#so that your painfully literal sensibilities can get the point

[anaalnathrakhs]

letterboxd users SHOCKED, i tell you, to find out that a movie serves an example of what it criticizes without it being overthrown at the end with the power of Just Saying No

letterboxd users absolutely flabbergasted that a movie underlines its point about a toxic social norm with filmography, instead of having characters say they're gonna do a Toxic with their mouth

[lemonhemlock]

I saw a comment that really hit the nail on the head regarding a lot of the fandom in both ASOIAF/HOTD spaces. Basically, this comment said that a lot of Dany/Rhaenyra/Targ stans don't understand that targ women can both be oppressed and also oppressors. They literally view Westeros in this lens that the Worst Thing That Can Ever Happen to someone is misogyny, and yes GRRM's ahistorical levels of misogyny imbued in his work don't help here, and that nothing else can come close lol. They don't really get class dynamics, lesser nobles, etc. When you're the crown princess of the realm you have immense power, but also responsibility which, yes, includes not openly cuckolding your spouse and having obvious bastards you try to put into the succession lol. They very much think that every targ women could do whatever she wanted with her immensely privileged and pampered position as a royal and if anyone says anything, well, it's misogyny. It's a deeply unannounced, ahistorical way to look at this series.

Your comment in one of your other anons where you said 'are you really sexually liberated if you are causing pain to others in your vicinity' was funny to me because targ stans unironically would say 'yes.' They are stuck in this modern sensibility that romantic/sexual freedom is the number one civil liberty and anything a character does in pursuit of it is fine, even at the expense of others, and if anything bad happens as a result, well that's just the Patriarchy's fault. It's a fundamental difference in thinking that I don't think can ever be bridged because they are incapable of not projecting modern values. They truly believe that targ women can be privileged, pampered, politically and socially powerful, yet not be beholden to any of the traditions, duties, or responsibilities even with the most, like, basic decorum expected of royal and any calling out of this behavior is just misogyny lmao.

It's just so stupid lmao. Imagine if people had said that Queen Elizabeth II, one of the most rich, powerful, and privileged women in the world for literal decades was 'oppressed' because she couldn't have obvious affairs or take official mistresses or boytoys and have bastard children like her male forefathers did and blame that on misogyny lmao. It's literally the same thought process but these people cannot put two and two together if their lives depended on it.

^^^^ you did it, anon. you condensed targ stans to their essence 😅

some of them act as if being monarch should mean doing exactly what you want at all times and any kind of suggestion that immense privilege comes at the price of great responsibility automatically translates to misogyny. god forbid we put some restriction on "absolute power" and make it less absolute.

also in regards to sexual freedom and their inability to imagine a life without it. you live in the 21st century!! not only that you have recognised rights enshrined by law, but you also have modern medicine!! you have antibiotics, contraceptives, safe abortion, emergency services, surgeons, you can book an appointment with a doctor if you're feeling unwell etc. look me in the eye and tell me that if all of those were taken away overnight you'd continue to be your sexually liberated self and risk dying painfully of an STD in the name of love.

of course there are religious and sexist dimensions to restricting women's sexuality, there is no point in pretending otherwise, but who would really want their spouse to risk infecting them with whatnot in the name of sexual freedom? it's equally unhelpful in pretending there's not an aspect of public health in encouraging behaviours like chastity, monogamy and being faithful to your spouse.

again, this is not to say that it was all good and proper to be like that and what a time of pure morals we left behind in the olden days. it's to say that those times truly sucked for a lot of people, sometimes because of reasons they had no control over, and that they often had to choose between options that all sucked in some way

[proudfreakmetarusonikku]

Its your tumblr man. talk about nova if you want!

I don’t have the time to explain the entirety of the shadow the hedgehog arc but it’s eating my brain like. he and shadow are both created beings who feel aimless and confused but nova knows why he was created while shadow doesn't. and bc nova is metal sonic he knows shadow's past so he kind of ends up becoming a mentor to him bc he relates (though he’s a manipulative amoral shit so he is not upfront about anything, except that shadow is not a robot bc that gives him an excuse to kick him as hard as possible and then gloat about how if he were truly a robot he wouldn’t be able to feel the pain and therefore he’s inferior). neither of them know what morality is and they stumble through most of the haphazard plot points in one way or another trying to figure it out. he flat out just ditches shadow when black doom shows up for last story bc he fundamentally cares more about defeating sonic than literally everything else and if sonic is eaten alive he can’t do that so he saves his life. he accidentally ends up in a qpr with him bc sonic (not entirely incorrectly) assumes that “i will keep you safe until you have reached your full potential and i have mine, then i will prove my superiority and kill you and relish in it, but until then i feel satisfied in existing around you and i will continue on your legacy after i kill you” is essentially the closest thing he can get to a confession and being both very aroace and an adrenaline junkie sees “close friendship until one of us kills the other” as way more fun than, like, anything anyone sensible would consider a qpr. he adopts a chao. when he realises trans people exist he immediately goes “okay. i will beat everyone at every gender” and starts using any/all pronouns bc they should rightly belong to him. she goes to therapy.

06 isnt entirely planned but i do know how it ends (mephiles killing sonic was the exact best way to piss off nova and bc he is metal sonic's sonic oc rp character and he has all the power he has in heroes and more solaris fucking dies painfully. also they absorb his power which would be terrifying if they were still trying to conquer the world but instead they’re using their irl amino rp to cope with their issues marginally better) and unleashed onwards is mostly just a collection of ideas. the main plots still happen bc like, nova does like larping as a organic normal hedgehog but he fundamentally views the world through the lens of his ultimate showdown with sonic and proving his superiority being the only thing that matters and he Wants sonic to go through adversity to grow stronger as he also grows stronger by. mostly just pirating the dna of various gods honestly. but she also will Not tolerate anyone killing sonic but herself (and in general will Not tolerate anyone killing sonics friends or her father bc she considers them + sonic the only tolerable organics even if she considers everyone but sonic as inferior to herself) so. forces is fun. and also there’s a reason for the metal sonic illusion to be a thing (bc metal left the nest and is pretty apathetic to the whole “taking over the world” thing outside of it letting it commit grievous bodily harm)

there’s originally a much starker divide between nova (as metal sonics own deviantart recolour) and neo metal sonic as himself but by the time sonic and friends know who he is and don’t immediately reject him for that or the inherent fact he's got a very different and oftentimes confusing mindset and way of thinking than them he's very casual at slipping between the two and uses both names interchangeably. he generally prefers his organic disguise, bc he can go outside with it, but uses his original voice (which is monotone sonic with electronic distortion) and usually turns off the systems he made so he automatically moves and emotes in a more natural manner bc he finds emulating stuff like breathing or crying uncomfortable and disgusting even if he’s able to tolerate looking organic.

