been soothing my achy soul lately,” Lilly sighs, dropping into her seat, immediately crossing her legs so her foot brushes up against him. Shawn nods absently but his eyes narrow a little at his potatoes. Lilly’s grin takes up half her face.

“You’re jealous!”

Shawn completes the eye roll his face was begging him for. He finishes chewing and sits back to glare at her. “Of course I’m jealous. Why is my music not enough for your achy soul? Why do you need Mayer?”

The teasing lilt in Shawn’s voice just makes Lilly laugh harder. “You love him even more than I do.”

“I do,” he sighs, “Maybe we could FaceTime with him soon and he can soothe you directly.”

Lilly feels herself going magenta. Shawn doesn’t toss around his celebrity weight, or even work his friend connections very often, but when he does, he does it with purpose. Lilly attempts to stay cool. Ish.

“I would not say no to that,” she attempts lightly, but her face-splitting smile gives her away. Shawn grins knowingly and bobs his head.

“I’ll text him. Maybe I can talk to Taylor, too, get you your own personal Lover Fest.”

Lilly’s smile falters a little. Her gaze drifts to her plate. She shoves a forkful of potatoes in her mouth. Shawn notices a shift.

“What?” His mouth is full.

Lilly swallows and lifts a shoulder casually. “I just didn’t figure you were really in a place to be asking Taylor for favors anymore.”

The song changes to a track Lilly doesn’t know. The air seems to crackle. Shawn sits forward as Lilly sits back. She manages to lift her eyes from her crispy chicken skin.

“What do you mean?”

Regret fills Lilly’s gut faster than the food. She takes a long sip of wine.

“I mean after what happened last year.”

He didn’t really need her to clarify, she knows. She also knows he doesn’t require further detail.

He comes up on his elbows, his brow furrowing. “I can probably guess what you think happened, but it’s more complicated than that.”

Lilly exhales and drops her fork, crossing her arms. Shawn looks alarmed.

“I have no doubt you can guess what I think, because you know me pretty well. And you probably also know I think it’s bullshit.”

Shawn’s eyes harden. “Lilly, you don’t know everything. You weren’t there. I don’t owe you an explanation for this, you weren’t involved.”

Lilly’s lips tighten at the corners, the kiss of death. Shawn’s shoulders tighten further, pulling up toward his ears.

“Yeah, I’m sure you think you don’t. Maybe that’s exactly what’s wrong,” Lilly jabs.

Shawn looks baffled. “What the fuck are you talking about? You’re the one who’s always telling me I don’t owe everyone everything. But now suddenly I owe people every detail? It had nothing to do with me.”

“You thinking it had nothing to do with you is a huge fucking problem, Shawn! It is a privilege! No one has threatened everything you’ve built. Why would they? You’re a white man. And you sat down and shut up when she needed you.”

The muscle in Shawn’s jaw twitches. “You don’t know shit about what I did, you weren’t fucking there. Stop pretending like you know everything. It’s fucking complicated, okay? Jesus, Lilly.”

Lilly deflates and folds her hands, pressing her forehead into them. “Let’s not do this. Let’s just not fucking do this, this was supposed to be nice. Can we not? I don’t want to fight.”

She looks up at him, pleading.

Shawn doesn’t hesitate. “I want to fight.”

Lilly blinks. “What?”

He nods urgently. “I do. I want to fight. Let’s fight, let’s figure it out and get through it. Let’s fucking fight, Lill, because it’s so much better than being fucking silent.”

Lilly swallows. Her stomach lurches. Shawn does not waver.

“Fine. Tell me, then. Tell me what you did. You texted her?”

Shawn scoffs. “I didn’t just fucking text her, I called her. We talked for like an hour. And if she were here, she’d tell you that and she’d say we’re totally fine, we’re good. Because we are.”

Lilly pushes a hand into her hair and feels the tears in her eyes. “No you’re not. You’re not fine. You showed up and did the bare minimum, Shawn, you’re not fucking fine.”

His eyes get huge. “What the fuck, Lilly? You don’t even know her!”

“I don’t have to!” she cries, throwing her arms up, “I don’t have to know her personally to know how many texts and calls she got from guys like you who felt bad but wanted to stay out of the way, stay in their lane, stay out of trouble. When you look at the ratio of women who spoke up compared to men, it’s fucking sad, Shawn. And honestly, I did not expect you to land on the wrong side of that, I really didn’t. But that was just the start.”

He narrows his eyes. “The start of what?”

“You shut down. You just… shut down. You got the girl and then fucked off. You have to know that’s what it looked like to everyone.”

“I fucked off because literally everyone was telling me to. Lilly, I swear to god, if you saw the kind of stuff people were saying to me, about me, about her…”

Lilly feels a chill down her spine. She’s desperate to crawl away from this.

“Shawn--”

“Everyone hated me. Everyone hated us. What was I supposed to do?”

Lilly chews on her lip and mutters, “Maybe not post that gross make out video, for one thing.”

He inhales so sharply Lilly looks up at him. His nostrils are flared. Did he get taller in the last two minutes?

“It was a fucking joke, Jesus Christ.”

“Yeah, well, you were the only two who thought it was funny.”

Shawn takes a breath and scrubs his hands over his face, then back into his hair, holding it back as he stares down at his food.

“I know the video was stupid. It wasn’t supposed to make people so mad.”

Lilly shifts in her seat uncomfortably. She takes his olive branch and returns with one of her own.

“Listen, I’m not gonna sit here and defend your entire fandom. I know better. I know a lot of the shit you guys took was unfair. But the distance came from both sides, Shawn. You alienated them, they alienated you right back. It doesn’t matter who shot first. That distance is still there.”

Shawn doesn’t argue her point. He draws a crispy corner of Yorkshire pudding through his gravy and pops it in his mouth. “I really thought the Foundation would turn it around, but it only made it worse.”

Lilly winces. “But you get why, right?”

Shawn clicks his tongue. “No, but I’m sure you’ll tell me.”

“It’s hollow, Shawn. It didn’t feel like you. Your heart wasn’t in it. It was like someone put your name on it and said ‘okay, guys, tell us what you want this to be.’ I mean, what is it? What do you want it to be?”

Shawn looks hurt. Lilly wonders if she should’ve pulled back a little, then thinks about what he said earlier.

I want to fight.

Lilly realizes maybe she wants to fight too. If fighting means fighting for this, for them, Lilly will get her gloves on and go to work. She steels herself.

“The whole point was to give a voice to my fans, to be the way they can make a difference. Have them act through me. That’s what I liked about it!”

Lilly shuts her eyes. “But it wasn’t your idea.”

She knew that already without him having to say it. The circumstances made that clear.

“Andrew pitched it, but I approved it,” Shawn snaps.

“Then do something with it!” Lilly cries, “Show some ownership! Show everyone you care what it means, what it does. You’ve always been so good at that. It’s one of the reasons people love you so much. Why people were hurt when you disappeared. Suddenly you were either nowhere, or you were with her. People missed you. I fucking know I did.”

Shawn’s shoulders begin to sink. The tense feeling clenching around Lilly’s ribcage loosens. Shawn reaches a hand out, face up on the table. Lilly slips hers into his and watches his thumb rub her skin.

“I didn’t know you were still paying attention,” he whispers.

Lilly lets the past several months drift over her face. “I tried not to.”

What’s left of their food is cold. Mayer’s voice feels loud in the absence of their yelling. They gaze at each other, looking and feeling haunted. Shawn is first to break the silence.

“I don’t want it to be like this. I… I don’t think I want to tell everyone everything all the time, but I don’t want it like this either. I can’t be afraid to talk to my fans.”

Lilly nods. “There’s a middle ground. You can find it.”

Shawn studies the veins in the translucent skin of her wrist. “Will you help me?”

Lilly smirks. “When you want me to, sure. But you don’t need me for that, Shawn.”

He’s silent for a long time. Lilly watches the tears gather in his eyes as they soften.

“But I do need you. I fuckin’ need you, Lill, you know that right?”

Lilly nods eagerly. “I know.”

He doesn’t seem satisfied. “No, I mean, of course I need you, but I want you. I want you so bad, all the time, every day. In every way I can have you. You make everything in my life better. And I swear to god, if you let me, I’ll make sure I can do the same for you.”

Lilly squeezes his hand. Her heart swims up into her throat and pushes out the words she hasn’t said in almost a year. “I love you.”

Shawn illuminates from the inside out. His cheeks go a vivid pink. He squeezes her hand right back and pulls it up to his lips. “I love you too, Lilly.”

Lilly cups his cheek. Her smile is small and quiet, but it’s not fragile.

The song changes. The opening notes are so distinctive, they have Shawn and Lilly smiling knowingly in under three seconds.

“See?” Lilly squawks, “John just gets me.”

Shawn rolls his eyes and pushes his chair back, holding his hand out to her. “Whatever. John may ‘get you,’ but I have you. C’mere.”

Lilly gasps, eyes sparkling. She looks to his face, then his outstretched hand, then back at his face. She’s vibrating in her seat.

“No!”

“Yes!” Shawn laughs. Lilly springs out of her chair and takes his offer before he can reel it back in. He holds their clasped hands to his chest and grins as she takes her place between his bare feet. They bob along awkwardly beside the table, cast in powder blue dusk from the floor-to-ceiling windows.

“Fucking finally, it’s like, why even bother putting John Mayer on if no one’s gonna ask you to dance?” Lilly crows, looking smug.

Shawn pecks the tip of her nose and pulls her closer. She rests her cheek on his chest.

“Now we see everything that’s going wrong

With the world and those who lead it

We just feel like we don’t have the means

To rise above and beat it…”

Shawn sings along and Lilly doesn’t even pretend like that wasn’t exactly what she wanted. She stares up at him, delighted by his total willingness to satisfy even the little whims she doesn’t say out loud. They don’t notice when the song changes. Lilly magnanimously decides not to step on Shawn’s foot when he says that her body, too, is a wonderland.

But she does prove it to him again later that night.

+

Epilogue

July 28th, 2020

Lilly squints up at the sky. It’s so blue that her retinas ache, but she finds what she needs.

“Look! Look, a cloud. Not safe to fly. You should stay. Come on, chop chop, bags down. You’re staying.”

Shawn drops his backpack into the trunk of the town car. His eyes are hidden behind mirrored aviators, but Lilly doesn’t need to see them to know his smile doesn’t quite reach them.

“I’m going to remind you again this was your idea,” he sighs.

Lilly scrunches her face up in protest but it doesn’t push away the tears building in her eyes like she hoped.

He’s right. It’s been almost a month since they had the first conversation about it. It wasn’t nearly as scary when it was hypothetical. It started with an innocent comment, Lilly joking about Shawn not having anything to write about if they’re together and happy all the time. 

“You need some angst. How are you ever gonna miss me enough to write about me if we’re standing on top of each other all day every day?”

Shawn brushed it off, but it took hold in both their minds. It was another full week before they had a real conversation about it. Lilly cried and Shawn stared in horror, then held her.

“We cannot become real again in a vacuum. I love you, I love this, but it’s not real life. I want you for real. I need this to be real,” Lilly pleaded.

Negotiations ran in circles for a while. Maybe they just needed a change of scenery, Shawn suggested. They could take a little safe vacation somewhere, rent a place in Malibu or Big Sur. Distance wasn’t the answer. It couldn’t be.

But distance is their reality when the world is not on fire. Lilly does not work in an industry that permits her to follow Shawn around on tour or promo. Even if she did, they agree that arrangement could get emotionally fraught pretty fast. Lilly argues they have to get good at the distance again, since that was one of the factors that broke them up to begin with. Shawn insists that if they’re lucky enough to be together and safe during this time of crisis, there’s no reason to give it up.

Back and forth, round and around and around again. There was no compromise to be made. They were either together or apart.

Shawn tearfully agrees one night. Lilly is immediately horrified.

“No. No, I’ve changed my mind. Don’t go. Shawn, don’t go. Don’t let me bully you into this. This is a terrible fucking plan. Why would you leave? Everything is good!” she sobs.

Shawn wipes his eyes and tucks her into his chest so she can cry without him staring at her.

“You were right, Lill. If we’re ever going to be more than this, we have to start. We have to get better at it.”

“But this is already so good! Shawn, if you leave now, we have no way of knowing when we’ll see each other again. Things are already getting worse. What if you can’t get back?”

Shawn’s jaw clenches. It’s the one thing they haven’t said out loud. This distance could be more permanent than they intend for it to be if the pandemic continues to worsen in the U.S. There’s a possibility that if he leaves now, they won’t see each other again in 2020.

“We’re gonna figure that out,” he insists, wiping his hard calloused thumbs beneath her eyes, “If I have to marry you to make you a Canadian citizen and get you the fuck out of here, I will.”

Lilly’s heart skips a beat even as her eyes narrow. “What a romantic you are.”

Shawn chuckles, but it’s a dull, wet sound through his own tears. He arranges his pre-flight COVID test and buys a ticket home to Toronto the next day.

Without Shawn, and with her roommates calming down and staying virus free, there’s no reason to stay in this big house by herself. They take down the recording tent and send the equipment back. They carefully pry Command hooks off the ceiling, erasing the evidence. They latch up the doors on the balcony for good. Lilly’s car is packed; she’ll head back to Burbank right after Shawn leaves.

The summer breeze ruffles his curls, which she cut again recently so he doesn’t look like a sad sheepdog when he goes home to his mum, after the allotted two weeks of quarantining at his place in Toronto. He reaches for her, and her throat immediately burns, like it was holding off until he touched her again.

“I have terrible ideas. Don’t ever listen to me again,” Lilly half sobs. Shawn folds himself around her. She clings to him, digging her fingernails into the seams of his denim shirt. She feels his shaky exhale and feels ten times worse.

“What did I do?” she hiccups, “Why did I do this?”

Shawn lays his cheek on top of her head and sniffs before he speaks. “Because you want us to be real. Because you know it’s going to be different this time.”

Lilly breathes out slowly. Shawn loosens his grip and shifts to take her face in his hands. His cheeks are patchy pink, his eyes are a little bloodshot. He presses kisses to her forehead, her cheeks, the tip of her nose, and her lips. They kiss until they’re dizzy.

Shawn lets go, maybe because he knows she won’t. He reaches for the door of the car to anchor himself.

“You know how much I love you, right?” Lilly rasps.

Shawn nods. “I know. You know how much I love you, right?”

Lilly’s face crumples. She can’t speak. She nods.

Shawn smiles. “Then we’re gonna be okay.”

Lilly covers her nose and mouth as he climbs into the back of the town car. She stands there until it’s beyond the gates of the driveway and out of sight.

Lilly turns and looks up at the house. It’s not the first time she’s considered the mysterious magic of the place. In its age and grandness, Lilly knows hers is not the only gift it’s given. Theirs are not the only secrets it holds. She’s resigned to never knowing the rest, content with taking what it offered and hoping they left it with some of their own magic, too, for whomever needs it next.

----------

Taglist: @smallerinfinities​ @the-claire-bitch-project @achinglyshawn​ @infiniteshawn​ @mendesoft @singanddreamanyway​ @alone-in-madness​ @abigfatmess​ @shawnitsmutual​ @awkwardfangirl2014​ @september-lace​ @sinplisticshawn​ @rollingxstone​ @randi-eve​ @fallmoreinlove @heyits-claire​ @itrocksmysocks​ @parkerspicedlatte​ @simpledomain​ @abeautiful-and-cloudy-day​ @thecurlsofgod​ @magcon7280​ @bensbuttercup​ @shawnsmusical​ @paigeasourous​ @tell-me-when-ur-ready​ @softmendesss​ @searchingunderthestars​ @buggy-blogs​ @mendesficsxbombay​ @siennarossi​ @lostinshawnsmemory​ @umbreakablesoul​ @sleepybesson​ @shawnsheaven @poseshawn​ @shaawnie @shawn-youth​ @graysonmendes​

[todisturbtheuniverse]

FIC: Set All Trappings Aside [7/9]

Rating: T Fandom: Dragon Age: Inquisition Pairing: f!Adaar/Josephine Montilyet Tags: Friends to Lovers, Mutual Pining, Class Differences Word Count: 2200 (this chapter) Summary: After months of flirtation, a contract on Josephine’s life brings Adaar’s feelings for her closer to the surface than ever. It highlights, too, all of their differences, all of the reasons a relationship between them would not last. But Adaar is a hopeful woman at heart; if Josephine can set all trappings aside, then so can she. Also on AO3. Notes: While the context for this story is the Of Somewhat Fallen Fortune questline, some of the conversations within it didn’t quite fit for this Inquisitor. The resulting fic is a twist on the canon romance. This Adaar and Josephine have featured in other fics, so you may miss a little context if you haven’t read Promising or Truth-Telling, which both come before this one. Chapter-specific note:  I did not intend to leave this hanging for six months, but 2020 comes for us all, I suppose. I hope, if you're still reading, that you enjoy the conclusion. All of the remaining chapters (7-9) are up on AO3; they’ll be posted more slowly here on tumblr so as not to clog your dashboards.

Chapter 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6

"See," Adaar said, pointing, "we’re nearly there."

She leaned a little to the left in her saddle, closer to Josephine, giving her a better trajectory to follow. Josephine's eyes narrowed, searching. At this distance, the landmark was still hard to make out if you didn’t know what you were looking for. 

"Strange," Josephine said. "That star appears to be moving."

"Dancing," Adaar corrected. "The old windmill is still lit. There must be someone left." At Josephine's perplexed look, she explained, "The windmill’s practically center of town. Someone got the idea way back when to keep a brazier lit at the top. Like a lighthouse, kind of. Instead of bringing ships in to port, it guided the farmers and herders into town at the end of the day. When you’re closer in, it’s a good way for the neighborhood watch to mark where they’re patrolling overnight, too. From far off, though, it just looks like a dancing star."

Josephine nodded. "Clever. And if it’s still lit…"

"I can’t see bandits bothering to tend it, can you?"

"That depends on the breed of bandit." Josephine’s mare whickered, and she patted its mane absently. "I think this tells us something about what might be happening in Duskfield. Either your old neighbors have already driven the bandits off, and things have returned to normal...or the bandits have taken up residence here, kept all the old habits in place, so that your farmers and shepherds might keep operating. If that’s the case, they’re after some kind of long-term stability and supply."

