#i can do one for under 5000 ratings

[brandyllyn]

Silk from their soul (01)

The Ghoul / Cooper Howard x f!reader [no use of y/n]

Rated: Teen (series will be explicit) Words: 1500 Summary: The Ghoul takes a bounty and you might be lost

Series Masterlist My Masterlist

Wanted: Alive and Unharmed

The Ghoul runs his thumb over the picture - a woman, pretty enough but who knew what liberties the artist might have taken. It wasn’t uncommon to find people had some glaringly obvious deformity that no one had seen fit to mention to him before setting him on his tasks. Hunchbacks, missing limbs, hell he’d had a job once for a man whose only resemblance to the reward poster was that they were missing an eye. 

They’d been missing two by the time he’d drug them back to town.

In this case, he wouldn’t be surprised if the woman in question here turned out to be a damn sight less appealing than the picture made her out to be. But he was less intrigued by her hypothetical beauty than he was by the number beneath the image.

Reward: 5000 caps 

It was an absurd amount of money, enough to keep him in chem for years. Not that that mattered - chem was simple enough to come by if you knew where to look for it and procuring caps had never been an issue for him. No, the lure lay in the sheer amount - and that caution… alive and unharmed.

“What the hell did this one do?” he asks the woman putting the poster up with a frown.

“Ran away,” she replies with a shrug. “Boss wants her back.”

One of those then.

“This for real?” he taps at the number.

“Boss wants her back bad.”

He nods, pulling the poster off the wall and gesturing to the woman. “You can leave off, I’ll get her.”

“You?” she blinks at him then glances at the wall of bounties. “You sure this is the one you want?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“It’s just… boss is real picky - not a scratch on her.”

“Then not a scratch will be.”

The woman shrugs and moves along, tucking the papers under her arm. He doesn’t think she’ll listen to him, but if it keeps her from putting up more signs today it’ll give him a head start.

Tearing the reward amount off he stares at the picture with a frown, studying the woman’s face. She reminds him of someone, not that he could quite put his finger on it. Something in the eyes though…

He grunts, folding the poster and tucking it into his saddlebag. He’ll figure it out when he finds her, and he will find her. He always does. Practically wasn’t fun anymore.

The bounty itself was being offered by someone he didn’t recognize, a warlord calling himself Nero down at what used to be the Stateline - when there were still states to have lines. Probably got himself holed up in a casino like those assholes out in New Vegas.

Sliding his palm down the hilt of his pistol he glances up at the sun. Plenty of daylight left, enough time to ask a few questions, see if anyone had seen her.

“Move it.”

Someone shoves into his shoulder but the Ghoul barely spares the man a glance, turning on his heel and striding across the creaking boardwalk and down into the street. He might oughta consider supplies too, he doesn’t need much to survive on but he does need a bit.

“Someone should take care of those fucking vermin.”

Pausing in the street, he turns to look back, eyeing the man from under the brim of his hat. “What was that?”

“You heard me, asshole,” the idiot continues, oblivious to the idea that these could be his last words.

The Ghoul considers his options. He could shoot the man, easy enough. Wouldn’t take but a second and then another minute to roll the body and see what he had. Would cause a bit of a ruckus though, and he wasn’t inclined to spend his time in what might pass for a lockup round here if the locals took offense to it.

That did leave the more amusing option.

He turns slowly, one hand pushing back the corner of his coat to rest on his hip, the other arm hanging loose at his side. “Seems to me you might be having a bit of trouble with what we used to call ‘courtesy,’” He moves in the man’s direction, slowly rising up the small set of stairs until they’re eye to eye. The other man flinches and the Ghoul suppresses a smile. “Now, would you like to try that again?”

“I s-said-”

The Ghoul doesn’t give him a chance to finish, striking as quick as a cobra with thumb and forefinger. The man chokes but the Ghoul doesn’t let go, pulling on the tongue until the man’s knees buckle.

“Now I think you were properly warned about the consequences,” with his free hand he pulls his knife, rusty and with a patina of grime from Lord only knew where. “So I can’t help but wonder if you might enjoy this.”

“Thowwy!” the man’s neck arches back, tears leaking from the corners of his eyes. “M’thowwy!”

The Ghoul hums to himself, hovering the blade over the man’s tongue. “We’ll see. Tell me, you seen this girl?” He digs the poster out, knife flashing dangerously close to the man’s eyes.

“Oh.”

“No?” He cocks his head, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Then I reckon you ain’t of much use to me are you?”

“Oth.”

“What was that?”

“Oth! Oth!” The man points and the Ghoul glances that way. South, fair enough.

“When?”

“Unnu.”

“Unnu?”

“Unno. Unno.”

“You don’t know,” the Ghoul finishes for him, still not letting his tongue go. “Then how, pray tell, do you know where she’s going?”

The man fumbles in his pocket, yanking a poster out that matches the one the Ghoul has in his hand. He takes it with a thoughtful frown, noting the scrawled words on it.

“South to Mexico, eh?” he asks, making a point of enunciating the soft ‘x’. “You going after her?”

The man nods and the Ghoul squeezes tighter until the man squeals, a mumbled series of what could pass for no’s grunting out of him.

“Good.” With a final nod the Ghoul lets the man’s tongue go. But there’s no chance for a sigh of relief before he turns his knife and slices the top of the man’s ear off.

“What the fuck?”

Grinning, the Ghoul slips the bloody cartilage between his lips, savoring the taste of fresh blood. “Something to remember your manners by, boy.”

☢ ☢ ☢

“Man, it’s hot,” you pant softly, resting both hands on your knees as you squint off into the distance. The short sage brush offers little protection from the late afternoon sun, and the trees with their spiky little leaves weren’t much help either. They had a dumb name - like Steven bushes. Something like that.

“I tell you Steven,” you huff conversationally, “days like today make a girl think leaving home wasn’t the best idea.”

The tree didn’t respond, which was probably for the best.

There are hills in the distance, maybe mountains? It’s really hard to tell how far away they are. You had been hoping to get to them before the sun went down but that was beginning to look less and less likely.

And that horned skull you’d seen a while back was starting to feel more and more ominous.

Letting out a sigh you set off again, doing your best to conserve energy. You try to keep to the hard packed earth, avoiding the sandy spots and looking for stones where you can find them. Anything that would make you more difficult to track. 

And someone was tracking you, you were certain of it. The Emperor wasn’t going to let you go just because you’d run off. With any luck he’d search down closer to Baja, you’d laid enough trail that direction even a blind man could find it. But there was no harm in being careful.

A hop takes you from one stone to another, your boots slipping slightly on the nearly smooth rock. Something skitters and you freeze, glancing around to find the source. It takes a moment for your eyes to pick it out - a lizard, maybe a foot long, the same sandy brown color as the rocks. It puffs its neck out and tilts its head at you curiously. 

“Nice lizard?” you ask cautiously. Keeping your eyes on it you move sideways, waiting to see if it’s going to spit poison or open its mouth to reveal inch long fangs. It puffs its neck out once more, mouth opening and a soft chirp comes forth.

Breathing a sigh of relief you watch it skitter a few feet away from you, turning sideways and cocking its head once more. Only this time, when it puffs its neck and opens its mouth a deafening roar sounds instead.

That did not come from that lizard.

Nor, in fact, do you want to know where it came from. It’s enough to know that whatever made that noise exists. Deciding speed is more important than caution, you take off running, aiming for the only thing in the distance that gives any semblance of hope.

It’s only as you’re climbing, heart beating in your throat, that it occurs to you that things that roar might also be able to climb.

☢ ☢ ☢

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[the-bus-called-graveyard-8]

Madagascar in Nickelodeon Magazine (part 4 of 4)

This last part is some miscellaneous Madagascar content that has appeared in various issues of Nick Mag. I used to keep all my Nick Magazines in big binders so I could reread them, but some years ago I decided to finally get rid of them. I only kept a select few (the Madagascar ones, of course) but before I tossed the rest I flipped through five years' worth of issues looking for any scraps of Madagascar. I don't know which issues any of these bits and bobs are from, but here they are nonetheless!

First we have a prank DVD cover for an absurd mashup of several 2000s animated movies called "Flushed Through the Hedge in a Happy Car". One of the characters parodied is Alex the lion, and several aspects of Madagascar appear in film's description. Full transcript under the read more.

Front cover:

"Flushed Through the Hedge in a Happy Car"

A penguin, a taxi, one wild ride...

Starring Will Smith, Tom Hanks, Ellen DeGeneres, Wanda Sykes, and Luke Wilson

From the creators of "Charlotte's Open Barnyard"

Back cover:

A break-dancing New York City Penguin named Happy (Wanda Sykes) is accidentally shipped to a zoo in Mexico City. The homesick bird escapes and meets a hilariously sassy taxi named Turbo McCab (Will Smith), who offers to drive her home. Along the way, they get stuck in the woods during hunting season, freeze solid during an ice age, and visit an underground rodent city, where they pick up a tuxedo-wearing mouse named Wobbly (Tom Hanks). Just outside of New York City, Turbo gets a flat. A nerdy raccoon named AJ (Ellen DeGeneres) offers to take Happy over the hedge to find a spare.

Once in human territory, Happy becomes obsessed with Dancing in the Suburbs. Will Happy find happiness as a reality show star? Will her lion dance partner (Luke Wilson) ever learn his moves? Will Turbo ever get to race in the Madagascar 5000? Can penguins really talk? And who is paying for all of Turbo's parking tickets?

2-Disc DVD Collector's Edition

Bonus features include:

A step-by-step look at the 350-day process of creating convincing CGI fuzzy dice.

Deleted scenes that were cut because they stink real bad.

Voice talent farting into the microphone during recording.

Trailers for other penguin movies.

Director's commentary.

Director's dog's commentary

Rated P for Penguin

Digitally mastered for superior penguin cuteness

Next we have three ads I snipped out of different issues.

Top left: Madagascar video games

"Madagascar and the all new Madagascar: Operation Penguin

Go from the zoo to a place that's totally new

Rule the city and the jungle in two hit games based on the hit movie. In Madagascar, play as Alex, Marty, Gloria, and Melman in a wild adventure. Available on all video game consoles. In Madagascar: Operation Penguin, play as Private Penguin in madcap missions, available only on GameBoy Advance."

Bottom left: Madagascar: Escape 2 Africa video game

"Madagascar: Escape 2 Africa

For PS2, PS3, Xbox 360, Wii, PC, and DS

Play as all the main characters—including the penguins—through the story of the Madagascar: Escape 2 Africa movie.

Tip: In the soccer match in the In Madagascar level in single-player mode, Mort the lemur can be a tough goalie. Raise the Power Meter to the 75 percent mark and you can kick the ball over Mort's head and score nearly every time.

Zelda the roving reporter: Do you have a license to drive that?"

Right: TPoM world premiere

"What's New on Nick

Penguins of Madagascar

The penguins are back, and this time, it's for their very own show! Catch the premiere immediately after the Kids' Choice Awards on Saturday, March 28. And check out the first-ever Penguins of Madagascar online game at nick.com."

Lastly, we have this crossover comic of the Penguins with Aang from Avatar: The Last Airbender. I don't have the cutout of this, but I distinctly remember seeing it in the Gag Station of one issue's Comic Book section. I was able to find it online but unfortunately I don't know the artist.

And that's every time Madagascar was featured in Nickelodeon Magazine!

[themoodyestj]

sapiosexual? is that even a real thing? do people with brains turn you on because you lack one? did you made that up because every time you try to get laid people runs away from you? cause i would qualify that as a smart behavior, i mean you're a giant red flag, of course no one wants to fuck you.

nah, i call bullshit on that one.

i mean Misha went to college to study politics, he was an intern at white house, and he is a best seller autor. and you don't find him even a little sexy?

you like Jensen, but the guy hates to read, he can hardly work a smartphone and acording to you he's too stupid to play any character that isn't Dean Winchester, so...

what gives?

Dude...

At this point, you should know better. Don't give me ammo. You just gave me copious ammounts of material to make fun of. I went and checked Misha's books. He's not a best selling author, you wouldnt know what a best selling author is even if it hit you in the head, because you only read Misha's books. Let me show you what a bestseller looks like.

He's a published author, and some of his books arent even novels. They're delulu user guides (your reading level). He has a cookbook so people dont cook nuggets (that he wrote with his ex and im sure he knows to cook more than nuggets) and then he has... The apple of my eye! My very next comedy project: The book of poems. Let me show you how that looks like.

The ratings dont go over the 6000, which im pretty sure is the number of hellers who bought it, and even so, with all the biased 5000 ratings (Im pretty sure there's more), it's only at 4.10. Hun, the numbers don't lie. This aint a best seller. This is fan lipservice. But hey, the reviews..... Ooooo, delish!

I could go on and on... There's 900 of them like this. Not all of us are hellers, Anon. There is a world outside of Destiel with people with a brain. But sure, Im sure Misha's books are a staple... under the short leg of every crooked table in the US.

[a-court-of-moonlight-and-ire]

Not to be overly morbid, but do yall ever think about suicide in prythian? Personally, i think killing yourself would be pretty common. I mean, it has to be given how few old people seem to exist in this world even though fae (or atleast high-fae) seem to insanely powerful and difficult to kill

And I dont think its because living in prythian sucks THAT much or even because being immortal is THAT bad, i mean arguably the biggest issue with immortality would be to watch all your loved ones die and thats not something that sjm's fae have to deal with. I think its moreso a thing of people just kinda getting tired of living after a few centuries and being like "welp. ive experienced pretty much everything, time to explore the world beyond" yknow. Thats why I think Velaris would have a pretty high suicide rate, because if youre stuck in a city thats presumably completely stagnant and never changes because its already perfect, youre going to run out of new enjoyable things to do wayyyy more quickly and get tired of your existence. It would also explain how this city full of immortals that can never leave but can reproduce hasnt already collapsed under the weight of overpopulation after over 5000 years

One idea that i like because it could make for some poignant commentary is that suicide rates are really high among faeries because theyre a lot more likely to live in poverty and its really hard to escape poverty and its really fucking miserable so after a few decades most of them decide they dont wanna live like that, and its gotten to the point where the high fae think they just naturally have shorter lifespans for some biological reason when they can actually live just as long as high fae, its just that they take poison or some shit to die in their sleep or something idk. Maybe thats a little very dark for acotar, but then again, sjm is constantly throwing around domestic violence and abuse and rape in this series so

I think suicide rates among high lords would be pretty high as well because I imagine their lives are pretty monotonous and tiring because of their responsibilities and because its not like they can leave prythian for an extended period of time to experience some new things or have some fun adventures, theyre tied to their court geographically. And god, can you imagine what would happen if theres a crisis. Yknow how a while ago the UK went through like 5 prime ministers in two weeks because of some bullshit that was happening? Imagine that but its just all these newly-chosen high lords killing themselves because they cant handle their court for some reason. I actually have a theory that thats what happened in the night court because theres this weird little throaway line where they say like, Mor's family used to be the ruling family but then the highlord power somehow got transferred to Rhys' family and its been driving me insane because WHAT do mean by that??? So basically, I think there was a time when Mor's highlord-chosen ancestors kept killing themselves for one reason or another, none of them wanted to be highlord and the magic of the land kept reaching out further and further until it landed on like, Rhysand's great-granddad who was only distantly related to Mor's ancestors and the ruling line just continued from there

Anyway, Id like to end this post on a more positive note and talk about the demographic that I think is the least likely to kill themselves, and thats the youngest children of noble families with multiple children. As ive said, im mostly basing this off of any given fae's ability to have a lot of new experiences to keep their lives from becoming monotonous and tiresome (combined with their material circumstances) and I think the youngest children of nobles hit the sweet spot of being pretty wealthy and not needing to do a lot of hard labour that would take up their time while also not being tied down by responsibilities that would force them to stay in one place. (Unless its a family of all girls and the youngest is their only son ig because as of acomaf, prythian is super patriarchal but i try not to think abt that ngl)

[lemonhemlock]

bg3 anon, answers under the cut for ease of scrolling! 🤝

Anonymous asked:

"you’re right. i think i’ll perhaps do it as a safety check because i don’t intend to be respectful of the bloodsucker twink lmao. i put him in a ridiculous looking outfit and it’s so hard to take him seriously AT ALL i’ll see how it goes. he’s currently leaving me on ‘Seen’ with an approval rating of 3" Darling (pun intended, sorry, couldn't help myself) it's going to be a problem starting his romance if you're still at 3 approval. I would suggest checking the BG3 wiki, it has most of his approvals and disapprovals listed so you could farm them, but that would be way too immersion breaking to be fair as it goes against the beauty of role playing, at least if you are the type who truly immerses oneself like I am...sometimes I can't bring myself doing things I personally want to do it in a game because it would go against the character I am playing...it's super weird lol.

If romancing him doesn't work out maybe you can go with Gale instead? Or why not maybe Shadowheart will grow on you haha By the way I don't know if I mentioned this but to successfully romance the bloodsucker, you need to sleep with him at least once in act 1. You can't start his romance later.

As for ridiculous looking outfits…here's a suggestion you may want to keep in mind: at the start of act 3 there's a circus where you can loot a clown outfit and buy clown makeup. I put everything on Gale personally because why not? However, sadly the only clown in this whole affair was myself considering I spent 5000 gold on making Astarion a fucking statue, which stayed in my camp for the remainder of act 3. And he didn't even comment on it!!! Well at least I didn't go for the naked version of it, but next time I'm definitely choosing to make a statue for my Tav lmao.

"well the wives are the reason i’ve started to play actually, as counter-productive as that sounds 😂 i have a friend who explained the lore to me, so i know most of astarion’s background and what happens with him, though i don’t remember details, of course. she told me how delulu they are in excusing every thing he does, even his insane decision to become the no 1 ascended vampire boss. how they deceive themselves into believing astarion becomes in love with them if they act like complete doormats and go along with whatever fuckass thing he wants, even if the 'detect thoughts’ option clearly indicates that he thinks badly of them :))"

I didn't want to mention the possible ascension because of spoilers but since you know a lot about him already thanks to your friend…yes, it's all true. The ascension wives are the most unhinged subsect of the Astarion fandom. If you let him do it he even becomes abusive if you are in a romance with him and you'll even have to agree to let him turn into his vampire spawn otherwise he'll break up with you (some of the wives 100% believe he turns you into his vampire bride, but obviously there is nothing in the game confirming this, on the contrary, the evidence is quite flimsy). The craziest thing is the wives think YOU are the abusive one for not letting him sacrifice 7000 souls (including children) in a diabolical ritual, a deal with a fucking archdevil in order to let him ascend, because how can you condemn pookie to a possible life without the sun while still feeling a vampire's hunger? They think you are robbing him of his own agency and infantilizing him. Not to mention that once you get rid of the tadpole, he won't even let you break up with him anymore. Like, at all. You have no choice anymore. He outright laughs at you and says "your future is mine to decide." Also, if you break up with him just before he's about to turn you into his spawn he admits he would've used your love for him against you until "you were nothing", that he appreciates you for doing this, saying he didn't think you had it in you (breaking up with him, that is). Oh and since you mentioned playing the game for meme potential, well, here you also have the option to kick him in the balls when he says "on your knees, darling" to your Tav, before he's about to transform them into a vampire. But be careful, he breaks up and leaves the party permanently after doing this to him lmfao (like any Real Man™ would).

But no, the wives won't hear any of this, in fact they blame you for only choosing the confrontational dialogue options and say that if you are nice to him, he doesn't turn abusive. What??? That's not how this works lmao.

Yes, he has all that power, glory and money if he ascends, but at what cost? He totally loses himself and any positive character growth he had is totally gone and nullified by the ascension. Like yeah he does push for ascending, but does he really need it? There is a difference between wanting something (for all the wrong reasons imho, he can be safe and free without doing this as his good ending proves it) and needing something and you as his friend or lover should know better rather than have him give in into his worst impulses. Tbh I think many of these wives genuinely believe that if he says he wants something, you have to do it because how can you deny your boyfriend this "but he said so!!!". Loving someone doesn't mean agreeing with them every single time, that's not how actual relationships work. That's not to say one can't enjoy toxic relationships in fiction, but that's not what these people are doing here, let's be real. He actually approves and genuinely thanks you if you talk him out of ascending, by the way. He says he was not himself back then when he was just about do it and although he did not appreciate it at the time, is now grateful for saving him from himself, that you saw and believed he is enough just way he is, that now he is "truly and honestly free". The game couldn't be more clear about this, the parallels, the foreshadowings are all there from the very beginning but everything completely flew over these people's heads. Sure, he gets sad when he loses the tadpole and can't be in the sun anymore but eventually he embraces the shadows (in a good way this time) and realizes he can be free and happy like this as well.

Did your friend mention the fact that the wives also harassed and stalked one one of his writers for calling this ending the bad one for him? Because they did this. (tbh personally I do think that writer unprofessional in how they expressed their opinion but they still didn't deserve to be harassed for it…and it's also not like the text itself doesn't confirm what they said).

I do feel bad for those who do like his evil ending for what it is without trying to whitewash it because they often end up catching strays thanks to the crazies, like people telling them they'll be abused in real life by their partners because they like this version of Astarion…which is not a nice thing to say to someone even online. On the other hand these wives claim they are genuine villain fuckers, that they love Astarion as evil as he can be, they also claim to love dark romances but then they totally dumb down the toxic elements of the relationship with him and turn it into uwuuu loving evil power couple. Come on…they genuinely insist his bad and evil ending is the GOOD one! Most characters have a good and evil or bad ending yet fans of other companions don't pretend the bad ones are secretly the good ones "for reasons" or "but they said so, they said they wanted it". I've yet to meet a Shadowheart fan who genuinely thinks her bad ending is in fact her good one, for example. Or a Lae'zel fan.

______________________________________________________________

Darling (pun intended, sorry, couldn't help myself) it's going to be a problem starting his romance if you're still at 3 approval.

i shot up to 28 now! 🤙 without basically doing anything evil, apart from letting him feed on Gandrel (but i kept him alive, at least) out of curiosity, i'm going to go back and see if that gained me any approval points or not

I would suggest checking the BG3 wiki, it has most of his approvals and disapprovals listed so you could farm them, but that would be way too immersion breaking to be fair as it goes against the beauty of role playing, at least if you are the type who truly immerses oneself like I am...sometimes I can't bring myself doing things I personally want to do it in a game because it would go against the character I am playing...it's super weird lol.

oh, i am so tempted, but i'm trying to maintain at least a semblance of unpredictability and candor! i totally get not wanting to do smth if the character would be against it

If romancing him doesn't work out maybe you can go with Gale instead? Or why not maybe Shadowheart will grow on you haha By the way I don't know if I mentioned this but to successfully romance the bloodsucker, you need to sleep with him at least once in act 1. You can't start his romance later.

good to know, soldier! 💪i am not refusing any of his (most likely) cringe sex proposals if i can get them 🤡

As for ridiculous looking outfits…here's a suggestion you may want to keep in mind: at the start of act 3 there's a circus where you can loot a clown outfit and buy clown makeup. I put everything on Gale personally because why not?