[collymore]

What God? Satan at least looks after his own!

By Stanley Collymore For the past several months now my body has quite disgustingly and crucially, unwarrantedly been subjected to and also likewise felt as though it's being essentially consistently, actually deliberately and decidedly, clearly exultantly as well, consciously maliciously in this significantly discernibly rather evident but thoroughly manifestly totally malevolent and similarly also effectively egregious manner evidently and so consciously, irksome ongoingly, simply painfully in this protracted, virulent activity obviously wilfully and comprehensively, fed so excruciatingly awfully a manifestly evil process was very deliberately so actually mean spiritedly and frankly with malice aforethought; distinctly inflicted on my person! I personally and quite honestly don't know why I've been so especially literally singled out in this way, as quite generally I'm essentially, not the very least bit, even consciously aware that I'm distinctively doing anything physically or morally wrong, or that the relative and important care of my body, that evidently has always been paramount to me and still is has at any point in time gone awry or crucially has even inadvertently rather remotely plainly gone to rack and ruins; quite obviously so to the contrary I can proudly say! And markedly therefore the only conclusion, which I can logically and effectively, quite sensibly and similarly too very intelligently arrive at, is undoubtedly this one! That who ever is currently and likewise supposedly effectively, universally in control of humanity and our essential welfare generally, as well as this discernibly vastly unexplored but undoubtedly literally enormous, universe that we're all of us basically solely, temporarily residing in, has either, this affirmed universal protector readily lost the fucking plot or has to all intents and purposes no idea what needs doing! (C) Stanley V. Collymore 26 January 2023. Author's Remarks: Logical analysis itself coupled with intellectual insight show clearly why obviously and sensibly God has effectively turned his back on humanity and in essence allowed Lucifer or Satan, if you prefer to call him by that name, a free run. Like the Dinosaurs, Homo sapiens has outlived their usefulness, limited over all as that has been, and likewise need to similarly become extinct; so what better way to expedite this process than to accord to Satan what he malevolently wants and then let him get on with it; starting specifically with the white Caucasian west, the bane of everything that’s decent, ethical and beneficial in life, and which if let alone without this white supposedly master race interference and intrusion could otherwise have significantly transformed this Planet Earth undoubtedly for the better! So, please, stop pussyfooting around Russia, China and North Korea and instead genuinely ignite the thermonuclear destruction which is really inevitable as you well know and ensure in the process of doing so that the fulcrum of your destruction is the evilly delusional, living in their state of crass denial that theirs is a post-racial Utopian world unlike any other, previously or now, and as such is uniquely called Britain. Really? Puts my aches and complaints in true perspective. And in which case one word readily comes to mind – Exterminate!

[thinking1bee]

When It Reigns Part 10

Requested by Anonymous

Pairings: Kara Danvers x Reader

Tags: Angst, Kryptonian!Reader, Parent!Reader, Parent!Kara, Estranged Parent, Graphic Depictions of Injuries, Blood, Humor, Bad Dreams, Memory Loss

Everything Taglist: @sammy90682 @nobody13 @owloftheshadows @captain-josslett @camslightstories @worldovart @finleyfray @acertainredhead @sammm9068 @reginassecretlover

“God, I remember everything,” you murmured as Lena stuck sensors to your forehead and chest.

“What do you remember?” she asked as she worked methodically.

“I remember visiting Elizabeth and finding out I’m an alien. I remember finding out that I was adopted. I vaguely remember being in the desert for something.”

You squinted as you tried to remember specifics, but nothing was coming back.

“I do remember a cave of sorts. It was some sort of large structure, but I don’t remember where it is or what it’s for.”

You were quiet as your thoughts consumed you. “I don’t remember my time as Reign. M-maybe it’s for the best.”

Lena nodded as she turned on several machines. She was quiet as she thought about what to say next.

“Y/n, I need to isolate and identify what exactly is causing the change. I know that pain and extreme stress triggers it, but I need to find the enzyme. What I have attached to your head are electrodes that are going to send electric shocks straight through your brain. If my hypothesis is correct, then it should trigger Reign.”

You stared directly at the ceiling, you mind surprisingly blank given what Lena said to you, but you were exhausted. The last several months had been wearing you down without you consciously realizing that they were, and now that you did, you could feel the weight of the stress and fatigue sit heavily on your shoulders.

“Is it going to hurt?” you asked numbly.

Lena cleared her throat as she fiddled nervously with her tablet. “I’ll be here with you every step of the way.”

“That isn’t want I asked,” you interjected. “Is it going to hurt?”

Lena sighed and nodded. “Yes.”

You closed your eyes as you took a deep, steadying breath. “Everyone will be safe. Safe away from me.”

“Angel is completely safe. She’s at-”

“Don’t!” you yelled, your fists clenched by your sides. “Don’t tell me where she is.”

Lena nodded. If you knew, then Reign would know. She could possibly do something to hurt her, and you wouldn’t forgive yourself if that happened.

“Are you ready?” she asked as she prepped the machine to the correct voltage. You nodded.

Lena steadied herself as she flipped a switch. You heard the hitch pitch whine of the electricity milliseconds before a bolt of it was zapped into your head. It hurt. The lightning hot, concentrated energy passed through you, ripping the sensitive tissues of your brain apart.

***

Kara hadn’t seen Reign in hours. She all but disappeared into thin air during their last fight. To make matters worse, she couldn’t get a hold of you. She saw the texts from Lena. Why was Angel with her? Where was her wife? What was going on???

The moment Kara landed at the DEO, she called you again, only to be disappointed when the call went straight to voicemail.

“Hey baby. This may be my third or fourth message in like 20 minutes, but please give me a call back. I’m worried.”

Kara sighed as she ended the call, her finger tapping her phone nervously as she thought about what to do.

“Kara? Is everything alright?” Alex asked her. She held a stack of paperwork in her arms and she happened to be walking by.