"And that could be good or bad," Adaar agreed. "Maybe they’re just folk driven to desperation by the current unpleasantness."

"Or maybe they are Red Templars, establishing new routes through the Free Marches while we have been busy elsewhere." Josephine glanced sidelong at Adaar. "Rest assured I do not plan to negotiate with them, should that be the case."

Adaar forced a thin laugh. "I expected as much." She looked ahead again, at the Dancing Star, trying to find something red in the flicker of its light. It was still too far to tell; it looked perfectly normal, just as she remembered it, yellowish in hue. 

And if she did see a bit of red? More easily attributed to her imagination, fear, and anxiety. At this distance, it could be nothing else.

"If it’s an entire band," Josephine said, her voice lowering, "will you be able to manage on your own?"

Adaar glanced behind her, at Cassandra and Bull and Dorian, all riding quiet and alert. "We’ve managed an awful lot," she said. "And we could still run into Leliana’s people. There's some road left to go. If we don’t find them, I’ll sneak ahead to see what we’re working with before we go charging in."

"Is that wise? If you’re caught—"

"Would you rather send one of them?" Adaar asked, jerking her thumb at the others.

"I heard that," Bull said.

Adaar ignored him. "Cassandra makes a noise of incredible menace with every step she takes. Bull's worse, like a small earthquake. And Dorian can’t keep his mouth shut if there’s an opening for a witty quip."

"She’s right," Dorian said easily. "Adaar is the sneakiest giant you’ll ever meet. And that rates somewhat above the rest of us."

Josephine didn't look convinced. Worse, she looked afraid. Adaar tipped her head, silently asking Josephine to follow her ahead, out of earshot. The others kept to their own pace, allowing the road to spread out between them.

"Not reassured?" Adaar asked.

"I don’t doubt your skills. I just…" Josephine's fingers tightened on the reins. "If you’re caught, what then?"

"We’ll figure out the exact timeframe when we get closer, but if I’m not back in, say, an hour, the others can ride to the rescue."

"Has that ever happened before?"

Adaar figured it was best to be honest, but casual. "Sure."

Josephine’s lips thinned; she didn’t reply. Someone else in Adaar’s boots might’ve seen this as a good opportunity for comeuppance. They’d taken care of Josephine’s assassins her way, and Adaar had lost a month’s worth of sleep in the process. Josephine would get a little taste of her own medicine.

But Adaar had never been accused of vengefulness. The idea of Josephine fretting down the road behind her only made her feel vaguely queasy and sad.

"Don’t get caught," Josephine said at last.

Adaar inclined her head. "I’ll do my level best."

"You have to remember that they chose Duskfield," Josephine went on. "Maybe it’s random, maybe they are just desperate people, but it seems an awful coincidence. If anyone bothered to learn enough about you, to try to lure you out, this is how they would do it."

"If it’s a trap, I have a light step. I won’t spring it."

Josephine gave a despairing laugh. "If there’s an opening for a witty quip, are you certain that you will be able to restrain yourself?"

"In all things that matter, I am the picture of restraint."

She'd meant to sound cheerful; instead, the words were a little sour, and she turned her face away before her expression could add to the unintended effect. She didn't want to give Josephine another opening to make her case, not yet. Despite her words, her restraint had been wearing very thin indeed since their conversation on the road to Val Royeaux. One good snip would destroy those last tenuous threads.

But Josephine did not sound disappointed or angry when she replied, simply, "I know."

For a moment, Adaar thought she would leave it at that. They rode in the quiet, to the soft sounds of horses, for plenty of hoofbeats.

Then Josephine asked, "I've been wondering, how long have you...cared...about me?"

Adaar didn't have to answer. The question was put forward tentatively, feeling for where the boundary line was. Josephine would have understood if Adaar reminded her of her promise, the promise of space to think.

But thinking, so far, had gotten her nowhere. She kept chasing it round and round in her head, ever since that night on the road to Val Royeaux. She slept with her head pillowed on the shawl Josephine had left with her, and breathed her scent, and could not stop wanting, no matter how much she wished to. Maybe a little talk wouldn't hurt.

"Too long," she said. "Embarrassingly long. Well before we left Haven."

She looked back to Josephine, who smiled and ducked her head, as if to hide it. "Me, too."

The words struck Adaar like a slap, rendering her speechless. She hunted for what to say, how to react, and came up with nothing more original than, "Really?"

"You sound surprised." There was a teasing note in Josephine's voice now.

"Well, you just didn't…" Adaar floundered. "I don't know. You didn't seem interested."

"Leliana has said that I was being dense," Josephine admitted, with as much dignity as could be mustered with such a sentence. "I only thought that...your attention was split so many ways. You had—have—a great deal to worry about. I didn't think there would be time. And if there was, I didn't see why you would choose to spend it with me."

Adaar shook her head, exasperated. "We’re a pair, aren’t we?"

"I certainly hope so," Josephine said archly, but her smile faded again as she looked ahead to the Dancing Star. "When this is over, can we revisit the issue of restraint?"

"Lady Montilyet," Adaar said, all feigned astonishment, "I had no idea your desires ran that way."

It had the intended effect. Josephine lost her worry again, face flushing, hand coming up to cover a surprised laugh. Adaar grinned, reveling in her small victory. It would help, for what was to come. It would carry her through to the other side.

"Don't worry," she added, squinting at the Dancing Star. "I have a plan."

  The good news: they weren't Red Templars.

Adaar had been gone from home so long that there were people in the village she didn't recognize or know, but she'd gotten good at distinguishing peasant from combatant; she observed carefully from her rooftop perch by The Wet Whistle's chimney stack, and she counted. It wasn't just about who wore armor, who carried weapons. It was body language, alertness. It was the berth that others gave them.

She'd arrived too late to count the bandits as they went into the tavern, but she counted them as they came out—and as a patrol cut through town and continued to the north. These ones carried obvious weapons, and they didn't sway when they walked. They were professional enough to keep their heads clear on duty.

Duskfield was a small village, and this company was enough to keep them cowed. She'd counted eight so far; she was sure there were more she was missing. She just wasn't sure what to do about them.

The bad news: she knew some of them.

Only three, that she'd spotted and recognized. Old neighbors, around her age: Vilya, the blacksmith's daughter; Cossus, her younger brother; Herbert, one of the farmer's sons. He'd been friends with the other two, she remembered.

The others were strangers to her, but they held themselves with more confidence than these three by far. Had they been recruited? What had convinced them to allow these mercenaries to occupy the town, to throw their lot in with them?

She didn't have time in the hour allocated to her to figure out why they were here. She only knew she didn't like the occasional raucous laughter spilling from the tavern below her, or the way the rest of her old neighbors flinched out of the way when one of the rogues stalked past. They were not starving and desperate. They were hungry, but they were waiting.

And there was no sign of Leliana's people. They were on their own.

It was time to return to her companions. She'd learned what she could, precious little though it was, and maybe they would have better ideas. Josephine had spun gold out of less before. Delicately, silently, she crept down the roof and lowered herself to the ground.

Her feet had barely touched down before the point of a sword pricked at her spine. "Not so fast, Inquisitor."

She considered her options. Two shapes in the shadows of the barrels ahead of her formed up and revealed themselves to be people. They, too, held swords, so that was three—at minimum. She'd won out over worse odds before.

But she'd missed these three watching her. What else had she missed? She didn't want to get chin-deep in a fight where she didn't know the stakes. Maybe they needed her alive, but maybe they were happy to dogpile and kill her.

She didn't know enough. Damn it.

"A welcoming party," she said. "Nice of you. I wasn't expecting such a fuss—"

The point of the sword jabbed harder. She sighed and stopped talking.

"I can't believe you actually showed," the voice behind her said. "When Moiraine pitched this idea to me, I almost punched her. 'Moiraine,' I said, 'she's Qunari, what does she care about a bunch of human cattle in some nowhere village?' But tales kept spreading about you—how you'd stick your neck out for any refugee needing a blanket, even if they'd spit on the ground as you walked past." He spit on her boot, for emphasis. Nice aim. "Started to see the potential. Still, though. Didn't expect you to be stupid enough to take the bait."

He lapsed into silence. Adaar waited a moment, then said, "Just let me know when you actually need my input. Hard to tell if there was a question in there. I'm kind of slow, as you've figured out."

"Watch her," the voice said, and yanked her hands around to bind them behind her back. She resisted the urge to fight, mind working frantically. Did she know a Moiraine-the-bandit? No, she was fairly sure she didn't. Did she know any Moiraine? She didn't think she'd ever heard the name before.

"Now," he said, yanking her daggers roughly from her back, "we're going to get comfortable and wait for your friends to come along. Then we'll have a nice little chat, and everyone can go home happy."

"My favorite part of the day," Adaar muttered.

Well, technically, at least, this was still part of the plan. Things had just accelerated somewhat. She was sure the others could work out the rest.

She'd been captured before, bound before. She stayed alert, but let her mind turn to more pleasant things. In similar situations, she'd thought of Josephine. She'd thought, Well, we didn't have much of a chance, anyway. She'd thought, Maybe, if we'd had more time…

This time, though, she thought of Josephine's stately walk, of the fire burning in her eyes, of her sharp and clever tongue. She thought of Josephine riding to her rescue, and she smiled.

[mvdbutler]