LOL i have a mod that gave me a clown outfit and i put it on shadowheart 😂 but gale sounds hilarious, too

However, sadly the only clown in this whole affair was myself considering I spent 5000 gold on making Astarion a fucking statue, which stayed in my camp for the remainder of act 3. And he didn't even comment on it!!! Well at least I didn't go for the naked version of it, but next time I'm definitely choosing to make a statue for my Tav lmao.

i was in tears when i read this :))))))))))))))))))) anon, i'm so sorry :)::):):)::):):):):) i can't imagine

i'm fine with letting astarion drain my blood, but i draw the line at spending so much money on his ungrateful arse 😂 priorities 😂

The ascension wives are the most unhinged subsect of the Astarion fandom.

the stories i've heard reveal such a fascinating level of delusion :)) like you said, not being able to accept the distinction between vampire spawn and vampire bride: he tells you (or least i chose that dialogue option) how one can become an actual, full-blown vampire and that no vampire would create a competitor! straight out of his mouth

Not to mention that once you get rid of the tadpole, he won't even let you break up with him anymore. Like, at all. You have no choice anymore. He outright laughs at you and says "your future is mine to decide." Also, if you break up with him just before he's about to turn you into his spawn he admits he would've used your love for him against you until "you were nothing", that he appreciates you for doing this, saying he didn't think you had it in you (breaking up with him, that is).

to think!! i would crawl straight into the depths of the mariana trench 😭 no way is this loser going to pull this level of insolence on mirta

Oh and since you mentioned playing the game for meme potential, well, here you also have the option to kick him in the balls when he says "on your knees, darling" to your Tav, before he's about to transform them into a vampire. But be careful, he breaks up and leaves the party permanently after doing this to him lmfao (like any Real Man™ would).

i puked a little in my mouth 💀

There is a difference between wanting something (for all the wrong reasons imho, he can be safe and free without doing this as his good ending proves it) and needing something and you as his friend or lover should know better rather than have him give in into his worst impulses.

yeah, that's what i was talking with my friend about, that you'd be out of your mind to accept for him to ascend. and, like you said, it would negate any kind of character growth he might have had until then. so far, my friend was able to talk him out of it and he was grateful, whereas my boyfriend didn't have a good enough approval rating so he had to kill him off. very different outcomes!

but neither of them have managed to fuck him so we'll see on which shores the tides of love take us 🤡

Tbh I think many of these wives genuinely believe that if he says he wants something, you have to do it because how can you deny your boyfriend this "but he said so!!!". Loving someone doesn't mean agreeing with them every single time, that's not how actual relationships work.

very well said!

also, i think that maybe in another game, it would matter more towards making him "happy" if you just went along with everything he says, but the game mechanics here are a little different and it's obviously telegraphing hard that this is Not A Good Path

That's not to say one can't enjoy toxic relationships in fiction, but that's not what these people are doing here, let's be real.

exactly, there needs to be a level of awareness here of what the dynamic actually is, not a senile denial of basic power imbalances

Did your friend mention the fact that the wives also harassed and stalked one one of his writers for calling this ending the bad one for him? Because they did this. (tbh personally I do think that writer unprofessional in how they expressed their opinion but they still didn't deserve to be harassed for it…and it's also not like the text itself doesn't confirm what they said).

not yet, i don't think! she just mentioned that they're very weird with the voice actors as well. she sent me a very long and lachrymose tumblr post, bemoaning that his actor showed his discomfort with ascended!astarion fans during a livestream, how unprofessional and hurt they were by this very normal reaction

on a different note, she showed me the post with the life-sized astarion sex doll someone commissioned

I do feel bad for those who do like his evil ending for what it is without trying to whitewash it because they often end up catching strays thanks to the crazies, like people telling them they'll be abused in real life by their partners because they like this version of Astarion…which is not a nice thing to say to someone even online.

of course, you can enjoy even that ending. i can see myself playing with my friends and making the most idiotic choices, howling with laughter. every one has a kind of setup that allows them to revel in the silliness or (why not) the kink-factor of these situations. it's the "convincing yourself this isn't abusive" part that's the issue

On the other hand these wives claim they are genuine villain fuckers, that they love Astarion as evil as he can be, they also claim to love dark romances but then they totally dumb down the toxic elements of the relationship with him and turn it into uwuuu loving evil power couple.

i wanted to highlight this because it's so true and something i've seen in more fandoms as well. i would say that aly$m0nd was a similar case, where a lot of shippers refused to engage with any potentially problematic aspects of their relationship and just pushed a sanitized true love narrative.

I will address the rest all at once without quoting separately since it's faster. Hopefully I didn't miss anything important:

The spear you found in Withers' place is okay for Shadowheart momentarily but it will soon become obsolete as you will find a much better weapon for her just before entering act 2. It's a mace called "The Blood of Lathander" and is located somewhere within the Githyanki Creche (you will have to go there as it's part of Lae'zel quest). Just deal with the giths first and then go and search for the weapon. It's super good for clerics especially and it's one of those weapons that is effective even in act 3 by the end of the game.

I heard about this mace! I will keep an eye out for it. Add it to my list of items I need to find while still in Act 1.

Entering turn based mode is also a good idea when stealing from merchants.

Yeah the weightless consumables mod is a must have. It seems useless now but when you start collecting all kinds of arrows, potions, scrolls, gold you will become encumbered really, really quick.

I'll see how much longer I'll mentally last with loading and unloading all of the crap I pick up. :))

I think you can sneak past Ethel's masked servants, some players managed to do it (perhaps you could try and make everyone invisible?). Personally I fought them as I didn't want to complicate myself by trying to sneak.

Oh yeah, I go more in detail in my last post about my Ethel adventures.

The Ethel point, if not used on your character, might very well go on one of your companions as I may have said in one of my previous asks. If anyone's main stat is still 17 use it to get it to 18. Then use the ability increase feat to even other odd ability points left? Mayrina will be angry with you no matter what you do so don't worry, it will pass.

So, I requested an INT +1. And my plan currently is to summon the ogres when I go to the goblin camp, make sure they die, if not felled by goblins, then by my hand, and pick up the Circlet of Intelligence or whatever it's called. It pumps INT up to 17, I think? I can then dump all of my INT numbers down to the minimum of 8, add Ethel's +1 and I'm up to 18. With a lot of points free to distribute someplace else. If I can get my hands on the Gloves of Dexterity, too, I can almost turn Mirta into a tank. I feel that secretly she longs for the bloodsong of the battlefield, but is keeping real quiet about it. :))

Nice that you persuaded the ogres to fight for you!!

You got the necromancy book? That's great. Buuuut you might have wanted to take Astarion with you as he has an interest in it. Giving it to him will also grant A LOT of approval (10 points I believe?) which is desirable since you want to romance him. And no, he won't do anything funny with it, the book will be safe in his hands. I mentioned in a previous ask about trusting and agreeing with some of his less insane suggestions, well, this is one of them.

Thank you so much for this suggestion! I wouldn't have known otherwise. There are a lot of details or paths in this game that you could easily miss, some of them very random!

As for your latest incident I should've mentioned that trusting him to NOT drain you dry isn't a good idea lol. I'm sorry once again however it's still extremely funny what he did to poor Mirta. At least she punched him!!

She's in her emo princess era currently. No time like the present to bust out the intense eye makeup!

After you are done with all the side quests in the area you can go to the goblin camp and do what's needed to be done there without needing to kill ALL of them. Rescue Halsin if you want to (he is a nice guy but a boring character overall and the bear sex stunt turned me off his character a bit I fear) and kill the goblin leaders. Not sure if you know, but one of their leaders (Minthara) can be recruited later in act 2 if you knock her out. So no killing - so don't use spells and ranged weapons on her if you want her to survive and have her in your party eventually.

Yeah, the bear sex I honestly find hilarious. I'm going to try to recruit as many as I can, because free labour and help? Why not? Though I'm not sure I can have both Minthara and Halsin in my camp (apparently they can't stand each other?). My bf said I had to choose, but I wonder if I can't get those two crazy cats to get along with my high CHA.

You may want to expose Kagha and the shadow druids before doing the goblin camp.

Good to know, thanks!

This is weird, when it comes to dialogues you should have the possibility to select the Friends cantrip in the bonus section before you roll the dice. It should be there near Shadowheart's guidance. Once you select it two dices will show up on your screen, then the dice with the higher number will be taken into consideration. You may have a bug if it doesn't show up. But yes other than dialogues, there's not much practicality for it.

You're right about that, I will reconsider the Friends cantrip later on maybe. I imagine I get more cantrip slots as I progress.

Also, if you want access to the Guidance cantrip, there is a necklace that grants you this spell so you won't need to drag Shadowheart around you. (a short video with the location so I don't have to explain it to you: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v_abMisavwU )

This would be so useful, thank you very much!!! V excited about this!

Yep, Dancing Lights disarming traps and vents is apparently a thing which I found out quite late in the game. I always threw stones and random weapons at vents to cover them and then I had Astarion disarm them and any other traps.

As for lightning and ice spells or cantrips: Shocking Grasp and Ray of Frost are the only cantrips available, but you may want to look into spells. I know the temptation is to not spend your spell slots and focus on cantrips since you can cast them endlessly but trust me, sometimes you'll have to use spells. Once you hit level 5 you'll begin to have access to other cool lightning and ice spells. Lightning Bolt and Glyph of Warding (this one lets you choose the type of damage you will deal and both ice and lightning are available - Shadowheart as a cleric will also have access to this spell) and on later levels there are even more cool ones. You probably missed this one but on early levels there is also Chromatic Orb which is similar to the Glyph.

Oh, yeah, I do use spells, too, but you never know when you might need an elemental cantrip you can cast without limit.

The only items Gale can eat will have a text written under them that should say something like "Gale can absorb this item". He has standards, he won't eat just anything!

Too bad I didn't figure that one out sooner, but no real harm done!

Not you giving Gale the Dancing Lights amulet. You are right that it is redundant but it has sentimental value since it's from Arabella's parents. How could you???

The bard hat must be worn by a bard, even if you gain that ability from Alfira it won't work on your character. Bards, depending on their current level, have a number of "Bardic Inspiration Poins" which are similar to cleric's Guidance cantrip and will grant other party members bonuses when they roll their dices. Some of their attack actions are also dependent on this system and may cost bardic inspiration points. If you don't intend to respect someone into a bard or use multiclass (a feature that's not available on your difficulty level anyway) on a party member, then the hat will be useless and Gale can eat it.

Oh.... Well, it was worth a shot. I did look goofy while wearing it. Gave it to Gale after all.

Gloves of uncommon power? Did you mean gloves of power? They are fine on Lae'zel or maybe even better on Astarion due to the Sleight of Hand +1 bonus. You could give them to Gale and then buy the Gloves of Thievery for Astarion from the Zhentarim merchant (I think you need to deliver the shipment from the caravan to them without opening it in order to have access to them and other cool items from full inventory).

These names sort of blend into each other after a while. :)) I'm writing down the Gloves of Thievery, thanks. :))

thank you for the Magnus Archives podcast link!

You're very welcome, I hope you liked the episode!

Anonymous asked:

"lmao anon don't worry! i genuinely did it for the lols at least i got him to an 18 approval rating for me, more than karlach, lae'zel OR gale somehow (motherfucker, and this is AFTER i gave him an artefact to consume)" Thanks the gods lol, I was surprised a bit since most players did not genuinely trust him to not do something stupid. The fact that you have options to make him stop is enough of a warning imho, the game is pretty much like "are you sure about trusting him, hmm?".

Tell me about it, but you can't really think clearly with vampire fangs down your neck, right? ☠

And how did you manage to have fucking Gale at a lower approval lmao, now I feel stupid for suggesting in my other message to go for him instead if you can't manage to romance the vampire. Gale and Shadowheart were the only ones I managed to have much high numbers compared to Astarion, and quite early on. Karlach was the hardest for me, followed by Lae'zel.

I'll have to check how I stand with them in this post-Ethel administration! 💪 Shadowheart and Wyll are quite keen on me.

"i'm glad he's fucking "happy", what can i say 🤡 maybe now we're not going to fail every perception check in ethel's cave at least. we're going TODAY so i can benefit from this bonus (i did work my arse off for if after all!)" From now on up until the end of the game you can use his bite ability on enemies when in combat and he will gain the "Happy" condition each time, including the +1 bonus. Alternatively, you can also have Mirta become his willing blood bag and invite him to feed on her each night or so lol & the following morning he will gain the condition that way as well, but I think letting him feed on enemies is better.

Yeah, I can imagine the blood bank fics, 😅 but, unfortunately (or fortunately for the sane ones amongst us), Mirta would wake up with some of her abilities depleted at the cost of Astarion's boosts. And that doesn't really work for her since she's discovered her own penchant for dueling after her brush with death. How can she take all that damage enemies frontload on her in combat otherwise? 💬

A fun happening which I forgot to mention previously but there is this Rha*nicent fan art that's been living rent free in my head ever since I saw it back in august (link: https://x.com/kknoahh/status/1825991659835867357) with short haired Rha*nyra, who I genuinely thought to be…Astarion at first. I was like who the fuck started to ship Alicent with him lmao, like can you imagine this crackship.

Oh my goodness, Rhaenyra really does look like him. 😳 Alicent really out there catching all strays and being shipped with anyone with the slightest potential of becoming psychosexually obsessed with her. :))

Have fun at the birthday party!!

Thanks so much, it was nice to go out and see my friends!

Anonymous asked:

Well, Gale isn't in a position to criticize Astarion for hiding his true nature, to be fair. You'll find out soon enough when he confesses the full truth about his condition and why he really needs to consume all those magical artefacts. I don't remember if the rest of your companions have something to say each time after you give items to Gale to eat but after you feed him for the third and final time they should have something to say if you click on them, at least those who are in your active party at the time (again, no exclamation mark will show up above them).

This tip has proven very useful and I always make sure to check on them at the end of the day and after I hit long rest. Most of them did comment on Gale some way the other, but NONE of them had ANYTHING to day that the leech spawn KILLED ME. Forsooth!

Astarion will be like "who would hide something like this from his friends? you can't trust anyone this days", which is quite hilarious considering Gale was more understanding lol.

This line is even funnier if you think he's being self-aware while saying it. :))

I may offer you a hint that won't spoil anything: make a quicksave to be sure just in case and then use Astarion's bite ability on Gale. You'll see that something is wrong with the guy… ;)

He did ask me whose blood I'd suck, which was quite hilarious, and insisted I'd answer. :)) I picked Gale for the lols, hoping it would trigger what you said, but nothing happened. I guess fang boy abides by our deal and keeps to hunting animals? Who would have thought? But maybe I'll try to bite Gale tonight, to see what he does.

Unfortunately, backgrounds don't matter so much, Tav is pretty much a blank slate. You get some specific skill proficiencies and maybe some unique dialogue options here and there but other than that? Pretty much nothing, except for also receiving inspiration points. It's really a missed opportunity and one of my main criticisms of the game, there are plenty of occasions in the game where your background could've been taken into into consideration. You actually gave a good example about perhaps being allowed into spaces common born people aren't, but unless I missed something, nothing like this happens. You even meet Baldurian nobles in act 3 and you have no dialogue options with any of them when normally you should've been familiarized with at least some of them, being a noble yourself. Two of your possible companions, Wyll and Minthara, are of noble birth as well and you can't have a noble to noble conversation with them (you have a noble dialogue option with Minthara but only if you play as a drow noble, other races aren't acknowledged and as far as I can recall, Wyll has no specific dialogue for other nobles).

That's unfortunate. It would have been a great addition. Like, I imagine noble characters could start out with more coin in their pockets or that common-borns could have streets smarts (survival proficiency) or knowledge about the local flora or fauna or small settlements. I sometimes have dialogue with people about aspects my tav should already be aware of, even general world-building stuff, like fellow races or just current events. :))

Also, it's rather annoying to be playing a Baldurian character but they're seemingly unaware of anything going on in Baldur's gate. For example, Mirta should have been aware of Cazador, I feel? At the very least that there's a coven of vampires in her home city and that no one is doing anything about it. :)) Or just generally question Astarion's magistrate background.

Good luck with Ethel!!

Thank you! Whole other post below on my hag struggles. :)

[zmediaoutlet]

fic: the spare bedroom

the nostalgia bug has got me good, y'all. And man, it's so much easier to write for a new fandom, haha. For the four of you who might see this --

title: the spare bedroom pairing: Cloud/Barret rating: E length: 5000 tags: Game: Final Fantasy VII Rebirth (2024), Gongaga (Compilation of FFVII), Friends With Benefits, Size Kink, Oral Sex

summary: After getting out of the desert and making their way to Gongaga, everyone splits up. Cloud comes to check on Barret.

(read on AO3)

Cissnei's house is nice enough. Small. A few beds, like maybe desperate folks have crashed here before. A kitchen. Maybe Tifa'll cook something, if they're lucky. Pay back their host for her generosity. From the burn marks on the stove they better not rely on Cissnei to provide.

Barret's not hungry, though. He's tired but he doesn't want to sleep. Piece of shit of a day, worse than just about any he's had in four years. He sits on the bed shoved against the wall in the back room and rests his elbows on his knees, trying to figure it. Between the plate getting dropped and losing his team and the reactor back in Corel blowing and his arm being shot to bloody broken bits—yeah, he's got a list. Previously he'd had the ranking pretty well defined. Maybe on some later day he'll feel less like a sorry sack of shit about the whole thing but right now, every time he closes his eyes he sees that holding shack at the prison, and he feels the hot dust under his fingers, and in his ears, his best friend saying—

"What are you doing," Cloud says. Barret jolts, opens his eyes.

"I'm bo-ored," Yuffie says, from her slump in the living room around the corner. "This town was supposed to have materia."

"It isn't just going to appear midair. I thought you were a hunter. Go find it." Barret snorts. Kid doesn't even sound like he's trying to be rude. Perfectly practical, that's our SOLDIER. Yuffie makes some whiny noise—Barret is truly not looking forward to Marlene being fifteen—and Cloud sighs, and like he's making a great concession says, "I think I heard the GYC guys talking about training with magic. Maybe you can convince one of them to hand something over."

"Really?" she squeals, and then, calling like to a distant friend, "Materia, never fear! You shall be mine!"

Running sneakers on the stone, the front door slamming closed. Barret tips his head back against the wall, watches the afternoon light coming in through the strange stone-hewed windows. Town's nice. Peaceful. If it were some other day he bets he could enjoy it.

Cloud appears in the archway. His lips part on seeing Barret and then he shakes his head. "Figures. Last place I look."

"Ain't everything in the last place you'd look?" Barret says. He stretches his boots out on the stones. "'Cause you'd stop looking then, right?"

Those big, pretty eyes narrow. "Right." Cloud studies his face and Barret lets him. Nearly all his awful secrets are out in the light, now. Don't make sense to pretend otherwise. Anyway, the rest of 'em didn't abandon him in the desert or kill him where he stood, so he figures little fearless leader here isn't about to run him through. Though, really…

"You need something?" Barret says. Better to head those kinds of thoughts off at the pass. "We ain't moving out already, are we?"

Slight head-shake. "Mission break. We don't even know if that reactor's the right place to look. Everyone needs some downtime."

Barret's got enough going on that he thinks he can be forgiven how it takes him a few seconds. Cloud's looking at the ground, his arms folded over his skinny chest, and Barret stares at him in silence until he sees how the kid's ears and cheekbones are going that telltale pale pink. He'd laugh if he didn't feel like his guts had been torn out and left all over the desert. "Don't know if I'm gonna be good company for that, man," he says.

Cloud rubs the back of his neck. "You're never good company," he says, after a second, and Barret's surprised enough to snort. Cloud's mouth tilts, barely, and then his jaw firms. "That was—messed up, today. It shouldn't have gone down like that."

"My best friend shouldn't have been mown down in a hail of bullets by Shinra goons? With it being my fault?" Barret shrugs. "Yeah, guess I'd agree with that."

Strangest look on the kid's face. He blinks hard, shakes his head. Barret frowns—he knows he sounds bitter but he didn't mean to make the kid cry, damn—but after a few seconds Cloud says, softer than he normally says just about anything, "I can't imagine." He stands there, quiet, while Barret takes a full breath, deep in his lungs, trying to clear out the thick tense fucked-up misery that's solid there, all of a sudden, his chest full of iron ore and sandstorms. Then Cloud steps forward, hands loose at his sides, cheeks pink, chin lifted. "Let me help take your mind off it."

"Cloud—" Barret starts, but Cloud gestures vaguely to the rest of town, interrupts with: "Yuffie's out chasing materia; Red's mushroom hunting; I think Cait's charging; Tifa and Aerith are… I don't know, they're doing girl stuff." He tips his head to the side, toward the real bedroom. "I'm betting that door locks."

Barret sighs. "You thought of everything, huh?"

"I try," Cloud says. He sucks his lower lip into his mouth and lets it out slow through his teeth, so it shines in the dim light. Nervous and doing a hell of a job of hiding it, and it might even work if Barret hadn't seen his badass act fail about fifty times by now. "I don't know how to make it better. Maybe it doesn't get better. But there could be an hour that didn't suck."

Damn if the kid hasn't had a 180 in personality from the day they met. Barret's heart's still lead, but—hell, the kid's right. He doesn't want to feel like this anymore. "Long as you promise it won't suck," he says. Feels heavy coming out but, damn, he's trying.

Cloud steps forward between his boots. "Or what," he says, dry.

Barret reaches out, flattens his hand over the kid's chest. The tank's thick wool, surprisingly soft. "Ain't got the energy to mess with you, man," Barret says, more honest than he means to be. Cloud's eyes change, quick as that. He gets a little nod. Barret curls a finger under one of the leather straps on Cloud's armor and tugs. Cloud leans down slow, bending at the waist, pausing for some reason when his breath touches Barret's skin—meeting Barret's eyes, checking, like Barret's some virgin that needs to be gentled—and Barret holds there like a stone until Cloud reaches whatever internal decision had to get made and sinks down the final few inches and kisses him, close-mouthed. Sweet.

He is sweet. Clumsy still, even if they've done this already. Barret holds him by the small of the back over the thick leather brace and lets Cloud take the lead, the weight still dragging at him, but distracted at least—the kid's skin smelling like salt and river-water and the jungle green they waded through to get here and also that weird sharp tang that's always around him, the mako seeping up somehow through his pores. His girl-soft mouth and his girl-soft skin, the touch of wet against Barret's lower lip, his hands warm even through the leather gloves when he frames Barret's jaw, when he sucks in a shuddery breath through his nose, when he makes this tiny deep sound in his chest, like he's tasting something he's been wanting for a while.