“No, I need to talk to you.”

She didn’t give Alex a chance to respond. Kara dragged her by the bicep and pulled her into the nearest room, closing the door behind them.

“Okay?” Alex said as she placed the papers down. “What’s going on?”

“Okay, I don’t know if I’m going crazy, but have you ever reached that point in your relationship when you know something is wrong? I mean the word itself is an understatement, but something is going on, Alex. I know it.”

“Yeah, sure, we’ve all been there.”

“No, Alex that isn’t what I mean. I mean like something is going on with Y/n,” Kara elaborated as her hands flailed wildly in the air. “I have no way to explain what’s going on, but I know it’s something.”

Alex looked at Kara, really looked at her. She had never seen her sister like this. She was exasperated and unless it was incredibly serious, she wouldn’t even bother talking to her about it at all. Alex knew that Kara would just handle it herself if it was an easy situation.

“What has she been doing?”

“She been disappearing at random times and wouldn’t remember where she’s gone or what she’s done. She’ll forget things that she’s either said to me or Angel. I know that she knows that something is up because I can hear her lying to me. She’s keeping something from me and lies about it even though she knows when I can tell when someone is lying. I don’t want to be insecure or anything or come across as a distrustful spouse but she’s making me nervous.”

Alex nodded. That was a lot but, in her experience, the most logical approach was the direct one.

“You might have to be direct on this one, Kara,” she said, and Alex watched as Kara blanched. Despite being a literal superhero, Kara was very soft spoken and hated confrontation of any kind. So, Alex sympathized with her, pulling her sister in for a hug.

“I know but if something is going on, address it. And if I were you, I would do it sooner rather than later.”

Kara nodded. Alex was right of course. She usually was but there was the slight issue of not knowing where you were. She would have to pay Lena a visit instead.

“Thanks Alex. You always know what to do.”

***

The moment Lena zapped your brain, you were transported somewhere else. It was like being violently thrusted out of body. Your soul was ripped from your chest, the act painful within itself. You lost all feeling and all sense of self, and by the time you could comprehend what was happening to you, you found yourself in a dark, foggy forest.

You sat up. The twigs and debris of the forest floor poked into your skin painfully. You could practically feel the mugginess of the atmosphere on your skin. Wherever you were, it was very real, and you knew that you weren’t alone. You could feel eyes on you, watching your every movement, honing in on your every breath. You heard a twig snap a little further away than where you were, and you were on your feet in an instant.

You were being cornered so you speak. You could tell that for every step back that you took, something was taking a step forward, closing you in. Would it be sensible to stay? Or would it be smarter to run knowing full well you didn’t have a place to run to? Whatever answer you would have come to, it wouldn’t have mattered. Reign appeared out of the darkness, super speeding to you and grabbing you by the neck to hoist you up. You choked on her steely grip, the terror rising inside of you as you saw the monster that wore your face. Reign looked at you at you could see the cold apathy in her eyes as she regarded you neutrally.

“You, human, are the only thing keeping me back. Eliminating you is the next step.”

You watched in horror as Reign’s eyes, your eyes, glowed red and all you could do was scream as you struggled in vain against her strength.

***

You woke up screaming, your scared cries echoing in the lab as Lena struggled to calm you down.

“Y/n! You’re okay!” you heard her say to you, but you shook your head rapidly.

“I can’t go back there! Lena, please don’t make me!”

Lena froze as she absorbed what you said. “You went somewhere?”

You nodded as you sat up. Sweat dribbled down your forehead and you swallowed air down by the mouthfuls as you tried to calm your racing heart.

“Where did you go?”

“To some forest. It was too dark to make out anything else, but she was there.”

“Reign?”

You nodded. “Please tell me you got what you needed.”

You were dismayed when Lena shook her head. “We need to go at it again.”

“I can’t go back there, Lena. I can’t.”

“I haven’t isolated the cause of the transformation. You went under and came out of it so fast. We have to try again.”

“You don’t have a Worldkiller scratching at the walls of your subconsciousness! It felt like I was dying, drowning! And she’s too strong. I can’t go back there!”

Lena stood by your side, and she took your hand. “Y/n, listen to me. You’ve seen what Reign is capable of. You’ve seen the damage. You’ve seen what she’s willing to do to accomplish her goals. If we don’t do this, there’s no telling what will happen, or who would survive her.”

You closed your eyes as you thought of Angel and Kara. They were all that you had, and you needed to protect them, even if you had to protect them from yourself. You were terrified of going back to face Reign, but you were terrified more of the thought that they would get hurt more because of your cowardice. That’s what solidified your resolve. All the world was important, yes, but they were your center. Kara and Angel were the two reasons for why you kept going. Without them, you would be no one. So, you took a deep breath and lied back down.

“Okay,” you whispered. Lena nodded.

“Okay.”

She stepped back and powered up the machine. “In 3, 2, and 1.”

You gasped when you felt an electric shock rip through you.

***

Kara had just stepped foot into L-Corp and found Lena in her personal lab when she stopped in her tracks. She knew all about the extra room and a long time ago, Lena had given her access to it in case Kara needed to find her.

Lena still didn’t know her secret identity as a superhero so before coming over, she changed into civilian clothing. It would raise questions if Kara showed up as Supergirl to thank her in person for taking care of her daughter, and that’s what she was here to do. Except her words of gratitude fell of her lips, and instead shock filled her body. She saw you, her wife, laying on a medical bed while Lena, her best friend, was standing by while your body shook for a second before going lax.

“What is going on??” Kara demanded as she stepped into the room.

Lena yelped before turning around, her eyes wide with surprise as she struggled to provide an explanation.

Part 11

[maxwell-grant]

OK, I know this will probably be painful, and I may be a bad mutual for asking but...would you be willing to identify what, in your opinion are the bottom five worst Shadow adaptations, and give a detailed breakdown of why they were so lousy?

Oh christ, okay. I don't think you're gonna get as much of a detailed breakdown for these compared to some of the others, because I take more issue with adaptations that do have good qualities but also big or deep problems to talk about.

For example, I can't include Garth Ennis's Shadow in this list because the comic has a lot of strong points to it, despite a deeply, deeply detestable take on The Shadow's character, where as the rest of the Dynamite run doesn't reach neither the lows or highs of his run. Likewise, Andy Helfer's run has a couple or a couple dozen moments every issue that make me want to tear something to shreds in frustration, but it's also at many points a really good comic with great art and some occasionally very inspired writing. Really, I'd just be repeating myself talking about what I hate in those.