Quarantine with a Ladies' Man WARNING: The following is a work of erotic fan fiction. The events of which are completely made up and did not happen, and is no true reflection of the characters, promotions, wrestlers, events etc depicted or referenced within. Fantasy is legal. This material is unsuitable to be viewed by those under the legal age limit of viewing pornographic material in your current country of residence. All characters depicted in this fiction are over 18 years of age. I do not own WWE, Monday Night Raw, NXT or any of its current or former wrestlers/characters. I am making no money as a result of the writing of this story. Starring: Charly Caruso (WWE), Angel Garza (WWE) Quarantine with a Ladies’ Man An erotic WWE fan-fiction story. by DaxG2001 (daxg2001@yahoo.co.uk) Codes: Cons, MF, oral, anal, inter. * * * March, 23, 2020. The WWE Performance Center in Orlando, Florida. “That… That was a little too close for comfort.” Charly Caruso, the gorgeous WWE interviewer and on-screen personality said to herself. Making her way backstage after her in-ring segment for Monday Night Raw interviewing Shayna Baszler was cut short, after rival Becky Lynch got some payback with a steel chair attack. “Forget social distancing, I’ve got to worry about chair attacks now!” She joked to herself. Dressed in a lovely black, sleeveless dress and high heels. “Social distancing?” Her attention was grabbed by the sound of a suave, Latino voice as she stopped to turn. Her eyes roaming over the handsome, hunky form of the self-proclaimed Ladies’ Man of the WWE, in the Hispanic hunk Angel Garza. Smiling, Garza was still clad in his pink ring attire from the victorious match he had earlier. “That sounds pretty boring to me… Why would anyone keep their distance from someone as lovely, and sexy, as you Charly...” He said, pouring on the charms as he approached the interviewer. “You, ummmm, know what I meant, Angel...” Charly replied, a blush coming across her gorgeous cheeks as she smiled a little at the man coming towards her. “Oh, I know… And I stand by what I said...” He smiles, standing in front of her. “A lovely thing like you, all alone? That’s impossible, surely!” He flattered her as he took a moment to scan over her curvy form. “But you know? With me around, and me being the only true Ladies’ Man in the building, let alone the WWE? I am very, very capable of keeping you company for the rest of the evening...” He boldly said, stepping in as he brought a hand up to toy with a strand of her long, brunette hair. “W-Well, that’s sweet of you to offer and all, Angel.” Flustered, Charly stepped back for a moment. “But I’m sure you manager and your tag team partner would object, right?” She claimed, perhaps looking for an excuse as his seductive charms were clearly working as they’ve done to her during on-screen interviews before. “Oh, them? Please...” He waved a hand, still smiling and oozing confidence. “Vega’s probably off demanding a title match right now… And Andrade will be halfway back home or to a hotel with his woman by now… So that means I’ve got a nice little locker room free for the both of us to, you know, play out a little ‘Quarantine’ of our own...” He says with a chuckle, making light of the situation the WWE and the rest of the world has had to deal with resulting in this unheard of closed doors shows without fans the WWE is putting on. “Quarantine, huh?” Charly smirked a little herself, not doing a good job at hiding how she was checking out the Hispanic Casanova. “Would this quarantine of yours involve you, me, and probably losing a lot of clothes?” She bluntly asked, as she smoking hot eyes locked a gaze onto him. “It seems my reputation precedes itself… Guilty as charged!” Garza admits without shame, holding his hands up like he’s been caught out. “Is that a problem, mamacita?” He smirks again, seeing how his target of desire was falling deeper for his charms. “...No, not at all...” Caruso said, as her tongue flicked over her upper lip a little. “So, where um, is this locker room you were talking about?” * * * Minutes later in one of the makeshift locker rooms created in the Performance Center for the TV broadcasts, Charly Caruso and Angel Garza have both shed their clothes to leave them hastily scattered across the floor. Caruso on her knees, her rounded, nicely sized tits and her thick rounded ass on display. Staring up with lust and awe as she takes a hold of the very fittingly long and fat cock of the Ladies’ Man as his muscular, dark-toned skinned body is in full display. Biting down on her bottom lip for a moment as she gives him a couple of pumps to make sure he’s hard. “Fuck! I can see why you’re the damn Ladies’ Man around here alright!” Caruso gushed with a sexy blush on her cheeks. Not being so intimidated that she doesn’t know what to do however. Leaning in and making him moan as she presses her full, pouty lips against his cock head for a deep smooch. Starting to lick across the crown of that big Latino cock as she works over the head with a slow, swirling motion. Making herself groan at the sinful act before she moves down, flicking at his base for a moment before dragging her wet tongue up the side and circling around the head for good measure. Her hand giving a couple of pumps as well as she applies a light coat of spit onto that thick bell-end. “Mmmmm… Yeah, mami… And you know that I can handle the ladies, too...” Angel brags as he grins broadly, as any man would who’d managed to easily seduce the stunning interviewer like he has. Enjoying the rewards of his well practised work as he moaned out louder when Charly parted those big lips of hers and took his length into her oral hole. Letting him feel the warm and wetness of her mouth as the American stunner started to suck on his big Mexican cock. “Mmmmm… And I can see it’s not just a microphone… Ahhhhh… That you know how to handle!” He said with approval as he stared down. Admiring those rounded tits and the fit body of the woman kneeling in front of him. Watching his pole vanish up into her mouth as she pushed up and down to get into the motion. “Mmmmmphh! Mmmmm! Mmmmm...” The Indianapolis, Indiana-born beauty moaned around the big cock she was slipping in and out between her juicy lips as she kept them expertly wrapped around his thick size. Showing this was far from her first time handling some cock as she smoothly bobbed her head up and down along his length. Already taking half of his size into her talented mouth. “Hmmmmppphhh! Mmmmm… Mmmmmphhhh...” Her shoulder length hair starting to sway back and forth as she used the lusty motion to blow a Superstar she should be interviewing instead of sucking off in a locker room. Her groans and the fact her nipples are hard just from dishing out a blowjob showing she’s far from caring about the fact she’s conducting a very unprofessional act with a co-worker. Her smoky eyes staring up with desire as she gradually pushes further down onto his shaft. Garza, with his reputation of being a skirt chaser, just smiles as he stares and moans since this is what he wanted all along. A hot female on her knees, slurping away on his big, thick cock and getting him coated with saliva. He planned on getting a lot more out of her as well before the night was over. For now the former Cruiserweight Champion was more than satisfied to take some oral pleasure from the TV host and personality. Watching his length disappear between those full lips of hers before it reappeared again as she repeated the sinful motion. The spit starting to drip of his inches to land down onto her exposed chest as she bobbed away. “Mmmmm! Mmmmmphhh!! Mmmmm!” Her sucking increased as her hand moved to just hold and slide up his thighs as she took him even deeper, much to the Latino hunk’s delight as that pretty white face moved down towards his crotch. Not a hint of gagging heard at all from her as his shaft passed beyond her mouth to let him experience how pleasurably snug her throat was. Her eyes narrowed with desire as she slurped up and down. The spit trickling down her chin and not caring about the mess as she bobbed away on the man who has been using his charms on her for weeks on WWE TV. Eventually, she pulled off from with a loud, lusty gasp as she licked her lips. Spitting down onto his rod and using both hands to give him a round of quick strokes to really work her saliva all over that delicious, big cock. “Mmmmm! Take it you liked the taste… Ahhhhh… Of a Ladies’ Man’s cock, huh mamacita?” Garza grinned as he watched her pump. Not even trying to hide the fact Caruso is just another notch on his bedpost. “Mmmmm yeah… I fucking loved it!” Charly purred with a sexy smile of her own before she let go of his cock. Standing up as she turned to move. A deliberate sway of her rounded hips and a saucy look back over the shoulder as she took a seat on the couch in the dressing room. Spreading her legs invitingly wide to be far from subtle. “But I think it’s time you backed up what you said about handling the ladies as well...” She said with a smirk. Showing off her already wet pussy to the WWE stud. “My great, great pleasure, mami...” Garza said as he came right over, and didn’t waste time with stopping to put on a rubber either. Just shifting down onto position, leaning over Caruso as he lined his big, Hispanic cock with that tight, white pussy. Pushing in to make both of them groan as her hands already went up to hold onto his shoulders as he penetrated her snatch. “MMMMM… And I really do mean my pleasure! Mmmmmm...” He voiced his approval, feeling how snug her inner walls were around his thickness. Not enjoying the moment too long as he soon got to work with his job. Drawing his hips back before he pushed in to fill her snatch up with his dick and get her groaning with delight as it was his turn now to build up a rhythm. “Oh fuck!! MMMMM… Oh shit, that’s fucking big! Mmmmm...” The TV host also known as Charly Arnolt moaned her approval as she stared down between her spread legs for a moment. Watching the big cock she’d just been slobbering all over now getting stuffed into another of her just as pleasurable holes. Her pussy being spread open wonderfully by the thick invasion to give her already so much pleasure she didn’t give a second thought to the fact this was some bareback action. “Oh yeah! Give it to me! MMMMM FUCK… So fucking big! MMMM...” She groaned, her eyes going back up to the stud she’s given herself to having fallen for his charms, and seeing a handsome, grinning face in return that made her again blush and bite her lip. Even as she took his big dick nice and deep into her wet and willing twat. Taking advantage of the staring, the stud from Monterrey, Mexico leaned down, pressing his lips against the full, ripe ones of the beauty he was pumping his big, stiff cock into. Smiling into the smooch as she all too easily and quickly returned the lip lock to work her lips against his. The two soon exchanging moans along with a little spit as he pushed his tongue into her eager oral hole. Rewarding her by sliding his member deeper into her slot as his crotch smacked off her body for the first time. A groan from her muffled as they made out. His tongue commanding things as he worked over hers for a different kind of wrestling than the in-ring style he’s known for. “MMMMM!! Mmmmmphh!! MMMMM...” Caruso just groaned with closed eyes, giving herself completely to the charming Latino Superstar. Her curvy body starting to slide against the couch as she shifted back each time his cock pushed in balls deep into her wet, tight pussy. Her rounded tits nicely bouncing away as she got filled up by the man she was interviewing on screen for the broadcast of WWE Raw earlier in the night. Now getting banged inside of his locker room as he briskly and stiffly pumped in and out of her box. Knowing full well he’s only using her to get some action from a female he sees as beautiful, but giving her such a good time already with his smooth and steady thrusts that she couldn’t care less she’d going to be pumped and perhaps dumped afterwards. Finally breaking the kiss, leaving a trail of saliva from their panting lips, Garza soon smiled handsomely again as he leaned back. Moving a hand down to capture her tit and squeeze it as he pumped back and forth. The smack of his body connecting with hers as he bottomed out ringing out around the room along with their moans. The beauty he was on top of responding by putting her hand on his to deepen the grope, craving extra pleasure even with his length buried nice and deep into her slot. He was more than happy to oblige as he fondled away at her mound to keep her groaning even as it jiggled in his grip from her jolting motion on the couch. “MMMMM… You’ve got a wonderful body, Charly… I’m very lucky… AHHHHH… To get to be your lover tonight...” Angel said seductively, still working his Casanova-like magic onto her even though he’s already gotten his dick in two of her holes already so far. “MMMMM FUCK!! I bet… MMMMM!! You fucking say that… AHHHHH FUCK!!” Charly groaned out, lustfully staring at the hunk pumping away into her. “To all the women… MMMMM!! You pick up to screw!” She says before moaning again. Showing how good this sex must be that she still wants more even when she knows she’s just another conquest of his. “Who? Me? MMMMM…” Garza let out a chuckle as he pulled out of her snatch, thinking of a new position to take her in. “Guess you can read me like a book, mami...” He’s about to brag some more, as any man would with a horny hottie wanting more of them. But she cut him off, pulling him down to the couch and making him sit as she quickly and lustfully swung a leg over to mount his lap. “And I can fucking fuck like a fucking pornstar!” Caruso grinned widely as she reached down, not wanting a break in the action as she slipped his big dick back into her needy snatch. “MMMMM FUCK!! Oooooooooh yessssss MMMMM!!” The stunning host for WWE and ESPN moaned out as she sharply dropped down, stuffing her wet snatch full with the long dick she’s become quite addicted to already. Gripping the back of the couch as she started to shift up and down onto him. Making that slap of her ass meeting this thighs sound out to mix with their moans as she started to ride that cock with a purpose. “MMMMMM AHHHHHH!! FUCK!! MMMMM...” She groaned out, sweat starting to form over that gorgeous white body as she bounced up and down on that fat Hispanic cock to fill herself up over and over each time she dropped down to take him balls deep. Soon enough quickly rising up to the mid-point just to shove herself right back onto him with shameless, moaning delight. “Si, mami! MMMMM!! That’s how I like it! MMMMM!!” The former NXT Cruiserweight Champion grinned as he watched the horny interviewer fuck herself almost silly already on his cock. Seeing the fruits of having both charmed his way into her panties and now driven her wild with his superior sexual skill. Leaving him free to roam his hands over her stunning body. Capturing both tits in his hands so he can squeeze away at them to make her head tilt back with approval as she groaned. “I always love it when my women… MMMMM!! Show me what they want...” He bragged between his own moans. Encouraging her to keep bouncing away as his fingers teased and rubbed her hard nipples as her breasts bounced in his grasp. “MMMMM!! FUCK YES!! UHHHHH!! Gonna… MMMMM!! Gonna fuck you real fucking good! MMMMM!!” She sinfully vowed in very un-PG language as she continued to briskly ride away on the dick she was mounted on. Her shoulder length hair sway as she shifted up and down. Her shapely ass cheeks jiggling witch each contact against his muscular body when she dropped downward. So wet downstairs that the slurping sound of juices escaping over that cock were just about heard with their loud, shameless moans and the slap of skin meeting skin. “MMMMM… OH FUCK… FUCK! FUCK FUCK MMMMMM!!” Her speech was sounding more suited for a pornstar than a sports TV host, but the look of pleasure on her face showed she couldn’t care less that she was being far removed from the professional interviewer she’s known to be. Bouncing away with strong desire for the man who had successfully and then some seduced her into blowing then riding his big cock. The third-generation wrestler was having his cake and eating it. Even when most men would be more than happy with having a lusty beauty riding wildly up and down on their cock like Garza is currently taking. He however leaned in. Capturing a nipple into his mouth to wrap his lips around it and start to suck. Making her groan out as she responded with a hand going to the back of his head to encourage the motion. Making him smile around that nub as he slurped onto her tit while it bounced from her constant riding. His other hand sneaking around to take a hold of her backside, soon delivering a firm smack to make her gasp and keep that butt jiggling away. His moans now muffled by her tits as he switched to start licking and sucking on her other rounded mound. Showing the Ladies’ Man of the WWE knew exactly what buttons to press to get the most out of his lovers. “OH FUCK! FUCK YES! YES YES YESSSSSSSSS AHHHHH OOOOOOOOH...” Caruso groaned out with her lips stuck in a perfect O-shape as she started to cum nice and hard as she fucked herself on Angel’s massive, fat cock. Juices flowing down and her pussy walls gripping that length to keep him moaning into her tits as he sucked on them. Showing off his own skill has he stayed hard despite the increased pressure. Allowing the beautiful brunette to ride out her sexual high as she kept moving up and down. Gradually slowing down as she came back down to Earth, eventually just grinding her dripping snatch against that addictive cock she’d stuffed into herself. Her fingers gripping his hair to forcefully pull him away from her rack as she licked her full lips. “More!” Charly growled sinfully, dismounting him and moving to kneel on the seating of the couch. Sticking her rounded, sexy out as her arms rested to cross in front of her on the back so she was almost in a doggy style position. “If you insist, mami...” Garza just smiled broadly, wiping sweat from his forehead as he moved to stand then get behind her. “I do like to think I bring out the best in my women, after all...” He chuckled handsomely as he spread her ass cheeks apart to expose the final of her pleasurable holes that he’s yet to sample. Spitting down onto that entrance to make her groan as she looked back. “Less talk, more of that big fucking dick in my ass!” Caruso demanded, showing her need as she already pushed back into her hands as he felt her up. “Keep up that kind of talk mamacita, and you might just be my first return visit...” Angel claimed with a smirk as he gave the needy beauty what she wanted. Pushing his fat Latino cock into her tight white ass to make them both start moaning out once again. Instantly one of her hands moving to go down under her body and straight to her snatch for some rubbing stimulation. The hunk behind her just focusing on working his shaft in and out of her tightest of holes. “MMMMM… And an ass like this… MMMMM! FUCK!! Definitely puts you to the top of my list of women...” He said for a dirty compliment, that even while having seduced her into such a horny state he’s still just judging her by how good of a fuck she is. That ranking rocketing up thanks to his cock now easing in and out of her juicy rump as he starts to fuck her. “FUCK! MMMMM… OH FUCK YEAH!! MMMMM!!” The stunning interviewer tilted her head back, showing that even with him going into her ass basically dry (her juices over his cock and that bit of spit barely being proper lube) she was no stranger to anal action. Already rocking back a little on her knees in time with the motion of that cock entering her vice-like asshole. “MMMMM!! Give me that fucking dick… AHHHHH FUCK!! Deep in my fucking ass! MMMM!!” Her fingers brushing back and forth across her soaked lower lips so she kept moaning out even when most women would be tapping out, Superstar or otherwise, having to try and handle such a slab of man-meat. Her eyes still locked onto her handsome, Hispanic lover as she gazed with desire and pushed her rounded white booty back to take that cock deeper. “Si, mami! MMMMM!! If you can take it? AHHHHH SHIT… I can deliver!” That smile never left the former NXT Cruiserweight Champion’s face as he got into the steady, smooth motion to properly pump into her butt now that they were both used to the feeling. Her back passage still tight around his rod but now he was able to firmly move in and out. Making her thick cheeks ripple with each motion as he kept her in place with hands on her midsection. Staring down to watch the stunning sight of his shaft disappearing into her rump before reappearing moments later. More than happy to give this lusty beauty the kind of fucking she hadn’t planned on taking when the night began. Thanks to his seductive charms and top notch sexual ability however he’d turned the TV host into a far more XXX-rated performer rather than a PG-TV star she’s supposed to be. “FUCK… FUCK!! MMMMMM FUCK… UHHHHH MY ASS!! MMMMMM OOOOOOOH!!” Sweat dripped off of her stunning face, with loose strands of her hair sticking to her cheeks and over the forehead. Her tits swaying underneath her as she rocked back and forth, once again fucking herself on that thick length but this time as it was actively pumped stiffly into her. Keeping her cheeks shaking from the force of both their motions as he fitted nice and deep into her tightness. “UHHHH!! MORE! MMMMM… Don’t… UHHHH!! DON’T FUCKING STOP!! MMMMM...” The pleasure she was getting making her now go from rubbing to fingering her already soaking wet pussy. Shoving a couple digits in nice and deep as her eyes closed as her head rested on the back of the couch she was being fucked on. Her loud, pornstar-quality moans echoing around the locker room to accompany the slap of his muscular Latino frame colliding with that PAWG ass to keep it shaking sexily. Sweat too pouring off of the toned to say the least body of the resident Ladies’ Man of the WWE as he earned his reputation and then some. Briskly pumping his big, thick cock between the juicy cheeks of the on-screen interviewer of Monday Night Raw. Still grinning, seeing how his charms had turned the once professional woman into an anal-loving temptress. Her loud moans sweet victory music to his ears and more then fuelling him to keep driving his length into her still super tight asshole even as he’s stretched her back passage out to at least accept his cock. Allowing his crotch to smack off her rump each time he drills her for a round of butt fucking that would otherwise render most women unable to walk straight for well over a week. Caruso however in such a high state of lust thanks in part to his expert seduction that she was craving more and more. Driving herself hard into a second orgasm as her eyes rolled upward and drool hung from those pouty lips as her teeth clenched together from the high ripping through her body. Juices gushing out to soak not just her fingers but her hand and wrist as she finger banged herself through this anal-induced orgasm. More slumping against the couch rather than just resting on it as her energy got sapped. Her pushes back mistimed and lacking the force from before as she just rode out the sexual peak. Before letting out a long gasp that would have fitted perfectly in a porno film as her hand finally fell away from her spent snatch to leave juices dripping down her thighs and onto the seating. It was one thing to endure the tightening of her snatch when she first came, but a second round was even too much for the Hispanic Casanova to handle. Managing a couple more pumps into that stunning rump before he pulled out with a deep grunt. His rod pulsing even without being touched as he turned the tired beauty around so she leaned back to sit on the couch. That cocky smile, and for good reason, still on his sweat-coated face and he knelt over her and stroked his length. Aiming at her face for an obvious target. Worn out and with closed eyes, Charly only knew what was happening when she felt the first blast of hot, thick spunk from that Mexican cock splashing over her stunning American facial features. Making her groan with approval and her mouth open as her tongue stuck out, getting soon rewarded with bursts of spunk loosely shot and intended landing on her and into that oral hole. Most of his load painting her cheeks, nose, and forehead. Resulting in some of the cum matting into the strands of hair already stuck to her face from this wild locker room fuck. She didn’t care about such a shameful mess. Using a hand to carefully clear away jizz from close to her eyes so she could look at him as he finally let go of his spent cock. Leaving her to press her lips together and swallow down the collected spunk from his load with a single, greedy gulp. “So, mamacita… Do I live up to my reputation?” Angel asked as he stood up. Admiring his work and not just of his cum all over that pretty face of his conquest for the night. “Mmmmm… All that, and then some...” Charly purred with a saucy smile, made hotter by the spunk dripping from those big lips. “Like I say, I always take care of my women… It’s what a true Ladies’ Man does!” He bragged, stepping back as he moved across the room to scoop up his ring attire from the floor to slip it back on. “Oh I know… And I know I’m just one of many women you’ll fuck and dump too...” Caruso said but with a sexy laugh, showing that after a great fuck like that she was perfectly happy to be a notch on the bedpost to him. ���Hey, that might be true for most women I’m with… But you? I think you deserve say, a second date or two...” Garza said after he’d put back on his boots and pads to be already dressed – like he’s made a quick getaway before in the past after some action. “So what? I’ve just got to get on my knees, spread my legs, or let you tap my ass to get some more of you?” She asked with a raised eyebrow. Her tone sounding like she wasn’t against the idea. “Well, if you put it like that?” Angel just smiled and gave her a wink. “Pretty much, mami.” “...I think that can be arranged...” Charly said, grinning back as she started to scoop up the spunk from her face so could seductively lick it off her finger for a last encouraging show for him. “...Man, it’s so tough sometimes to be a Ladies’ Man...” Angel said with a bragging laugh, as he’s completely lived up to his reputation and then some.

[dragon-kazansky]

A Fantastic Christmas - Gellert Grindelwald

Chapter 24 - Christmas Eve

You woke in the early hours of the morning. The sky was still pitch black outside and you could see the snowflakes floating down from the heavens.

The house was quiet. At the moment.

You spent at least an hour to lying there in complete silence, thinking about nothing and just staring at one spot on the ceiling.

Eventually you sat up in bed and turned the light on by your bed. Reading was a good way to pass the time, but you didn't get too far into the book because a certain wizard invaded your thoughts.

You were certain Gellert was up to something and had been waiting for today to do whatever it was.

He had become extremely close to you.

You closed the book in defeat knowing you weren't going to be able to get very far in this state. You put the book on the bedside table and sunk back into the duvet, hoping you could fall back asleep for a few more hours.

You had barely closed your eyes when you heard footsteps. There was a knock on your door. Your visitor was trying  very hard to be quiet.

"Come in." You sat back up in bed.

The door opened and Credence popped his head round.

"Did I wake you? I saw your light under the door and thought maybe you were up."

"I was awake. Come in." You smiled at him. "What are you doing up so early?"

"I guess I'm just excited." He smiled. "What about you?"

"Guess I'm just an early riser on special days." You chuckled. "Anyone else up?"

"I don't know. I think heard some movement from some of the other rooms."

Just as Credence finished saying that, Queenie poked her head into your slightly open door. She was grinning from ear to ear.

"Morning all." She greeted. "Get up! We're starting the day."

The blonde waited for you as you got up and got dressed, Credence waiting outside. The pair of you left once you were ready and Credence followed you into the kitchen.

"First, breakfast!" Queenie waved her wand.

"Shouldn't we wait for everyone?" You asked trying to hide the fact that you were actually quite tired.

"They're coming!"

Queenie got to work on the food.

Credence and yourself took a seat at the table, others soon came in to join.

"Now we're just waiting for the man of the hour." Your blonde friend giggled, setting plates down in front of people.

Vinda sat on one side of you, the other side remaining empty. You weren't stupid, you could tell everyone had left that seat on purpose. They were just doing a good job of acting like it wasn't intentional.

Queenie took her seat and everyone dug in.

You glanced at the empty chair. Before you could say anything, the door opened and Gellert came in.  Dressed in his usual garb, he looked around the table once before taking his seat beside you.

You wondered if he had something to do with that.

You began to eat your breakfast.

Light conversation flowed across the table. Gellert was acting like his usual mysterious self and everyone else was as normal as they could be.

Queenie sent the dishes to clean themselves as she moved everyone to the living room, she was telling everyone where to sit for the present exchange.

"You sit here." She said to you, featuring next to Grindelwald. You narrowed your eyes at her, but she just giggled and moved on.

"I have the pleasure of your company again." Gellert grinned.

"You do. Or is it I who has the pleasure of yours." You played along. He chuckled and shifted his eyes back to Queenie.

"Alright. I think Credence should open one first!" She smiled at the young wizard. He smiled back and picked up a small one from the top of his little pile.

"From Y/N." He read from the tag. You smiled at him as unwrapped the little box. He stuffed the wrapping paper to one side and peeled open the box.

In his hand was the silver Phoenix you saw in the shop. He held it up to the light and admired it.

"I thought of you when I saw it. You've risen from the ashes before, there's no doubt in my mind that you can do it again should you ever face the worst." You told him boldly.

Credence looked at you and smiled. He gave you a single nod.

"You open one next." He nodded towards the small pile of presents by your feet. You took the one resting on top and peeled away the paper.

"A scarf!" You lifted the silk like material from the paper and wrapped it around your neck. It was your favourite colour and felt wonderful on. "I love it." You picked up the tag and saw Queenie's name.

"I got you something to go with it. It's in the pile somewhere." She giggled.

"I'll find it, thank you. I love it!"

One by one the presents got opened. You found Queenie's other present, which was a hat to match the scarf.

Eventually everyone came down to the secret Santa presents. No one knew who theirs was from, so this was quite exciting. You all agreed to open them at the same time. On Credence count, the sound of paper ripping filled the air.

In your lap was a necklace. One you had seen before. The symbol was that of the Deathly Hallows. Just like the one Gellert wore.

Slowly, you glanced up to the wizard next you. He was looking at you, the pocket watch you had seen in that shop, back at the muggle town, was sitting in his lap. He leaned in close to your ear.