Barret's gut wakes, slow. Like it's remembering that he's a man and not just a hollow thing for grief to fill. He presses Cloud's mouth wider, licks his top lip, and Cloud shudders, lets Barret kiss him—deeper—his hands sliding from Barret's jaw to clench in his vest. Then he breaks away—mouth red, wet—and blinks at Barret, and then pulls at his vest, hard, that unnatural strength hauling Barret upright before he's ready so he stumbles forward into the kid, who catches him like it's nothing, and pulls again, until they're in the bedroom, the door slamming behind Barret's back as Cloud pushes him up against it. Cloud has to lift up on his toes and Barret has to bend to get their mouths together again but damn if it's not worth it, with the kid better every time, making those little noises like he's surprised, like he's learning something, like he didn't know he could like it. Hot as hell and not the first time Barret's thought it and certainly not the last, with this warmth building up in him. He was dead ten minutes ago and now he wants—damn, he wants a lot, too much, shit he can't do with responsibility about to come knocking any second, in the bedroom of some stranger's house, with a door that—

"No lock," Barret says, fumbling behind himself. Shit, shit—

Cloud stares up at him hazily, breathing heavy. "Fuck it," he says, rough. "You're a doorstop, right?"

"Screw you," Barret says, surprised into laughing, and Cloud smiles at him and then hooks his sword off that magnet on his back, leans it against the wall—careful like he always is, like the thing that cuts dragons in half will get chipped if he doesn't treat it nice—and then pushes right back in and kisses him, wrapping his arm around Barret's neck, pulling him down enough that it's easy, and then his other hand skimming down Barret's belly to his belt to the front of his fatigues, gripping there, small but firm.

Hell of a lot bolder than he was before. Barret grunts, dips and kisses the kid's jaw, lets his hips curl forward. He's not all the way there but Cloud's curious, feeling the length and the thickening girth and it feels—damn, just right, muffled pressure that's not enough to go crazy over but that feels—like a strong hand gripping his and pulling him out of swamp-muck. His nuts don't mind, that's for damn sure. He drags his fingers down the center of Cloud's back, pressing through the leather, kisses there under the kid's ear and grips his ass in a big handful, squeezes, gets a sweet tiny gasp against his jaw that makes him grin, all unexpected.

"Shut up," Cloud said, and then before Barret can protest that he didn't say nothing at all, he immediately says, "Do you want to—like before?"

Fucking the sweat-damp tunnel between Cloud's thighs, the kid squirming and panting and overcome under his bulk, so hot he's half-surprised the room didn't catch fire. Something that'll be good dreams, as long as he manages to keep his sorry ass alive. Still—"Don't think we can screw up Miss Cissnei's bedroom like that," he says. Regretting it sincerely but also somewhat glad to see Cloud pull back and blink, confused. "Made a mess, creaming you up."

His cheeks are about the color of one of those hibiscus outside, speaking of catching fire. "Right," he says. Just barely unsteady. Barret squeezes his ass again, pulls him in closer against his thigh, and Cloud half-stumbles and—yeah, he's hard too, stiff enough through the uniform that Barret could probably just get the kid to ride his leg, desperate and dizzy with it until he made a mess of himself. And that'd be fun as hell, especially if excuses had to get made about ducking back out to the river for a swim, but Barret's more selfish than that, and, anyway—

"Right," Cloud says again, harder, and then licks his lips, and drops without so much as a by-your-leave to his knees—drops, all at once, hitting the floor with a thud—and reaches for Barret's belt, and Barret's too shocked-stupid to stop him.

Belts aren't complicated and neither are trousers and Cloud's got him unzipped in record time, and that's also when Cloud gets to find out that it's been a long journey and there hasn't been much time for worrying about the delicates. He takes a deep breath and curls his hands into the waistband. "Commando, huh?" He flicks his eyes up.

"You complainin'?" Barret says, spreading his boots. Goddamn, that's a sight.

"I figured you'd need a special sling for this thing," Cloud says, cool as a mountaintop like Barret can't see his ear-tips glowing red under the mess of his hair. He pops the bracer on his right wrist and drags the leather glove off with his teeth, and it's ghostly-pale fingertips on the low of Barret's stomach, dragging down the trail from his navel to the bush he's let grow kinda thick and then touching the root, curious, feeling him all fat and ready. Ready—damn, feels like he could hammer nails—but he doesn't have to wait much longer, with Cloud's fingers peeling back the v of the fatigues and pulling down just enough that his dick—ah—pops free, hanging heavy but hard enough that it's standing out from his hips. Cloud curls his left hand around it—the leather strange and battered-soft—hefts him, fingers barely meeting his thumb—and frowns, and lifts up higher on his knees, and then dips and—presses his lips to the side, over the vein, dry, the heat just—

"Yeah," Barret says, thoughtless, and Cloud glances up at him hot-faced and then closes his eyes, licks instead, his lips dragging stutter-soft up the side of Barret's dick. "Cloud. You done this?"

He holds there with his lips just under the head, bangs hiding his face. Barret fits his hand around the back of Cloud's neck, something twisting so hard and vicious in his gut it almost hurts except that his nuts surge like he could shoot right now, no warning. He slides his thumb up over the soft hollow spot at the top of his spine, feeling the soft puffs of Cloud's breath over the head of his cock—quick, warm. "Wet your mouth," he says, quiet. Tiny space between their skin—he hears the slick noises, Cloud sucking his lower lip—and Barret closes his eyes tight but then opens them again, because hell if he's gonna miss this. "Gotta relax your jaw. Don't try to fit the whole thing. You suffocate, there'll be hell to pay."

"You'd bring me back," Cloud says, absent-minded, and Barret uses the grip at the back of his neck to pull him away—Cloud blinking up at him, startled—but he has to curl down and kiss the kid for that one, knocking his mouth open and really licking inside, pushing his jaw wide, feeling him—wet, yeah, slick and warm and good, and then he stands up again and brushes his thumb over Cloud's smooth cheek and watches him sway softly under that tenderness—what in the hell, every minute's like meeting a new merc—before Cloud licks his lower lip, and bolsters Barret's dick high, and bends to fit his mouth around the head.

Wet shock. Slick, hot—god, there are times Barret prefers this to pussy, of whatever gender. He's too big and most never offer, much less try. Cloud's tongue slicks smooth and strong under the head and Barret grips his hair, presses his hips hard back against the door not to fuck in and maybe actually cause an injury. Little grunt and Cloud pushes down another inch, pulls back, coughs. "Good," Barret says, like a dumbass. "That's good, baby."

"Don't call me that," Cloud says, but he must not mind too much because he licks a sloppy kiss there at the tip and tries again, sliding the tight ring of his lips down and down, the inside of his mouth—he sucks and it's the silk inside his cheeks and his tongue sliding and a hint, ow, of teeth, but with how hard he's trying even that's a kind of harsh hot thing that's swirling tensely at the pit of Barret's belly. Cloud switches hands, gripping with the bare right instead and sliding his left down to hold Barret's nuts, and he laps right at the slit, pressing hard, and Barret—damn, he's trying but he's mortal, isn't he?—fucks his hips forward, chasing it. Knocks into Cloud's throat, makes him yank back, coughing—and Barret does feel like a piece of shit, says, "Damn—sorry, sorry—" but Cloud, being a crazy-ass, says, "Shut up," and kneels up gripping Barret's hips and forces his mouth down. The angle's all off and he hasn't done this or at least hasn't done this with a cock as big as Barret's and he only gets maybe halfway down, but that's insane-making enough, Barret's cockhead threatening the pit of his throat and feeling that tight spasm, his hips pushing forward because he can't not under that demand, closed up in all that heaven. He's so turned around he tries for a second to grab with his right hand, forgetting somehow that it's been gone for four years, and ends up leaving his gun-arm laid heavily over Cloud's back, clanking against his iron pauldron. It's a mind-bending handful of seconds buried about as deep as anyone's managed in years before he remembers he's not supposed to kill the kid and he pulls Cloud away by the hair, his dick emerging into the horrible cold air slick and furious, calling him a fucking dumbass for not leaving it right where it belonged.

Cloud coughs once, slurps spit and air. Barret tips his head back and there are—fuck—tears in his eyes, his face red, his eyes furiously blue. Looking up like it's a challenge and like he's got not a thought in his head, all at the same time. Barret keeps his head still and pushes forward, his dick standing straight out from his hips, lets the cockhead kiss Cloud's mouth. Lets him lick at it, soft-pink and wanting. Pushes past, sliding the sticky-wet along Cloud's bizarrely soft skin, watching the fat dark of it smear along the pale cheek and past, dipping under his ear, brushing the soft ends of his hair until Cloud's lips are pressed to Barret's skin, Barret's nuts against his chin. Barret slides his own fingers against the underside of his dick, brushing Cloud's jaw. Cloud tips his head forward, forehead against Barret's belly. Kisses, careful, at his sack. God, if it were possible. If there were a dozen nights where Barret could hold his head just so and coax him and open his throat, feed in—all the way, past the constriction, in—

He can't wait. He spits in his palm and wraps his fist around his dick, and from lack of options—even crazed-headed as he is he's careful, careful, with the gun, nudging Cloud back with the muzzle against his collarbone—Cloud's eyes opening wide, darker, his jaw dropping—so Barret can feed the head in—just the head, jerking himself, Cloud watching and gripping Barret's hips and then his nuts and then just holding there, cupping Barret's sack and slurping and suckling and licking soft and sweet at the cockhead, this hot urgency in him, wanting it bad enough that he'd choke if Barret let him. Fuck, Barret could choke him. He wrings at his dick, that coil turning in and in and in on itself, tighter and hotter and clawing its way out of his nuts, and he should warn Cloud, should pull him back, should say at least—should say—except it's one of those things he knows, down somewhere deep past every other thing, that no, that this is going to be—that he will—

He bites his lip hard so he doesn't yell out. His hips jerk, once. He follows the pumping release, fisting up and up and up, drives—in—just barely, Cloud gripping his hips and then wrapping his hands over Barret's hand, holding it, letting him pump inside. Cloud's mouth opens and he gasps wetly and Barret watches the white shine on his lip and wrings his dick viciously to pull out another gob of it and then chases that right into Cloud's mouth, forces it back inside when he seems like he might lose it over his chin, and Cloud holds the back of his hand and closes his lips over Barret's thumb and sucks it clean, blurry-eyed, good. Fuck, he's good.

Barret stares at that, for a few seconds. Maybe for eternity. This insane fucker, acting like Barret's giving up the lifestream itself. His tongue pushing hard along the ridge of Barret's thumbnail. How he swallows, and gasps weird around Barret's wet thumb, and then swallows again. Then Barret's brain logs back in, or at least halfway, because he rips his hand away and grips Cloud by the bicep and hauls him bodily to his feet—fucks his tongue into Cloud's mouth for a stolen second to taste himself—bitter, god that's bitter, salt and bleach and Cloud's tongue—and then turns them around, slams Cloud back against the door and goes to his own knees, less gracefully but no less happy to do it.

"What," Cloud says, raw-voiced—god, god, because Barret fucked him there—and Barret says, "You gotta help, baby, can't do this one-handed," and Cloud stares down at him before he fumbles at his waist—rucking up the wide back-belt, peeling open his uniform, and there's—sweet, standard issue Shinra grunt white boxer-briefs with his little dick standing up so hard in them, pushing forward the cotton desperate enough that there's a damp spot at the tip, pink skin shining through the wet. Even kneeling Barret's too tall for this, though—he fumblingly helps Cloud push the trousers and briefs down to his mid-thigh and then picks up one leg, hauls Cloud's knee over his left shoulder to lift him higher—one boot thudding against his back, the other scrambling to brace on the stone floor—and it's awkward, yeah, but at that moment the bed feels a mile away and anyway he can just—"Oh!" Cloud says, as brainless as he's ever been. Barret slurps down, down, to the base—easy—while since he's had the pleasure but it ain't the kind of thing you forget. "What—Barret—"

Barret pulls off, kisses the inches of bare white thigh by his cheek. "Gotta stay quiet, you don't want the whole village coming to see," he says, and when he glances up Cloud's covered his mouth with his gloved hand, staring wide-eyed like Barret's something he never expected to see. Barret'd laugh at how fussed he is—wet-eyed and pink-faced and fluffy-haired as a chick—but it's more fun to grip his tight little ass with his good hand and push him forward into Barret's mouth. Stiff pole of it, leaking all over the place, salt and clean skin and again that strange metal flavor, a tang, somehow all off and weird and addictive all at once. Good mouthful, his nuts a sweet smooth package pulled up so tight to the base he seems ready to shoot, with thirty seconds' worth of decent attention. Barret wants to do him better than that, though, to give back even half of all that good—"Suck," he says, tapping two fingers against the metal back of Cloud's glove. A blink, confusedly hazy. "C'mon, now. My mouth's busy."

Slurped right in, after that. He ducks back down and laps at the smooth sack—truly, he'll never be over how the kid seems to be entirely hairless from the nose down—and kisses Cloud's belly and the knobby little turn of his pelvis where he's too skinny and bites real careful just under his navel, makes Cloud's cock jerk like it's on a damn lead up against the underside of his chin. His fingers are getting what he'd bet would be the gold-star VIP treatment at the Honeybee, Cloud sucking as eagerly as he did dick, and goddamn, if Barret were younger they'd have a real issue on their hands. Even so his nuts are interested, wanting another try.

"Good," he mumbles against Cloud's belly. Another jerk—his dick's pearling clear, oozing. Barret pulls his fingers out of Cloud's mouth and gets a stuttery little gasp, and then a choked noise when he applies them to the red dripping head, smears all the wet around. "Cover your mouth," he says, and Cloud doesn't quite obey but slips his own fingers inside, biting, and that works, too—well enough that when Barret slips his hand around and presses against his asshole the only sound is a chest-deep grunt, not something that'll get shouted to the village and the whole jungle, besides.

Cloud ain't a princess and he's so desperate he don't need coaxing; Barret rubs the wet around, feels him tight, flexing, and doesn't ask before he pushes his middle finger in, quick and all-at-once to the knuckle. Cloud jerks and Barret slurps his dick back in, sucks in little pulses to match his finger fucking in, and Cloud's naked hand fumbles to Barret's shoulder, grips his vest so tight Barret hears a stitch pop. Insanely hot inside. Maybe hotter than other people—those mako treatments, again?—and the ring of muscle clamping hard—and easy, damn, so easy, Barret scrubbing his finger along that front wall where all the good stuff happens and Cloud's breath going strange and high and whiny around his fingers, his thigh flexing over Barret's shoulder and his hips not knowing whether to push back or crush forward. Barret makes it easy for him, encourages the thrust, letting him rock between Barret's hand and his mouth. It feels nice, anyway, right, his lips tight, letting Cloud rock against Barret's tongue pushed flat and hard up against the base, his taste leaking all over 'til Barret's sure he'll only taste that salt-and-metal for days after. He can feel Cloud quickening, though, his tiny noises going deeper, his hips getting desperate, and he crushes his finger in hard and pulls Cloud all the way up against his face, his beard grinding against that smooth sweating skin, his nose crushed in against his belly, sucking, demanding, and—yeah, Cloud's breath stops and his whole body seizes and his bootheel bruises Barret's back and he—shoots, right up into the back of Barret's throat, quick jets that Barret swallows down right away before he pulls back, slurps soft at the head, gets those last few drops. Slippery as mercury.

Cloud's head is tipped back against the door. Fingers still in his mouth, his chest heaving. Barret kisses his cockhead, all flushed and wetly red, and his belly, and then, watching carefully, he tugs his finger out of Cloud's body and then presses back in with two. Thick—he knows, his two fingers are thicker than a lot of men's dicks—but Cloud swallows them up without a whine or a flinch, his body clamping tight but just—taking it. He missed his calling, Barret thinks, and then feels bad for thinking it but—not that bad, really.

"You're so good, baby," he says, meaning it about as sincerely as he's meant anything, and Cloud's eyes open up above and his head drops down, his chin against his chest, meeting Barret's eyes. Not protesting at all. Tilting his hips when Barret grinds his two fingers thick into that spot, his pupils huge and his lips open and everything about him seeming to say—go ahead. Go ahead, make me.

If only. Barret kisses Cloud's belly again, right at the root of his softening dick, and pulls out his fingers and then stands up, bracing against the door to do it. His knees crack, gun-shot loud. Cloud blinks at him, looking up of a sudden with Barret so close, and then gets one of those tiny, goofy smiles.

"Don't you say a thing," Barret says.

"Hm," Cloud says. He looks to the side, where one of the high windows is pouring in that syrupy late afternoon light. "Maybe we can get you a potion, later."

"Man, what'd I say," Barret says, and Cloud grins and then turns back and goes on his toes and kisses him, quick. Just this brief unselfconscious peck, not asking for another thing. He drops back to his heels and he's not smiling anymore but his eyes are soft, and Barret chucks him under the chin, gentle. Dumbass, crazy kid.

He zips up. Cloud gets his uniform back together. In less than a minute, other than how Barret's mouth tastes like cock and metal, looking around the bedroom, no one'd suspect a thing.

Cloud pulls his discarded glove back on, clicks his bracer back together. Twists his wrist back and forth to check the fit. Says, looking down, "You good?"

Barret takes a deep breath. He feels—he doesn't know. It's still this shitty day but it's not worse. His bones feel looser in their sockets and his brain feels somewhat clear and he doesn't—regret at least one thing that happened today. "I'm good," he says. Not exactly true but maybe there's not anything truer.

A steady look, sidelong across Cloud's shoulder. "Good," he says. A little soft. The tip of his tongue touches his lower lip and he swipes one gloved thumb across his mouth, like he's trying not to think about it. If he keeps doing that it's gonna be hell on Barret's composure. But then he settles his shoulders, and picks up that big-ass sword and lets it clank heavily into its place. Looks more like the badass merc he's meant to be. "I'm going to check on the others. If nothing's going on maybe we can rest here, tonight, go on to the reactor in the morning."

"Sounds good to me," Barret says. He opens the door—no one waiting in awkward silence in the rest of the house, thank the planet—and follows Cloud to the entry. Watches Cloud reach for the knob and then grabs his arm. "You—" Cloud lets himself be held still, looking over his shoulder. Barret clears his throat. "You meant it, huh. 'Bout having my back."

Cloud looks at him entirely clear-eyed. No weird tenseness or like he's thinking of ten other things or brooding on whatever dark-ass secrets he keeps locked tight. Just this kid—man, Barret amends—standing there with him. For a minute, steady as a mountain. He nods, once.

Barret swallows. "Hope you know it goes both ways."

A slow breath. "I'm counting on it," Cloud says. Means it, too.

Barret nods back, something settling low at the base of his spine. Something steel-forged, solid. He ain't got a lot of best friends left. He'll do what he can, for this one.

[herd-reject-arts]

Update with the dog.

I will likely not be seeing an oncologist. They said, based on everything they have from my past vet visits, chemo (the best treatment) will buy her maybe 6 months. Meaning that prolonging her life will be selfish and entirely for me, and will also put me so severely in debt that I'd probably have to file for bankruptcy and move back in with my mother.

The other option (surgery, removal of most of her tongue) was not recommended both for the danger of her bleeding out and also the increased rate of metastasis when tumors of this type are fucked with. So with that option, I'd be dropping like $1500 just to make it spread faster.

Therefore, and horribly, the best option I have is to have her injected with Prednisone, one of 4 medicines she'd be getting if we went the chemo route, to deal with pain management and minor suppression of the lymphoma. Which means I have like 3 months left. It just seems the most humane, and least like something I'm doing for me and me alone.

I was initially so eager to start on chemo under the assumption that it worked like it does with people and you can go without new tumors forming for a long fucking time.

No such luck.

They told me lymphoma especially usually comes back (and worse) within a year of it going into remission. When it's on the tongue, it's a matter of months.

I tallied up the costs. It's $1200 to see the oncologist (a far cry from the $200 my vet told me it would be). She'd need a full blood work panel bi-weekly ($200, if I go through my vet), and the chemo itself is $500 every three weeks for 15 weeks. Meaning I'd be about $5000 in debt just from the vet. That's excluding the cost of travel and any extra meds she may need and changes to her diet, etc. I didn't ask what Prednisone costs. It doesn't really matter. At this point it's all about pain management, no matter what route I choose, because nothing is going to actually make her better. All I can do is make sure she's not in an ass load of pain until she is in an ass load of pain, and then I have to have her put down.

Going the Prednisone route will, therefore, almost certainly be what I choose.

I appreciate anyone who helped me with money to get her seen. This dog has been with me since before I was an adult and is one of two things I've ever actually loved, including my other dog (who died from cancer in October of last year). That I can't do anything for her will haunt me forever. That I couldn't do anything for my other dog never leaves my brain. I don't get attached to things or people or anything, but these dogs have been the only things that remind me I can be a normal ass person. And one is gone and the other's on her way out. And I don't know how to cope with that. Just. Thank you, to anyone who was kind enough to help a severely broken faggot with helping the only friend they had left.

[all-the-things-2020]

Quarantine

Summary: Finn and Poe are on a mission for General Leia and end up having to be quarantined together for two weeks.

Rating: PG-13

Word Count: 5000+

Notes: This story takes place sometime between the battle on Crait and the events of TRoS. I wrote this during the quarantine lockdown in early 2020.

Poe Dameron hated this stupid ship. Give me an X-wing any day, he thought as he fought the stiff yoke on the bucket of bolts he and his friend Finn were traveling in. It was a nondescript little freighter, barely big enough for two crewmen and a small amount of cargo, but it had absolutely no connection with the Resistance and it was big enough for what they needed on this mission. So, he was stuck with it.

“You’re coming in awfully fast, Poe,” Finn said.

“Really? I hadn’t noticed,” Poe said through gritted teeth. The engines groaned as he throttled them down and pulled up on the yoke, trying to drop the ship as gracefully as possible onto the landing pad they had been directed to. Finally, he managed to bring her down with only a minor thump.

Finn opened his mouth, but Poe shushed him with a raised finger. “Say one word, buddy, and I’ll blast you. I hate this fucking ship!” He kicked the dashboard as he crawled out of the pilot’s seat, which caused three different alarms to go off. He slammed his fist down on top of the dash, and they went off.

“Whoever bought this piece of junk needs to be fired,” he muttered as he left the cramped cockpit.

“I think it was Leia,” said Finn. Of course, Poe thought. She’d probably gotten a good laugh out of the look on his face when he saw the Firefly and found out he was going to be flying it.

They walked to the hatch and Poe keyed in the sequence to drop the ramp. The flight had been short enough, just over two hours, mostly in hyperspace, but he was more than ready to get off the ship and stretch his legs. Unfortunately, the ramp did not deploy.

“What the …,” he tapped in the sequence again but the ramp refused to open. “I swear …” He was interrupted by the buzz of the comm unit.

“Ground control to Firefly,” said the slightly metallic voice of the flight controller who had directed them to the landing pad. “Please cease attempting to open your hatch.”

Poe thumbed the button on the comm panel. “What? How else are we supposed to get out?”