But, fine, let's list some of the others.

I think I'm just gonna have to get the elephant in the room out of the way here, and address that I won't be including Si Spurrier's 2017 Dynamite mini in this list, and I think at least some of you might be angry it's not Number 1 by default. I'm doing this because I intend to one day really revisit it, think about it and it's reception and what it was trying to do, and talk about it on it's own, now that it's been 5 years and everyone has moved on and we can maybe talk about it without kneejerk hatred driving everyone nuts (your mileage may vary on how warranted it was).

I'm also not going to be talking about James Patterson's new novel, because I haven't read it. It seems to be considered a forgettable potboiler by mainstream critics and a resounding failure by everyone who likes the character whether they've read the book or not, and frankly I don't have it in me to learn what the fuzz was about anytime soon, I got my hands way too full as is.

And I won't be including the Batman x Shadow crossovers here, because again, they do have a lot of virtues that put them far ahead of some of the really worst Shadow media, and I've talked enough about how badly I think they mangled The Shadow, which is really the big problem I have with them (well, that and Tim Sale blatantly copying a Michael Kaluta cover, that was really shitty). I don't really hate them anymore, I just get tired and frustrated thinking about parts of them, I said my piece as is. Really, my frustration over this comic is what inspired me to start writing about The Shadow here, so I guess in a way I do owe it at least that much.

5: Archie Comics's Shadow

I think some of you might be wondering why this isn't ranked higher, but to be honest, I don't actually harbor any hatred towards this. I mean, I have to include it, but I find it kinda silly that some people even today actually care about the existence of this comic enough to hate it.

For fans back then? Oh yeah, obviously, but this dropped to such instantaneous backlash that it never really got to live past 6 issues. Really, everything wrong about it can be understood immediately from the covers, and I've actually read the comic in it's entirety to see if there was anything worth taking. I found only a couple of things of note but, no, this really is just a painfully mediocre superhero comic that happens to have a couple of Shadow names in it. If anything, it gets too much credit.

The actual contents of what it is are never going to justify it's reputation, but the existence of it and the disproportionate response to it is the funniest and most enduring legacy it could ever ask for. This whole comic is The Shadow's version of Spongebob's embarassing Christmas photo.

4: David Liss's The Shadow Now

This is another "The Shadow as an immortal in modern times" comic and I think you may have noticed the pattern with those by now. I may revisit this eventually and I do have some moments from it saved for reference, but overall: It sucks, and it doesn't even suck in a way that lets me talk much about it, it's a diet version of Chaykin's Shadow. If Archie's Shadow is a generic mediocre superhero comic wearing The Shadow's name, this is a generic crime story playing beats from movie. The Shadow is an asshole and not even a grandiose or sinister one, he just feels like a sleazy douche in a costume. The art is a 50/50 coin toss between appropriately moody and "Google images with a filter on them", I don't remember anything about the plot other than Khan had a bomb again and he had a daughter, and there were new versions of the agents and the Harry stand-in turned evil and Lamont shacked up with Margo's descendant which, uh, no. I don't really hate this but I really have nothing nice to say about this comic other than Colton Worley's art is nice sometimes. I can't really muster anything else to say here.

3: Invisible Avenger

ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ

ZZZZZZZZZZZZ

ZZZZZZZZZZ...

...uuh, wha-

Yeah, I remember nothing about this one other than it's painfully boring and nothing about it, nothing at all, works in the slightest and I drift off to sleep even now trying to give this a rewatch. To be honest pretty much every other Shadow serial not starred by Victor Jory sucks and I don't really have anything to say about them, this one is just the worst of the lot. I dearly wish there was a good Shadow tv series but, if it was going to be like this pilot? Good riddance.

2: Harlan Ellison's The New York Review of Bird

This isn't really a Shadow story as much as it's a Harlan Ellison story that happens to feature The Shadow, but man am I glad that Ellison's "Dragon Shadows" was canned, because holy shit what a goddamn nightmare Harlan Ellison writing The Shadow for real could have been, going purely by the one time he ever touched the character. New York Review of Bird is a purely farcical parody story that wears real, real thin even before "Uncle Kent" shows up, and we get to see in it what is by far the most detestable and irredeemable take on The Shadow ever put on print, and not even in a critique or deconstructive way or anything that could be remotely worth discussing.

I don't hold any particular affection for Harlan Ellison and his writing (despite liking some of it) and I've come to notice the major red flag that is finding someone who looks up to Harlan Ellison in any capacity as a person, and this story in particular really feels like Ellison aggressively trying to channel his jackass tendencies through every line, just him being nasty because he built a personal brand on being nasty. The only reason this isn't Number One is because it's a very short story that saw zero influence or reputation, and thus it only exists as a brief mention in The Shadow wiki, and a brief mention is all it really calls for.

1: Howard Chaykin's Blood & Judgment

I'm guessing most of you already knew this one was in the top spot before I started writing.

I would actually rather not write a big piece on Blood & Judgment, because I think (or at least I hope) it's influence on The Shadow has waned a lot over the years and I would prefer to draw it the least amount of attention possible, but if I HAVE to talk about this, I guess I'd rather just vomit this out of my circuits now instead of giving it it's own post.

I would prefer to use a less unpleasant image on my blog, but if I'm going to talk about this comic, there's no image to better convey it than this drawing of macho asshole Cranston holding a sexualized mannequin at gunpoint. By leaps and bounds, Blood & Judgment is the most misogynistic Shadow story I've ever read. It's ironic that Chaykin justified the rampant misogyny he gave The Shadow with the idea that this is just a man from the 30s would act like, when he admits in the same breath that he never even touched the stories, and he wrote a story more sexist and demeaning to it's female characters than anything, literally anything, written in the Shadow pulps. It's almost impressive even.

I'll paste some segments from Randy Raynaldo's review

In Flagg, he intended to present his own point of view on American society while keeping his work tongue in cheek and acessible. But this vision dimmed, and Flagg had become a vehicle by which Chaykin could play out fetishes and portray gratuitous and stylish violence.