"This is something personal." He took the necklace from your hand. "This symbol stands for everything we're working towards. It stands for myself. Our future." He whispered. His fingers worked to unclasp the hook. "I trust you more than anyone I know, wear this with pride and should anything ever happen, should you ever find yourself in trouble, hold onto it. I will come." Gellert placed the necklace around your neck and clasped it again.

You reached up and held onto the triangle on display, running your fingers of it.

"Thank you. All I got you is a pocket watch." You chuckled softly.

"A very good one. Silver, excellently detailed, vintage." He opened up the clock face. "Suits me quite well, don't you think?" He smiled.

"Very much."

Queenie clapped her hands.

"I'm going to start lunch! Let the games begin!" She got up and waltzed to the kitchen, you got up to offer a hand, but she insisted you say and enjoy yourself.

Now banned from the kitchen, you played a few games with Credence.

Abernathy brought out a tray of drinks to keep spirits high. Soon enough the room was filled with laughter and a lot of shouting as a game of charades began.

Queenie was banned from joining in due to her gift. She giggled and got to take a turn anyway.

Lunch was severed and you once again found yourself sitting by the wizard your heart beat wildly for. He said nothing against the seating arrangement and spent most of his time chatting with you.

You could feel the eyes of everyone else on you, but Gellert didn't seem to care. He carried on talking to you with a smile as if no one was looking.

"That was lovely, Miss Goldstein."

"You've out done yourself."

"That was wonderful, Queenie."

All components were passed onto the chef. She giggled joyfully. It felt truly wonderful to receive so many compliments.

The dishes got to work on cleaning themselves.

The evening was drawing near and everyone had resulted in going to the living room to make the most of what was left of the day.

Music played, some sang, some dances, some went back to board games.

Gellert held his hand out to you.

"Dance with me."

You took his hand and let him lead you over to where two other acolytes were swaying to the music.

Grindelwald pulled you close to him, your body pretty much pressed against his chest, as his arm wrapped around your waist. His other hand was enclosed around yours and his eyes were peering into your own.

This was officially the closest you had been to the man.

"I've quite enjoyed today." His lips were dangerously close to yours.

"Me too."

"This past month had been quite a special one. Something happened that I can't undo."

"What is it?"

Those beautiful mismatched eyes flickered between your own. His lips pursed in thought as he wondered how to word his next sentence.

"I fell in love." He stated boldly. Much as well go big, because he had no plans on going home.

"You... fell in love?" Your heart was racing. Was everything true? Was this what he had been planning all this time?

"Yes. With you. You've stolen my heart and I never thought anyone would be able to do that. I'm a busy man with much to do, but I had time to fall in love with your pure and sentimental ways."

"Gellert, I... I also fell in love. In love with you. I didn't say anything because I thought the movement was far more important than my silly little feelings."

He swayed you gently.

"Your feelings aren't silly. They're important. Don't ignore the ways of the heart just for my movement." His lips were barely touching yours. "Especially if your heart belongs to me." He whispered.

You could feel eyes on you again.

"Gellert..."

He gave a cheeky grin and finally gave you a kiss.

Your eyes fluttered shut as you melted in his arms. He held you closer to him as his lips pressed against yours. They were warm and soft to the touch. He was being gentle, but passionate about it.

There was a slight applause in the room and he pulled away.

"From now on you don't leave my side. This is our movement." He told you. "I won't let anything happen to you, all I need is your love and support to succeed."

"You'll have it all!" You smiled lovingly at him. "I love you."

"I love you too."

He kissed you again.

The End!

Tags:

@weapinggwillowss @awyr @fandombeehive @charmed-asylum​  @sigynbandraoi-blog @dragonstorytelling​ @newheart97​@procrastinatingmurder​ @kpopgirlbtssvt @jester2407

[gloves94]

White Holes [Cassian Andor] [10/10]

Warnings: None Tags: Death Pairings: Cassian Andor/OC

Summary: Captain Cassian Andor was an Officer of Rebel Intelligence for the Alliance. An emotionless tool. There was nothing more to his life than following orders and working for the Resistance. Hell! His only friend was an Imperial droid named K-2SO. So what happens when he is struck by love at first sight and meets Dr. Lya Stryker? Will their story has a happy ending? (CassianxOC)

My fanfiction: M A S T E R L I S T

*** 3 Years Later ***

Adair sprinted to Dr. Stryker's home. He wasted no time in banging on the door. It only took a moment for the woman to answer the door. Her hair swayed as she did it rapidly.

She would never say but she had been patiently waiting for her significant other's return. She had a bad feeling about this mission. She could feel her stomach twisting in anxiety with every second of Cassian's absence.

"They're back," the male doctor nodded. His face was pale and his tone was one of seriousness. Her heart stopped. Dr. Lya Stryker looked back at the Imperial droid that had been reprogrammed recently. "NA-2, it's time." She quickly rushed back to a room which had been built in the back. There was a toddler sleeping on a small bed.

"I'll be back Jorel, mom is going to go get dad," she kissed the child's curly topped head carefully not to awaken him and rushed out of the house whipping her lab coat over her shoulders.

She had begged him not to go.

"Cass," She pleaded leaning over her kitchen counter.

"You always have bad feelings," Cassian sighed. "You have to admit you just don't want me to go."

"Well- of course not," She exhaled in frustration. It was like this every time. Except this time it was somehow worse.

Vital information about a weapon of mass destruction called the Death Star with the power to obliterate planets was just intercepted by rebels. However, it was potentially just a rumors. If it wasn't true- it was a trap and if it was true- what choice did the Rebel Alliance have? Would the galaxy be condemned if they didn't fight? What were the chances? What were the choices that they had?

She would plead for him not to go and he would return would a few souvenirs in the form of scars and bruises. Lya snaked around the counter and wrapped her arms around his arm. She leaned her head on his shoulder and kissed his arm. "If it were up to me I'd be selfish and keep you here all to myself." "If it were up to me I'd let you," he smiled at her. That ages smiled that made the edges of his eyes crinkle with affection.

"We have to go, get our hands on those plans. We've all done terrible things on behalf of the rebellion. Everything I did, I did for the Rebellion, for a better future and every time I walked away from something that I wanted to forget I told myself that it was for a cause that was worth it, for something that I believed in. But now, if everything is lost, everything would've been for nothing. I couldn't face myself if I did nothing." She looked down her eyes stung as they filled with hot tears, the grip became tighter around his arm.

"I'm doing this for us," he said taking her face in one of his hands. "For Jerol," he nodded his head over to the bedroom at the end of the hallway. "For me?" "For you," he leaned in and kissed her forehead. "For Esli?"

"Esli?" His eyes narrowed in confusing. "Who's Esli?"

She looked at him before cracking a weak smile. Her eyes lowered to her not yet swollen stomach.

It was a complicated time during the Galaxy War for children to be born, but alas life had to go on.

"A-Are you sure?" His eyes went wide. "Another one?" he beamed. He wrapped his arms around the doctor and hid his smile on her hair. He hid his smile, his tears, Cassian knew he wouldn't come back. He took everything in, her smell, her touch, the way her body felt against his.

He remembered the first time he ever laid eyes on the doctor. His heart had stopped, he had been so persistent in loving her since.

"Oh, Lya, my love, my all," he closed his eyes and pressed a kiss on her forehead. Like a broken damn the tears streamed down her eyes silently as she wrapped her arms around him and kissed him as if it were the last time.

They made love one last time and her parting words to him were.

"May the force be with you my love,"

That had been yesterday.

Lya had not slept all night, she had been praying with every action and every step she took. Preparing the medical ward for the return of the brave volunteers who had decided to partake on this dangerous mission.

Beds were prepared, medicine was restocked and everything was ready the return of any fallen heroes.

Fighter ships and U-Wings were coming in ignited in flames. Survivors were rushed in to the ward. Medics began running left and right, there was pain, fire, blood, screaming and death quickly filling each and every one of the beds in the ward.

Lya kept her eyes sharp her senses on edge. She remained attentive to every individual that was checked in. Surprisingly there weren't that many survivors, there were beds to spare. She did a round around the ward desperately looking for Cassian. She kept her eyes open looking for Jyn Erso, K-2SO, anybody that could have whereabouts about Cassian.

Time flew by in the ward, and with every aching minute she knew.

It was around midnight when the Rebel Alliance had gathered at the main headquarters for a final update on the results of the mission.

By this time Lya already knew. She could feel it in her gut. She walked as tall as she could as she entered the crowded room. At the center stood the leaders of the Rebellion. They honored and praised the fighters that sacrificed their lives for the purpose of the Rebellion. They announced that thanks to these brave souls the mission had been a success and because of that the Rebellion actually stood a fighting chance against the Empire.

Holographic figures began glimmering in the projector with their names spelled above. Names and faces of valiant soldiers killed in action began flashing before the crew. Lya's face was stoic. Adair stood at her side analyzing her composed expression. Some of the faces flashing were familiar, some weren't.

Her heart was at her throat.

Beating.

Hammering.

Her breathing, however was not.

She looked over her shoulder briefly. Wishing, hoping that Cassian would be casually leaning against the wall. His dark, bottomless eyes lingering on her as they usually would. K-2SO would come in and make a blunt sarcastic remark. But that wasn't the case today.

Her eyes returned back to the screen when they landed on her beloved for the last time.

Everything she feared had just been confirmed.

Just like that she felt something shatter inside of her. She stumbled backwards on her feet, the breath she had been holding choked out in scattered fits.

Her blood ran cold as she lost her footing and collapsed. She couldn't hear Adair calling her name, hoisting her up and dragging her limp body to the back of the crowd.

He knew what this felt like. He had felt it when Lux, the light of his life, had perished.

Her eyes remained fixed on the blue hologram of the man she had come to love, the father of her children, the martyr. She had known that choosing Cassian as her significant other would lead to this, however, she had not planned for it. It was never something she had wanted to witness. And just like that it flickered away, on to the next fallen soldier and the next, and the next.

Her hands began trembling as she allowed ragged breaths to escape her cloudy eyes. Dr. Stryker could feel an icy numbness consuming her soul, the tears came without a warning burning down her face.

He was gone.

Cassian had passed in Scarif.

Lya didn't know how it had happened. Nobody knew how or who he had been with. All that she knew was that it had been unstoppable. The planet had literally been obliterated. The only thing that brought her peace was knowing that it was fast and that if anything he hadn't been alone.

His death had not been in vain.

She liked to think that his spirit was with her. Comforting her throughout her mourning, keeping a watchful eye over Jorel, their child. She held the toddler's hand in hers. Everyday he was beginning to look more and more like his father with those dark eyes and his wavy brown hair.

They stood next to a memorial in front of her house. It was simple, just like he would've wanted it.

'In Honor of Captain Cassian Jorel Andor, who sacrificed his life for the Rebel Alliance and died in Scarif. Loving friend, father and husband.'

There was no use in hiding their relationship now. The two had been wed in secrecy. People around the base would gossip and whisper about the doctor and the mysterious parentage of her children.

However, that was now over, there was no more hiding, no more secrets. The only thing left to do was to move forward, and Cassian wasn't completely gone. He lived on, through his children, through his legacy, through the words and actions of those still fighting against the Empire with tooth and nail.

Lya would make sure that legacy stayed alive. She would keep fighting with her whole heart, even if she had just had half of it. For her, for their family, and specially for Cassian.

Author's Note:

I'll admit it.

This story was supposed to be 12 chapters long and I had already written them out, but then my OneNote crashed and everything went down the drain.

*Shoots a hole through my laptop*

So it is time to bring the story for a close. However, I have been wanting to start a Kylo Ren fic with Cassian and Lya's child Esli, so maybe that will happen one day. If it happens keep an eye out for Black Holes.

Thank you so much for the support and patience everyone.

All my love,

Prev: Chapter 9

[settle-down-frohike]

Will you please please rewrite the scene where Mulder tells Scully he's happy for her but he's just not sure where he fits in. Honestly your majestic writing abilities are the only thing that can fix it!!!!

Sorry!! Big long preface ahead!!! First, I must apologize to @scully-loves-ruthie upfront. This probably isn’t exactly what you asked for. I have a real inability to write against canon though I wish I could. Fic is a band-aid of sorts for me but I can only write (not read mind you, shove that AU up my ass all day I’ll love it) what could in some realm, be canon. I can’t dangle impossible perfection in front of myself or immerse myself in such a way as to write it, because it only reminds me of what can’t have, and then I get all morose about the way things are.  So this isn’t a rewrite of this scene so much as it is me trying to babble away my confusion and former hatred for it and then exteding it to my liking.  I utterly HATED this scene, and damn you, you made me watch it over and over and over and over. It was misery. But I have to thank you, because it was cathartic in a sense. It forced me to deal with my own feelings of blame toward Mulder for going off on his own and leaving Scully behind and find some empathy down in my cold dead heart. So I hope in light of all of this, I hope you will forgive me, friend.  

Oh! and one more thing, the ever fabulous @kateyes224 wrote a true re-write of this scene a while back called Three Words More. If you want quality work, skip mine and read hers. :)

Sorry for the babbling. Tagging @fictober, @today-in-fic, and @always-angst

Sensory Integration

He hasn’t told her this for fear she’d have kept him incarcerated, but he’s still fighting waves of nausea induced by the sensation of free fall every few minutes. His stomach rolls end over end, as if on the downslope of a rollercoaster. His feet still don’t feel as if they’ve touched ground, which is ironic for a man who was 6 feet under its surface not 36 hours ago. He feels suspended above this world, tethered only by the clinical sound of her voice as she catalogues his condition. It is the only thing that feels like home right now, and God, he wants to be home, he does, but he’s an apparition, a ghost of himself, floating along a tour of his own life like Ebenezer Scrooge.

Only people don’t talk directly to ghosts about their scars and miraculous healing and their perfect health. They’ve been circling each other cautiously since she came to retrieve him this morning. He senses her restlessness and gets the distinct impression that she’s holding back from latching into him and falling apart. He’s grateful for her restraint, because he can’t handle sudden movements right now. If she were to approach too fast in his direction, he’d end up curled in the fetal position somewhere in a corner, protecting his vital organs. He doesn’t know how he knows this, he just does. He’s like one giant Pavlovian experiment.

Stimulus.

Response.

Repeat.

On the silent ride to his apartment, he keeps his gaze on the passing scenery. The feeling of forward motion relaxes him. In his peripheral he catches her cautious, fleeting glances, and wonders if she’s worried about him or expecting him to say something. An apology perhaps, but that’s probably just because he feels like he owes her one. There is at least that much of his former self left. He knows, on some level, that this is at least partly his fault. He left her to protect her, his intentions valiant, the result catastrophic. That too, at least, feels familiar.

The walk out of the elevator down his hallway is akin to a prisoner being led to his cell. He imagines the catcalls from either side. Wonders if they are similar to the whispers she must’ve endured in his absence.

“Hear that? Ol’ Spooky finally got what he always wanted– a ride in a spaceship!!”

“Typical asshole, right? He’d have made a shitty father anyway. Shame he had to knock her up before he took off this time.”

Had he, though? Does she assume he assumes it’s his? He knows her. Knows she’d have never pursued this again so quickly without him. Would she?With someone anonymous?  Is it..he…she.. his? 

The nausea assaults him once again at the door. A reckoning lies beyond, and he isn’t sure footed enough yet to do anything but react. He hopes for something else familiar to grasp on to once they walk in, the scent of burnt coffee or old laundry, dishes in the sink, but the echo of her heels on the hardwood is the only thing that registers. For a place that is full to the brim still of his possessions, the sound only reinforces the impression of emptiness. It seems to him now a shrine, a collection of things in memoriam. He has waited much too long to speak at this point he knows. He doesn’t want to frighten her. His pulse races in his ears.

Say.

Something.

“It looks different.” His voice doesn’t shake like he thought it would.

“It’s clean.” Her humor astounds him; it is without a trace of bitterness. He knows she is not angry, but at this point he would understand if she were exasperated. He’s drawn immediately to the serene glow of the tank and a fleeting bubble of giddy reunion rises in his chest, immediately followed by shame for not feeling the same around her. Again something is off, but in the right way. He recognizes something as missing, and it’s a relief. 

“I’m missing a molly.”

“Yea,” she chuffs, “ she wasn’t as lucky as you.”

Dread floods his senses once more as well as the need to retch, so he sits awkwardly on the desk to steady himself and prevent swaying on his feet. Being under the gun used to be what made him thrive, and now he just wants to hide. But she is being so intolerably patient there fiddling with the key he gave her in an act of good faith, and the pressure of owing her the same.. something.. everything, is weighing on him now.

“Mulder…” there is the faintest trace of impatience in her tone now, for which he cannot blame her, but the numbness he feels only serves to allow the blankest of stares in her direction.  She continues to narrate an abbreviated, watered-down recollection of her experience and he is drifting again, the rope to which he is attached to this world suddenly stretching, fraying and unraveling, because this isn’t her. She’s lying by omission on his behalf. She knows damn well he knows exactly what it was like. But she’s flailing, trying desperately to pull him to her by playing on his propensity for compassion. This particular shade of cheap manipulation isn’t her color, and even she is struggling with it.  She wants so desperately to connect with him right now, even if it is only by the shared recollection of what it is like to be utterly devastated and reborn by the absence and presence of another. Her words muddle and blur until,

“…And now to have to you back, it….” He isn’t so devoid of sensitivity not to catch the slight glimmer of tears as she trails off. But he is in no condition to provide comfort to anyone right now.

“You act like you’re surprised.” His old instincts are kicking in automatically, for which he is grateful, deflection by sarcasm is his default setting. But her response is so genuine that it smothers any relief he felt having had any words to say at all.

“I prayed a lot.”

He has always wondered himself worthy of her prayers, whether she would allow herself to pray to a god she holds in such reverence {the same one that he has punished with indifference for so long} to grant him, a nonbeliever of all things, mercy. But pray she did.

“And my prayers have been answered.”

The incredulity in the way she says it tells him she is just as astounded as he. Had she ever felt him worthy? Or was it sheer desperation that drove her to her knees?