“You are offworlders,” the flight controller said slowly. “You are under a mandatory 14 day quarantine before you will be allowed off your ship. Was this not explained to you before you filed your flight plans?”

“No, it very much was not,” Poe replied. He looked at Finn, who shook his head, clearly as baffled as Poe was. “Look, we have business here and we can’t wait 14 days to take care of it.”

“You can leave, or you can wait out the quarantine,” the flight controller said. “Those are your options. After the Soronian virus pandemic, we are extremely careful about outside visitors to our planet.”

Poe leaned against the wall. “So, what do we do?”

Finn sighed. “I don’t know. How important is this cargo?”

“Important enough that Leia sent us to get it,” Poe replied. “But is it important enough to wait two weeks for?” He ran his hand through his hair. “Nothing for it but to comm her and ask her what to do.”

They went back to the cockpit to send an encoded message to the General.

***************************

“So, fourteen days, huh?” Finn said. Poe looked ready to punch someone, and since it was only the two of them on board, Finn kept his distance.

“Yeah,” Poe sighed. “I hope this whatever-it-is is worth it.” Leia had commiserated with them over their misfortune but insisted that the cargo was too important to pass up, although she had declined to tell them what it was.

“Me, too,” Finn said. He hesitated a moment before going on. “Is it really going to be that bad having to spend two weeks with me?”

Poe looked up, startled. “Oh, no, no buddy. It’s not you,” he said quickly. “I can’t think of anyone I’d rather be stuck in quarantine with. It’s this damn ship.” He looked around with a sigh. “I think it hates me as much as I hate it.”

“It is kind of small,” Finn admitted. “I suppose we should check out the amenities, if there are any.” They had planned to simply fly in, collect their cargo, and fly back out. He had no idea what kind of bunk space the ship had, or how big the ‘fresher was.

He stood up and stretched, almost knocking his hands against the walls of the cockpit, before walking back down the corridor. Just past the hatch was the door to the cargo bay; on the wall opposite the hatch were two smaller doors. One opened onto a tiny ‘fresher with a sink barely big enough to wash a child��s hands. The other opened onto a bedroom with a single bunk and not much else.

He felt Poe come up behind him and look around his shoulder. “Well, that’s not good news,” the pilot said. “No shower, not even a sonic? And only one bed?”

“Yeah,” said Finn. “Maybe we should sleep in shifts? I don’t think there’s even enough room in there for one of us to sleep on the floor.”

“Let’s check out the cargo bay,” Poe said. “Maybe one of us can camp out in there.”

They opened the cargo bay door. “Or not,” said Poe. The bay had no floor, just a crisscross of struts on which shelving or flooring could be placed to configure the storage area however it was needed. Unfortunately, there was no shelving or flooring on board.

Finn swallowed the lump that had suddenly appeared in his throat. “We could share,” he suggested tentatively. “The room’s not that big but the bed looks wide enough for two …” He didn’t know why the idea of sharing a bed with Poe should make him feel so nervous; soldiers and pilots were used to bunking down in all manner of places, with any number of others crammed into the tiniest spaces.

Poe smiled at him, and Finn felt an odd sensation in his stomach. “Yeah, that might work.”

************************

Where did that come from? Poe thought. When Finn suggested they could share the bunk, Poe felt a grin spread across his face and a flush rise in his cheeks. It was a familiar reaction to being invited into someone’s bed, but he’d never expected to feel this way about Finn. They were friends, for kriff’s sake! And anyway, he was pretty sure Finn was in love with Rey. He certainly talked about her enough …

Get a grip, Dameron, he told himself. There were more important things to worry about, like the state of the food supply on board.

“Have you checked on the rations yet?,” he asked. “Fourteen days is a long time without food.”

Finn looked worried, which Poe found endearing. Ever since escaping the First Order, Finn’s favorite part of being with the Resistance was the availability of food whenever he wanted it. Stormtroopers were given nutritional rations at specific times, carefully calculated to provide exactly the right amount of calories and nutrients for each soldier’s height and weight. The existence of snacks, and the ability to choose his own food at meal times had been a revelation.

They started opening cabinets and found a stash of ration bars, about a dozen portions of insta-bread, and three bottles of beer. “Well, it could be worse,” Poe said as they stared at the meager supply.

“How?,” asked Finn.

“There could have been no beer,” Poe replied. Finn hmphed, clearly not amused by his little joke. “Aw, come on, buddy, I was kidding. Maybe the powers that be will send us a care package. Can’t hurt to ask.”

He went over to the closest comm panel and hailed the flight controller.

“Yes, Firefly?”

“Um, yeah, we’re a little underprepared for a fourteen day quarantine. Any chance of getting some food delivered?”

The line was quiet long enough that Poe thought maybe the flight controller was just going to let them die, but then he heard a burst of static. “That can be arranged,” the flight controller said carefully. “We will have to consult with our epidemiologists to determine the best way to transfer rations to you without risk of exposure. Give us a few hours and we’ll get back to you.”

Poe shrugged. “At least they’re looking into it,” he said. Finn still looked dubious, but Poe was already calculating how to divvy up the rations they did have. It wouldn’t be pretty, but they could just about manage two weeks on severely reduced rations if they were careful. He’d been in worse situations before, having once crash landed his X-wing on an uninhabited planet and spent eight days with nothing but the water that dripped from the foliage into his water bottle.

He patted Finn on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, buddy. Even if they refuse, we won’t starve to death.”

“Oh, I know,” Finn said, “but … I’m not looking forward to it.” He sat down, resting his arms on his knees and letting his hands dangle in front of him. He looked up at Poe, smiling ruefully. “Guess I’ve gotten spoiled, huh?”

Poe sat down beside him. “I won’t be thrilled about it, either,” he admitted, “but I know we can do it if we have to. We’re heroes, you know.” He bumped his shoulder against Finn’s, feeling that flush of heat in his face again. He turned his head away so Finn wouldn’t see, but he heard the other man’s chuckle.

“Yeah, that’s true,” he said. “I am kind of a Big Deal in the Resistance.” He bumped Poe back and then slung his arm around his shoulders. Poe tried not to lean into the hug too much, but it was hard not to. Finn gave very good hugs … and he smelled way too good for someone who’d been in a cockpit for two hours.

************************

In the end, the authorities agreed that they could open their hatch for exactly 60 seconds to allow a small droid to deliver a crate of food, on the condition that they keep the droid on board until their quarantine was completed … and pay an exorbitant amount for both the supplies and the rental of the droid.

At least the food was good stuff; the crate even included a selection of desserts and a couple of bottles of something that Poe insisted was strong enough to be used as rocket fuel in an emergency … but tasted much better.

The droid tucked itself into a corner and powered down, beeping a quick message before its lights dimmed. “What’d it say?” Finn asked. He was still at a loss with Binary, but he knew Poe was fluent, having spent so much time with BB-8 over the years.

“It said, ‘See you in two weeks,’” he said. “At least we don’t have to keep it entertained.”

They busied themselves unpacking the crate and sorting out the food, but once that was done, there was nothing left to do but stare at the walls.

“So,” Poe said. “What do you want to do?” He held up his hand and ticked their choices off on his fingers. “We could get drunk, take something apart and put it back together, reprogram the droid to say rude things, play Truth or Dare … or get drunk.”

“Truth or Dare?” Finn asked. “What’s that?”

Poe blinked. “Oh, right, you never … well, it’s a stupid game teenagers play at parties. Someone asks a question and you either have to answer it truthfully … or take a dare.” He laughed uncomfortably. “Mostly it's used to try to get people to admit their crushes, stuff like that.”

Finn pondered this for awhile. “So, if you liked someone, you could ask them if they liked you back.”

“Well, yeah, you could, but usually you’d have one of your friends ask them, so if they didn’t like you, you could act like you didn’t really care,” Poe explained. “Like I said, it’s a dumb kid’s game.”

Finn nodded. “What kind of dares?” He’d never experienced the rituals of adolescence that Poe had been lucky enough to participate in, and he’d found that Poe didn’t mind explaining things to him.

Poe leaned back, his ankles crossed. “Stuff like, Run across the backyard naked, or Eat a bug, or Climb up on the roof and crow like a rooster. Just dumb stuff.” He shook his head. “Occasionally someone would come up with something really crazy, like Steal a landspeeder, but only if we were really, really drunk.”

“But … that’s illegal,” Finn said. “Did you and your friends really do stuff like that? What if you got caught?”

Poe laughed. “No, we didn’t … well, a couple of us did, but … we were just dumb kids. Everybody knew we were just blowing off steam.”

Finn was puzzled. “So you didn’t get in trouble?”

“Oh, we got in trouble,” Poe said. “But not seriously. I mean, no one got arrested or anything … I did get grounded a lot.” He smiled.

“Grounded? They wouldn’t let you fly?” That was probably the worst punishment in the galaxy for someone like Poe. Finn couldn’t imagine the man not being able to fly.

“No, buddy, not literally grounded. It means you can’t leave the house except to go to school. Can’t see your friends, no comms from them … lots of parents used grounding as a punishment. Sort of like solitary confinement.”

“We had solitary in the First Order,” Finn said grimly. He still dreamed about it sometimes, that dark little box the trainees got shoved into when they did something unacceptable. The longest he’d ever had to endure was 24 hours, but a couple of his training mates had suffered multiple day internments and they’d never been quite the same afterward.

Poe leaned forward, his face suddenly serious. “Sorry,” he said softly. “I was just trying to lighten the mood, not bring up something …”

Finn waved his hand. “Nah, you’re good.” He forced a smile onto his face, which wasn’t all that hard once he looked at Poe. “So, what other stupid things did you and your friends get up to?”

Poe sat back and regaled him with stories of his youth that Finn suspected were at least slightly exaggerated. If Poe had really done half of what he claimed he and his friends had, it was a miracle he’d survived to adulthood.

Eventually they ate some dinner and took turns washing up in the cramped ‘fresher. The chronometer indicated bedtime, if they were following the time schedule they’d been on back at base, so they decided to turn in.

The bed was larger than a single but not quite big enough to be a double. Finn knew they’d both fit but it would be a tight fit and involve some snuggling. They stood awkwardly in front of the bunk, neither ready to make the first move.

“Big spoon or little spoon,” Poe asked after a long moment.

“What? I don’t see any spoons?”

Poe chuckled and cupped one hand against the other. “Do you want to be the big spoon,” he held up the outside hand, “or the little spoon?” He nestled the inside hand against the other. “Like spoons in a drawer.”

“Oh. Umm, I’m taller so maybe I should be the big spoon?” Finn ventured.

Poe seemed happy to accept that idea and gestured for Finn to get into bed first. He slid back against the wall, leaving as much room for Poe as possible. Once Poe was settled down, there was barely four inches of space between them. Finn didn’t know where to put his hands, and kept them awkwardly pinned to his sides.

“I won’t burst into flames if you touch me,” Poe said. “Relax, Finn.” He shifted back toward Finn just a bit and Finn tentatively draped his arm over Poe’s torso, careful not to touch his hip, even though it was very tempting. “Good night, buddy,” Poe muttered into his pillow.

“Good night,” Finn replied. Only thirteen more nights to go.

****************************

Poe thanked the stars that Finn had suggested he be the big spoon, because Poe was afraid if he was the one snuggled up against Finn’s muscular back, it wouldn’t be long before Finn was aware of just how much Poe admired those muscles and every other part of the former Stormtrooper’s physique. This wasn’t the first time Poe had been sent on a mission with someone he was physically attracted to, but it was the first time where the other person was a close friend, and he didn’t want to screw anything up.

Finn was a fierce fighter, loyal and brave, and quick to learn but in many ways he was incredibly naive. Poe wasn’t sure how much experience the younger man had with simple friendship, let alone romance, and he didn’t want to confuse him or make him feel like he should do something he wasn’t ready for.

To be honest, Poe wasn’t even sure what he was ready for at this point. He knew Finn was important to him; that was abundantly clear when he realized the other man was still alive after the crash on Jakku. But the way Finn talked about his friend Rey, Poe got the impression there was something going on there. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d taken a fancy to someone who wasn’t interested in someone with his, ahem, equipment. He’d learned that lesson the hard way back at the Naval Academy. So for now, he’d just admire from afar and keep his eyes open for any clues that Finn might possibly feel the same way in return. As if I would ever be that lucky, he thought as he drifted off to sleep with Finn’s arm laying lightly across his side.

************************

Finn woke up with his face buried in Poe’s hair and one leg slung over Poe’s hip. The arm he’d carefully draped over Poe’s side was pressed tightly to Poe’s chest, and he could feel the other man’s breath warm against his fingers. It felt weird, but also very right, which made no sense to Finn. He debated whether it was better to extricate himself slowly, trying not to wake Poe up, or whether he should just jump up and hope Poe didn’t realize how intimately they’d been entangled.

In the end, he left it too long and Poe stirred. “Good morning, buddy,” he mumbled, lifting Finn’s arm away from his chest and squirming out from under his leg as if this was a common occurrence. “Dibs on the ‘fresher.” He stood up, stretched, and left the room, leaving Finn lying bewildered. Of course Poe’s woken up in bed with someone before, Finn realized. This isn’t as weird for him as it is for me. Every day brought some new experience that only reiterated to Finn just how unusual his own life had been. So many things people took for granted were new discoveries to him.

By the time Poe returned from the ‘fresher, Finn was sitting up and feeling just about normal. He took his turn in the ‘fresher as Poe got dressed (since they didn’t have a change of clothes, they had hung their shirts and pants over the backs of the cockpit seats to air them out a little bit and slept in their underwear), and by the time he’d gotten dressed himself, Poe had prepared a pot of kaf and laid out some rolls and a pot of jam.

“Thanks,” Finn said, as Poe poured him a cup, adding just enough sugar to counteract the bitterness that Finn was still getting used to. Poe drank his own kaf with no sweetener, but Finn couldn’t do it yet.

They ate breakfast, cleaned up, and then Poe decided to tinker with the ship's controls. He disappeared into the cockpit, his head underneath the dashboard and his feet sticking out past the pilot’s seat. Finn heard a litany of clanks and clunks and screeches punctuated by the occasional swear word.

“Need any help there, buddy?,” he asked.

“Nah, I’m good,” Poe said, his voice muffled from inside the paneling. “Not enough room for more than one person under here, anyway.”

So Finn pulled out a data pad and skimmed the HoloNet for something interesting to watch. Rose had introduced him to the pleasures of cheesy holovids and while most of them were execrable, some were so horribly bad that they were actually hilarious. He found one and spent the rest of the day trying to explain the ridiculous plot to Poe.

They stopped for a late lunch, and then Poe disappeared back under the dash again. Finn got tired of the holovid and downloaded a book to read. It was a historical novel about the Old Republic and kind of dry, but better than the technical manuals he’d been reading recently to get himself up to speed with all of the Resistance technology.

When Poe finally crawled out from under the dashboard, he was smeared with grease and had some dust balls caught in his hair, but he looked happy. “You’re filthy,” Finn said.

“So I’ve been told,” Poe said with a salacious grin.

Finn shook his head. “Just go wash up while I fix us some dinner,” he said. He pulled out a freeze-dried casserole and tossed it in the reconstituter, added a loaf of actual bread to their makeshift table and cracked open two of the beers. When Poe reappeared, his hair damp and falling in ringlets around his face, the casserole was ready and Finn handed him a plate with a generous portion.

They ate in companionable silence, then leaned back in their chairs.

“So,” Finn said, emboldened by the beer. “What other dumb games did you and your friends play?”

Poe laughed. “Ah, the education of Finn in the ways of adolescent stupidity continues,” he said. He swallowed the last of his beer and laid the bottle on the table, giving it a flick so that it spun around. “Spin the Bottle was the dumbest one. I hated that game.”

“What’s Spin the Bottle?”

“You sit in a circle, put a bottle in the middle and someone spins it. Whoever it ends up pointing at, they have to kiss them.” Poe shrugged. “I always found some excuse to leave when it came up. The girls were the ones who liked it.”

“So you just kissed a random person because of a bottle?” Finn said. “That is stupid. What else?”

Poe rubbed his chin. “Let me think … oh, there was Never Have I Ever, that one could be fun.”

Finn finished off his own beer and laid the bottle on the table next to Poe’s. He gave it a lazy flick and it spun slowly until it ended up pointing at Poe. Finn felt a blush rise in his cheeks and was glad his dark complexion hid it. “How … how do you play that one?”

Poe sat forward. “Okay, so you say something you’ve never done before and then anyone who has done that raises their hand, and they get a point. Then the next person says something, and so on, and so on. Whoever has the most points at the end is the winner. And you can’t lie.”

“For example?” Finn asked.

“Um, never have I ever … ridden a tauntaun,” Poe said.

“Neither have I,” Finn admitted.

“Okay, so no points on that one. Your turn.”

“Um, okay … never have I ever stolen a landspeeder.” Poe sheepishly raised his hand. Finn laughed, “I knew it!”

“All right, all right,” Poe said. “But that means I’m winning.” He reached into the closest cupboard and pulled out a bottle of the alien liquor and two small cups. He poured them each a shot. “And how we invoke rule number 78: any time one of us raises his hand, we have to take a shot.” He slid one cup toward Finn and raised the other to his lips, tossing it back. Finn picked up his own cup and sniffed dubiously. Poe raised his eyebrows in challenge and Finn gulped the shot, nearly choking himself in the process.

“What the kriff…,” he spluttered. “That stuff is nasty!”

“Yeah, but it makes you feel so good,” Poe said, pouring out two more shots. “My turn. Never have I ever worn a Stormtrooper helmet.”

Finn laughed. “Got me,” he said, raising his hand. “I think I get the point of this game. You try to think of something you haven’t done that the other person has.” He stopped, the liquor already starting to muddle his brain. “No, wait, but if the person has done it, they get a point, so you should actually try to say something you think they haven’t done, right?”

Poe drank his shot and shook his head. “No, you’re missing the point entirely,” he said. “The point is … to get stinking drunk.”

Finn lifted his own cup and downed the shot as quickly as he could. “So the points don’t matter,” he said.

“Exactly,” Poe said, refilling their cups. “Your turn.”

“Um … never have I ever flown an X-wing.”

They went on in this manner for several turns, until Finn was pleasantly warm and his eyes were having a hard time staying focused. “Your … your turn,” he told Poe.

Poe was sprawled in his chair, one leg slung casually over the arm. He raised his cup and waved it unsteadily in the air. “Never have I ever … kissed a girl,” he said.

Finn froze. “Wait, what?”

“Never have I ever kissed a girl,” Poe repeated. “Go on, raise your hand so I can take a drink.”

Finn was confused. “Okay, yeah, but … are you seriously telling me that you, Poe Dameron, the poster boy of the Resistance, has never kissed a girl?”

“Yep,” Poe said. “And I know you have, because I saw Rose kiss you on Crait, so one point to you, my friend.” He tossed back his drink.

“Well,” Finn said slowly, “technically I haven’t kissed a girl, because yeah, Rose kissed me, but she was the one who started it, I mean she kissed me, not the other way around …” He was babbling but he couldn’t shut up.

Poe sat up. “What about Rey?”

“What about Rey?” Finn was even more confused now. “I’ve never kissed Rey. And she’s never kissed me. And why haven’t you ever kissed a girl, I mean, come on … oh!” His brain finally clicked into gear. “Really?”

Poe nodded. “Really,” he said, setting down his cup. Finn got the feeling the game was over.

Finn nodded himself. “Okay, this makes sense. I mean, a lot of things make so much sense now …”

“Like what?” Poe asked guardedly.

“Like some things your friends have said,” Finn said. “Or the looks I get when I’m wearing your jacket … do people think we’re … you know?”

Poe shrugged. “Probably. Maybe. Does it matter?”

“No,” Finn answered truthfully. In fact, the idea of other people thinking he and Poe Dameron were … it made him feel all warm and tingly inside.

“So,” Poe said. “That kiss with Rose. Was that your first one?”

“Yeah,” Finn admitted. “She kind of surprised me. It wasn’t exactly what I thought it was going to be, to be honest.”

“Because it wasn’t Rey?”

“No,” Finn said. “Rey and I are just friends. It just … I mean, I know kissing is supposed to be nice but it was just kind of … awkward.”

Poe scooted his chair closer and Finn was suddenly very aware of his lips as he opened them to speak. “Is this awkward?”

“Um, no, not really,” Finn said, moving his own chair closer without taking his eyes off of Poe’s face.

“Good,” said Poe. He leaned forward and took Finn’s face gently in his hands before pressing their lips together. For just a moment, Finn was frozen in place, and then he was returning the kiss and it was nothing like what he’d experienced with Rose.

Poe pulled back and looked Finn in the eyes. “Definitely not awkward,” Finn breathed. Poe grinned and leaned back in for another kiss, this one a bit more heated.

“Um, I think it’s my turn,” Finn said when Poe finally leaned back again.

“We’re still playing?”

“Yeah,” Finn said, reaching out to run his fingers through Poe’s still damp hair. “Never have I ever … had sex.”

The smile that crept across Poe’s face as he raised his hand made Finn melt inside. “I think it’s time we adjourn to the bedroom,” Poe said, his voice a little shaky.

“Agreed,” said Finn. As they stood up, he added, “I kind of like this game.”

************************************

This time Poe woke up first. His head was a bit muzzy from the alcohol, but he wasn’t technically hung over. Finn, on the other hand, might be a bit worse for wear this morning, and not just because of the booze. As Poe’s mind cleared he remembered exactly what they’d gotten up to last night, and he hoped there would be no regrets. Finn was new to drinking and that stuff was pretty powerful.

Oh, kriff, I hope he doesn’t think I took advantage of him. He sat up suddenly, which woke up Finn. “Hey,” Finn said lazily, reaching up to pull Poe back down next to him. “Where’re you going?” His eyes were bleary but Poe saw no anger in them, just a softness that made him relax into Finn’s arms.

“Nowhere,” he said. “I just … kind of startled myself awake, I guess.”

Finn yawned and started playing with Poe’s hair. “Uh, Finn,” Poe said, “are we okay? I mean, last night …”

Finn stopped him with a kiss. “Last night was very … gosh, Poe I don’t even have the words for what last night was.” He laughed. “I … never knew what all the fuss was about … you know.”

Poe laughed back. “Yeah, I know.” He snuggled closer. “Oh, buddy, you don’t know how long I’ve been wanting to do this.”

“Since Tadokana?”

“How’d you know?”

“The jacket. And the way you hugged me,” Finn said. “It was … different than hugging Rey. Better.”

“Definitely better,” Poe said, wrapping his arms tightly around Finn’s waist and pulling him close. They skipped breakfast that morning.

**********************************

The rest of the quarantine went by quickly. Poe finished the repairs and even a few small upgrades to the ship, and Finn read two novels, but they spend most of the time learning about each other. And by the time the droid woke up and announced they could leave the ship to complete their mission, they walked hand and hand down the ramp.