In The Shadow, stripped of the political and social veneer which was supposed to make Flagg unique, Chaykin's sensibilities and excesses become disturbingly apparent. For all of his liberal posturing, Chaykin's work demonstrates zero difference from the same kind of mentality exploited and made popular by similarly violent popular culture icons like Dirty Harry and Death Wish.

More than half a dozen individuals are indiscriminately and violently murdered in the first issue. Although the victims are characters who played major roles in the myth of The Shadow, we feel little sympathy for them, even for those of us who knew these characters at the outset. Who dies is unimportant, it's how they die that is the fascination.

Chaykin uses sexual decadence as a means by which to establish villains, and undercuts this device by making the protagonists as promiscuous as the villains. For all of Chaykin's seemingly liberal leanings, he demonstrates very little sensitivity in his portrayal of women.

Because everything works on rules of three, this comic also follows the pattern with other works mentioned here, as this isn't Howard Chaykin writing The Shadow: it's The Shadow reimagined as a Howard Chaykin character. He looks and acts exactly like Reuben Flagg and the typical macho protagonist of Chaykin's other works, he's a cynical sleaze with an entirely new origin who half-assedly dons a garb to machine gun people, and I already wrote a separate piece on why the machineguns are kind of emblematic of everything wrong with this take.

I understand that Chaykin has, or used to have, a big following of sorts, and I've tried to wrap my head around this for years, but I genuinely still don't get why Shadow fans stomach this comic unless they happen to be Chaykin fans first and foremost, I really don't. Everything, fucking everything Shadow fans hate about modern depictions of the character can be traced right back to this. The parts that stuck and changed the character for the worse, like him being defined as an immortal, bloodthirsty warmonger who got all his skills and powers from a magic city in Tibet, or Lamont Cranston being a coward who fears and hates the Shadow, or his agents being expendable slaves, stuff that has been ingrained into the mythos through this and the Alec Baldwin movie and other comics, to the point that people now think of it as the norm, that it's the baseline of what The Shadow is, and I hate it, I genuinely fucking hate it,

I hate it so much that it's a big part of the reason why I created this blog and why I want so badly to get to write The Shadow, because I plainly couldn't stand not having ways to tell people that this is all wrong, that this is actively shooting down the character's odds for success, and that they are missing out on something really great, because the well has been tainted with garbage that won't go away and everytime I read the words Shambala in a Shadow comic, even an otherwise good or great one, I get just a wee bit cross.

The only semi-redeeming aspects I can think of for this comic is one or two cool moments, like when The Shadow hijacks a concert using his Devil's Whisper or when he tames dogs with a stare. Just breadcrumbs of "not garbage" amidst an ocean of anything but. I hate that talking about why I hate this comic in-length can almost feel like I'm still enticing people to check it out of curiosity, but if you wanna do that, fine, just know this: The worst part of Blood & Judgment, even if you don't care at all about what it did to The Shadow, is that it's boring.

It is a deeply boring comic. If you like Howard Chaykin to begin with, you'll probably like this okay (although even Chaykin fans told me that this is his weakest work and that even he seems to agree). If you don't, I plain don't see what you could get out of this.

The comic itself is just nothing. It's the comic book equivalent of a pre-schooler trying to get a reaction by swearing. It has nothing whatsoever other than half-assed attempts at shock value. The plot isn't there, the ideas are stale, the dialogue is needlessly oblique and comprised entirely of unfinished sentences, interrupted conversations and one-liners without build-up. The characters are all unlikable and uninteresting stooges with no personality, or joyless cartoons. There's no heart or emotion or logic, and it isn't even funny enough to succeed as just an outrageous exercise in 80s excess. There's nothing in here.

I get "why" it was popular enough at the time, a rising star creator penning a modern revival of an old character based on controversy that pissed off the old fans, it's an old story that still gets repeated today. But manufactured controversy is not a replacement for storytelling and it rarely ever exists to benefit the people who actually want to enjoy the stories, it only benefits those for the crude benefit of those who want to sell you something out of the controversy.

I guess they got their money's worth back then.

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

Phew, okay, I did it, I finally vomited out a piece on Blood & Judgment and some others, allright, let's put this piece of negativity behind us now.

[transsexualhamlet]

the problem with sherlock and watson (yuumori)

Feel free to ignore honestly this is a giant opinionated and not well informed ramble but yeah here it is for those of u that follow me for some reason, this is probably pretty controversial so yeah feel free to scroll past

also spoilers for anime onlys, we’re almost there though

So I’ve been Thinking about these two recently, and yeah, to be fair I’ve literally never read or watched any other adaption of sherlock, so I’m just speaking as to what I can tell, but yeah. I’m not sure at this point if it’s really a complaint or just an observation, but I do have some slightly confounded observations about how things are different from what I expected with them.

Mostly my Confounded Observation is just... Watson is straight?! I don’t mean in a literal way, he definitely has Bi Wife Energy TM but... you know, he’s comparatively straight.

Of course, I understand why the author might want to make sure watson doesn’t really get in the way of sherlock and liam (which is honestly hilarious but understandable) and for the purposes of the story it does make sense, but it’s... you know, again I haven’t consumed literally any other sherlock content so I wouldn’t know but from what I’ve heard watson’s always a flaming homosexual and well, it’s not like this series lacks for those, but?? 

It’s not just that he’s straight in the sense of his sexuality, it’s that... he’s a straight character in the sense that he’s like, normal? Kind of overly normal? I was kind of expecting more out of him, to be honest, and to see him just be like, a functional human being who seems to be doing totally fine in all ways? That... I don’t know, it’s kind of weird. Especially in contrast with Sherlock, who as everyone can tell is violently not doing just fine.

Since this part of the manga will be covered in the anime soon, I think this is timely, but I feel like this is just made painfully obvious when the shit goes down between him and sherlock.

Speaking on the nature of their relationship here, it’s weird. Because you know, the author is clearly going sherliam endgame (istg if they don’t just make it official i cant take this anymore) and I support that lmao, they’re like my favorite dynamic- but yeah, it’s obviously different from the other adaptions, where, you know, sherlock and john are ambiguously gay people.

Like, it’s honestly comical how in this series that is significantly gayer than every other one that watson is so clearly a Heterosexual Man honestly

But Sherlock still, clearly isn’t, and I think there is something to be said about how he feels about John, though of course in the end he... obviously chooses Liam. (and considering John’s kind of ass character in this version, he was right to do so)

I mean, just look at them.