The elephant in the room is in fact no elephant at all, the evidence of her pregnancy only now making its way into his consciousness, her firm rounded belly at such stark contrast to the exhausted slump of her shoulders and rest of her anxious, wired form. She is so beautiful to him still. Incandescent skin, and longer hair all signs that physically, she is flourishing. But her countenance is all wrong. She is like a tree branch in winter,  drained and brittle on the surface, new life burgeoning beneath.

“In more ways than one.” He makes a feeble motion toward her middle. There. He’s acknowledged it. The band-aid is off. She glances down as if she herself is only noticing her condition just now. A slew of unexpected emotions tighten his throat. Fear. Elation. Possessiveness. Resentment. Curiosity. Scully is pregnant. Very. She even waddles. He chuckles inwardly at her maternity slacks’ indention beneath her blouse.

Scully shopping for maternity clothing.

The thought is at once light and unfathomably depressing at the same time.

“Yea.” Now even she sounds like she would be grateful for a quip, but she is capable of nothing but earnestness at the moment.

“I’m happy for you.” He wonders if she caught the catch in his voice just now. Internally he is in free fall, his stomach is swirling and his heart is racing.

His appendages are numb and the entire room is spinning. He nips at the side of his mouth enough to bring pain, enough to center his thoughts to continue,  

“I think I know…how much that means to you.” The phrase feels slimy and bitter on his tongue. When she was sick–and the unexpected recollection of that time pierces his gut like a forgotten splinter—the cancer was always a ‘that.’ The fact that he has just referred to her pregnancy as such feels so utterly wrong. He’s made her granted wish sound like an incurable condition, and he hates himself for it. He knows he’s dissociating. He knows the term, his education coming back to him like pieces of a puzzle, falling into place at random.

“Mulder…” Oh God, that voice. Whispered and rich with the emotion that only those that pray can posses.  It’s a thousand moments before the apology he’s demanding of himself is tumbling from his mouth in an almost juvenile, petulant fashion.

“I’m sorry…” he shakes his head in an effort to regroup, “I don’t mean to be cold or ungrateful I just…I have no idea where I fit in…right now.” He’s purging. Words that have been festering for days now are pouring forth, like pus from a wound, a necessity towards healing but grotesque nonetheless. The look on her face is searing and utter in its despair. She is unquestionably disappointed. Nothing, none of this is going like she thought, as she’d hoped, and it’s evident in a way that is so uncharacteristic of her usual aplomb.

He could blame hormones for rendering her so unusually transparent, But that would be too convenient. The truth is that the strife of the day-to-day without him has worn her threadbare. She has only her naked self to give now, and all that it may entail. Herself and someone else.

Jesus. Someone else.  

Painful enlightenment forces him to soften his earlier declaration of despondency with practiced analysis. She looks as though if she speaks, she will cry. And he won’t do that to her.

“I just uh…I’m having a little trouble processing…everything.” And though basic and uncouth, it feels like the most organic thing he’s expressed yet. This, at least, is unadulterated truth. He beings to speak again, having felt like he’s gained at least some ground but she interrupts him.

“I um…” her gaze is on the floor and her expression is incredulous. It seems she too, is struggling to process, “I…I need a minute I’m sorry..” he rises out of instinct to go to her but she holds up her hand in reproach and escapes towards his bedroom. Like Pavlov’s dog, she elicits an classically conditioned response by her motion and he stays, dutiful, waiting on his next command.

He can’t help but notice the protective way she cradles her unborn as she hurries away.

In his heart of hearts he knows that this child is his. How many times on the couch in this room? One memory in particular comes unbidden. The salt and tang of the succulent flesh between her legs, pummeling into her and the helpless yelp of his given name triggering his instant release. He’d wanted her to get pregnant that night. Many times. Felt he could will it into existence beyond reason. He could make their own miracle, faith be damned, if he fucked her hard enough, came hard enough. He’d wanted to brand her from the inside out. Damned right he’d wanted this.

What is it they say about having everything you ever wanted? If he lost it now, would that feel like freedom? Is that why he wants so desperately to run right now? He wants darkness, and quiet, and constant noise. He wants to be left alone and held and he wants mostly not to feel as though he’s just jumped from a plane with no parachute and no notion of when or if he will land. His stomach pitches again, causing him to salivate.

The flush of the toilet brings him to attention and she returns, slightly flushed and with composure clearly only gained within the last few moments. She hadn’t noticed the last smear of her mascara. He’s made her cry, and he kicks himself internally. She doesn’t resume her place on the other side of the room though. She continues slowly, and purposefully to him, but she does not reach out. His heart thuds against his ribcage and he swallows against the fear of her next words. She fears them herself, its evident in the way she takes a calming breath and speaks to his clavicle.

“I need you know Mulder,”

Oh God. It’s mine isn’t it….. It isn’t mine. She’s about to tell me. This is it…

She swallows her apprehension and continues, “I know what it’s like…to come back…from an experience and feel…out of place.” Her name begins to form on his mouth. Her gaze is still cast carefully downward but ever the empath, she interrupts his sensed rebuttal and continues, forcing him to listen.

“But I need you to know,” and with those words her eyes fix upon his own. He remembers her now. Knows this look. Her eyes are wide enough that he notices the whites of them glisten. They are brimming with integrity and honesty and deep, abiding love.

Their history crashes over him in waves, roaring above the static of his confusion. Like wedded vows, her words ring pure and true and timeless, the look on her face then the same as it is now.

“I’m not a part of any agenda…you’ve got to trust me…”

“Mulder I wouldn’t put myself on the line for anybody but you..”

“I just knew….”

“Mulder *fight* him…”

“I wouldn’t change a day.”

“Nothing happens in contradiction to nature, only to what we know of it…”

“If we quit now, they win…”

“ …personal interest is all that I have. And if you take that away than there is no reason for me to continue.”

“And you are mine…”

A heaviness surrounds him, a soothing, gentle, bone-deep pressure. It pulls him downwards, the centrifugal force of her gaze pitching him into the dark pool of her iris and he feels finally, finally grounded, secure in memory and the totality of gravity, the finality of arrival.

“…when you are ready, I’ll be here,” She pauses, “we’ll be here.”

Tactile sensation has found its way back, and he realizes that his palms have subconsciously come to rest on the ripened crest of her form. He feels the roll and flutter of life beneath; it is as real and tangible as it is supposed to be. It feels like hope.

\

[kateyes224]

Independence Day

A/N: Fourth of July fluff and nonsense, inspired by some anons I’ve gotten recently about whether Mulder is capable of giving Scully a meaningful gift.  Timeline:  Post-IWTB, Pre-Revival

Mulder knocks on her door and goes to straighten his tie before he remembers he’s not wearing one.  Hasn’t worn one in years.  He tries not to fidget, suspecting she may be eyeing him through her peephole, but he ends up shifting back and forth on his feet the longer it takes her to answer the door.  

He triple-guesses his outfit for the eighteenth time that night, and berates himself for it, feeling ridiculous for feeling ridiculous.

He hears her soft, even footfalls as she approaches the door, then a long moment of silence. She is peeping.

When she opens the door, her apartment seems to exhale at the exact same moment he does.

“Hi.”

“Hey, Scully.”  Scully in her angular new suits and jewel-toned scrubs seems a completely separate being from this creature.  This woman’s hair is pulled up and away from her face and off her neck.  She’s wearing a sky-colored sweater that deepens the blue of her eyes to a dark violet in the low light, and jeans that he knows for a fact have been worn in from years of washing in hard water. He’d washed them a few dozen times himself. She’s hardly wearing a stitch of makeup.

Fuck losing nine minutes.  For a moment, he thinks he might have lost a quarter of a century.  “You look good.”

She knows. Blushes anyway.

“Thanks.  You look pretty good yourself.”

“Ladies always love a man in a polo.”

He keeps his eyes trained on hers, deliberately not looking over her shoulder.  I need a space of my own, Mulder, she’d said, a little over a year ago now.  He’d hated her for it then but he’d respected it just the same.  He still hates it, and he still respects it.  He doesn’t want to taint it by seeing it without her say-so.

“Would you like to come in for a minute?” A polite and completely insincere invitation.  She hadn’t even wanted him to pick her up tonight, he reminds himself.

“Nope, I think we can just go.  Otherwise we’ll be late.”

She looks cautious, but grabs her purse and her jacket from the table by the front door.  “Late?  I thought we were just going to grab dinner?”  

Mulder waits while she turns to close the door.  Her old housekey for their country home jangles on her keyring next to the one she uses to lock up.  

He doesn’t have a key for her new place.  

“We are going to grab dinner.  But I have a surprise later tonight and we’ve got to get a move on or else we’ll miss it.”

She makes a show of slowing and sighs audibly, predictably skeptical and apparently willing to play her old part for old time’s sake.

He walks her out to the pickup truck and circles to her side, opening it for her and handing her in.  She chuckles. “Mulder, you’ve never been this solicitous. What have you got planned? Not another haunted house, I hope.”

Closing her door, he smiles down at her through the half-closed window.  “You know I only save those for Christmas, Scully.”

He drives them back out of town the same way he came, threading his way from interstate to highway to two-lane country road before stopping to pick up dinner. She smiles when he pulls in front of her favorite barbecue joint and hops out of the truck to pay for a couple of messy brisket sandwiches dripping in tangy sauce and wrapped in foil and white styrofoam containers of coleslaw and baked beans.  Two thick slices of cornbread are immediately set upon by Scully when he returns to the truck, and he laughs and slaps her hands away.

The sound of her giggle bouncing around the cab of the truck before it’s snatched out the window and into the night air nearly wipes the smirk right off of his face. He’d been almost sure he’d never be able to make her laugh again.

Another twenty miles past the house he’s still trying to think of as his and not theirs and he pulls off the main road and into a dirt lot that is already filled with cars.  They’re a few hundred yards from where the local high school campus sprawls out in the dark.  Mulder grabs a blanket from the bed of the truck and ties the handles of the plastic bag of food into bunny ears. At her questioning look, he nods in the direction of the football field glowing under floodlights in the distance. Smells and sounds from booths selling all manner of deep-fried food, kettle corn, and funnel cake waft towards them in the heavy July air.

A dunk tank, a pony ride, and a small petting zoo are set up in the home team’s end zone.  An emu is being walked around on a leash, to the delight and horror of many small children.  And just beyond that, a wooden stage and dance floor. A band of morose young teens is going about the serious business of setting up their equipment, plugging guitars into amplifiers and strumming chords that twang offkey.

The lead singer and DJ, a girl with a shock of a bright turquoise pixie cut, stands in front of the speakers and clicks around on her laptop in the meantime. The dance floor is almost full with couples swaying back and forth to an unpredictable mix of R&B and country.  Children of all ages dart in between them in an endless game of tag.

“Mulder, what are we doing here?”

Mulder keeps walking just beyond the stage where other families have set up their own circles of chairs and picnic blankets.  He makes a show of unfurling the Navajo blanket on the ground, smooths the wrinkles before setting the plastic bag of food in the center.  “Just make yourself comfortable. You want anything to drink? Some funnel cake? We have about twenty minutes before the show.”

Scully crosses her arms and stares up at him. “Mulder,” she repeats, “what are we doing here?” She sounds, for all intents and purposes, like she’s just surveyed a crime scene and found it conspicuously lacking in what he’d once half-ironically referred to as a distinct paranormal bouquet.

“What, you don’t trust me?” Mulder asks, blinking down at her, and he nearly chokes on the question like a popcorn kernel has lodged itself in the back of his throat when he remembers that no, she probably doesn’t.  Not anymore.  Mulder shakes his head when it takes her a second too long to answer. “Don’t worry, Doc. Have a seat, I’ll go grab us a drink.”

Scully purses her lips at him and glances over her shoulder as the band strikes up a rousing, if overly-metal, rendition of Yankee Doodle.  “Hurry back,” she murmurs, then bends to sit cross-legged on the blanket and starts untying the plastic bag.

Mulder hustles off, taking a wide berth around a game of cornhole to where a keg and a cash booth have been set up.  He pays $10 for two light beers in red Solo cups and turns, almost knocking over a man and his wife in their late 30s.  

“Mr. Scully?” the young man asks, hesitant.

 Mulder sputters, trying to hide it by taking a sip of his beer.

“Uhhhh, no, I’m Fox Mulder. Dr. Scully is my…” Shit.  This was always the hard part.  “...my partner.”  It’s never not been true.  “Are you Mr. and Mrs. Fearon?”

The young man nods and glances at his wife, who smiles up uncertainly at Mulder.  They both turn. Behind them sits a boy in a wheelchair. “And this is Christian.”

Christian is pale, with huge, almond-shaped blue eyes and a tangle of messy brown hair.  He’s got a crocheted afghan tucked around his legs and a beanie on his head despite the humid July heat, but two rosy spots color his cheeks, belying a fragile bloom of health.

Mulder smiles down at him, bends to look into the boy’s eyes.  “Hi, Christian.  My name is Mulder. I’m a friend of Dr. Scully’s. She’s been wondering about you.”

Christian’s eyes crinkle, a grin lighting up his face. “I’ve been wondering about her, too.”

Mulder leads the way back over to where Scully is sitting on their blanket, the Fearons following slowly but surely behind him. Just as he calls out to Scully and she turns, the lights around the makeshift fairground all dim simultaneously, leading to whoops and hollers and lascivious catcalls.  In the dark, Mulder settles in on the blanket next to Scully and hands her a beer.

“Mulder, who was with-”

“Shhhh, Scully,” Mulder whispers, just as the band gets going with Ray Charles’ version of America the Beautiful. The drummer starts military cadence on the drums and the teen girl with the turquoise hair starts belting out the first verse in a honeyed alto.

Oh beautiful, for heroes proved, In liberating strife, Who more than self, our country loved, And mercy more than life

Just as the chorus gets going, the first pops and whistles of fireworks start echoing from a couple of hundred yards down the way.  The crowd draws in a collective gasp as blue and green and red and white sparks erupt overhead.

Scully’s eyes are trained on the sky for a long moment before she turns back to Mulder.  The wide smile on her face lights over him just as the next round of fireworks explode in a shimmer and a pop of noise. But her eyes slip past him and catch sight of the profile of the young boy who was trailing in Mulder’s wake. Christian’s hands are planted firmly over his ears, transfixed by the showers of color blazing overhead.

“Christian?” Mulder sees her mouth silently before looking up at him, confused.

Mulder bends close to her ear, loud enough that she can hear over the gunshot blast of the next round of fireworks.

“Last week, you got a voicemail at the house from his new treating physician, a Dr. Rajkumar. She thought you’d want to know...he’s been doing well enough as result of your treatment plan that his parents were going to take him to see the fireworks this year.”

Scully can’t seem to tear her gaze away from the boy’s face. His eyes, saucer-wide, haven’t left the sky, and his smile can’t get any bigger.  

Mulder watches Scully watching Christian for the next ten minutes, as the fireworks and the band get louder and more intense.  When the final crescendo and the finale culminate above them, she looks up at Mulder, whispers her thanks, and wraps an arm around his waist.

As she settles into a spot that feels more comfortable than it should for going without the weight and shape of her for so long, he hopes she feels free, if only for tonight.

[bokusaka]

Time

Fandom: Haikyuu!! Chapters: 1/1 Word Count: 4,973 Rating: Mature Relationship: Iwaoi Characters: Iwaizumi, Oikawa, Kuroo Tags: alternate universe- post canon, canon compliant, major character death, cancer, cancer treatment, angst, mentions of smut, funky writing style Summary: Time takes. Time corrupts. Time destroys. Time is greedy and ruthless and uncaring. It rips through your life and takes everything you’ve ever cared about. It ruins everything it touches. It doesn’t care about love, it doesn’t care about promises. It mocks, it taunts, it teases us with promises it has no intention of keeping. It wrecks havoc, and even if you can see it coming, you can’t stop it. Time is pain. So don’t tell me time will heal my wounds. Time gave me these wounds. Notes:  This is heavy inspired by this song and by the movie Collateral Beauty. Read on AO3

The city could be heard, a faint thrum through the window of their twelfth floor apartment. The blinds are open. The lights of the city filter into the dark apartment. An occasional shrill of sirens. A blare of a car horn. But for the most part, calm. A half full glass of wine on the coffee table next to a nearly empty beer bottle. The soft glow of the television cast across the room, accompanied by the monotonous tone of the documentary narrator. A heavy weight on his chest. Soft brown locks tickling at the underside of his chin. A hand held loosely in his.

The weight disappears. The padding of bare feet across the hardwood floor. Green eyes follow the footsteps until they disappear into the bathroom, then fall back on the television they’re hardly paying attention to. The beer bottle is emptied in one more swallow. The glass echoes softly through the room when it’s placed back on the table. Excited voices replace the monotonous tone. A commercial.

Coughing. His green eyes flicker back to the closed bathroom door. It’s not the first night disturbed by the coughing. Only one in weeks, nearly a month of nights. Back to the television.

The bathroom door creaks open. A soft voice laced with concern, and those green eyes are suddenly attentive. Standing in the open doorway, a hand held up, palm out. Red. Blood. More coughing.

…

He’s tired, but unable to even contemplate sleep. Eyes glance at the clock on the wall again. Every time they do, the thin hands haven’t moved far. It must be broken. Tick, tock, tick, tock. The sound vibrates through every cell of his body. Not only the sounds of the clock. The hospital is loud. Even at two in the morning. It’s a far cry from the relaxing, quiet atmosphere of the apartment that had been quickly vacated. Voices crackle over the intercom. People bustle through the halls. Stretchers with loose wheels. Every few minutes, the growing sounds of sirens and the shouting of voices. Crying.

But loudest of all… tick, tock, tick, tock, tick…. Green eyes flash to the clock. Definitely broken. It’s too slow. It’s taking too long. Hurry….

A man in a white coat. His nose buried in a clipboard, although his eyes don’t scan the paper. Young, new, unused to delivering bad news to family members. His footsteps draw him closer, closer. This doctor doesn’t pass him by. Stopped right in front of him. Blue, nervous eyes meet green.

Big words, muttered in a soft voice. Too quickly. Magnetic resonance imaging results. Biopsy. Respiratory glandular cells. Adenocarcinoma….