Three hours later, they had collected Leia’s precious cargo, stashed it in the back and were ready to blast off. “Think anyone will be surprised?,” Finn asked as Poe maneuvered the ship into space and set a course for the jump off point.

“Honestly, no,” he answered. “Like you said, the whole jacket thing …” He winked and Finn chuckled deeply. Stars, I love that laugh, Poe thought.

They sat quietly, holding hands, while the ship flashed through hyperspace. Poe had to use both hands to pilot the ship back to base once they dropped back into normal space, but once they had landed, his hand slipped back into Finn’s.

Of course, Leia was there to greet them as they left the ship and he saw her eyes dart immediately to their hands. One eyebrow arched elegantly and Poe simply shrugged at her. “What’d you expect to happen?,” he said quietly.

“Exactly that,” she replied. “I was getting tired of waiting for you two to figure things out. Besides, I had this week in the pool and I hate to lose a bet.” She turned away to supervise the unloading of the cargo.

“And that’s why she’s the General,” Rey said, appearing at Finn’s side with a smirk on her face.

“Were you in on this bet, too?” Poe asked.

“Of course,” she said. “Practically the whole base was.” She laughed. “Don’t look so surprised. Just because you two are oblivious doesn’t mean the rest of us are.”

She kissed them both on the cheek. “I’m happy for you,” she said. “Just don’t start making out in public. That’s gross.” She rolled her eyes and walked away.

“I don’t know about you, but I take that as a challenge,” Poe said.

“Challenge accepted,” Finn said, putting his arm around Poe. “Let’s go practice.”

[gal-palanaeum]

I do not need this by TrishyEves

Rated Teen, 5000 words, Steris/Ranette Ranette has never been a believer in soulmates. At this point in her life, there's no chance of running into the woman whose first words to her are displayed on her inner thigh. At least, she was sure of that, until Steris appeared.

As she stalked down an aisle, shopping for an online order, Ranette had to admit to herself that the day was going well.

After all, she’d gotten three quarters of the way through her shift at the hardware store and only cursed out three customers, none of whom she’d felt the need to threaten with bodily harm. There’d been no children running around and playing in the toilet displays, no men shopping for a midlife crisis project who acted as if they knew more than her, and nothing to get in the way of looking too busy to help people.

Ranette was fairly good at scaring away curious customers on any day, to be fair. She stomped through the store without even intending it, bags under her eyes and lips curled into a scowl.

The typical blue apron required of her job wasn’t the right size for her willowy frame, and half the time she forgot to tie it on properly, leaving it flail behind her as she moved. Her straight black hair was pulled into a tight ponytail, which also moved about without her say-so, and was frequently seen as a toy to be grabbed by a passing child in a shopping cart.

She wore work gloves to her job, the kind that had cost a pretty penny but that she knew would last her for ages. They matched her boots, which were more cowgirl than military, and to complete the ensemble were her blue denim jeans and a white button-up.

Underneath the clothes, however, a secret lay hidden, one that ate away at her during every shift. Written out on Ranette’s inner thigh was a sentence, and it was the longest soulmark phrase she’d ever heard of. While it was technically possible for those words, the first words her soulmate would ever say to her, could come at her at any time, just by context she knew that her job at a hardware store made it the most dangerous place for that event to actually occur.

Not that she believed in the whole ‘soulmates’ business. Ranette had already had a number of fulfilling relationships over the decades, and she doubted that the secret thing that made them all fall apart was a lack of Harmony-damned matching birthmarks.

Regardless, that worry was at the back of her mind. It was a good day. She just had to finish-

“Excuse me, where can I find a level with three sets of bubbles for proper accuracy?" came a voice from behind her, each syllable pronounced with perfect precision.

Keep reading

[november-rayne]

Chapter Twenty-Eight: Sera's Trials

Summary: Loki uses his powers to get to the bottom of Sera's claim.

Sigyn and Loki have another heart-to-heart talk about moving forward.

Word Count: 5000 (sorry)

Rating: Mature

*This story is for mature audiences only.* 18+

*Minors DNI*

Chapter Index

Sigyn looked to the Queen in a panic, “What is he doing? Is he hurting her?”

Frigga shook her head. “She is fine. Loki is tapping into her mind, going through her memories.”

“Why did we not start with that?” Sigyn huffed, her ire still fresh.

It was a strange sensation, seeing himself in someone else’s memories. Loki suppressed a grin, seeing himself through her eyes as he gave her pleasure, as she tenderly washed his hair and watched him sleep as the sun started peeking over the horizon.

Before she was his chambermaid, Sera worked in the laundry, delivering fresh towels and sheets to the maids and picking up the soiled items to be cleaned. One day she found herself unable to take her eyes off a mason as he repaired a low stone wall near the servant’s entrance of the palace. Their affair lasted nearly a year…

‘Absolutely not! Under no circumstances are you to go and work for that man.’

‘The last time I checked, we were not married. You cannot tell me who I can and cannot work for. Besides, that man is a Prince of Asgard and pays ridiculously well.’

‘And why do you think that is? Huh? You would be spending more time in his bed than making it.’

‘He has lovers all over the palace. What would he need with me?”

‘Oh, come on. Do not tell me you are this naïve! You are young and beautiful. It is no coincidence that he wants you to tend to his private rooms.” He took a deep breath, “You know of his reputation, the way he goes through the servants. He will have you on your knees before your first week ends.”

“That is not true! This is nothing but a wonderful opportunity for me. Just think, with this pay increase, we could save up and get our own place. We could stop sneaking around the palace. Don’t you want to move out of the servant’s quarters? Wouldn’t it be nice not to share a bathroom with thirty other men? Don’t you want a future together?” She ran her hands down his chest.

“Of course, I do, Sera, but I cannot compete with a prince.” He held her with his rough, calloused hands. “And I will not share you with another man.”

‘Jakob, I love you. I will not give in to his… allure. Just think of the money.”

‘You would be his whore! I am putting my foot down. If you accept this job, we are through.’

Loki watched himself charm her during her first week on the job. She was pretty and eager to do good work. He felt the guilt she felt the first time he patted her bottom and sent her to fetch his dinner. He felt the dizzy spell she endured as she set his table and the realization that set in as she returned to the servant’s quarters, counting the days in her head, trying to remember when her courses were supposed to start.

She knocked on the door to one of the men’s residences.

One of Jakob’s roommates answered, ‘Oh hey, love. What brings you by?’

‘I need to speak to Jakob right away.’

‘Oh, din’ he tell ya, love? Jakob resigned today. Took all his things and moved out.’

‘What?! Where did he go?’ She felt like she was going to faint.

‘Yur as white as a sheet, love. You gonna be all right?’

‘No!’ She braced herself on the doorframe. ‘I need to see Jakob.’

‘Well, he din’ leave any notes or tell any of us where he was headin’.’

She turned slowly and started making her way down the hall. Shattered.

‘If you be needin’ any company, you come back and see me, love.’

He felt her heartache when she realized Jakob was not coming back. He saw the exact moment in her mind when she decided that she did not want to raise a child on her own, that she would put all thoughts of her lover aside and focus on making her way up the ranks of service. He tasted the vile teas and herbs she consumed in secret.

Loki watched her memories of himself as he flirted with her. He also saw the exact moment she decided to flirt back. The thrill she got when he kissed her for the first time—the butterflies in her stomach as he led her to his bed.

He felt her determination to put Jakob out of her mind and allow him to use her for his pleasure. He felt how unprepared she was to discover that he was mindful of her pleasure too. How he kept checking in with her to be sure she was enjoying it as much as he was. How he took his time caressing her, drowning her in praise, smothering her in kisses.

Like a lover.

He heard her thoughts as she questioned whether he had developed feelings for her.

He felt her dread as she had to leave his bed before he woke, trying very hard to be quiet as she got sick in his bathroom. He saw the fear in her eyes as she looked in the mirror, realizing the teas she had purchased had not worked. She told herself not to panic and carry on as if nothing was amiss. She would pray to the Norns for a solution. A new outcome would present itself. It had to.

His words told her not to become attached, but his attentiveness and care in the bedroom convinced her she was a cherished prize. She thought that maybe, just maybe, he would keep her once he realized her secret. She had to pretend her breasts weren’t tender when he squeezed them. She had to cut down on the amount of food she ate to avoid gaining weight.

Of course, she knew he would never marry her, but he could afford to keep her as a mistress. She did not need luxury, just comfort and security. She was hopeful.

And then she was heartbroken again, as he too had left her behind. He watched her in his mind as she ran her hand along his abandoned garments hanging in his wardrobe. She fluffed his pillows that had not been slept on. She uncorked his shampoo to breathe in the scent of him once more.

Depressed and despondent, she returned to her job in the laundry during his absence. She was barely eating, hardly sleeping. She cut ties with her friends and coworkers. She stopped herself from thinking of the future. She focused on her job and waited patiently for one of her lovers to return to her.

Until one day, she woke to a buzz of excitement thrumming through the entire palace. The lost prince had finally returned, the King and Queen were en route back to their home, and Loki was to meet his betrothed for the first time in front of all the capital's citizens.

She joined the crowds awaiting the arrival of the royals. When the princes emerged from the main entrance and took their place in front of the palace, she could not believe her eyes. It was Prince Loki, but he did not look well. His coloring was off, his clothes hung on him loosely, and his movements were anxious and agitated. She felt the overwhelming urge to care for him, nurse him back to health, and ensure he was comfortable and happy.

And then she saw it- the exact moment his eyes landed on Lady Sigyn. His posture changed, and the look on his face could only be described as awe.

Sera could no longer watch and ran back to her empty quarters. She threw herself on her small bed and cried until her tears had dried up. She needed to get back in the prince’s good graces and quickly. She would not be able to keep her secret much longer. She had to remind him of what he missed while he was away.

With renewed determination, she bathed and got ready with the prince in mind. She left her hair loose, as he preferred, and dabbed sweet-smelling oils on her wrists and behind her ears. She planned to seduce him, pleasure him in all the ways she knew made him weak, and while he was pliant and sated, she would suggest he hide her away somewhere as his mistress after he was married. It was a gamble, but she didn’t know what else to do.

She donned her maid uniform and strode confidently into his chambers, the guards barely giving her a second glance. She found him fast asleep in his bed. He looked less sickly than he had earlier, peaceful, beautiful. She watched him sleep for a while before deciding to wake him in his favorite manner- with her mouth.

Loki felt the confusion, heartbreak, and panic she felt as he rebuffed her advances. Her clawing desperation as he led her from his rooms. Her utter humiliation as she was led to the security offices by a guard.

She was given only enough time to gather her belongings before being escorted to a plain open carriage and deposited at a large inn miles and miles from the palace on the capital's outskirts. Her new employers were brisk and harsh with her. Her new accommodations were dreary and run down. Her fellow maids were cruel and mocked her for getting rejected from the palace. They called her ‘Princess’ and made her few weeks there Hel.

It was one of her roommates that had gotten her fired. She noticed Sera’s little bump one day as she changed clothes, despite her best efforts to hide it. The innkeepers put her out immediately and told her to go back home to her parents. She laughed bitterly; what a thing to say to a girl orphaned as a baby. Her only family had been a grandmother who passed on when she was just out of secondary school. She had been on her own ever since. Until she met Jakob.

Jakob.

Her heart broke for him. For him and for the future they would never have together. For the little passenger she carried with her everywhere she went, the little fighter who was adamant about being born into this cruel world.

She stood behind the inn with her bag in hand and cried. She cried until her sobs became giggles. She laughed at the utterly ridiculous situation she found herself in. ‘Playwrights could not have penned a more tragic story.’ She thought as she started walking, with no destination in mind.

She had no idea where she would sleep this night. She had no idea where to go until she turned a corner and saw the top of the golden palace come into view, far off in the distance.

She realized she could only have been pregnant a few weeks before she started sleeping with the prince. If there were even a slim chance he would claim the child, she had to take it. Even if he sent her away once the child was born, she could find a new job and start fresh, knowing the baby would be better off without her.

‘And if I am caught lying?’ she pondered. ‘Surely the King would not execute a single pregnant girl?’

Imprisonment would not be ideal, but at least she would have meals and a place to sleep, she rationalized. What did she have to lose?

With a new plan in place, she steeled her nerves and started the long journey to the palace gates.

oOXOo

Loki opened his eyes and looked at his mother with a heartbreaking expression.

“Was there no one else?” Frigga asked quietly.

Loki kept his hand on the top of Sera’s head. He gave her gentle pats as she came around. “The child is not mine.” His voice was barely above a whisper. He looked to Sigyn, her noticeable relief was plain on her face.

“She knowingly lied about the paternity of her child?” Frigga asked.

“She did not feel like she had any other choice. She knew it was a risk, yet she took it anyway, hoping I would claim the child and give it a good life, with or without her.” He bent over and placed a chaste kiss on the top of her head.

“Your Highness?” Sera asked meekly. Her bottom lip jutted out slightly as Loki fell heavily into the seat beside her, drained.

Loki stroked her arm, “I am sorry, Sera. I am very sorry about everything you have been through. I am so very sorry Jakob left you because of me.”

She wiped a single tear from her cheek, “Will I be going to the dungeon now?”

“Not if I can help it.”

The servants entered with tea and platters of food. “Ah, just in time.” Loki smiled, “The Lady gets very cranky when she is hungry.” He winked at Sigyn as he stood. “I need to speak to the King and Queen privately. Can I trust you two to be alone for a few minutes?” Loki stood, kissed Sigyn on her cheek, and squeezed her arm affectionately.

“Do not plan any political coups while I am gone.” He warned Sigyn before he motioned for his parents to meet him in the throne room.

“Yes, Your Highness.” She gave him a smirk as she curtsied.

Loki closed the door behind him and took a deep breath, immediately regretting it because of the pain his ribs had caused him. Frigga placed her hand on his arm.

“Sera needs our help, Father. She knowingly lied to the Crown and leveled a false claim, but I ask that you please show mercy. Obviously, she needs to see the midwife, but she also needs our help finding the child’s father. He left before she knew she was pregnant.”

Odin crossed his arms over his chest, “Go on.”

“He worked and lived here at the palace. A stone mason. Jakob Larson. They were starting to plan a life together, but he left her.  And it is all my fault.”

“How could it possibly be your fault?” Frigga asked, her face etched with concern.

“I stole her future from her the day she came to work for me.”

“How so?”

“She…” He raked his hand over his face, “She just wanted a better life and a home with her beau. I did not think of the negative consequences bringing her to my chambers could bring about. I only thought of the game. Getting her to submit to me, the fun I could have with her.” Loki leaned heavily on the wall. Exhausted.

“Wisely, her lover warned her to stay away from me. He knew my true intentions. He told her they would be done if she accepted the job. I made her an offer she could not refuse, and he broke it off with her.

“She was determined to remain faithful to him, to prove that she could earn a good living without whoring herself. Her words, Mother, not mine.” Loki could not meet his mother’s eyes; he stared at his boots. “She went to him to tell him about the baby, but he had already left the palace. He left without saying goodbye.” Loki’s eyes started to tear up; he still felt the effects of Sera’s emotions.

“Apologies,” he said as he wiped his eyes with his thumb, “this tends to happen when I linger too long in one’s mind.”

“Oh, my dear boy.” Frigga patted his face.

“Do not coddle him, Frigga. He is a grown man. He has brought this upon himself.” Odin was stoking his beard, deep in thought.

The Queen started to protest, to defend her youngest son, but stopped herself. Perhaps she had spoiled him too much. She had knowingly turned a blind eye to his activities with their staff. She chalked his behavior up to his element, his mischief. She could have been as strict with him as she had been with Thor, but she had always had a soft spot for him, especially after Odin started Thor's tutelage and paid less attention to Loki.

“You are right. I think I will check on the girls. I am sure whatever you decide will be fair.” She squeezed Odin’s arm and then kissed Loki’s cheek. He bowed to his mother as she made her exit. Before she left, she said, “But do hurry this along. I am ready for this day to be over.”

Odin sighed, “Do you see how she subtly gives me orders? As not to make it obvious that she is the boss. Your Sigyn could learn from her.”

The corner of Loki’s mouth turned up, “I was not kidding about her when she is hungry. Thank you for not admonishing her. She thought she was protecting my child.” Loki shook his head, “She is so passionate, so…”

“Loyal,” Odin nodded. “With some training, she will be a wonderful addition to the Æsir.”

Loki’s heart leaped, “Father… you would make her a Goddess?”

“I do not see that I have a choice. You saw how strong her element is. I have never seen it come through in such a way. I will need to send a message to Idunn right away. I can trust that you will keep this just between the two of us for now?”

“I promise,” Loki swore. “Thank you.” Loki bowed to the King.

“Now, what to do with the girl?” Odin stroked his beard. “She cannot go unpunished, regardless of her situation. She could have saved herself some trouble if she had just been forthcoming from the beginning.”

“I agree. But I do not think imprisonment is fair.”

“All right. What would you suggest?”

Loki was slightly baffled that his father would ask for his input on the matter, “Well I… I would place her on house arrest. Give her proper medical attention. Give her a modest room, but always keep a guard on her so she does not flee. Not that she has anywhere else to go. We could check with the employment department and see if Jakob Larson left a forwarding address. Locate the father of her child and summon him back to the palace to retrieve her. She could be assigned community service in the interim. Something she could do easily in her condition.” Loki shrugged his shoulder, “Fold towels? Mending?”

Odin was thoughtful for a minute, “And what if this Jakob Larson rejects the girl and their child? They were not married. He is not legally bound to take her back with him.”

“Well… in that instance, I suppose I could… with your permission, of course, keep the child as my ward. I would pay for his education and ensure that he enters a noble profession when he comes of age. He would not be my heir, so the title of Warden would go to Anderson’s grandson after I am gone.”

“You would take financial responsibility for a child that is not yours? The child of your whore?”

“She was not… I never thought of her as a whore.”

“You paid her for sex.”

“Yes, technically, but… I was mindful of her needs as well. I never proceeded with anything she was uncomfortable doing.” Loki lowered his voice, “Father, I thought you, of all people would understand.”

“If you are referring to Margit, I can assure you that was an entirely different scenario. I cared for her very deeply. Our affair lasted over a century. When the news of my betrothal was announced, I wanted to keep her, but she turned down my offer to be my mistress. Thankfully so. We went our separate ways, and I found love and happiness with your mother.”

“Apologies Father, I had no idea. I just assumed it was a strictly physical relationship.”

Odin waved his hand dismissively, “We need to focus on the issue at hand.” He started pacing across the dais. “I will sleep on this matter and render my verdict tomorrow. I am far too tired to make a good decision tonight. I will collect your mother and have dinner brought to our chambers. Let the girls eat, then send Sigyn back to her father. I will leave it up to you how much of this gets back to His Lordship.”

“Yes, Father.” Loki frowned, “Lord Anderson will want to know what was so important as to keep us from the feast. I am not looking forward to that conversation.”

“No matter. It can wait until you have rested. You are supposed to be taking it easy. You should not have physically and mentally drained yourself just coming off an injury. We would have gotten to the truth eventually.”

“There was too much on the line. I could not bear the thought of calling off the wedding. I owed it to Sigyn to erase any doubt in her mind.”

“Tomorrow is your last day as a single man. I am ordering you to stay in bed so your body may regenerate as needed.”

“Yes, Father.”

“See that the girl is secured somewhere for the night and delivered to the hospital ward first thing tomorrow morning for a full medical examination. I will have Henrik assemble a team to track down Jakob Larson.”

Loki bowed and bid his father goodnight.

After the King and Queen exited, Loki was left in the small council room with Sigyn and Sera. Sera was nervously standing next to her chair at the table.

“Please,” Loki waved his hand toward her plate, “Finish eating.”

“Thank you, Your Highness.” She sat and looked down at her hands in her lap, feeling entirely out of place.

“Here, try the dandelion salad. The greens are good for you and the baby.” Sigyn scooped some salad onto her plate.

Sera stared at her briefly, asking, “Why are you being nice to me?”

“I have no quarrel with you, Sera.”

“But I… I tried to…”

“I know what you tried to do.” She gave her a tight smile. “I can empathize with you while simultaneously wanting to rip your head off in a jealous rage. More tea?”

“My Lady?”

Sigyn topped up her cup from the kettle, “You were alone and desperate. I do not blame you for grasping for a lifeline. Coming from a life of privilege, I do not have the faintest idea what I would have done differently if I were in your shoes.”

She glanced up and gave Loki a wistful look before turning her attention to Sera, “With that being said, I am envious of the proximity you have had to the Prince. You have spent more time alone with him than I have. You have had the privilege of sleeping in his bed, and I have not. So, I think that I can be forgiven for feeling a little… stabby.”

“I understand.” Sera swallowed thickly and slid her cutlery to the other side of her plate, out of Sigyn’s reach.

Sigyn took a drink of her tea and then looked at Loki across the table. “You need to eat as well.” She said as she motioned to the platters of food before focusing on her plate again.

Sera looked to Loki, confused. “Should I… make you a plate, Your Highness?”

“No, Sera. It is not your job to serve me anymore. You are here as a guest for now. Please, eat. I insist.” Loki ran his hand through his hair, “Sigyn, darling, I am too tired to eat right now. I will have a big breakfast in the morning. I promise.”

Sigyn scoffed, “Too tired to eat? I have never been that tired.” She took a big forkful of salad into her mouth.

Loki sat across the table from the two women and watched them eat. They were from two different worlds, different as could be socially but strangely similar in other ways. They had similar coloring and bone structures, long dark hair, and elegant limbs. They both had pretty eyes and thick lashes. And their lips… Loki felt heat flood his belly.

‘No! Absolutely not! What the fuck is wrong with you?’  he chastised himself. He shook his head to clear it before the wicked image could fully form in his mind.

He cleared his throat and crossed his legs. “Sera, I should let you know that the King has not come to a final decision yet. But he has granted you accommodation for the night. You must have a medical examination in the morning. While you are here, you will have a guard on you, though I do not want you to fret. If you were meant for the dungeons, he would have put you there by now.”

“Thank you, Your Highness,” Sera nodded. “May I speak?”

“Go on.”

She placed her fork down, “You have always treated me with kindness. Very few in my life have done so. I am sorry that I mistook your kindness for affection. I never wanted to cause trouble.”

“I know. But I should not have used you the way I did.”

“I never felt used, Your Highness,” she blushed.

Sigyn arched an eyebrow at Loki as she chewed.

“Yes, well, regardless. It was inappropriate. I used my status and wealth to put you in a position where you felt it difficult to say no to my offer. It should never have happened.”

“I am not sorry it happened,” Sera offered. “You were a welcome distraction from my heartbreak.”

“You would not have been heartbroken in the first place if it weren’t for me.”

“Perhaps. Perhaps not. Only the Norns know.”

oOXOo

Once the girls were finished eating, Loki handed Sera off to a housekeeper and a palace guard. She was taken to a small, single-room, interior apartment and given a few changes of clothes, a new pair of shoes, books, and jigsaw puzzles to keep her occupied.