We’ve got this obviously autistic obviously gay man who is violently codependent with this mild mannered british dude. Sherlock’s feelings for this guy are complex, and they’re clearly very different from the ones he has for Liam, but they’re certainly there. Sherlock clearly has no idea of romance, no idea of the boundaries between platonic and romantic relationships (and neither do I, but,,, yeah) and I think what Sherlock feels for Watson is like a queerplatonic relationship, but like.... not reciprocated?? 

It’s so weird for this to be the case, but it so clearly is? In the part where they explore that, it goes into how, like... Sherlock doesn’t really know how to function without Watson, dude’s holding up his entire mental health without even really doing anything, and Sherlock feels fucking awful when he is no longer Watson’s like, #1 person. The fact is, the same thing is going on with him, though they’ve existed like this for years it’s clearly not going to work anymore- Sherlock is basically having to choose between him and Liam, and you know what he’s gonna do. But it’s still an awful feeling for a bond that strong to break.

The thing about it really is that for Watson the tie was never that strong in the first place. Watson is so... without conflict in his character. And this is something that actually honestly bothers me. He’s so lawful good it’s infuriating. He’s steady, he’s calm, he’s rational and he’s emotionally mature, he can manage himself fine and care for everyone he needs to. He’s doing just fine even though Sherlock is caught up in this ridiculous murder drama, and that’s what makes the relationship so... I don’t know, off in this version.

Sherlock needs Watson, and Watson cares about Sherlock, but not nearly to the same extent, and he’s like. Not really doing it right? For someone who’s been with him for presumably years at this point, Watson doesn’t really feel like he knows Sherlock all that well. And that sucks that that’s the truth. 

In every other story with friendship/romance tropes like this, the characters have conflicts like this, but when one person thinks the other doesn’t care for them that way, they’re wrong. It’s like oh no, I’m a burden, I’m being clingy, he’s got a life to get back to and I don’t, I’m too much, he’s better than me etc... those are things Sherlock’s type of character tell themself, but the catch is that’s not actually the case, they’re just Mentally Ill. Having that just... be true in Sherlock’s case is kind of heartbreaking, as much as it’s clearly for the Sherliam agenda.

The problem is just that Watson here is just so lawful neurotypical that he just doesn’t really get Sherlock. He’s got this strict moral code, and he kind of makes it a problem to Sherlock. He says all the things that Sherlock would expect everyone to say, but it’s not what you’re supposed to say, you know? He’s all like murder is bad stop doing that I won’t be your friend if you shoot people we don’t do that >:(, be civil be nice stop putting yourself in danger Don’t Do Drugs etc etc. You know, of course that’s sensible information, but it’s... not what he needs to fucking hear? That’s like the school counselor going hey guys, just say no :D THAT DOESN’T WORK. And you’d think that Watson would get this by now? All it’s doing is hurting him more. It’s genuinely making me dislike Watson, and that’s not something I want to do.

I think it works for the purposes of this specific narrative, because they don’t want to create problems with Watson being left behind, they want to say that he’ll be fine on his own so that it will all work out fine. And yeah, of course I want that, I don’t want there to have to be conflict of sacrificing John’s emotions for Liam, but I feel like they didn’t have to sacrifice John’s character for him. 

This series could have a Watson who cares deeply about Sherlock and has some weaknesses and conflicting emotions about him without them being romantic. We haven’t seen how Watson dealt with Sherlock’s “death” yet, I don’t think, but... I don’t really like the thought that this Watson would honestly be fine. He’d be sad, he’d be mad, but he’d get over it and get on with his life and is objectively in a better situation without Sherlock. Yeah, I just... don’t like that.

I want to see a Watson who understands Sherlock. Isn’t that what he’s supposed to be? I want to see a Watson who cares for Sherlock so much that he has to make hard decisions, that he has to make the wrong decisions sometimes, that he has internal conflict because of it. I want a Watson who gets that Sherlock is nothing without him, who gets what’s going on with him and Liam, who’s trying to help him and keep him on track and maybe failing. I want a Watson who’s genuinely conflicted about leaving Sherlock for Mary because he knows it will hurt him, who worries about his ability to take care of everybody, who shows his problems from you know, being in a literal war, who wonders how to portray Sherlock in his books. We can have that without losing Sherliam, man. He doesn’t have to be Hideyoshi Nagachika (god, no one needs to go thru that shit), he just has to have at least a bit of emotion, bro. I want to see a Watson who’s struggling with what to do. Like. Even once. 

Instead we have this. This dude who is just... a nice, rather clueless guy who helps out sometimes and who’s just a bit too much of a rule follower to fit into a story like yuumori.

Sorry to just complain on main here I just think he was done a bit dirty here and it’s bothering me, if u have thoughts or info about other portrayals feel free to hmu i have become a bIT hyperfixated

[pagesoflauren]

Henry Cavill Vampire Anthology: Memories Bring Back Memories...

darkish!vampire!Napoleon Solo x reader

Warnings: not-fully-fleshed-out vampire lore, vampire-typical violence, angst, pseudo-blackmailing, mentions of trauma/parental neglect

A/N: So, played around with an idea and based it on this creepypasta. I had also read a fic with this idea with Harry Styles, but I can’t find it anymore. I hope y’all enjoy this 🤞🏽 

Your eyes sting when you first open them, the sight of the bright hospital lights making your pupils constrict painfully. 

You’re connected to various machines through tubes attached to your arms. You can hear the steady rhythm on the heart rate monitor grow increasingly faster as you fail to get your bearings. 

Somewhere in your subconscious you know you shouldn’t move so violently, but you do. Your arms thrash and tug at wires, causing the wheels on the machines to roll across the tile floor. 

Cool hands press against your hot skin. Your muscles move to cringe away from the shock until you look into the face of the person.

It’s a man; a beautiful stranger with blue eyes and perfect features. 

You must be dead. 

“Relax, darling,” he soothes you, the prosody of his voice a little sing-songy compared to others you’ve spoken to. You don’t know anyone who speaks the way he does.

“Who are you?” 

He looks so pained, his eyebrows coming together and moving upwards. His eyes drift down for a moment as he appears to collect his thoughts before meeting yours again. He runs his knuckles against your cheek. His touch is so unfamiliar that you lean away from it, though he acts as if he’s done this a million times before. 

“You’ll remember soon.” 