Another man in a white coat. Older. Tried and tested. Dark brown eyes much softer, more sympathetic, less pitying. A hand on the younger doctor’s shoulder, a clear dismissal. He’ll take it from here. Shorter words. Much more understandable. But the meaning is the same. In layman’s terms no less or more devastating.

Lung cancer.

Tick, tock, tick… tock… tick. Tock. Words are being spoken. The older doctor continues to explain, but his soft voice falls on deaf ears. The air is thin. The ground is swaying, shattering beneath him. A crushing weight collapses onto his shoulders, and they’re unable to hold it. Green eyes watch dark brown, but they don’t see. It’s impossible. There must’ve been a mistake. There’s no way that….

A hand grasping at his elbow. He’s steered to a chair. He sits. Numbly, unfeeling. The doctor is still talking. Treatment options. Surgery, radiation, chemotherapy. Percentages. Percentage that it’ll work? Too small. Percentage that a life will be cut much, much too short? Much, much too large.

It’s too much. His head is spinning, his entire world collapsing. This is all a dream. It’s a sick joke. It can’t be possible, any of it. It was just a cough.

The doctor’s eyes say it all. It’s not a joke. It’s not a dream. This is real. This is happening.

He wants to run. He wants to hide. He can’t handle this. Tick, tock, tick, tock. The clock is still broken. Now it goes too fast, those hands ticking away and away without a care. As if they aren’t bringing him closer to… as if they aren’t going to steal…. Time was going by too slowly earlier, but now it’s much too fast. Wasted seconds, each tick, tock chipping away. If only he could stop it. If only he could rewind it. Rewind it to sharing a drink by the light of the television. Rewind it to promises to stay together forever. Rewind it to the squeak of shoes on a hard floor where an unbreakable bond was forged. Rewind it to tiny feet chasing each other in a backyard where friendships were formed. Rewind it to when time was all they had, everything they had.

The doctor is still talking. Do you want to see him? And the only possible answer.

It’s quieter in the small room. The glass door sliding shut on all the outside noise. But the noises in the room are far worse than those outside. Far worse than the wail of sirens. The static voice over the intercoms. The crying family members in the waiting room. It’s the beep of a heart monitor. The wheezing breath of the sole occupant. The tick, tock, tick, tock that seems to follow him everywhere.

He lies against the white of the sheets. A needle is stuck into the crease of his elbow. A clip on the end of a finger. A plastic tube loops under his nose. It fogs with each breath. He doesn’t look much different than he did when they rushed out of their apartment. Exhausted, lethargic, but not much different. Perhaps this is a dream after all.

He wheezes in another breath.

There’s a chair near the edge of the bed. He takes it. Light brown eyes follow him. They watch his hand as he reaches up to take the one resting in the white sheets. Mind the wires. Don’t disturb the clip. Soft skin beneath the stroke of his thumb. Green eyes don’t lift from the ministrations. What does his he say? Where does he even begin?

Don’t look so down. It’s muttered in a soft, tired breath. Green eyes lift to meet light brown. A smile. Forced. Even now, even in this situation, he tries to hide his hurt, his pain, his suffering.

How can you be so carefree about this? He doesn’t mean to say it. The smile fades ever so slightly. The shock of the sudden, hard question. But it’s not gone long. It’s painted back on with an expert ease.

There’s no answer, and his next words are softer. We’ll fight this. Whatever it takes. I’ll make sure you’re okay.

The smile is no longer forced. Not entirely.

…

It's a sleepless night. And a restless day. Held in the hospital twenty-four hours for observation. Endless doctors and nurses. Specialists. A meeting with an oncologist. Appointments made. For surgery. For radiation. For chemotherapy. Then home. Finally. Home to an apartment that doesn't feel the way it was left. The air is different. Stiff. Suffocating. The relaxing air gone. Sucked away by the vacuum of reality. The air is different. Life is different.

They make love. At first, he doesn't think he can. He's not in the mood. How can he love when love is being ripped away? But some coaxing, a seductive smile- forced- and they're in bed. Skin touches skin. Breath mingles. Fingers weave together, hands clasped tight. His breath wheezes ever so slightly in between the moans. The calls of his name. Pleased whines. More wheezing. A cough.

They make love, and it's different than it usually is. Slow. Passionate. Feeling. They've always been passionate. That is not different. Time is different. Before, there was always tomorrow. An infinite number of tomorrows. Time was on their side. But now. Now it lurks over their shoulders, a sinister fanged smirk. It is there, its presence heavy. Weighing them down. It threatens to take everything away. Time doesn't wait. Doesn't make exceptions for love.

So they take their time. They take the time to feel every touch. To hear every sound. To experience every emotion. To memorize their passion. To love. Because time is not the only thing that can take. They can take time.

…

I think we should get another opinion.

His statement is met with silence. He refuses to acknowledge the statement at all. Light brown eyes never leave the television. Don’t even flicker up at him. It’s a documentary about aliens. They’ve both seen it a dozen times. His attention sticks. Or rather, refuses to shift. It’s silent. Except for the drone of the television. It’s dark out. But the city is bright. And so is the television. Two plates sit on the coffee table. One is untouched.

I found an oncologist in-

No.

The sharp word cuts him off. Cuts through the air. Final. Allowing no argument. He doesn’t look up from the television. Watches a slideshow of pictures of UFOs. His body is tense against his. He sighs. He expected this. But it can’t continue. This stubbornness. This refusal to acknowledge what is happening. A month hasn’t been long enough for their reality to sink in. Despite two surgeries. A round of radiation. Numerous appointments with the oncologist. He’s still stubborn in his refusal. He won’t talk about it. Won’t show any signs of understanding. Won’t face reality. As if not talking about it will make it go away. As if silence will result in nonexistence.

You need to talk about it. You can’t keep ignoring this. He says it softly. A gentle prod. An urge to open up. His patience is running thin. His own pain in acknowledging the situation- in fighting to turn it around, in struggling to best time- is hard to bare. He can’t keep doing it alone. Especially not if the alternative is to meet resistance at every step.

I don’t want to talk about it.

Not talking about it won’t make it go away.

He’s on his feet suddenly. Cold air replaces the heat of his skin. Despite still being weak from his radiation, he’s up. He’s pacing. Footsteps echo across the hardwood. Shadows shift across the wall. He’s angry. An angry energy courses through him. It’s clear to see. His hands tremble with it. Even before the words leave his mouth, his anger is apparent.

Why do you want me to talk about it? What will that change?

He stands, slower. He tries to keep his head. Tries not to snap. That won’t solve anything. It’ll change how you handle this, he tells him. His voice is hard. He didn’t intend for it to be.

I don’t want to talk about it!

He storms away. Towards the bedroom. Weak legs falter. Determination keeps them from giving. He follows. Catches the door before it slams in his face. Doesn’t say anything. Stands back, by the door. He watches. Lets anger run its course. They’ve had arguments before. He knows how they play out. Anger, lashing out, but eventually talking. Calm. Civil. But first the anger.

It won’t change anything, he says. Finally. After standing in silence for several heart beats. Not talking may not make this go away, but talking about it won’t either.

You can’t start healing until you-

I’ll never start healing! You heard what the doctor said! You heard the percentages!

I also heard him say that there is a chance. But not if you don’t fight for it.

What do you care? You’re not the one that’s dying!

It’s a slap to the face. A shock that he feels from head to toe. It resounds through his whole body. The truth of it. The way it’s flung at him. The way it’s intended to hurt him. This is how it plays out. Always. He says something intended to hurt. He says something sharp. Something cutting. He hopes it’ll drive everyone away. He wants everyone driven away. He doesn’t want to be seen like this. Upset. Hurting. It’s an instinctive reaction. Hiding a weakness. Protecting himself. But after so long, it doesn’t work. Not anymore. Not on him.

He drives in his heels. Grits his teeth. Anger flares within him. Red colors his vision. This time it hurts. More than anything ever thrown at him before. But he won’t let it drive him away. He can’t let it drive him away. Especially not now. Not with what they have to lose.

You think I don’t know that?! You think it doesn’t hurt me every day? You think I don’t hear those words over and over again? You think I haven’t spent every waking minute trying to figure out how to stop this? You think I haven’t pleaded every day for death to take me and spare you? Do you honestly think I am unaffected by the fact that I am losing you?

The atmosphere shifts. With every word, with every question. The anger evaporates. In both of them. Green meets light brown. And the atmosphere shifts. A lip quivers. A lump forms in a throat. Eyes water. The anger evaporates. And pain is all that’s left.

His fear is visible in his eyes. He didn’t want to talk because he didn’t want to face it. He didn’t want to face his fear. But it’s there. It’s in him. Before him. And he has to face it if he wants to fight it. He whimpers.

I don’t want to die.

A heart bruised, battered, already broken, can’t take anymore. Pushed beyond its limits. It shatters. Millions of shards scatter. No hope of ever putting it back together. No hope of it ever being whole again.

They’re in each other’s arms. There are tears. From both green eyes and light brown. They streak cheeks and stain shirts. Arms wrapped around bodies. Grips hard. Breaths shaking.

I don’t want to die. A sob. Ripped from the chest pressed so close.

I know.

We were supposed to grow old together. I was supposed to tease you for your grey hair and wrinkles. You were supposed to tease me for a cane I’d need by the time I was forty. Our love was supposed to grow greater and greater with each passing day. I was supposed to never get tired of waking up to your face morning after morning. We were supposed to be together forever. We were supposed to have so much time.

He doesn’t know how he gets the words past the lump in his throat. It sticks. It swells until it threatens to cut off his breath. It’s hard, trying not to cry. Trying not to completely break down in front of the one person that needs support. That needs stability. But tears well, and overflow. They are unstoppable. They blur his vision. Wet his cheeks. The lump grows. But still, he forces the words. The only words he can say.

I know.

…

Time continues. Plows forward, unable to be stopped. Unable to be rewound. Back to a time when everything was easy. Back to a time where pain didn’t exist. Back to a time where time was promised. It plows forward. And shrinks. Time is running out. Tick, tock.

The television drones on. Another documentary. The voice of the narrator mingles with the sounds of the city. They flow in through the open window. It buzzes with life. Even at night. Sitting on the couch, a heavy weight on his chest. Light brown hair doesn’t tickle the underside of his chin. There are no thick locks. Only the dusting of fuzz. It’s starting to grow back. It’ll be gone again soon though. Unlike the bags under his eyes. The dark rings are there to stay. As is the pale, sickly skin. The weight lost. The tube under his nose. The oxygen tank at his side. The utter exhaustion. He’s asleep now. His breath wheezes at slowed intervals.

The documentary ends. An infomercial starts. The television clicks off. He doesn’t move. Doesn’t disturb the sleeping form against his chest. He’ll have back pains tomorrow. But that’s inconsequential. Not even worth worrying over. Tomorrow they’re going to the hospital. A longer stay this time. The last round of chemotherapy. And after that, tests. Tests and results that will tell whether the treatment worked. They both know what it will mean if it didn’t.

…

Failed. It’s been hours since the word was spoken. It hasn’t sunk in. The oncology ward is abuzz with activity. People pass by. Patients. Family members. Doctors. Nurses. They talk. They argue. They cry. Wheelchairs roll up and down the hallways. Patients on their way to tests. On their way back. There are intercoms here too. They crackle to life every few minutes. Nurses chat at their station. Sometimes they laugh. It’s the only laughter to be heard in this ward. The clock on the wall. Tick, tock, tick, tock, tick, tock….

Hours. He should go back into that room. He can’t find his feet. Failed. It rings in his head. Over and over again. But he refuses to believe. After so long. After so many rounds of radiation and chemotherapy. Nearly a half dozen surgeries. How could it have failed? It was supposed to work. Treatment was started too late. It wasn’t caught early enough. That’s what the oncologist said. He had been coughing on and off for almost a year before that night. The night everything changed. The night he stepped out of the bathroom with a hand covered in blood. He should’ve been brought here a year sooner. He should’ve known something was wrong. When the cough didn’t go away. When he had trouble catching his breath. When easy activities started to wind him. The signs were there. He should’ve known.

Screaming at the oncologist hadn’t helped. He knew it wouldn’t. But the words came out anyway. Loud. Angry. Hurt. First denial. There’s no way that it failed. It wasn’t supposed to fail. It can’t have failed. Then anger. It’s the oncologist’s fault. He didn’t give the treatments the right way. He messed up the surgeries. Bargaining. What if they try again? What if they start a new treatment? What if they do a lung transplant? Now depression. Sitting alone in the waiting room. Trying to convince himself to go back into the room. He can’t face him. Not now. Not with his cheeks stained in tears. Hands shaking. Grief evident. He needs to gain control of himself. Needs to be a pillar. Needs to be strong for him. Needs to support him.

Hours. Finally, he finds his feet. The walk to the room is miles long. But also only mere feet. Stares at the door. At the doorknob. Deep breaths. Turn the doorknob. Step inside.

He’s awake. Lying on the bed beneath crisp white sheets. Eyes open. Blank. Unseeing. Dark circles. Cheeks sunken. Pale. Bony. Hands clenched in the blanket. A soft smile when the door opens. Light brown eyes follows the footsteps. The chair creaks. A hand reaches out. He takes it. Thin. Bony in his own. Kisses the clammy palm.

I’m sorry.

His eyes burn. His throat is thick with the tears threatening to spill over. Grits his teeth. Don’t be sorry. You have nothing to be sorry for. Absolutely nothing.

Holds the thin hand to his face. Doesn’t let go. Never lets go. Cold against his skin. Against his lips. A thumb strokes his cheek. The stubble on his chin.

You can cry.

He doesn’t want to cry. He’s supposed to be the strong one. Show his support. Promise that it’ll be okay. It’s not okay. The pain is clear in his tone. He’s hurting. The morphine isn’t working. Not the way it used to. He wishes he could sleep. It would take the pain away. But sleep will take him away too. Take the last few moments of precious time away. He doesn’t want to lose that time. Selfish. Greedy.

It’ll be okay. It’s murmured. So soft. Quiet. But sure. Acceptance. I think I’m ready. I’m ready for the pain to go away. My only regret though is that I won’t be with you anymore. I’m not afraid of dying anymore. I’m afraid to be without you.

The tears can’t be stopped. A sob rips through him. Tears from his throat. He presses the hand to his face. Hard. As if he can absorb it into his own body. As if he can take him away from this fate. Away from a failing body. Away from the pain.

Sometimes love is pain, he says. His voice wheezes it. He coughs. He speaks again, questioning. But even so, was it worth it? Even though its pain now, was our love worth it?

Yes. He forces the word past his sobs. Removes the hand from his face. Green meets light brown. If our love is pain, then I’d gladly hurt for the rest of my life. If I knew then what I know now, I wouldn’t have loved you any less. Yes, our love is worth the pain.

I love you.

A deep breath. You are my everything.

…

The city could be heard, a faint thrum through the open window. The blinds are open. The lights of the city filter into the dark apartment. An occasional shrill of sirens. A blare of a car horn. But for the most part, calm. A nearly empty bottle of beer on the coffee table. An untouched plate of food. The soft glow of the television cast across the room. The monotonous tone of the documentary narrator. No weight on his chest. No tickle of hair under his chin.

Too quiet. No excited commentary. No snarky corrections of misinformed facts. No laughs. Cold. No hand in his. No warmth between his legs, nestled against his chest. Even after so long it still feels weird. Awkward. Wrong. He shouldn’t be alone. Not here. Not in their apartment. In the pictures on the walls he’s not. Pictures from their childhood. Pictures from high school on a volleyball court. Pictures from college. Pictures from vacations. Pictures with their friends. In the picture in his wallet he’s not. The picture he keeps close at all times. He’s not alone in any of them. But sitting here. Sitting in the dark of their apartment. He is. Completely and entirely.

His chest is hollow. It lost the ability to feel long ago. Heart shriveled and broken. Time hasn’t healed it. Time will never heal it. The emptiness will never be filled. The presence that’s been there his entire life is gone. Snuffed out way too soon. That isn’t a wound that can be healed. Not in the last two years. Not in the next hundred years.

A knock on the front door. His eyes don’t leave the television. The program is almost over. He still can’t say with any certainty what it’s about. Another knock. Not even a flinch of recognition. He doesn’t want to see anybody. Seeing people at work every day is enough. Watching them go about their lives. Carefree. Happy. Living. He doesn’t want to be reminded what it feels like to live. He forgot how it felt years ago. Home is supposed to be his solitude. Where pretenses can disappear out the window. Where pain can be felt without the need to hide it.

A key in the lock. The door opens. Green eyes stay on the television. Stubborn in their refusal. He knows who it is. Only one other person has a key to the apartment.

Go away, he snaps.

Ignored. A mess of black hair enters his field of vision. He sits. Plops down on the other end of the couch. Green eyes don’t budge. Gold eyes watch him. Quiet. Only the sounds that of the city far beneath. He waits for his unwelcome guest to speak. He isn’t going to talk first. He doesn’t want to talk.

Tomorrow is your birthday. Come out with us to the bar. Drinks on me.

He doesn’t answer. The documentary is ending. He doesn’t reach for the remote. Doesn’t turn it off. Whatever is on next, he’ll watch it. For the distraction. Any excuse to ignore him.

A heavy sigh. C’mon. You can’t hole up in here for the rest of your life.

Watch me.

This isn’t healthy. I know it sucks. I can’t imagine what it must feel like. But you need to start trying to heal. Do you think this is what he would’ve wanted? For you to sit here in the dark and waste away and let your grief consume you?

Silence. He doesn’t grace that question with a response. He has no idea what it’s like. He has his relationship. A perfect relationship. Healthy. Thriving. Has all the time in the world. Doesn’t know what it feels like to have nothing. To have time stop. Two years ago his time ran out. But he’s still here. Living. Barely. Breathing. Barely. Alone. Empty. Time took the only thing worth living for. Ripped it away from him. Cold and uncaring. Ruthless. Ripped away his love. Ripped away any chance of ever feeling again.

Another sigh. It’s been two years. It’s time for you to start moving on. Time will heal your wounds, but you need to let it.