Loki and Sigyn stood in the empty hallway outside the small council room. Sigyn stood quietly and waited for Loki to speak. He watched her as she stood across from him but not meeting his eyes.

“You are upset with me.” Not a question.

She let out a long, slow breath. “You made love to her?”

“I admitted to sleeping with my maids. That was not a deception.”

“You didn’t just take your pleasure from her?”

“Well, no. Where is the fun in that?”

“When she warmed your bed, did you hold her as she slept?”

“Usually.” He quirked his eyebrow at her, perplexed.

“Did you kiss her mouth? Whisper in her ear? Call her pet names? Stroke her hair? Did you look into her eyes as you spilled inside her?”

“I…” He did not know what to say. He just looked at her. He was trying to read her expression.

She looked up to the ceiling, “You didn't just fuck her, Loki! You were intimate with her! You made love to her!”

He was confused, “No, Sigyn, sweetling, I have only ever loved you. I swear it.” He looked into her eyes, pleading. “I admitted to bedding my maids. I admitted this to you. You…” Loki swallowed thickly, “you told me that you understood.”     

“What I understood…” She took a deep breath to keep from yelling, “…is that you paid your maids for sex. What I do not understand is how you could treat them like a lover and not expect them to get emotionally attached to you.”

“I… I told them not to become attached. I told them not to develop feelings for me.”

Sigyn threw her arms up in the air. “Ohhhh… you told them. I see. If I told you I was not upset right now, would you believe me?”

“Of course not! You are visibly upset.” Realization dawned on him. “Oh shit.” He turned away from her and ran his hand over his face. “Okay. I see what you mean.”

“Loki, are you telling me you never once had feelings for her?”

“No.” Loki shook his head; his voice was quiet. “I was getting ready to replace her before I got the news of our betrothal. She was one in a string of hundreds. Not special. It's horrible. I realize that now. I am not proud of myself.” He turned back to face her.

She took his hand into both of hers. “I will be honest; I felt better when I thought you were just using her to get off. I know I shouldn’t. I should be relieved that you were never cold with the women you brought into your bed. But how can I know, when you make love to me, that you love me as you say? If you can be affectionate with anyone, what makes going to bed with me special?”

He released her hands and wrapped his arm around her waist to pull her close. He rested his forehead on hers. “It will be special because it will be you. I love you. I love you, Sigyn. From the moment I laid eyes on you, felt your hand in mine, heard your voice. When I pressed my lips to the back of your hand and took in the scent of your skin. I was irrevocably in love with you. I never wanted children until I saw you. I have never had anyone occupy so much of my mind before.” He pulled back to look into her eyes. “My heart has never done these weird little flips before. It must be love.”

He smiled at her, “I must admit that I do love to touch and caress and kiss. I am not ashamed to admit that I do love a good cuddle. I do sleep better with a soft, warm body in my arms. I do love giving pleasure as much as I love receiving it. I love the effect my voice has on people, so I do like to whisper in ears and give pet names. I realize it was selfish of me to think that I could do as I please and expect people not to get attached.”

Sigyn took a deep breath, “So, I don't have to worry about you running off the maid?”

Loki laughed, “No.”

“The cook?”

“No.” He rubbed his hand on her back.

“A guard?”

“Depends… which one?”

She slapped his arm. “I would follow you, you know.”

“I know.”

He placed his hand on her neck and kissed her forehead, “Do not ever doubt that you are special to me. You are my precious gift. I will honor you and cherish you always. I love you, Sigyn.”

“As I love you, Loki.”

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[littlemisspascal]

The When (Part 2)

Pairing: Ruescott Melshi x Female Reader

Word Count: 5000+

Summary: There is a story before, when, and after Keef Girgo enters your life. This is the When.

Rating: M (18+, minors please do not engage!)

Warnings: Prison/Narkina 5 storyline but an AU where woman inmates are assigned to each unit as ‘peacekeepers’, language, established relationship, non-descriptive smut + references of smut, possessiveness, references of violence + blood, drugging, talk of pregnancy, reader has anxiety

- Reader has no official name and no physical traits described in detail. However, she is implied to be shorter than Melshi.

Author Note: Thank you everybody for the kind support of this story! From now on I'm not doing tag lists anymore so if you wanna keep up to date with my writing please follow @littlemisspascalwrites

Special thanks to @beecastle for beta reading and encouraging me 💜

The Before | The When Part 1 | The When Part 3

Most newcomers assume Day One at Narkina 5 is the worst, but they quickly find out they’re wrong. Day One is the easiest because nobody expects anything from them except to watch and learn. Day One is orientation.

Day Two is when the gloves come off. It’s sink or swim, do or fry.

Keef obediently follows the group into the work room, taking Tress’ former place at the table on your left. He spares a moment before the shift begins to touch each of the tools within his reach, studying them, familiarizing himself with their details. It’s surprisingly thoughtful. Something you didn’t do your second day, and judging by the looks on the rest of Table Five’s faces, something they didn’t either.

Newcomers never make it through their first hour without a mistake or ten. Keef is no exception. Wrong bolt in the wrong hole, a finger nearly cut off, a too-loose pin falling on the floor. But by hour three there’s a noticeable change in his technique. His motions are smoother, more sure of himself. He even catches a mistake in Taga’s handiwork unnoticed by everyone else. 

Maybe Keef has a history of building things. Or he’s just a naturally quick learner under pressure. Either way, he’s good. Better than good, he’s great. Exactly what Table Five needs to get back on top of the game after yesterday’s disastrous results. 

When hour six comes around you know he’s earned the respect of the whole table when Xaul addresses him by his name. Not new guy or tadpole or any other of the condescending epithets he keeps listed in his head. It’d taken you almost a whole month of shifts before the redhead stopped calling you girly. 

You’d be mad, except it’s kind of hard to commit to the feeling when Table Five finishes second in the end. An achievement no other table has previously claimed with a brand-spanking new member in their ranks. 

Later in the sleeping block, Taga drapes a hand over Keef’s shoulders and squeezes his stubbled cheeks between his fingers while looking at you and Melshi, jokingly asking, “Well, mom and dad, can we keep him? Can we?”

You take one look at Keef’s squished face, his unimpressed eyebrows promising an elbow to the kidney in three seconds if he isn’t released, before turning to Melshi with a shrug. When they’re being idiots they’re yours to deal with.

“Why not,” Melshi says, and the wry smirk on his lips is such a far contrast from the blank mask he’d worn yesterday it’s almost hard to believe he’s the same person. “The more the merrier.”

—

You stretch your arms over your head, letting loose a jaw-popping yawn. Up in the cot, Melshi finishes the last bites of his breakfast mush, utensil scraping against the plastic plate. Across the hot floor, Keef flicks subtle glances your way when he thinks you don’t notice . 

Grabbing the back of your foot, you stand on one leg, pinning him with a look the next time his brown eyes wander over. “Can I help you with something?”

He has the decency to seem abashed, ducking his head and poking at his food. For as quick as he caught onto the repetition of work, his taste buds have been slower to adapt. That’ll change soon. It has to if he doesn’t want to starve. Beggars can’t be choosers. 

There’s a question on the tip of his tongue, you can sense it pressing against the backs of his teeth. Your stare doesn’t lift, even as you switch legs, content to wait it out.

“You’re the only woman in the unit,” Keef says finally, and it’s not really a question, except that it is.

You laugh, a monosyllabic sound. “Really? Gee, I hadn’t noticed.”

“Why?” Keef looks at you with furrowed brows. You blink, slowly lowering your foot back onto the floor. “There are dozens of womens’ prisons across the galaxy, some even twice as big as this place without any men at all. What reason was there to send you here? Why you? Why Narkina 5?”

Something cold and slimy settles into the pit of your stomach. You had thought he’d ask…You don’t know what you thought he’d ask, but this is not a conversation you want to have anymore. Pasting on a teasing grin, you attempt to sidestep answering with a joke. “Sounds like someone’s pretty familiar with the insides of womens’ prisons.”

Keef frowns a little, not that you blame him. Your voice sounds brittle even to your own ears. He searches your expression, whatever he finds leading him to point an accusing finger. “You don’t know.”

You stay quiet, averting your gaze to his tab when the weight of his eyes feels like it’s going to tear you apart. 2,184 days to go. Not even here a week and he’s already digging for answers, unsatisfied with being kept in the dark. 

Except there are no answers on Narkina 5. Just lies and dead ends and more questions. 

“Doesn’t it—” Keef cuts himself off, dragging a hand through his hair. Then, softer, “You really don’t have any idea at all?”

Before you can decide whether to snap at him or simply shake your head, Keef’s eyes look to the side of you, lithe frame tensing. Melshi’s hand slides around your waist, gently tugging you closer. You hadn’t even heard him climb down.

“The reason why she’s here is the same reason why we build droids, why our numbers were raised,” Melshi counters, and you sneak a glimpse of his face, noting the tightness in his jaw. “Because we’re cheap parts in the Empire’s machine to do with as they please.”

You hide your grimace by nuzzling Melshi’s collarbone, an ache in your ribs like a knife has been plunged there. 

“Droids?” Keef repeats, confused. 

You start to turn your head, a witty retort on your tongue (yeah, those giant metal things we spend twelve hours on everyday), only to be silenced by the morning alarm and Kino’s subsequent shout to line up. Your eyes find Melshi’s, who lifts a shoulder before nudging you forward out of the cell.

It isn’t until you’re in the work room, hands on your head as you await the first widget of the day, that Keef leans closer, lowering his voice for your ears only.

“These aren’t droids.”

You side-eye him. “What?”

“You heard me,” he mutters, watching Kino tap away on his pad. “Droids are circuits and wires—have you ever seen a single droid in all the time you’ve been here?” He doesn’t wait for an answer. Already knows it. “Whoever told you that’s what these are is lying.”

Melshi told you. And Melshi doesn’t lie to you, never has, not even in the early days before you kissed him, which means he thinks it’s true. 

The table beeps, but this time the emergence of the hunk of metal brings a frown to your face, something previously familiar now so ominous and strange. If it’s not a piece of a droid…

“What is it then?” you ask, reaching for a wrench, pretending your limbs don’t feel like jelly.

Keef hums. “That’s the million-credit question now, isn’t it?” 

—

You don’t sleep. 

Staring up at the ceiling, Melshi’s face buried in the side of your neck, you lie still and listen to him breathe. You think about Keef’s questions. You think about the hundreds of other women who could’ve easily been the peacekeepers of Unit Five-Two-D, and you think about luck, fate, unseen forces of the universe.

Melshi’s probably right that your only purpose here is to serve the Empire. But he was wrong about the machinery parts, a voice in the back of your mind whispers, what if he’s wrong about this too? 

You turn your head, lips grazing his brow, an invisible fist squeezing around your heart. Only a fool falls in love in prison. You should have known better, kept to yourself more, trusted nobody. But when you try to imagine sleeping alone in your own cot, no hand holding yours in line or anchor keeping your head out of the clouds, it hurts more than a thousand volts of a zap rod.

What if the reason you’re here is for him?

Melshi curls closer, exhaling a sleepy sigh that has you wanting to smile and cry at the same time. 

What if he’s here for you?

—

Two weeks since his arrival and Keef still reminds you of a chameleon, but now his turtle qualities are gone, replaced with a spider’s. Quiet, secretive, calculating. Every day his web of lies gets a little bigger, a little more intricate.

He grew up in the underworld of Coruscant. Worked in a mechanic’s shop up until one day he got the urge to take a customer’s ship on a joyride and never looked back. Roamed from one corner of the galaxy to the other, different bedmates keeping him warm every night, and got really, really good at hustling sabacc in back alleyway bars sticky with substances that’ll make even the foulest Trandoshan blush. 

Lie after lie after lie.

You think he knows you know. There are moments when Keef enthralls the unit with a story, usually involving some sort of peril like being held at knifepoint by a gang of thugs or escaping through a window when a husband comes home early, and he’ll shoot you a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.

There are other moments though, usually in the beats of silence after lights out and everyone’s settled down for the night in their cells, when you find yourself forgetting ‘Keef Girgo’ is just an elaborate illusion. The edges of his mask peeling at the corners, exposing hints of the nameless man you watched cry that first night.

“I have someone waiting for me,” he confesses, words somber and coated with regret.

You look across the gap at him, find he’s staring at his tab, fingertips grazing the outer edges of the screen. “Really?” you reply, all too aware of Melshi pretending to sleep up above, giving you some semblance of privacy. “They must be someone pretty great. Most people don’t have the patience to wait for our release.”

“Yeah, she is,” he clears his throat, offers you a crooked smile. “The greatest.”

She. That’s the only specific detail he’ll ever let slip.

“I’m going to find a way out of here,” Keef says next, bold and indisputable, like that’s not exactly the kind of thing that would get him fried to a crisp if the guards overheard him. “And when I do, you’re coming with me. You and Melshi and the rest of Table Five. Everyone. We’re all getting out.”

Those are the moments when you almost consider him a friend.

—

Keef’s stubborn determination to escape Narkina 5 is a rarity in the unit these days. Others who once had the same desire were either fried into submission or became too terrified of Kino’s wrath to risk rioting.

There’s only one other man whose rebellious spirit hasn’t been broken yet: Birnok from Table Two.

He plays the part of docile inmate, fooling the guards with his compliance. They don’t see the fire in his eyes. The clenching of his fists. But Keef—ever alert, ever watchful Keef—he noticed immediately.

The pair has developed a new routine of their own. They line up behind each other in the mornings, then again after work’s over, exchanging sarcastic quips and playful punches. It’s not an unusual thing to see men from different tables becoming friends since everyone shares the same sleeping quarters. You suspect to most people that’s probably what it appears like. 

But when you catch glimpses of them exchanging looks across the work room, communicating in a silent code of subtle hand gestures and flitting eyes, you start to also suspect that’s exactly what Keef and Birnok want it to appear like.

You’re filling your plate with dinner mush in your cell—your actual one designated to you on your first day, where your tab taunts you with its dwindling number. Anyone else would be thrilled to have such a short sentence, but not you. Not anymore. The less you have to look at it and the less you have to think about leaving Melshi, the better.

You turn to leave, meal and utensil in hand, when you hear Birnok’s voice.

“The elevator’s not wired.”

…What?

You shake your head, deciding to ignore him. Dinner time only lasts so long and you don’t want to wind up stuck in here for the night.

“Are you sure?”

Keef.

Well, that changes things.

You edge closer to the wall of your cell, staying out of sight, for once grateful it’s purposely distanced a little down the block away from the others.

“Positive,” Birnok answers. “Watch next time they use it. You’ll see. We can climb it if we’re quick enough.”

A pause of contemplation. You bite your lip, heart fluttering like a trapped bird.

“If we can jam the lift somehow, it’ll make reaching the upper deck easier,” Keef says. There’s another pause, shorter this time, punctuated by a derisive snort. “Assuming the guards don’t shoot us in the head first thing.”

“They can’t aim for shit,” Birnok retorts. “Taking them out and stealing their weapons will be a breeze. We’ll be out before they know what hit ‘em.”

“We’ll be fried beyond recognition as long as the floors are active,” Keef counters, voice a low growl. “That should be our priority: turning off the power.”

He makes a good point. Escaping the work room is only a third of the battle. Escaping the prison comes next, then finally getting off Narkina 5 undetected. Increasingly harder challenges verging on impossible. 

“And I’m telling you,” Birnok says, sharper than before, “that water pipe in the refresher is the key.”

Water pipe? Surely they couldn’t be talking about the refresher in the work room, right? Just under the guards’ noses?

“Maybe,” Keef’s skepticism is audible even from your hiding spot.

“Just keep sawing at it,” Birnok urges. “It’ll be worth the effort when the time comes.”

The familiar way they’re talking with each other, it’s clear this isn’t the first discussion of escape they’ve had. It’s funny, the bonds which can be suddenly struck up in prison.

What’s even funnier is the loose wall panel you discover during the next shift over the sink in the refresher. You stare at it while washing your hands, a stirring in your chest of an emotion you haven’t felt in years.

Hope.

—

It happens during hour two.

The beginning of your morning is uneventful, and so is the walk to the work ring and the first sixty minutes of your shift, going through your routine motions with the same careful efficiency as you always do. 

Your first hint something’s amiss is Kino being messaged on the comm panel. The guards only bother interrupting the flow of things to complain, usually about the speed of production. Kino’s deepening scowl has all of you slowing to a standstill, waiting for the bad news with dread pooling in your stomachs.

Except…there is no bad news. 

Kino turns around and orders the room to resume working again—without insulting the pace or current stats. It’s suspicious as hell, inmates exchanging skeptical looks with each other, but one by one they resume their previous tasks, silence shattered by the grating clangs of metal on metal.

You’re the last to pick your tool back up, hesitating when Kino’s gaze seems to linger on you a beat longer than anyone else. Why would he…? Keef nudges you once, twice, finally having to say your name to yank you out of your worried thoughts. You start again, but there’s a tremor in your fingers, the burning sensation of eyes on your back making your shoulders twitch and roll restlessly. 

“Dream,” Melshi’s voice is a balm to your agitated soul, gentle and even. “Why don’t you take a quick breather?”

You reflexively clutch your wrench tighter in your hand. “I’m fine.”

His jaw twitches in thinly-veiled restraint. “C’mon. Just five minutes.”

Irritation burns through you even though you know he’s just concerned. Gritting your teeth, you repeat, “I’m fine.”

Melshi’s mouth opens, no doubt to rebuttal, only to be blocked from view by Keef tilting his head in front of your face, quietly saying, “We’re up by six. Now would be a good time for a break, if, uh,” he falters at whatever expression you’re making, looking like he expects you to sucker punch him, then bravely soldiers on. “If you needed one.”

You take a deep breath, slowly unclenching your fingers until the wrench slips free of your grip. “Alright,” you say primly, taking petty satisfaction at his slight wince. “I’ll be right back.”

There’s no mirror in the refresher (a shard of broken glass in the right hands can be a fatal weapon), but for once you’re glad about the absence. You don’t want to see the look on your face, the way you’re pacing back and forth.  

That feeling of wrongness is back, the same dread you’d felt the night Tress killed himself. You stick your hands under the running faucet, then slap at your cheeks with the cold water. Snap out of it, you think, as much a mantra as it is a life preserver to keep you from drowning.

Maker, what you wouldn’t do for a drink right now.

The intercom calls you back out on the floor before you can shake off the last of the anxiety buzzing in your blood. You’re forced to stand in the corner of the work room until the alarm stops its incessant blaring, and the gap of distance between you and Table Five has never felt bigger.

Hands on your head, your eyes are drawn immediately to Melshi’s across the room, all previous frustration draining when you register his frown and furrowed brow. Melshi’s always careful during moments like this when he knows the guards are watching, hating the idea of them seeing him provoked. You want nothing more than to run to him and erase his worries, but the punishment of a zap rod, or worse, the box, has your feet frozen in place, mouth going dry.

Two guards stand on the upper deck, both armed with blasters, fingers ready on the triggers. Another pair waits on the lift for the unseen man in the control room to press the button to lower it. They usually only come down when there’s a new man to drop off, but that clearly isn’t the case this time. The ranks are full and there’s nobody in orange and white scrubs up there.

Whatever reason they’re here now, it can’t be good. And if it’s at all related to Kino’s scowl from before…

You watch them step onto the floor, scanning the room casually, like they’ve got all the time in the world. Their smirks betray their enjoyment, knowing they’ve got everyone on edge.

When their gazes fall on you, your heart lodges in your throat.

The taller of the pair says your name in a way you think is supposed to be soothing, but instead it sounds like a hunter cornering prey, the hiss of a lying serpent. 

You shoot a glance towards Melshi. He’s clenching his jaw so tight it’s a wonder he hasn’t shattered a tooth or three.

It’s a mistake taking your eyes off the guards, immediately realized when you look back to discover they’ve advanced forward several steps, looming and intimidating as fuck.

“You’re coming with us, honey,” the serpent says, latching onto your forearm in a vice grip. A warning squeeze confirms your fears he could shatter the bone if he wanted to, eliciting a choked gasp from your lips.

Everything happens quickly after that.

“Let go of her!”

Melshi’s shout tears through the air like an arrow, striking you square in the chest. He’s lunging forward, murder flashing in his eyes, but Kino’s reflexes are lightning-quick, hooking an arm around his middle and hauling him back. Kino knew, he must have, positioning himself in preparation of an outburst.

You’re yanked towards the lift, elbow nearly dislocated. You attempt to pull free, scratching at the bastard with your other hand, only to receive a backhanded slap across the face.

Stars spin across your vision, pain blooming hotly along your cheek and burning down your neck. You blink rapidly, lights and colors blurring together into obscure blobs, tasting blood in your mouth from biting your tongue. You spit it out, a streak of scarlet on the pristine white floor.

Everyone’s shouting at each other. The guards up above aim at Table Five where Melshi’s still fighting Kino’s hold. Keef and Xaul press on his shoulders and chest, telling him to calm the hell down before bodies start dropping. 

“You hurt her, I’ll fucking kill you!” Melshi snarls, ignoring them entirely.

“Melshi,” Kino warns, his voice sharp as a dagger, the muscles in his arms constricting as he squeezes Melshi tighter. “Shut up before I break your jaw.”

Your mouth opens, lips searching for words that won’t come—can’t come when there’s the sharp prick of a needle digging into your arm. That’s new, you think, blinking dumbly at it, and yet you’re somehow not surprised by the sneaky tactic. Lying serpents and cunning foxes, the lot of them.

Arms catch you as your knees buckle. Everything’s blurry again, black specks in the corners growing larger and larger, consuming your world. Cotton’s been stuffed in your ears, cries of your name dissolving into undecipherable static, and as your consciousness fades, you know things are only going to get worse.

—

You awaken with a groan.

Your head is pounding, body feeling like it’s been hit by a mudhorn, and when you try to move your arms you can’t. Squinting up at the lights overhead, you try to make sense of your situation because it seems like you’re in the med station but that doesn’t make any sense. You haven’t been feeling sick, you’re not due for another contraception shot yet so why—

Memories ram into your brain like a sledgehammer. They drugged you. How long have you been out? Coldness washes over you. Oh, Maker. Melshi must be going out of his fucking mind right now.

“Struggling will only make the restraints tighter,” Dr. Rhasiv tells you when you try to pull your arms free, wrists aching. He comes closer, a scanner in his hands. The light blue marks on his scrubs seem to almost glow beneath the harsh, glaring lights. “This shouldn’t take very long, just keep still.”

“What—why am I—” Your tongue doesn’t want to cooperate, slurring the words together clumsily. You sound like a youngling learning to speak for the first time.