A lie, but you don’t need to know that. 

“I’ll get the nurse.” 

He reaches over to the space next to your head. The button clicks when he presses it and a white light above it turns on. 

He takes in the wild look in your eyes as you take in your surroundings, looking at spots behind him before scanning the rest of the room. Your breathing slows, as shown by your chest slowing but also by the audible sound of your lungs shrinking as your ribs close around them. 

He finds such beauty in the way your body moves in sync, how your heartbeat also loses speed. Your body temperature goes down, some of your warmth disappearing from him. 

You’re quite perfect, aren’t you?

Though, he made you this way. 

You foolishly let your guard down while walking home and unfortunately crossed paths with him on the verge of a literal mental breakdown.

Mortals use that term to describe when they’re under excessive amounts of stress and lose all sensibility. 

His kind uses it when their minds follow their bodies: dead. When their brains lose their mental vigor, they turn to humans to fulfill their needs. 

Most people don’t survive an attack from those like him. They are drained of their very essence. Everything that made them who they are, the experiences that shaped their beliefs, the emotions that arise when they navigate the world… is all stolen away in a few moments with a bite at the back of the neck. 

Others, like you, come out in better shape. A little disoriented, more recent memories lost but still many intact ones. Enough to allow you to still function, only less effectively than before. 

You were an easy target. Napoleon was ready to empty your little head and leave you a slump on the street. But your memories intrigued him. 

Your mother. Your father. A second man he can assume is a step-father. An empty road at night illuminated by passing headlights. Dingy living in the city you’re currently in, riddled with rats and flies. Tables filled with food while your stomach grumbled, seedy customers that grabbed your retracting hands, shady characters you pass on the way back home from work. 

Napoleon knows that life. On the run in strange cities, sneaking around, avoiding an entire task force created especially for him. He knows women. He’s certain he’s met every single type of them in the long time he’s been alive and has been around long enough to have met each type twice.

There’s one type of woman he actively tries to avoid, though. The type of woman that led to his heart shattered on the floor when it was still beating: the ones who need him; the helpless kind. 

That’s exactly what you were. It was clear there were things you were ready to forget. You needed a clean slate. He could help you rebuild your mental health, give you beautiful memories to hold on to. 

You needed him. 

The nurses were saying you had a case of memory loss from when you fell and hit your head, but your boyfriend was there to take care of you. He had all the paperwork filled out because he was the one that took you to the hospital three days ago. 

You were knocked out for three days. 

It overwhelmed you, but they reassured you he was your emergency contact. 

As such, after all the tests and brain scans, you were given into his care. His embrace felt foreign, but you didn’t protest when he insisted you take his hand as you walked to his car together. 

You twiddled your thumbs as he drove through a city you swore you have never seen before. You have an overwhelming sense of deja vu, something that rings a faint bell when you see a certain street corner or the unlit neon sign of a restaurant. It sounds when you pass a dilapidated apartment building with chipping paint and a rusty fire escape. You can conjure an image of what a unit inside would look like, hear the creaks of the floor, or the failing stovetop as you try to boil water. 

His house is out of the city, on a quiet street straight out of a magazine. The inside is neat and it almost puts you off. You don’t feel at home here. 

“How are you feeling, darling? You need a rest?” 

“I think so. I-I don’t remember anything, it’s a lot to be in here.” 

A gentle hand lays on your shoulder, turning you to a corridor. “Last door on the right. I’ll make you some tea.” 

Tea? Do you like tea? You can’t remember…

You’re startled by the light tap on your bottom that makes you stumble forward. When you look back at him, he’s heading towards the kitchen. 

The bedroom is fairly simple, with blue checkered covers you could expect from a man your boyfriend’s age. 

Taking a look around, you find your makeup on a vanity by the window. There are two sets of drawers and you assume the one next to the vanity is yours. 

Sirens are going off in your head now. There are no bells of recollection. 

You go into the bathroom, sliding the glass door of the shower cubicle open. 

It was the nicest shower you had ever seen, with a dark blue backsplash and five different showerheads. On the floor, you find products that are far out of your budget. They were the luxury items you saw in the drugstore that you would only hope to afford one day. 

You pick up the bottle of shampoo. It’s heavier than you expect, brand new. 

“Darling?” his voice calls into the bedroom. You hear the teacup rattle on a saucer as his footsteps draw closer. “Ah, there you are.” 

You put the bottle down and turn to face him. His large frame fills the doorframe as he leans against it, the cup and saucer looking so delicate in his large hand. 

“Why can’t I remember anything?” It comes out as a whine, but you can’t hold in your frustration. Surely, you’d have some memory of this. 

“You fell pretty hard, darling. I was very distressed,” he explains, placing your drink on the counter next to the sink. 

“But I really don’t remember anything. This house, the bedroom, the shower...I don’t even remember you…or what I called you.” 

“Napoleon,” he supplies. “You always called me by my first name.” 

You didn’t know his name until now. All the other women he’s known called him by other names, aliases. His name is reserved for his mother.

And now you. 

“It’s so much, Napoleon.” He sees panic return to your eyes. It’s the same look you had when he grabbed you on the street. You clutched at the arm that constricted around your neck, breathing weak utterances of “please” over and over again. 

“Maybe...maybe I could go somewhere, just for a few days. And if I rest, just, outside of here, I’ll have a clear mind and can remember…”

He looks down and sighs. He pushes off the doorframe and takes short, careful steps toward you. 

“Darling, I hate to tell you this,” he begins, tucking your hair behind your ears. His palms cradle your jaw, tilting your head back so you can look up at him. “But your memories won’t come back.” 

You blink rapidly in disbelief, shaking your head as much as you can. “But...but the nurses said--”

“The nurses don’t know what they were talking about,” he says gently.

You say nothing, staring into his beautiful face, searching for answers. 

“You won’t get your memories back because I have them.” 

“What does that mean?”

“Does your neck hurt?” 

Icy fingers touch the back of your neck, a jolt of pain shooting down your spine and your knees buckle. You clutch at his shirt to keep yourself standing. 

“Ah, it does.” He smiles, prominent pointed teeth glinting in the bathroom light. “Because that’s where I bit you. And I have all your memories, darling. Apart from the few that are still bouncing around that pretty head of yours.” 

You push him away as best you can, which isn’t very much, and back away. The glass door rattles as you come in contact with it, trying to create more space between your bodies. 