A laugh. At first, sharp. Derisive. Then hysterical. Disbelieving. Angry. Time won’t heal shit! Voice harsh. Words spat. Time doesn’t heal anything! Time takes. Time corrupts. Time destroys. Time is greedy and ruthless and uncaring. It rips through your life and takes everything you’ve ever cared about. It ruins everything it touches. It doesn’t care about love, it doesn’t care about promises. It mocks, it taunts, it teases us with promises it has no intention of keeping. It wrecks havoc, and even if you can see it coming, you can’t stop it. Time is pain. So don’t tell me time will heal my wounds. Time gave me these wounds.

Silence. It’s the angriest he’s gotten in years. It’s the first time he’s let out these thoughts. These feelings. He didn’t dare show them to anyone else before. Kept them inside. Buried. Hidden. Let them stew and grow and mutate. Let them consume him. Let them become all he is. And they burn to be let out. Sting to be put to voice. They pain him out loud as they have silently for years.

Gold eyes glow with pity. He doesn’t want pity. Yes time gave you those wounds, but so did love. Are you going to give up on love too? Do you regret loving him? Do you hate that you loved him?

Of course I don’t. Loving him was the greatest thing I ever did.

And do you regret the time you spent with him? Do you hate that time?

He hesitates. He knows the answer. Its automatic. But he doesn’t want to say it. He doesn’t want to prove him right. The words find his lips anyway. Can’t be held back. Truth won’t be hidden. His feelings are too strong. They need to be heard. He needs to put to voice just how much their time meant to him.

He was the best thing that ever happened to me. Every minute spent with him was perfect. Even when we fought. Those twenty-eight years will forever be the best years of my life. I love the time I spent with him. If I could go back, if I could stop myself from falling in love with him, if I could prevent all this pain, I wouldn’t.

Gold eyes match the smile on his lips. A hand reaches out. Touches his shoulder. Soft. Caring. Supportive. He may feel alone. But he’s not. Not really. Nothing will ever completely fill the hole left behind. Will completely mend the shattered remains of his heart. But he’s not alone. People still care for him. People want to support him. He just needs to figure out how to accept that. How to reach out and take the offered hand. How to lean on someone else.

Time may be pain. But love is pain too.

His eyes widen at the words. Words he hasn’t heard spoken since…. They were some of his last words. He can hear that soft, wheezy voice whispering them from a hospital bed. He can see the smile that accompanied those words. He can feel the pain the words caused the first time. Echoed again when repeated.

Sometimes love is pain. But you can’t give up on it. You can’t give up on time either. Time may be pain sometimes, but it is also life. Right now, it’s all you have. So let it help you. Let it heal you.

He can feel himself give in. Can feel his willpower collapsing. He has no more fight. He’s been fighting for so long. He’s been hurting for so long. But it’s time to stop fighting. Time to take a step back. Time to let time heal his wounds. Time to lean on the support his friends offer. He’ll never forget what they had. Never be able to find anything like that again. This emptiness will never completely go away. But it doesn’t have to be this painful. He can let the wound start to close.

Come on. I’ll call the guys and we’ll go get some drinks. You need to get out of this apartment. You need to start living your life again. It’s what he would’ve wanted.

The tears are there, behind his eyelids. They sting. But they’re not brought on from his pain. They’re brought on from the truth in those words. He needs to start living again. It won’t be easy. Not in the slightest. But it’s what Tooru would’ve wanted.

[latestnews2018-blog]

WWE Smackdown Live Coverage and Results (8/28) Toronto, Canada

New Post has been published on https://latestnews2018.com/wwe-smackdown-live-coverage-and-results-8-28-toronto-canada/

WWE Smackdown Live Coverage and Results (8/28) Toronto, Canada

Welcome to WWE Smackdown Live and this week Smackdown comes to us from The Scotiabank Arena in Toronto, Ontario, Canada and wew kick things off with the new Smackdown Tag Team Champions The New Day making their way out to the ring as we take a look at the tag team championship match from last Tuesday night

Xavier says last week The New Day did what they do best and that is to become the Smackdown Tag Team Champions. Big E says there’s no place they’d rather celebrate their tag team championship than right here in The Six but before he can continue we get a surprise appearance from King Booker

The Toronto crowd launches into a ‘Booker T’ chant. Booker T then crowns New Day. Xavier The Wise, Kofi The Brave but Big E then asks where his coronation is but Booker says he has the word Big in his words

Booker then welcomes The New Day into the 5x Champions Club. They then celebrate as each member of new Day takes a turn doing a Spinaroonie

-Commercial 8:12pm-

THE BAR VS THE COLONS VS THE GOOD BROTHERS

Sheamus and Anderson start things off and Sheamus with a shoulder tackle. Anderson with a drop kick and a kick to the head. Anderson gets a near fall. Cesaro tags in and Cesaro with a European uppercut. Anderson with a drop kick for a near fall. Gallows tags in and he kicks Cesaro and sends him into the turnbuckles. Gallows gets a near fall. Gallows with a front face lock and Anderson tags in and he kicks Cesaro. Cesaro with a European uppercut and Primo tags in and Anderson with an arm drag into an arm bar. Primo with a knee and chop.

Anderson goes for a sunset flip but Epico tags in and they kick Anderson and get a near fall. Epico goes for a suplex but Anderson blocks it and gets a near fall with a inside cradle. Epico with an Irish whip but he misses an elbow into the corner. Anderson with a kick and he goes to the turnbuckles but Primo distracts Anderson and Epico knocks Anderson to the floor. Primo tags in and he hits a clothesline on the floor.

-Commercial 8:20pm-

We’re back and Sheamus with a shoulderblock in the corner to Anderson. Cesaro off the top rope as The Bar double teams Anderson. Canadian Backbreaker applied by Sheamus and Anderson breaks the hold executing a neckbreaker.

Cesaro and Gallows tag in and Gallows with a clothesline to Cesaro. Boot to Primo and a splash to Cesaro for a nearfall. Primo off the ropes gets caught with a boot. The Good Brothers clear the ring and Magic Killer countered as Epico hits a backstabber. Cesaro the legal man in the ring and with all the pandemonium on the outside it’s Cesaro with the three count and The Bar now go onto Hell In A Cell to challenge New Day for the Smackdown Tag Team Championship. 

The winners of the match: The Bar

Backstage: Rusev Day walks into Paige’s office and makes a triple threat match for next week with Rusev Day vs Sanity vs The Usos and the winner of that triple threat match will face The Bar to see who which team will be one step closer to facing New Day at hell In A Cell. Rusev is happy and thanks Lana but Lana says she’s not the one who got Rusev Day this opportunity. He then turns to Aiden English but doesn’t believe it at first and English says that they will win next week and then go onto become the Tag Team Champions and they will win the titles on….Rusev Day!!

Video: Becky Lynch’s explanation from last week’s Smackdown

-Commercial 8:32pm-

Back from commercial, Jeff Hardy makes his way out to the ring. Hardy says since returning to Smackdown Live, Randy Orton has had this obsession with him and has gotten into his head and erased all rationale in his head. In fact, Orton made Hardy believe he can fly and we then take a look at video from last week’s Smackdown of Jeff Hardy’s attack on Randy Orton ending with a swanton bomb from atop a crate

Hardy says Orton may think he is some stepping stone in Randy’s career but he’s wrong because when Hardy put Orton through that table last week he felt alive and reborn and felt like the Jeff Hardy of old and calls Orton out so he can finish what he started last week

Randy Orton comes out and congratulates Jeff Hardy on rediscoverign himself and he’s back on top of that pedestal and appreciates Jeff for giving him all the credit but Orton says he’s not finished because this version of Jeff Hardy is what he’s going to get rid of and leave Hardy in a heap of bones in the middle of the ring.

Jeff Hardy cuts Orton off before Randy can say RKO and says Randy’s going to hell and Jeff Hardy is going to join him at Hell In A Cell and the crowd erupts with a ‘Delete’ chant

Backstage: Carmella is getting ready in the back and Renee Young asks her about her match against Charlotte and how the buzz is coming off her. Carmella says the only reason Evolution exists is because of the attention she brought to the women’s division. Becky threw an epic temper tantrum. Charlotte never pinned her and she beat Charlotte twice. Tonight, she will complete the trifecta. Becky and Charlotte are chump change and Mella is Money. R Truth shows up and wants to know where Carmella went. Tye Dillinger wants to know what Truth is doing. Truth says when the time is right, the Truth will set her free.

-Commercial 8:45pm-

NAOMI VS BILLIE KAY

Naomi with a drop kick and leaping leg drop for a near fall. Billie grabs Naomi by the hair. Billie with a kick and she punches Naomi. Billie has something to say to Naomi and Naomi with a jaw breaker and round kick followed by clotheslines. Naomi with a running bulldog into the turnbuckles. Naomi with a round kick. Naomi with a rollup for a near fall but Naomi is sent into the ropes and Peyton with a kick. Billie gets the three count.

The winner of the match: Billie Kay

Backstage: We see Daniel Bryan and Brie Bella watching what Brie did last week.

-Commercial 8:55pm-

Brie Bella and Daniel Bryan come out and Daniel says last week Miz and Maryse mocked Bryan’s retirement but Miz is just a bad actor but when Brie ran down to the ring Miz ran off like a coward. Brie says Daniel doesn’t need her to fight his battle but a wife always stands by her husband and it felt good punching the Miz in the face

Bryan says at HIAC, Miz won’t be able to hide behind Maryse and Maryse won’t be able to hide behind Miz. Andrade ‘Cien’ Almas and Zelina Vega come out. Zelina says its an honor to stand next to two legends. Brie Bella and Andrade ‘Cien’ Almas. Zelina says since they’ve arrived on Smackdown, her client has put Sin Cara on the shelf, taken AJ Styles to the limit and destroyed Rusev

But now, it’s time for Andrade ‘Cien’ Almas to outwrestle Daniel Bryan. Bryan says he would love to make this match right now but he’s no longer General Manager but if there’s someone backstage. Paige comes out and says yes she is the Smackdown Live General Manager calls a referee out and makes the match official

-Commercial-

ANDRADE ‘CIEN’ ALMAS VS DANIEL BRYAN

Chain wrestling early on in the match. Side headlock by Almas bringing Daniel down to one knee. Shoulderblock by Almas off the irish whip. Leapfrog by Bryan and Almas showboating between the ropes and Bryan dropkicks him to the outside. Almas back in with a knee.

Inverted DDT by Almas. Kneestrike by Almas. Irish whip reversed by Bryan. Almas with a submission hold and Bryan with a nearfall. Chop to Bryan. Almas chops away at Bryan. Bryan turns it around landing chops of his own. Yes Kicks in the corner. Irish whip and Bryan with the running dropkick. almas with a running knee. Almas charges again and Bryan side steps sending Almas to the outside.

Bryan from the apron connects with a running knee to the face. Bryan throws Almas back into the ring. Bryan to the top rope but misses. Almas connects with an elbow for nearfall. Miz and Maryse continue to look on from the backstage area and Maryse whispers something to Miz before they both walk off

-Commercial-

Back from break, Almas has Bryan locked in an armbreaker. Almas to the top rope and Bryan with a dropkick cutting Almas off. Bryan with a double underhook suplex from the top rope and The Miz is making hi sway to the outside and Almas off the distration misses with a clothesline as Bryan dives through the ropes taking The Miz out. Almas back in control throws Bryan back in getting a nearfall

Almas misses with the moonsaul as Bryan gets the knees up and Bryan with the Yes Lock. Brie pulls Zelina off the apron and knocks her down and Maryse from behind runs Brie into the ring post. Miz attacks Bryan and Almas drops Bryan with the hammerlock DDT.

The referee calls for the bell. Maryse holds Brie in the corner forcing her to watch as Miz has the Yes Lock on Bryan. Maryse then lays Brie out with a DDT while Miz lays Bryan out with a Skull Crushing Finale

The winner of the match by disqualification: Daniel Bryan

Backstage: Charlotte says Becky Lynch thinks she deserves the title but you don’t deserve anything you don’t win. This isn’t a game where you win a trophy. She won’t apologize for working hard and busting her ass every single day. She is not going to lay down for anyone and if Becky wants the spotlight then after her match with Carmella that’s exactly what Charlotte is going to give Becky

-Commerecial-

We are back and AJ is in the ring, but we see what happened last week on Smackdown.

AJ says it is official. Samoa Joe versus AJ Styles at Hell in a Cell for the WWE Championship. AJ says that Joe is good with these mind games. Joe has him where he wants him. Joe brought his wife and daughter into this. It shows that Joe is not man enough to take the title from him. Why not confront him face to face like a man. Joe is not a man. AJ says he is going to put an end to these mind games right now. AJ says he is the WWE Champion and he makes the rules around here. AJ says he does not have to wait until Hell in a Cell. AJ wants Joe to come out right now.

AJ says this is a demand by your WWE Champion because he is going to know Joe’s teeth down his throat.

Joe is in the garage and he calls for AJ. Joe says he is not coming out tonight. AJ is proving his point. AJ is acting like super hero to the world, but who is watching your kids? Joe says he isn’t done playing daddy yet.

Joe makes a call and it is to Wendy. Joe asks how the kids are doing. Joe says he knows why Wendy is angry but Joe says he will keep the promise that AJ never did. Joe wants to know if they are still on for the back to school barbecue next week. Joe says to save a plate because he might stop by next Tuesday.

AJ leaves the ring and goes to the back.

We are told that Jeff Hardy versus Randy Orton will happen in a Hell in a Cell Match.

-Commercial-

We are back and AJ Styles is running in the back and he wants to know where Samoa Joe is.

SMACKDOWN WOMEN’S CHAMPIONSHIP: CHARLOTTE FLAIR VS CARMELLA

Carmella and Charlotte lock up. Waistlock by Carmella reversed by Charlotte. Roll up by Carmella. Nearfall by Charlotte. Kick to the midsection. Side headlock on Charlotte and irish whip but Carmella holds on taking Charlotte down.

Carmella bounces Charlotte face first off the turnbuckle and working the headlock. Roll up from behind by Charlotte. Suplex by Charlotte and the champion is in control as she goes to the top rope. Carmella gets to her feet shoving Charlotte off the turnbuckle as she hits the barricades. Up to a count of 5 as Carmella flies through the ropes with a dive onto Charlotte. Back in the ring with a nearfall as we go to break

-Commercial-

Back from break, chinlock by Carmella on the champion keeping Charlotte grounded. Charlotte gets to her feet and she breaks the chinlock delivering a belly to back suplex. Carmella with elbows to the jaw but Charlotte with chops and snapmare by Carmella

Dropkick by Carmella. Carmella sent to the apron and a right hand by Carmella. Carmella with a crossbody. Nearfall by Charlotte. Carmella with a flatliner.

Carmella runs into an elbow. Charlotte in the top turnbuckle. Carmella with a headscissors pulling herself up and connecting with a series of punches as she flips Charlotte over with a frankensteiner and a nearfall. Another nearfall by Carmella. Superkick by Carmella. Series of nearfalls. Charlotte with a spear and Natural Selection. Charlotte locks the figure eight in and Carmella taps

The winner of the match and still Smackdown Women’s Champion: Charlotte Flair

Post Match: Becky Lynch attacks from behind. Becky asks for a mic and tells Charlotte when she gets her way, at Hell In A Cell she’s taking her title back and she exits the ring and walks to the back

–END SHOW–

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[wizardsnwookies]

Campaign Diary- FOC110217

The bowels of Graakus’s palace hummed with the roar of the crowd awaiting upstairs. Graalbar sat on the locker room bench checking the heft and swing of his vibro-axe. Behind him Kara paced the tiled floor, her heart beating heavily in her chest.

“Ok, just as a recap. Three rounds with a chance to catch your breath between each...not to mention to allow for additional bets. The Gamemaster likes to change things up a bit between rounds, so expect a different kind of fight each time. Oh, and traps. Watch out for those too.”

Graalbar nodded absent mindedly. He had no worries. He had proven himself against many foes in his life. His mind looked back to the cave, and the strange alien beast he encountered in the waters of the glassy lake. 

GRONK GRAAAWL

“I know, I know, it’s all taken care of so I can do it remotely.” Kara held up her data pad, currently open to link with the arena’s wager broker. “I want to be down here with you just in case...you know.”

RAAAAAWR

“ ‘Momma Bird’ my ass. I’ve got money riding on you.” Kara play hit the wookie in the shoulder, hoping her joke hid her very real concern.

Just then one of the arena assistants appeared in the doorway. It was time. The two were ushered down a long hallway ending in an explosion of light and sound. The chanting crowd growing louder with each step. When Graalbar’s bare feet felt the grit of sand he felt Kara give him one last tussle of hair for good luck.

“Give ‘em hell big guy.”

---

Rugor eased the speeder to a stop in a dark alley across from “Destructive Solutions.” The Industrial park was a maze of identical warehouses that seemed to stretch forever. Their company page on the Holonet gave out their coordinates for perspective clients and investors so luckily it wasn’t exactly difficult to find but instead a tedious zig-zag down corridors.

“The arena should be firing up right about now.” Vrssl checked his chrono. They had made a pass around the building noting the single guard at the front gate and the handful of cameras around the perimeter. “Tracks with what Charmer told us, place looks like a ghost town.”

“That just means they’re all inside.” Rugor cut the engine and pulled out a small vibro-blade. “You ready?”

“Let’s let ourselves in.” Vrssl nodded, slipping out of the speeder and leading the scarred Gungan through the shadows and blind spots around the building. Like Courecant, Nar Shaddaa never got quiet, even when the sounds of the city were to a dull hum as it was here in the outskirts, it was still enough to hide their footfalls.

Rugor cut through the durasteel fence with his vibroblade and peeled back and opening. Once inside he carefully let it fall back into place, lining it up as close as he could. They hadn’t seen anyone walking the perimeter, but he wasn’t about to take any chances.

The side door was just as simple to disarm. Rugor pulled off the access panel and jacked in with his datapad. A few taps and the door slid open to a hallway with lights dimmed to the energy saver setting. Vrssl held up a hand and creeped ahead, listening. The usual sounds were there, the hum of the HVAC system, a few random groans of the plastasteel settling, but a complete absence of footfalls. He turned and waved back at Rugor, they were in. Time to get to work.