Dr. Rhasiv seems to understand regardless. “All peacemakers are being evaluated via ultrasound for the detection of potential fetuses,” he says, either oblivious to the stunned wheeze you emit or purposefully ignoring it, taking your temperature by scanning your forehead. “A pregnancy was discovered on level four, see. Found out too late that the recent batch of contraceptives was defective. A surprise nobody wants a repeat of since transferring prisoners is an irritating hassle, not to mention the adoption paperwork. So I’m told at least.”

Your breath comes out in short pants. You don’t—What is—This is so fucking—You could be carrying a baby right now. An actual human being who’s half you and half—your eyes water, realization a sickening punch to the lungs—Melshi.

It’s the first time you’ve ever thought of having children with Melshi. Even in your dreams, it’s always just been you and him. Settling down alone together. You don’t know if he wants kids. Hell, you don’t even—you don’t even know if you want a baby. Imagining any sort of life outside of Narkina 5, it’s just that—a figment of your imagination. An impossible reality.

But then you think of Keef, of his solemn swear we’re all getting out, and you think of that loose panel in the refresher, your tiny bud of hope, and maybe, just maybe, the things you’ve been imagining aren’t so impossible after all.

Prison is no place for a baby though—not Narkina 5 or wherever that poor woman from four is being moved to. A baby needs a home. Someplace peaceful. Someplace where being barefoot isn’t a punishment and meals aren’t flavorless slop. Where laughter rings out instead of screams and sunlight fills every room and everything’s warm, warm, warm…

You stiffen, panic turning your blood to ice, remembering what else Dr. Rhasiv had said. Adoption paperwork. If you are pregnant—Maker, just the word alone makes your trembling worse—they’ll take you away from Melshi and then nine months from now they’ll take your baby away from you. A cycle of heartbreak for the Empire to feast upon. Splitting families apart for the sheer entertainment and brainwashing the youth so the sick game never ends.

“It’ll be a quick process,” Dr. Rhasiv says, lifting the hem of your shirt. “Shouldn’t hurt at all. Just breathe regularly.”

Not now, you find yourself thinking, praying, wishing, desperate and emphatic. Not here. 

Dr. Rhasiv applies the cold gel to your exposed stomach. Not now. Not here. The sensor roams over your skin, its quiet beeps resemble explosions in the otherwise quiet space. Not now. Not here. You stare at the doctor’s face the whole time, watching for the slightest of creases in his brow or flickers in his gaze. Not now. Not here.

Finally, he puts the device back in his medical case and grabs a towel to wipe away the gel.

Only when he’s finished does he gesture to a guard you hadn’t noticed standing in the doorway. Your fingers curl into fists, cursing the restraints once more for leaving you vulnerable and exposed.

“Not pregnant,” Dr. Rhasiv announces, blunt in that professional way only doctors can be, like the ripping off of a bandage. 

And it’s…the results are what you wanted. It is the best outcome for everyone. Life will go on as usual. Still…

You flinch as Dr. Rhasiv sticks another needle into your arm. A different contraceptive, he says. This one guaranteed to work.

And while it’ll keep your womb empty, it does nothing to stop your mind from imagining an infant with tufts of Melshi’s dark hair nestled in your arms.   

Not now. Not here.

But maybe one day. Maybe somewhere safe.

—

It’s another hour before a guard escorts you back to the sleep block. Dr. Rhasiv insisted it was necessary to observe you for any side effects, but you think that was only a partial truth. Somewhere underneath all the pain and hardships he has suffered, there’s a decent man who tries to pull strings where he can, granting his patients small moments of respite from the daily grind. 

The guard this time is as thick and burly as a bear, could snap your spine in two with ease, but fortunately he keeps his hands to himself, sneering at you like you’re as dirty as mud on his shoe. You prefer his company infinitely more than the serpent man’s.

After unlocking the door, he doesn’t hesitate to shove you inside before slamming it on your heels. The floor is cold and the cells are empty. You’re alone.

The acrid smell of cleaning products burns your nose as you step inside Melshi’s cell. Everything looks just the way it did this morning, but nothing feels the same. There’s a lump in your throat—from sadness, from anger. You have no idea where to ever start sorting your emotions out. So you just…don’t.

You climb up onto the cot, back against the wall, arms wrapped around your knees. Half of you wants to sleep, the other half is wide awake and paranoid, convinced you’ll be dragged away again the second your eyes close. You sit there, numbness creeping through your body, and wait for Melshi to return.

It isn’t long before the main door opens again, the sounds of voices and footsteps flooding the silent space like bathwater. Some of the tension in your muscles loosens, and you scoot forward, letting your legs dangle over the edge of the cot. 

You hear Melshi before he comes into view, his accent thicker than normal, the way it only ever gets when he’s barely holding onto his emotions by a thread.

“Just when I think they can’t reach a new low they pull a fucking stunt like that,” he snarls, voice full of such raw, seething rage he’s practically spitting. “When she comes back, if she’s hurt, if they even looked at her the wrong way, I’m going to rip their eyes straight out—”

He freezes when he sees you, threat hanging unfinished in the air. Keef bumps into him, doing a double-take when he also registers your appearance.

“You’re back,” Keef says needlessly, offering a small grin, but it’s the relief in his voice that you find most comforting. 

“Dream,” Melshi’s low murmur wraps around you like a blanket, brown eyes blinking at you like he can’t believe you’re here. There’s so much love and worry and lingering anger spasming across his face it threatens to break your heart.

You feel your own face start to crumple, everything bubbling to the surface, making a sound that might be a sob and Melshi’s closing the gap, reaching for you just as you’re reaching for him.

“Dream, my little dreamer,” he murmurs, holding you tightly, one hand around your back and the other on your neck, lips brushing against your temple, your cheek, wherever he can reach. “I’m here. I’m here. You’re safe.”

One of you is trembling, you can’t tell which. It makes you cling to him tighter, letting him crowd you against the wall of the cot, strong and solid and achingly familiar when the rest of your world feels like it’s falling to pieces.

“Tell me?” he asks, carefully neutral, leaving the decision entirely up to you. His hands are roaming over your body now, as soothing as they are subtly checking for injuries, up your backside and across your shoulders. 

You take a deep breath, but fear paralyzes your tongue.

Melshi leans back, carefully taking your face in his hands. You hate the worry in his eyes, the frown lines at the corners of his mouth. And it scares you to wonder what will happen if you tell him about the ultrasound and the negative result. Will it punch the same gaping hole in his chest as it has in yours? Or will he be pleased to find out you’re not pregnant? That the status quo will remain unchanged for the foreseeable future?

You don’t know which reaction would be worse.

“Just a routine check up,” you whisper finally. The words hurt, scraping against the tender walls of your throat. “Everything’s fine.”

He rests his forehead against yours. “You’d tell me if everything wasn’t, right?”

Guilt tears into your heart, threatening to bleed it dry. 

And yet a second lie slides off your lips just as poisonous as the first.

“Of course,” you say, swallowing thickly against the bitter taste in your mouth. And then, quieter, something sweet to counter the ache, “I love you, Rue.”

A low, anguished groan escapes his chest, and then he’s cradling you tight against him once more, nuzzling his face against the side of your head. “When I saw them take you, I was afraid that…”

“I know,” is your quiet reply, feeling a shudder rack his body.

“I hate when I’m not with you,” he says softly, almost like he’s ashamed by how much he craves your nearness. “I need you by my side, dream. Always.”

You press a kiss to the underside of his jaw, breathing in his scent until you can’t think of anything else. “Good,” you say, a quiet confession belonging to him alone, “because that’s the only place I ever want to be.”

—

Melshi’s gone when you reach for him in the middle of the night, fingers grasping at empty air. You crack open a bleary eye. Everything’s soft around the edges, fuzzy-like, and it feels—slow. Calm. Your eye flutters shut again a moment later, too much effort required to focus. The needle marks on your arm have finally stopped pinching uncomfortably. There’s a chill sweeping over your body without Melshi to snuggle against, but your limbs are too heavy with sleep to move, mind sluggishly drifting along at a snail’s pace.

“Is she okay?” Keef asks, his low voice seeming to float from a long distance away.

“Whatever they did definitely rattled her,” Melshi answers from somewhere to your side. In your mind’s eye, he’s standing in the narrow space of the cell, staring across at Keef with his arms crossed over his chest. “But she told me once though, as long as she can still dream, she’ll be alright.”

You’re too comfortable to tell them to stop talking about you. A small corner of your brain which hasn’t totally succumbed to slumber yet wonders how many of these conversations they’ve had with each other, if this is some sort of regular man-to-man-midnight-chat thing you’re just now discovering.

“And if her dreams become nightmares?”

Melshi exhales a slow, ragged breath. “Then I’ll take care of her. Whatever she needs.”

Keef doesn’t respond for a moment, maybe answering nonverbally with a shrug or turning the words over in his head, you don’t know for sure.

“Her sentence is shorter than yours—”

“I know,” Melshi says, cutting him off.

“Then you also know you can’t protect her forever,” Keef says coolly. “They’ll take her away and she won’t come back. I don’t…have to tell you the odds of you two reconnecting are slim, do I, Melshi?”

Another ragged breath. Then, tightly, each word forced through clenched teeth: “Get to the point.”

“Escaping is your best chance at staying together,” the other man says, ignoring the thorny tension. “Birnok and I are putting a plan together, but we need as much help as we can get to succeed.”

“It’s suicide,” Melshi says, accent harsh. “They’ll kill us all.”

“Maybe so.” A pause. “But personally? I’d rather face a certain death with the one I love beside me than spend decades trapped in here not knowing what happened to them.”

Sleep sinks its teeth in deeper, tugging you into unconsciousness before you can hear Melshi’s response, before the uneasy knot in your stomach can grow any larger.

[amarantine-amirite]

Everything is Crap

Here’s how sneaking out of the house usually ends for me. It starts when I'm not allowed to do something I need, and the reason I'm not allowed is usually really stupid. Nice, then something catches me off guard. I lose my cool and haul off at someone, usually because they try to gaslight me. After the dust settles, my parents find out and I get in double trouble: once for sneaking around, and again for yelling at someone. Sneaking out never seems to work for me.

That is, of course, until now.

I got canned from the soccer team for having short hair. I have no idea why that’s an issue, but it shouldn’t be. Back when I had long hair, I had such a hard time keeping it under control. I have a much easier time caring for short hair. Also, nobody can pull you over by your ponytail if you have short hair. 

The good news is that nobody knows I got kicked off. All of us have a microchip embedded in our bodies that monitor heart rate, respiration, and other stuff like that. The school only monitors our physical location during instructional time, but they look at the biometrics 24/7. To see if we’ve attended sports practice, they see if the time at which our heart rates go up corresponds with practice time. 

It's easy to bluff technology, especially if the technology in question feeds into a system built on a logical fallacy. All you have to do is take a digital metric and reverse engineer it to meet your needs. I could fool people into thinking I was still on the team by going to the gym at the time soccer practice took place. An increase in heart rate is an increase in heart rate, it doesn't matter what causes it.

I am not supposed to be here. The gym has a big sign that says NO PEOPLE UNDER THE AGE OF 19 BEYOND THIS POINT at the entrance. So far, nobody has cornered me. But I have a weird feeling that my luck will run out today. 

I accidentally knocked the weights off a barbell at the gym. They shattered when they hit the ground.

It’s not like accidentally breaking a plate at a restaurant. Nobody claps. Instead, the glare at you. One person even took a step further and asked, "Can you go for longer than ten minutes without breaking something?"

“No,” I said, “but not for the reason you think.” I remained unusually calm. 

“and why is that?” the person replied. I don't think it occurred to them that a person could constantly break things without being a total klutz. 

I shrugged my shoulders. “Nothing these days is built to last.”

An attendant looked at me and nodded. “Yeah, ain’t that the truth”, she mumbled. I get the sense that this is not the first time she’s had to replace a free weight because it shattered upon impact with a rubber floor.

I can’t think of a better example than what I’m talking about other than the zipper on a $5000 pair of pants that abruptly came apart. My mom was angry that she spent $5,000 on a pair of pants that fell apart within a week, and it came out as scolding me for being clumsy. And it’s because of that zipper that whenever anyone tells me I break things or I'm clumsy, I tune them out. It's not my fault everything these days is very expensive junk. 

It goes beyond goods. Services are going downhill, too. Nobody teaches people not to blow through a job without confirming what needs to be done. Of course, if you say anything, expect the political correctness crowd to rain blows on you.

After I finished at the gym, I went to the Starbucks down the street and ordered pumpkin tea. It took 22 minutes for someone to fill the order. The idiot barista gave me regular tea with chai syrup.

Now, there were two possibilities. Either she didn't understand the order and didn't double check or they ran out of pumpkin tea and she couldn't be bothered telling us.

I looked at the cup, waved down the barista, and said, “excuse, me, but this isn’t what I asked for”

The barista leaned over and yelled, “Hey, I have to juggle so much crap that I can't remember anything. You’re just too demanding!”

“what?” I said. I shook my head, “No, I'm not.”

The person behind me put my hand on my shoulder. I flinched. She nodded as she explained to me, “Instead of saying fast food employees are lazy, say fast food employees are overworked and underpaid and should be patient with them.”

My jaw dropped. “I never said that!” I barked, “I didn’t even imply it!”

The woman shrugged her shoulders. “Any time you complain about subpar service, you’re implying that providers of that service are lazy when in reality that is not true, they are overworked and underpaid.”

I ignored her. It sounded like she was trying to get me to say something that made me sound like a bad person. “Can you fix this please?” I asked the barista.

The barista walked over to me. Instead of offering to fix the drink, she said, “no, it’s cold tea season, not hot tea season” 

I knew what she said was ridiculous. I gestured to the guy who just got a hot cup of coffee and said, “But the guy over there got a hot drink!”

“We have any of the following available during cold tea season,” the barista replied. She gestured to the Iced Drinks section of the menu.

I looked up the menu and my eyes widened. “all that stuff has a ludicrous amount of sugar!”

The barista shrugged. “May I please talk to the manager?” I asked.

The barista left. The manager arrived a few minutes later. "Hey, how can I help you?" she inquired.

"I ordered a pumpkin spice tea," I began, my voice tight with frustration, "but I got this instead." I gestured to the offending beverage.

"And the barista wouldn't fix it?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. I shook my head in response.

The manager seemed to understand. With a curt nod, she disappeared behind the counter. A short while later, she reappeared with a steaming cup of pumpkin spice tea in her hand.

"Here you go," she said, placing it on the table. "That should be what you ordered."

“Thank you so much,” I said. I reached for the cup, ready to finally enjoy my drink.

"That'll be $100," the manager added, her smile now completely vanished.

I shook my head. “To hell with that,” I grumbled. 

I left. I didn't have it in me to complain. I can have tea at home.

My luck did run out today, but not because of a shattered barbell or everyone defending a barista who blows through things without checking what has to be done. The weather in Dallas screwed me over.

I saw a news story on TV. My school’s soccer team had a game down there. Every single on team got wiped out in a lightning strike due to the metal studs in their cleats. The other team was OK because they had plastic studs in their cleats. 

My phone rang. I snatched it out, muttering a quick "hello?"

"Paula, are you okay?!" My grandma's voice, usually warm and soothing, was laced with panic. "I saw something on the news..."

"Yeah, I'm fine, just leaving Starbucks," I replied reassuringly. 

Right after saying that, my heart hammered against my ribs. They’re going to find out that I got kicked off the soccer team. 

@promptlyprompting

[hereforthefunnyguys]

Is it too insane to ask for your nsfw Irateshipping HCs?

no no it’s not insane I just usually try to keep the blog more pg-13/R rated than x rated. However…. I really want to talk about Irateshipping more. So imma just put some stuff under the cut. Honestly I’m more worried about not having enough stuff or frankly anything thats particularly sexy than I am about having it at all lmao

(nsfw text under the cut! You have been Warned) (Hoping the cut actually. Cuts where its supposed to lmao)

-marik ishtar praise kink goes crazy I don’t make the rules. Joey once accidentally called him a "good boy" during their first time together and he literally stopped functioning. Like complete windows crash bluescreen. Only refocused when Joey sat up and shook him a little because what if he accidentally killed him with sex somehow

-Joey is actually the more experienced of the two, which was really disappointing to him because he was really counting on the idea of his sexy criminal femme fatale boyfriend that knows 5000 different sex positions and instead got stuck with a nervy little freak that does not even know what lube is

-marik doesn’t know what he’s doing but he’s very enthusiastic to try whatever sounds fun

-this is simultaneously contrasted with the fact that he cannot take much stimulation at once and gets nervous if he’s not in control (whether in a Sexy way or in a Panic Attack way is kind of a coin flip)

-Joey is kind of bad at sex the first few times tbh because he gets too nervous and ends up getting distracted and talking way too much and ruining the mood

-he seriously improves in focus and attractivenesss when marik is just like. Ok. You can do what you want physically but please. For the love of god. Stop talking in bed like that.

-Joey has a weird thing where the idea of losing control to marik is really hot but also simultaneously so absolutely terrifying and humiliating to him even in a private context that he’s just like “hmmmm stuffing that down to repress as well methinks”

-marik is perhaps a wee bit of a sadist, which does not mix well with the fact that he is also fairly submissive and wants to be cared for and cared about so bad it actually hurts

-def not a masochist though lmao

-“I want to make you feel good and make this very romantic and uh other stuff” Joey and “i have been working for 10 straight hours and just got yelled at by my dad and need to Destroy Something” Joey are two entirely different creatures in bed

-Joey, walking into the bedroom casually: Hey babe how's it go -

Marik, shaking visibly from stress: If you have sex with me right here right now and completely destroy my brain to the point i cannot think about the conversations i have had with my siblings today about what i will do with my life now that I am no longer a cult leader I swear I will literally give you whatever you want from me for at least three months

Joey:

Joey, cautiously patting Marik on the head while sitting down next to him: Okay not that that's not an incredibly hot offer but maybe let's talk about it first plea-

Marik, gripping Joey's leg hard enough to leave fingerprints: I understand that but if I have one more serious conversation today I'll start killing people again

-Marik head game goes crazy because of that long tongue until he gets too worked up and starts getting Bitey

-Joey head game mediocre because he has too much of a gag reflex but is very enthusiastic and drools a fuckton

-Marik dick game meh because he neither has the enthusiasm nor the stamina for it tbh. Gets bonus points because he has fairly good rhythm

-Joey is better because he definitely has the enthusiasm for it as well as the strength for it (plus hes stubborn enough to keep pushing even when hes exhausted lmao) but tbf tends to get really excited or distracted and so tends to be kind of irrhythmic

-i tend to not bring top/bottom Disc Horse (tm) up much but I do think Joey probably wouldn't bottom much due to both a lot of internalized perceptions about it and also because it sounds like it fuckin hurts to him lmao

-Marik is simultaneously split in between "I love my weird little pathetic creature that i occasionally allow to be graced by my divine presence in bed" and "I NEED HIM TO CRUSH MY NECK IN BETWEEN HIS BICEP AND FOREARM WHILE I GET SHOVED IN BETWEEN HIS PECS FUCK"

-In terms of like strict Dynamics i think they're probably both switches that tend to fall back into pretty gentle/vanilla dom/sub dynamic when they aren't trying anything in particular

-Joey kind of likes getting bossed around in bed but tends to argue with it if marik does not just make him shut the Fuck up because sometimes the joey instinct is stronger than the horny instinct

-I post a lot about them having fucked up gay sex but in a domestic situation I think the sex is actually pretty intimate and honestly probably one of the healthier aspects of their relationship

-At multiple times in their lives I think its probably what helps get them through the day especially Joey when he was still living with his dad and working through his debts like. just five minutes more of worrying 24/7 and struggling to survive until my beautiful boyfriend shows up and straddles my lap while kissing my forehead and removes every single goddamn thought i have ever had that isn't about him. yay :)

-suffice to say they are making it work in the bedroom

-I forgot to mention that occasionally yami marik will show up if marik gets too freaked out and that there is nothing more terrifying to joey than turning around post-afterglow and seeing a demon with hair bigger than it’s shoulders looking at you like he wants to suck the inside of your skin out in place of your previously very pretty and vulnerable boyfriend

-bonus genderbend edition: fem marik is definitely a pillow princess and joey is completely willing to deal with putting in the work because quote "have you seen her recently have you seen my beautiful girlfriend just look at her I would do anything for this sexy sexy living identity crisis on stilts"

-fem marik: I want strap this is no longer a want nor a need but rather a Demand

[antialiasis]

Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat/Evita

As you probably know by now, Jesus Christ Superstar is my favorite musical, and the main reason I developed any sort of interest in musicals generally. I have also mentioned before that other popular Andrew Lloyd Webber musicals have not tended to do much for me. The Phantom of the Opera is too florid and lengthy and the characters don’t interest me enough, Cats is amusing fluff but has no real plot or character depth.

But also, perhaps that shouldn’t be very surprising. After all, I tend to be interested in media for its stories and characters more than presentation or spectacle - and Cats and Phantom don’t actually share a writer with JCS. The stuff I love about Jesus Christ Superstar includes the songs, sure, but I wouldn’t care so much about them in a vacuum. The guy who wrote the lyrics, made the story what it is, is Tim Rice.

So a little while back I figured it was high time I actually looked into at least the other well-known Webber/Rice collaborations, Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat and Evita. (I gather abroad Joseph is like, a play every middle school puts on, but not over here; I had never heard of it until I looked up stuff about Jesus Christ Superstar, and never heard a song from it until I went and listened to it recently.)

(Some 5000 words of rambling under the cut, about these two shows, comparisons to JCS, and some character analysis, plus a bit of a digression about the trouble with translating musicals to film!)

Joseph is a pretty amusing one. It’s a show originally written as a fun retelling of a Bible story for kids to perform, before JCS, when Webber and Rice were 17 and 20 years old - specifically, it’s the story of Joseph, not the father of Jesus but Jacob’s favorite son from the Old Testament. Once I listened to it I did vaguely recall hearing the story before, in religious education classes as a kid: Joseph has prophetic dreams about greatness, is betrayed by his jealous brothers and sold into slavery in Egypt, eventually ends up the Pharaoh’s right-hand man after deciphering his prophetic dreams about an upcoming famine, then reunites with his contrite brothers and father.

It’s pretty wild, but you can definitely see the seeds of JCS in it - an isolated story from the Bible, told through a series of songs with very modernized, casual lyrics with a bit of a cheeky satirical energy with regards to some of the source material. But where JCS is a dramatic, emotional reinterpretation, Joseph has very little interest in drawing out the drama of the story it’s adapting, for the most part, and sticks with just retelling it with tongue firmly in cheek and a deluge of indulgent pastiche of a dozen different musical genres. The Pharaoh? A shameless Elvis parody, because why not. The brothers? Sing an over-the-top country song about how Joseph was heroically killed by a goat after they have sold him into slavery, and then later a parody French ballad about how much they miss him.

I quite enjoy just how plainly it presents the whole Joseph being Jacob’s favorite son thing, the narrator talking cheerfully about the coat his father gives him to make it clear that Joseph was the special one, and him telling his brothers about all these dreams he’s having that are clearly symbolic of how much greater he will be than them:

I dreamed that in the fields one day, The corn gave me sign Your eleven sheaves of corn All turned and bowed to mine My sheaf was was quite a sight to see A golden sheaf and tall Yours were green and second-rate And really rather small

What a hilariously smug-slash-oblivious little prick. The brothers are still obviously the villains here, but without exactly commenting on it per se, the musical cheerfully leans into the things a modern audience might find kind of preposterous or silly reading this story, and thus sort of subtextually asks but honestly, wasn’t it kind of dickish of their dad to just pick a favorite son and lavish him with special gifts for it? Isn’t Joseph himself being kind of a dick with this thing of telling them repeatedly about how hey guys I had this dream that I’m way better than you and in the future you’re all going to bow down to me?

And Jesus Christ Superstar does essentially the same thing - though often in a less humorous and more simply speculative way. It asks things like, isn’t it kind of weird and morbid of Jesus to tell the apostles that the bread they eat is his body and the wine they drink is his blood? What if it wasn’t a grand metaphor, but just him expressing his disillusionment with everything, and with them; what if in this moment he just feels like they wouldn’t even care if it was, and he’s right because they don’t even react? Or what if he’s just sort of morosely hoping maybe at least it’ll make them remember him when they eat and drink?

Joseph does have a little bit of a character arc going, which saves it from being entirely fluff. After we’ve seen his (possibly oblivious) self-aggrandizement at the beginning, Joseph gets betrayed and sold into slavery by his brothers, then jailed on false charges, where he goes through a lowest point in the song “Close Every Door to Me”, about how he’s insignificant and it doesn’t matter what happens to him, but he’s holding on to the thought of the Promised Land for strength. After that lowest point, he’s learned some humility - not long after this, when his fellow inmates ask him to interpret their dreams, he agrees to try but isn’t sure he’ll get it right, and is almost sheepish about admitting that well, he hasn’t been wrong before. So by the time Joseph actually gains the glory and prestige that he dreamed of, it feels reasonably earned, not only because he’s been to hell and back, but because he’s stopped being the kind of insufferable, arbitrarily privileged ass he was at the start in the process. (Or, at least, that’s what I get listening to the 1991 London cast recording that I picked somewhat arbitrarily on Spotify. I also watched the 1999 movie with one eye while drawing, and there Joseph honestly kind of felt like he was still pretty smug by the end. I like it better if there’s a character arc.)

At the end, his brothers come from Canaan, which is suffering from the famine, to Egypt to beg for food. Of course Joseph is there to receive them, only for them to not recognize him there in his Egyptian finery. Joseph decides to take them for a bit of a ride, to test whether they’re still the dickheads who tried to kill him and sold him into slavery; he responds to their groveling with angry fake skepticism - telling me that you are hungry! That could be lies! during a famine, sure. They grovel all the more, and he makes a show of saying they’ve moved him and that he’ll give them what they came for and more. Only he slips one of his golden cups into his younger brother Benjamin’s sack, then angrily stops them as they’re trying to leave, theatrically searching their bags until he finds it in Benjamin’s and demands to lock him up and throw away the key. And the brothers throw themselves at his feet to say there’s no way Benjamin did this, and to please have mercy on him and jail them instead.

This whole bit, the brothers groveling and Joseph putting on this charade, probably taking out some justified anger through scaring them and the power he wields over them, while also legitimately trying to test their characters and whether he can forgive them, is my favorite chunk of this show. “Grovel, Grovel” just has a melody I like, the energy and tension of the music for “Who’s the Thief?” is great (and amusingly reminiscent of the motif I dubbed ‘Authority’ in JCS), the character dynamic of what’s happening is just interesting and more layered than anything preceding it, and it sort of drops to a bit of a more serious and tense feel there in general, the brothers genuinely desperate and Joseph pushing mercilessly to learn who they really are and whether he can ever trust them again…

…and then we launch into “Benjamin Calypso”, a sudden jarringly upbeat number where the brothers continue to argue that there’s no way Benjamin stole the cup and he should take them instead in the most nonchalant, utterly unserious way possible. The mood whiplash is something. After that Joseph reveals who he is and the brothers get like two lines to ask if it’s really him, we explain their father came and joined them in like five more lines, and then it’s time to reprise the early number about Joseph’s vision at the beginning of the story for the finale. There’s no followup on the reunion or what just happened at all!

And I guess that’s fair. The entire rest of the show is deeply silly, exaggerated pastiche where the brothers act like the snidest of villains, and we aren’t supposed to care about them. But one way or another, I find myself honestly wanting a more cathartic resolution here. Judah does offer himself up in exchange for Benjamin, sure, but in that song where he’s otherwise busy jauntily comparing Benjamin’s honesty to coconuts and palm trees because Caribbean music, it’s impossible to take that at all seriously, or actually feel like it means anything about his character or ought to move Joseph to forgive them. And then we don’t get any followup, and all in all it just means it sort of starts to present an actually interesting dramatic situation, in its slightly tongue-in-cheek way, and then goes, “Never mind! Anyway, more pastiche!”

In the original story in Genesis, Joseph was explicitly feeling a lot of emotion during all this - he overhears them talking in Hebrew about their regrets over what they did to Joseph, and from there he multiple times has to excuse himself from everyone’s presence to weep, until he’s fully sure that now his brothers would rather sacrifice their own lives than sell another brother. I honestly think that makes sense, and that it would have worked (and probably worked better) to include more emotionality here. But oh well! It’s a pretty fun silly show with some fun songs in it, and that’s all it really wants to be. What If Joseph But We Took It Seriously is basically what JCS is, and I for one am happy with what we got there.

Evita is quite different, a more ambitious and very much adult-oriented show postdating JCS by several years (like JCS, it was first released as a concept album, in 1976). It’s about the life of Argentinian First Lady Eva Perón. I don’t know much about the real-life history or how accurate it is to the actual woman, but the musical at least depicts her with a sort of blend of deep cynicism and a degree of twisted admiration for her sheer ruthless drive and ability to win influence. After an opening framing device, it starts with her as a working-class country girl forcefully persuading a singer she’s had a fling with to bring her to the big city. Once there, she immediately ditches him to pursue her own ends, freely using sex with men for whatever advantage it would get her until she has a popular radio show. After that, she begins a relationship with future president Juan Perón, with the express intent that it would be mutually beneficial to both of them, by leveraging her popularity with the public for his political endeavors while giving her access to further power and influence through him.

(I’d be surprisingly good for you, she proposes; would you be good for me too? In the Icelandic cast album that I found on Spotify, she just proposes that I’d be a pleasure for you, which misses the entire point. Similarly, his subsequent verse where he agrees that I can understand you perfectly / and I like what I hear, what I see, and knowing me / I would be good for you too is rendered as I feel my heart pounding / and I like your words, this sight, and believe me / I’d do anything for you. According to this translation this was just an average love at first sight thing I guess? He’s not even calling back to her own words or acknowledging that he gets what she’s after? Good job, guys. It’s a pretty good translation in terms of the poetry and phrasing and all, but man do they drop the ball on conveying the correct narrative here. Overall I get the impression from the album cover and song choices that the people behind this Icelandic production thought the core of this story was supposed to be the romance between Eva and Juan? Which I truly don’t think is meant to be the point, at all.)

They go on to campaign and win despite that Perón thinks the whole concept of having to get votes to get into power is needlessly annoying (her radio rhetoric for him involves claiming that he loves you, understands you, is one of you; if not, how could he love me?). Eva becomes massively popular in her home country but doesn’t succeed quite as well on a European tour where the Italians compare her husband to Mussolini; they make a bunch of money ostensibly for charitable causes, some of which winds up back in their pockets through secret Swiss accounts (apparently this bit is historically dubious and that verse is cut from later versions of the show), all while Eva is venerated as a saint; but finally she starts to grow weak with cancer and then dies, her life deliriously flashing before her as she thinks about how in the end her choices were hers and hers alone, and she chose to burn bright and briefly, even if perhaps becoming loved by so many didn’t quite add up to being loved more. It ends with a statement that money was raised to build a monument to Evita, but only the base was ever completed, and her body disappeared for seventeen years. I guess the implication is that the monument was a scam to some degree too?

As a plot it’s a bit unfocused. There isn’t really a proper climax to the storyline here; “they make a bunch of questionable money, she goes on a tour that’s neither successful nor a total disaster, and then she happens to die a while later from cancer” is kind of an anticlimax, lacking any kind of cohesive overall punch that’d make it resonate by itself (and to be clear, that’s usually the case with real events, which is why fiction based on true stories tends to change bits around to make them work better narratively; I get the sense from Joseph and JCS as well that Webber and Rice like to stick very closely to the actual series of events they’re adapting even if presenting them liberally, but that can unfortunately be a bit of a detriment when they’re trying to adapt straight-up recent history instead of a myth). Instead, this musical is more about its themes and the general character study going on.

In particular, our narrator is not Eva herself but “Ché”, a man who may or may not have been modelled after Ché Guevara. For the purposes of the musical he is mainly there as a representative of the general Argentinian working class, telling the story after Eva’s death after becoming disillusioned with her and her husband’s reign. In a way he is Evita’s Judas: the cynical POV character observing the eponymous subject of the show from a critical point of view, who is given a chance to comment on them and their legacy with the benefit of hindsight. Unlike with Judas, though, Ché in the musical is speaking only from that perspective of hindsight, not actually present during the story’s events other than when he briefly reenacts attending Perón’s rallies at the time - mostly he’s an immaterial narrator giving sardonic commentary on the events of the show.

(On Wikipedia and Genius, there are both people insisting that on the original concept album he was definitely meant to be Ché Guevara but that element was removed later when it was staged, and also people insisting that he was never supposed to be Guevara originally until the director of the first stage production decided to dress him like Guevara. On the original concept album he has a whole weird unclear side-plot going on, concurrent with the main events of the show, about his efforts to produce and sell insecticide, which Wikipedia suggests is based on Guevara’s life. As best I can tell the point of this subplot for the album’s narrative is to portray Ché as motivated partly by personal spite/jealousy/misogyny in his criticisms of Eva - towards the end of the first half he gets excited about the prospect that surely if some girl can rise so fast by her efforts in the sack then a man who offers more could do the same, and at a later point, during the song “The Actress Hasn’t Learned the Lines (You’d Like to Hear)”, Eva coldly dismisses him when he tries to sell her on his insecticide, which makes the critique that Eva didn’t do much for the working man sound more like he’s just kind of mad about that. I guess in some sense that adds a layer of ambiguity to it, unreliable narrator and all, but it feels very muddled and mostly just serves to make him seem like a dickish weirdo, undermining his character and everything else he has to say; I’m not surprised this subplot got removed entirely in every version after that. There’s another little bit later on the concept album where Ché declares he used to be loyal to his country, but for all he got out of it he might as well have been loyal to some other country, which I guess is imagining that this spurned Ché Guevara into traveling and instigating revolutions in different countries, giving up on his birth country of Argentina. This seems like pure baseless historical speculation and again is just weird and muddled by the whole portrayal of the insecticide thing, and again got ditched from later versions.)

My favorite song here is probably “Waltz for Eva and Ché”, which I’d argue serves as the real climax of the musical, even though it isn’t even a literal thing that happens. (The aforementioned Icelandic cast album does not include it; in fact, there’s barely any Ché on it generally. Again, it feels like someone thought this was supposed to be a grand romance and this guy constantly criticizing the heroine in the background was just spoiling the mood, I guess.) In this fantasy sequence, Ché finally interacts directly with Eva, challenging her on her corruption and broken promises, while the unfazed Eva staunchly defends her actions and approach in her own pragmatic sort of way:

There is evil Ever around, fundamental System of government quite incidental So what are my chances of honest advances? I’d say low Better to win by admitting my sin Than to lose with a halo

[…]

Allow me to help you slink off to the sidelines And mark your adieu with three cheers But first tell me who'd be delighted If I said I'd take on the world's greatest problems From war to pollution, no hope of solution Even if I lived for one hundred years

As far as Eva is concerned, idealistically trying to work on big problems she’ll never magically solve doesn’t actually make anyone happy, so what’s the point? Ultimately, she doesn’t care about causes or governance or politics per se, really, but she cares a lot about being a figure that inspires the common people of Argentina. And sometimes that involves being as glamorous as possible, living the high life as a working-class girl turned first lady, and sometimes it involves charity work that’s very showy and feelgood even if it doesn’t exactly make the best use of the money, and that’s all kind of the same to her; there’s corruption and evil everywhere in every political system, but at least she made people smile to the point that they chant her name. What else is there, really?

In the final verse of “Waltz for Eva and Ché”, she admits for the first time that her body is falling apart, and she wishes she had more time. And in her final lament, where she speaks of how she thought the more that loved me, the more loved I’d be, she wishes she’d had children of her own. She does have some regrets, in the end. But while she lived she committed so hard to everything she did that she’d just suppress any such thoughts out of existence. And as a result she played the game so well she was possibly the most powerful person in her entire country by the age of twenty-six; who else could say that?

As a character she’s a bit of a puzzle, but definitely intentionally so - I get the sense most of this musical is just Tim Rice trying to figure out what might have been going on in this woman’s head. (And, yeah, this is obviously just an interpretation of a woman who was an actual person, and all my commentary on her is strictly about the character as portrayed in the musical, and not about the actual woman, about whom I know very little.) One is never quite sure how much she means of what she’s saying - a distinctive feature of her character is that she constantly says things with what sounds like total conviction and sincerity that we know are lies, or stretching the truth, or are connected lyrically and musically to times she was definitely lying or stretching the truth. You could definitely argue for an interpretation where she’s doing that in “Waltz for Eva and Ché” too - just unflinchingly saying whatever justifies her actions as if she believes it, even in an imaginary confrontation. But my read is it does seem that one way or another it comes to matter a great deal to her that the working-class people of Argentina love and adore her, in a way I’m not sure much else matters to her. She has some base craving for being loved, and even if in the end all the love and adoration of the masses can’t quite satisfy it, she was still driven to a large extent by that craving.

Class is a running theme here. Eva comes from the working class, as I mentioned, and her family were thrown out at her middle-class father’s funeral, as mentioned offhandedly near the beginning of the show (her mother was his mistress); from there, she seems to have developed a determination to show them, to be better and get further and be more known and adored than any of the people who dismissed her for her origins. She climbs the social ladder relentlessly, but continues to be scorned by Argentina’s upper class no matter what she does, simply because of where she comes from, and for all of the musical’s cynicism about Eva herself, that’s one thing that it definitely sides with her on. Similarly, the powerful woman getting where she is by sleeping her way to the top is kind of a misogynistic trope that I can’t help but side-eye a bit (I suspect it’s probably a pretty direct reflection of the apparently very merciless biography that the musical was supposedly based on, given what I mentioned earlier about the way they tend to stick quite closely to the events they’re adapting, but nonetheless), but at the same time the sexism and misogyny that Eva faces wherever she goes are also a recurring theme, both from the upper class, in Europe, and from the soldiers of the Argentine Army who think she should just shut up and spread her legs. Eva’s unrelenting defiance in the face of this adversity and refusal to bow to it, and continuing success despite that, is ultimately something I feel the story kind of admires in her, in spite of the many ways it’s harshly critical of her. She saw something she wanted, and she simply did whatever she had to do to get it in her not very advantageous situation as a woman in the 1940s, and successfully made it to the top that way despite being disparaged and scorned at every turn, without ever giving in.

So that’s the overall picture I get of her character here: the formative experience of being treated as lesser and unworthy at her own father’s funeral spurned this woman into obsessive unflinching determination to make it in the biggest way possible and earn the public’s love and adoration, at whatever cost, with very little regard to what she had to do or enable to get there, and while the deepest core of that drive may have ultimately been a longing for more personal love and acceptance, she channeled it into an incredibly successful drive to be loved by her people. For all its flaws and questionable elements I do think it’s an interesting character study, hence the rambling; I’m often drawn to characters whose actions might seem puzzling at a glance but have a coherent core driving them that makes the character click if you think about it, and while Eva doesn’t press my personal character buttons super hard otherwise, I think she’s definitely an example of that.

We watched the 1996 movie based on Evita, too. It leans away from the Ché Guevara thing, with Antonio Banderas portraying Ché as simply an everyman (he gets whumped a little bit, which was fun). The performances are good overall, and it’s more faithful than I was expecting; aside from lyrical tweaks and adding a song that’s incorporated into later stage productions as well, the main notable deviation is that “Another Suitcase in Another Hall”, a song originally sung by Perón’s mistress (a one-scene wonder), is moved earlier to be sung by Eva as Augustin Magaldi (the singer who brought her to Buenos Aires) ditches her, and is only briefly echoed later by the mistress. This is a significant shift because originally Magaldi is firmly meant to be someone Eva is simply using for her own ends and immediately ditches when she’s made it to Buenos Aires with him, while in the film it tries to make this a sympathetic moment for Eva, and thus implies she actually did naïvely love Magaldi and think they’d stay together - starkly different from her original characterization, where her proclamation that Would I have done what I did if I didn’t think, if I didn’t know, that we would stay together? is one of the establishing moments of that thing where she states things with total conviction that are shown to be not even a little bit true.

I can imagine three reasons for this change. One, they thought having another actress playing a bit character sing this famous solo song before never appearing again would just feel weird in a film, which is valid; it definitely does feel like a storytelling choice that happens in musicals but really goes against what anyone would expect in film. Two, they just wanted to give the more famous actress the song (Eva is played by Madonna). And/or three, they wanted Eva to be more sympathetic and Magaldi less so, which I can also understand, particularly given she is explicitly fifteen years old at the time and “musician who sleeps with a fifteen-year-old girl is the one being used and manipulated actually” is undeniably a bit hmm. But it kind of contradicts the rest of how it all plays out a bit - I didn’t really get the sense from the lead-up in the movie that she actually loved Magaldi or wanted anything from him other than the ticket to the city, and in general Eva is still just as ruthless! All in all, I sort of get the change, and it creates sort of a neat parallel where Eva inflicts the same humiliation on this other girl that she’d suffered herself back when she had nothing, but I’m not sure they entirely pulled it off in a way that makes sense.

I think the film also suffers from a sense that many shots are simply filling time as they want the music to play for exactly as many bars as originally written; the pacing feels glacial a lot of the time as a result. I wasn’t quite devoting my full attention to the Joseph movie so it’s hard to entirely have an idea of how it compares in that regard, but I feel like that one did this more successfully, with more energetic shots and staging.

I’ve come to feel increasingly that musicals are just quite hard to film well; Joseph really leans into being super stylized and framed as a sort of heightened version of a stage production, which is one way that I think can work pretty well, but it’s just a lot easier to get restless watching a film than actors on stage, and if you’ve got a song playing and cut to different shots while it’s happening, those shots really need to be interesting and hold the viewer’s attention, rather than just arbitrary filler. In something stylized along the lines of a stage production, you can sometimes get away with doing that with cool choreography and spectacle, but if you’re going for something more grounded and realistic, like Evita, you need to figure out how to make interesting, meaningful shots out of the moments where a song is having an instrumental interlude or repeating a verse or a chorus (assuming you don’t simply cut those bits out of the song), and that’s just a lot harder than saying it.

(Incidentally, we also watched the 2021 West Side Story film recently, and I think Spielberg absolutely nailed doing this in an overall realistically styled and toned film - it does feature people doing group dance choreography with perfect seriousness as if it’s a normal thing to do, but both there and in other songs it carefully makes sure the characters are always doing something, with a flowing character dynamic that maintains a sense that something is happening and keeps it from feeling like we’re filling space or waiting for the song to be done. Tricky thing to do, but absolutely possible!)

All in all, neither Joseph nor Evita are making it onto my favorite musicals list, but they’re interesting in their own very different ways, and I enjoyed diving into them and rambling a bit. Musical rambling, I have missed thee.

[glaucouscherubim]

Rewrite! Original/Twisted Fairytales AU

Note: This is meant to adapt original/oldest version of the fairytales behind TWST characters and make them into gore angst ridden writings.

Part 1 "Late night library."

This tags off the last chapters i wrote on my other acc.

unedited. There are no mentions of any of the TWST characters. others on my other acc.

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

A candle light can only illuminate a small area at once, but, a candle light is all there is needed to illuminate such a late night travel.

A hand searches through the dark library. The front doors to it locked shut. A bookcase turned open, revealing a tiny passageway of a one way in and out.

Fingers scraping on the spines in the books of G-T before finally stopping. “Ah.” The male mutters quietly as his hands stop on the spine of a book.

5000 facts on the human mind when placed in a white room. Written by Sulfur, Reynard.

He places the candle down as he takes the book.

The boy scoffs at the name. He opens the publication, reaching a point where the papers are stiff and solid. At the beginning of a chapter flawlessly named “Heart rate abnormalities.” is a perfect cut out of a whiskey flask, a very sweet drink held in it.

“Cardiac.” The boy reads the engraving on the bottle.

He places the book under his arm, opening the bottle with his finger and taking a quick sip. He sours at the taste, scowling lips puckering at the bitter taste. Despite being from there, he can never handle the taste of Grand Vertesimm liqueurs. Nonetheless, he takes a swig. Removing His long brown hair from his mouth in disgust, he hears someone clearing their throat.

The person steps into the candle light, an upperclassman, a dorm leader. A face very well known, hair shining like his smooth silk sleeping garments. The leader to the Venus dorm, Narcissus himself.

“Hermangildo.” The man spoke, his velvet voice, dripping in a rough monotone. “Wunderbar.” The long haired man spoke back. “Are you mocking me, saying my name, or sarcastically muttering something?” Narcissus rhetorically questions, “Why not? Let us say “all at once” .” Gildo spoke with equal monotone.

“Pass.” Narcissus holds out his well manicured hands, catching the bottle which other tosses to him. He takes a gulp, unlike the brunette, with ease and pats his lips with a sleeve. “Tell me, Gildo.” He lets the taste settle, “Your father is the psychologist at the school… how would he think of us drinking at this age?”

Gildo shrugs, “People will always be people.” he answers. “Do you have an interview tomorrow or something?”

“No.” Narcissus answers, “Marita is taking me to the woods tomorrow and I'm nervous.” His cheek flushes as he takes another sip, unknown by the bitter or by his plans.

“Slow down.” Gildo mutters, “You’re going to drink the whole thing… I can only replace it once a week….”

“I expect you to be in the dorms after we finish.” Narcissus changes the subject.

“Whatever you say, Wunderbar.” Gildo rolls his eyes.

They take turns sipping from the bottle, conversing slightly and quietly.

They place the empty bottle into the book. Placing everything where it needed to be. Bidding goodbye, they head down the halls to their dorms.

Hospital beds rush down their way. The nurses pushed the boys to the side.

Narcissus and Gildo watch in concern. “Head to bed.” Narcissus orders before walking to the cleaning club’s president, “What happened?”

He demanded an answer.