---

“Ladies and Gentlemen, I welcome you all to a very special evening.” Graakus’s voice echoed over the sound system. He stood on his mechanical legs on the edge of his special box seat, arms open to the crowd. “We have seen many fighters on the sands, we have seen Aqualish, Gand, and Devorian. The Game Master has shown us a menagerie of beasts from all over the Galaxy. But tonight, you will witness the mighty Wookie of Kashyyk!!”

Graalbar pumped his arms and bellowed for the crowds approval, striding across the sands with an exaggerated gate. His people had been seen as savage monsters by the empire, this mentality tended to bleed out across the galaxy. In cases like these he would play it up as much as he can. Let them think I’m a monster, let them fear me. For I am Graalbar, I am mighty.

“Returning tonight from their triumph over the vicious Correlian Sand Panthers, a creature hailing from the savage sands of Tatooine. They have proven themselves against beast and the harshest of environments. Welcome back, your champion!” Graakus smiled and let the roar of the crowd wash over him. He had chosen his words very carefully. He knew the Tusken Raider was no match for the Wookie, in fact, he doubted anything the Game Master could throw against him would. But we must let the crowd thing otherwise. The odds are indeed against him 5 to 1. However last week many had lost thousands with the surprise upset against the Sand Panther. They would be playing it safe. He was hoping they would, and continue to lose it all.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, the final bets have been placed.” The crowd fell to a dull murmor, tickets clutched in fists and hearts leaping into their throats. “Let the games begin!”

The raider howled and sprinted across the sand, its arms raised high with a heavy staff clutched in hand. Graalbar simply waited and planted his feet firmly where he stood. As the creature came closer he saw it was no larger than an average human. A shame, he thought, this would be all too easy.

A large gust of air tussled the hair on the side of Graalbar’s face as his opponent struck the first blow and made contact with empty space. The wookie needed only to take a single step to the side before lifting his axe and send it crashing down across the exposed backside. Blood splattered onto the sands with a bark from the bandaged humanoid. It stumbled, turning to face its attacker with swaying legs. 

It was wounded, but not down. Taking an agressive stance it swung again in a heavy horizontal swipe. Graalbar chuckled to himself and lightly batted the stick away as if it were a child’s toy. With his opponent off-balanced Graalbar lowered his shoulder and pushed hard against the raider’s chest, sending a puff of air out of it’s lungs and toppling it over into the sand.

The crowd was on it’s feet the minute the raider was on it’s back. Graalbar pumped his arms and bellowed once more, playing to the crowd. He fell to his knees, strattling his oppenent and grabbed the filthy cloth of it’s robes. The humanoid’s limp torso was lifted up just long enough to meet a hardened wookie skull against it’s own before falling back into a ragdoll. Graalbar smiled to himself, he had felt the satisfying crunch against his forhead, he felt his opponent's skull cave in. It would be dead within moments. But that was not enough. The crowd was hungry for a show and he would give it to them.

Taking a wrist in each hand, Graalbar drew on all his strength and yanked back until a horrid tearing could be heard in the stands. Flesh tore at the shoulder and with a pop the bones were released from joints until two severed arms dangled in the air. Blood feel from the torn ends and soaked into his fur. He offered a victorious bellow before rising to his feet. One round already cleared. All too easy.

---

“Blasted piece of junk.” Rugor slammed his palm against the side of his datapad and offered it a few curses in his native tongue before sliding it back into his pocket. They had almost gotten themselves lost on the way to the utility room. Not long after finding a terminal to download the facility maps, his datapad had decided to freeze and unceremoniously reboot itself. Damn latest software update still had some bugs in it. He’d have to take a look at it when they got back.

“Don’t worry about it, here.” Vrssl tossed the Gungan an explosive charge. “Put this on that support beam over there. I’ll get the power generator.” Part one of their mission was almost taken care of, leveling the facility on their way out. This would be accomplished through some lovely remote charges Vrssl managed to acquire thanks to some contacts in Shail. He had a knack for that, making connections, acquaintances, friends, and sure a few enemies too. He wasn’t in the city for a few hours before he had already found someone to help him make things go boom. Priorities...

“Done, think this’ll be enough?”

“Definitely, especially with a damaged power generator. Hell, that’ll do most of job for us. Like they say, ‘work smart, not hard.’”

The Gungan nodded. “This way.”

With his datapad back up and running they managed to find their way to the production floor, a wide open room filled with benches, tables, and manufacturing equipment lining the walls. Vrssl activated the lights and saw the shine of plastisteel and chrome.

“Time for the fringe benefits.”

Apparently “Destructive Solutions” wasn’t all too concerned about cleanliness. In fact, it appeared that most of the staff dropped whatever they were working on and walked out the door the moment the chrono hit five. A small startup company, probably filled with creative types and idealists, it would make sense. Most of the products left out were in progress, wires dangling without connections, half soldered program boards and the like. However after scouring the room Rugor did manage to find three numbered files with corresponding products, tagged and ready for display.

“Vrssl. Over here.”

“What’d we get?”

Rugor took the files and read the final notes at the end of the registry for each one aloud...

“SN-35810: Experimenting with refining Tibanna gas has resulted in a blaster bolt that hold a higher than normal negative polarity. Unfortunately this raises the risk of Ricochets that could become friendly fire in the field which has earned this model the nickname “The Ricochet Gun” around the lab. Needless to say, this is not suitable for market.”

“SN-42179: We’ve been tinkering with Vibro technology in hopes to find a way to lower power consumption and overall create a sleeker and more compact handle. We’ve managed to find success in the smaller profile weapons, so the next step was to adapt this to swords and axes. This axe has been put through rigorous testing and has passed our high expectations. A final, more polished design to be scheduled for debut at the next trade show.”

“SN-857321: One of our techs decided to think out of the box with this one. Something he’s calling a ‘competency droid.’ A small scale, non-autonomous unit crammed with every kind of sensor you can think of. No one is quite sure how he managed it, but I am sure someone upstairs is paying him a hefty bonus for the secret. Linked to the operator via visor display, the droid sends readings to the user on their surroundings and their own bio readings which is a wealth of information for military units. The Empire will love this one.”

Vrssl smiled and took the Vibroaxe in one hand. “I know someone who’s going to LOVE you.”

---

Graalbar pressed himself against the stone boulder, the phosphorus torch dripping sparks onto the sand next to him. He gave him this, the Gamemaster was good at his job. The second round saw a dousing of the house lights, leaving the arena lit solely by three torches spread out across the circle. Graalbar heard the door across from him slide open, a shadow streaked across the blackness of his vision, and four paws almost in perceptively padded out onto the sands before disappearing completely into oblivion.

A Vornskr was what Graakus had called it when he announced open bidding for the second round. A taste of things to come. Kara came back with 37,500 credits to their name from the first round. Without batting an eye the wookie told her to let it ride. He was feeling confident. Now, he was hiding behind a rock with a torch in his hands waiting for whatever a Vornskr was to strike from the darkness.

The attack came from behind when a slender canine creature with a whip-like tail darted from the shadows and lunched with claws extended. Graalbar’s vibroaxe was ready and waiting, and cut a long gash across the beasts muzzle. It whined in the shock of the pain, or perhaps it was the sudden roar from the silent stands. It was hard to tell. It recovered quickly and latched onto Graalbar’s grieves, it’s teeth sinking deep into the plastisteel.

The wookie was surprised at the strength the small creature possessed, no matter how hard he swung his mighty arm, it would not release the Vornskr’s jaws. No matter. Graalbar took the other hand an tried to grab the back of it’s head. He was large enough that he might be able to lift the thing of the ground and throw it down into a pin with one hand. But the beast sensed the danger in the situation and escaped the crushing grasp by seconds, disengaging before disappearing once again into the dark.

The crowd was chanting for him once again, giving Graalbar the boost of confidence needed to venture forth with his torch. It would not escape him for a second attack. The wookie ran into the direction of the beast’s retreat and found it stopped before the wall, turning for a new approach. A low rumble grew in it’s throat and a blur of motion sprung from it’s back end.

Graalbar ducked just in time to feel the air cut before his face and a trickle of liquid mist into his fur. His own attack with the torch missed by a wide margin in his dodging the poison barb at the end of the Vornskr’s tail. Poison. The stakes had suddenly gotten much higher.

---

“And with that, Blastek now is the proud owner of the entirety of Destructive Solutions’ hard drives.” Rugor was all business when the light on the data slug turned green. This was a job, nothing more. He had no stake in corporate espionage...but he could. “So...we were told we could have anything we found here right?”

“Yeah?” Vrssl looked up from his examination of the droid they found in the development lab.

“I’m just thinking if we can make a little more out of this job.” Rugor tapped on the computer terminal in the server room. They had made their way here to complete the second part of their job, all of DS’s data. Along the way they finally managed to find a pair of guards roaming the halls, but were able to keep out of sight until they passed.

“Bingo.”

“What?”

“How does three crates of consumer-ready blaster rifles and pistols sound to you?” Rugor offered Vrssl a smirk.

“Sounds like fringe benefits if I ever heard of them. Where?”

“In the docking bay. Scheduled to go out tomorrow. Looks like we got here just in time.”

“Guess we know where our next stop is. What about the cameras? Can you wipe the data just in case?”

Rugor switched his attention and brought up the securities folder, once inside he scrolled through the file listing before furrowing his brow. “Looks like it only dumps the files 24 hours at a time to the central computer. Until 6am the current day’s data lives on the security computer.”

“Can you hack into it from here, crash their hard drives?”

“Of course I can. They’re on the same network...”

“But...”

“BUT if someone is working on the computer right now, they’ll notice I’ve got remote access. If they know what they’re doing they’ll be able to trace back the IP address and know we’re in the building.”

Vrssl knew droids, but computers were something different. He didn’t fully understand what was just said, but he got the gist of it. “Our only other option is to bust into the security room and take care of it manually.”

“Arena Fights or not, someone’s damn sure going to notice that.”

“Not much of a choice then...do it.”

---

Graalbar wasn’t much for thinking, he’d much rather hit a problem until it stopped moving. But when the problem had a whip-like tail with a poisoned barb, was black as the shadows, and could move twice as fast as he could, he was forced to put his mind to work.

The Vornskr paced in the dirt in front of him, making it’s own tactical calculations in it’s head. It’s long form seemed to curve fluidly as it turned in on itself. It was fast, yes, but it also had a long body. Too long to protect easily. That was his advantage.

Graalbar gripped the handle of his Virbroaxe and dug his feet into the dirt. He had a plan of attack now, it was just a matter of waiting. But the crowd was not content to be as patient as he was. Cheers were now starting to become bloodthirsty screams for the continuation of violence.

It sprung mid-stride, almost taking the wookie by surprise. Damn it was fast. The canine form was a blur of teeth and fangs with clouds of sand exploding between massive paws. I leaped about a full meter away with claws outstretched and jaws open wide. Behind it, it’s tail wound back ready to strike.

Graalbar unsprung the coiled muscles in his calves and spun to the side. Biceps flexed and he brought his axe around in an arc, rolling his shoulder he brought it down in a massive swing and felt the shock pulse up his arm as the blade made contact with the center of the Vornskr’s spine. Even through the sudden cheer of the crowd, Graalbar could hear the sickening knock of vertebrae coming undone.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, what an evening we have been treated to.” Graakus had to bellow over the crowd, even with amplification. “Brawn has proven itself over the nimble grace of the Vornskr, but there is one more round left and I have been promised a fight like no other from our Gamemaster. Please find your way to the wager booth and place your bets. We will commence in 10 minutes!”

Kara met Graalbar at the gate with a bottle of water and a forced smile on her face. “187,500 credits...”

GRAAWR RAWWR

“Yeah, I’ve been reading the arena staff down here...nobody’s let it slip but it sounds big whatever it is.” She looked up at him and blinked away something, fear maybe. “Whatever, you can take it, right?”

WAAARW GRAAAG

“...come on, don’t...don’t do that.” Kara didn’t know why she was getting so upset hearing Graalbar talk about the possibility of his death. She had only known him for a few months. It was silly, she told herself. Before Kessel she was her own woman without any strings attached. No family...no friends. That was a good thing...right? Nothing to hold her back? She wasn’t so sure anymore.

RAWWWR GRAAAAH

“150,000 on the final round, the rest to the rest of is if...if the impossible happens. Fine. I’ll do it. Just make sure I won’t have to worry about that OK?”

RAWWWR GRAWW RAW

“ ‘Next time we meet, we’ll be rich.’ Yeah, you got that right buddy.”

When Graalbar returned to the sands of the arena the lights had returned, and all blood from previous rounds had been raked clear. It was like nothing ever happened. Above and around him his name was chanted back at him by who knows how many. In his private box, Graakus offered him his own nod of approval.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, I have the honor of announcing the final fight tonight. Below us stands a warrior like we have never seen before, and this final round shall decide whether we will have the honor to see him battle again.”

Graalbar felt a small tremor beneath his feet. Looking down he could see small pebbles bounce into the air with each shake of the ground. He hadn’t noticed the grating sound of the gate across from him until now. And when he peered into the darkness behind it, a pair of small beady eyes stared back at him.

“For tonight, this wookie of Kyshyyk faces the towering terror...the nightmare of many brave species...tonight, he faces. The Rancor!”

Kara heard the announcement on her way back from the wager booth and felt her whole body go numb. She looked up to the monitors mounted on the ceiling to see a massive beast with claws as big as it’s head stalk out into the arena.

“Awww slag.” She said.

---

“Awww slag.” Rugor cursed as the door to the docking bay opened to four uniformed men, who seemed just as surprised to see them as they were to be caught.

“You!! Stop what you’re doing!” The guard fired first, sending a bolt of energy searing into Rugor’s shoulder. He was nervous, inexperienced, and honestly just wanted a quiet night to watch the fights. He was so not prepared for this.

Rugor ducked behind the grav lift and pulled out his own pistol. Vrssl swore and hid behind the crates of blasters. “Damn, how did they know we were here? Someone rat us out?”

Rugor shook his head. “Does it matter?”

“Take them alive.” Vrssl stepped out from cover and unloaded his sub repeater. The two guards that had made it past the door ducked behind two large spools of wire being stored off to the side. Behind them the remaining security staff ran through the door towards cover.

Rugor checked his wound as blaster bolts were traded across the large room. He’d live, but it hurt like hell. Before long Vrssl appeared alongside to take cover. “They’re dug in pretty good there. Think you can give me a hand?”

The slowly eased up from behind the wire bails as their opponents suddenly went silent. Could they be surrendering? Were they really that lucky? From behind the grav lift, a shimmering blue ball arced up into the air before exploding into heavy concussive gell, shattering the plastasteel spools and sending shrapnel into the two unlucky enough to be using it for cover.

“Nice shot. One down, one still alive, but not happy from the looks like it.” Vrrsl chanced a peek and set his blaster to stun. “Two more to go.”

“KRRRTZZZ -- You guys check the computer room yet? They brought in a slagging Rancor!!” The guard’s comm link exploded with excitement, sounding off his location to the sensitive ears behind the grav lift. The guards response was cut off by a stun pulse that buckled his knees, pitching him forward into a heap.

“Make that one more to go...did he say ‘Rancor?’“

---

Graalbar’s bowcaster bolt struck the Rancor in it’s meaty neck, or what could be best guessed as the neck.The thing was ugly, what wasn’t muscle were scars and folds and teeth and claws. It held a vague semblance to that thing he encountered in the glassy lake, only bigger.

The ugly thing bellowed and recoiled from the shot before turning its beady eyes into a death glare at the wookie behind the rock. A clawed foot took a single stride that covered several meters. It wasn’t so much fast, as it was large enough to cover a lot of ground in a single step. More than Graalbar anticipated. He could smell the things breath now. It smelled of death. Maybe his if he didn’t wasn’t careful.

Suddenly a sharp metal CLANG rang out and an explosion of dust and blood clouded the area around the things foot. It screamed and stumbled back, careful to not put too much weight on the injured appendage. When the dust cleared Graalbar saw them, several large spikes protruding from the ground. Gamemaster’s traps. He had almost forgotten about them, he had been lucky so far as to not trip them. He’d like to keep it that way.

Staying behind his rock Graalbar slung the bowcaster and hoisted his vibroaxe just as the Rancor renewed it’s approach. He swung at an outstretched claw, opening a gash along the wrist as sped by him, but in return he felt several wounds open up along his chest as long talons clawed into flesh. The pain was excruciating, and frightening. In a single blow he felt much of his strength leave him. He looked at the crowd, who were now just as happy to cheer for his blood as they were his victory one short round ago.

No. It would not end here. At least not without a fight. Graalbar searched inside him and found the primal rage within, and set it loose. His mighty bellow echoed through the arena, far more animalistic than before, more primal. Saliva spat from his open mouth, and the grip on his axe renewed. The following moments were a blur of rage and blood.

He remembered a clawed hand reaching for him, and then seeing it fall from the arm and into a pool of blood upon the sand. 

He remembered the thing stumbling back. He remembered swinging against something hard. Swinging so hard he though his arms would break.

He remembered the thing fall to the ground before him, a foot left standing in place.

He remembered screaming. He remembered hacking. Again. Again. Again. More blood now. Much more blood. He remembered hearing it’s scream.

He remembered when it all fell to silence.

Graalbar looked down, his rage leaving him, and saw what he had wrought. The Rancor no longer breathed, it’s head had rolled from it’s stump of a neck and sat pooling at his feet. Blood drenched his fur. And the his ears filled with the sound of cheering.

---

Rugor carried the last of the stunned guards to the speeder and dumped him in the back. In all, four had either been stunned or outright surrendered, including the guard at the gate. Vrssl finished attatching the gravlift to the back before coming round to the passenger side door.

“Not bad for a night’s work.”

“What do you think we’ll get out of them?” Rugor nodded to the unconscious bodies crowding the back seat.

“I dunno.” Vrssl shrugged. “First and foremost how they knew we were there. And if someone tipped them off, who. This may be tied to the leak with Charmer. Either way, can’t hurt to play it safe.”

“Suppose not.” Rugor opened the door and slid into the pilot’s seat, adjusting the rear mirror to see over the bodies. “How do you think Graalbar did tonight?”

Vrssl just smiled. “I’m sure he made us all very rich.”