“You...you can’t be--that can’t be true. That’s impossible.” 

A bite on your neck? Something you’ll never get back? 

Vampires feed on blood, not memories…

“You came to this city to escape your broken family. Your father abandoned you. Your step-father didn’t care for you. Your mother was so blinded by love to see how you were neglected.”

The bells again. Bells are better than sirens, but not this time. 

“No.” You refuse to listen. 

“I’m here to keep you safe. You need someone to keep you safe. And you need someone to rebuild that little memory of yours.” 

The gears click in your head. You have happy memories of you and your mom. No man was there. He could be lying. 

But how could you know with certainty?

“How do I know you’re telling me the truth?” 

“I don’t know, darling,” he says, stepping towards you again. He leans down, pressing his nose to yours in an Eskimo kiss. “Guess you’ll just have to stick around and find out.” 

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[ichor-and-symbiosis]

Rooftop. (Reader x Aizawa x Shirakumo; NSFW)

Shouta is a creature of habit, and habit dictates that he must head out onto the rooftop of his fledgling agency to clear his head. 

It is by no means a scenic view. None of you could afford a nicer location right out of high school. Only by the grace of your fighting prowess throughout the academy days, Oboro’s talent for charming anything that moves, and Shouta’s maturity led to a secured loan and a steady stream of assignments. Yamada and Kayama were delegated to interior design duties on account of being … too much to handle. 

Still, this is home for now. A home he is proud of, despite the hand-me-down zebra print furniture and leaky ceilings. 

Shouta looks up at the sky and huffs a quiet laugh. So much changes beneath that sky, and so much more is yet to come. 

“Wha’cha doing out here by yourself?” 

He keeps his hands steady on the railing as he continues to survey the cityscape. Oboro flattens himself right up against Shouta’s back without a hint of modesty and wraps his arms around him. 

“Just thinking.” 

Oboro peers over his shoulder, brows lifting in curiosity when he spots Shouta’s easygoing smile. “Must be something good to make that perpetual frown disappear.” Shouta throws him a peeved look and glances away, spurring Oboro to reach up and tuck his disheveled black hair behind his ear. “C’mon, let me see that cute smile again!” 

The contact makes Shouta stiffen, and the lingering caress of Oboro’s fingertips confirm his suspicions. “I came here to relax, not to get harassed by your wandering hands.” 

A rumbling laugh reverberates behind him. Oboro leans in close, his breath tickling Shouta’s ear as he murmurs teasingly, “Don’t you always feel relaxed after I’m done with you?” 

“ ... “ 

He is not blushing. He is not blushing, and he refuses to give Oboro the satisfaction of a response. Not that it does him any good. Oboro’s grip around his waist is resolute, and the instant Shouta feels the subtle graze of teeth on his earlobe, he nearly loses the strength in his legs. 

But that does not stop him from digging his fingers into Oboro’s forearm in warning. “We’re on the roof,” he hisses.

“Mhm.” 

He opens his mouth to retort, only for his breath to hitch when Oboro presses a soft kiss beneath his ear. “S - someone could - “ Another kiss near his jaw, followed by the warm flick of his tongue. “ - what if someone sees us?”  

“Kiss me and I might stop,” Oboro murmurs against his skin, and the sensation alone is enough to give him goosebumps. 

“Oh, like I don’t know you - “ Shouta’s words die out as Oboro’s lips discover a sweet spot on his neck. Arms tighten in time with a deliberately wet kiss, and Shouta just barely catches the strangled cry that threatens to escape. 

It feels really damn nice. Oboro knows how to make him squirm, sucking softly and soothing the drag of his teeth with his hot tongue. Shouta curses his panting breath, stares out into the invisible audience hidden in the cityscape, and doesn’t know how the hell to react to Oboro’s hand questing down his side. That hand is going somewhere, and Shouta is mortified by his body’s betrayal - frozen in place while Oboro has his way with him, sucking a dark bruise on his neck. 

The sound of the rooftop door swinging open makes Shouta tear himself away from Oboro with newfound strength. He leaves his lover hanging - quite literally, arms still in the air as Oboro looks on in confusion - and instantly barrels into you like a lifeline. 

Finally, someone relatively sensible. Your hold on him is far more tender and platonic, and your smile is pure innocence. He hugs you close to him and looks over his shoulder to glare at Oboro’s approaching form.

“Oboro, are you teasing this poor man again?” you ask with mock sternness, reaching up to card your fingers through Shouta’s hair and guiding him to rest his forehead on your shoulder. 

“It’s not my fault! He wouldn’t even give me a single kiss,” Oboro grouses with a hint of smile in his voice. Shouta stiffens when he is enveloped in another embrace from behind.

Sandwiched. He lifts his head and glances at you, realization creeping in as your wide doe eyes take on an edge of sultriness. 

“Shoutaaa,” you sing his name. “Does that mean I can’t have a kiss either?” 

He stammers, unable to resist glancing at your plump lips. A gentle pressure to the nape of his neck, and Shouta is drawn to your questing mouth with ease. To your credit, you have some finesse and class to your kisses. Perhaps that is why he finds you so irresistible, even when you are being a tease. 

You lightly graze your teeth along his bottom lip and go in for the kill. He hums against your mouth as you glide your tongue over his, sweetly sucking and nipping wherever you please. It’s so easy to lose himself in your wet kisses, especially when you run your hands through his hair and down his neck to settle on his chest, and repeat your idle wandering as you moan. 

He almost forgets himself. He almost forgets the feeling of something hard and hot pressing up against his ass through clothing, and he almost forgets the fact that Oboro has his hands on Shouta’s hips, sneaking them up under his shirt and gripping him tighter. 

Oboro kisses his neck while you steal his little gasp, and there is no way he can avoid the hickies now. So he does what any sensible man would do, putting his hands to good use while he succumbs to the incessant ravishing by his lovers. If Oboro can direct Shouta’s hips to subtly grind back against him, then he can squeeze your ass and palm your breast until your stiff peak pokes through your shirt in search of his touch. 

The harsh drag of Oboro’s teeth in time with a wet suctioning kiss makes Shouta bite your lip. You smile against his mouth as Oboro palms the tent in his pants, one hand still on his hip to guide his movements. Shouta feels like he’s burning inside out. A purposeful squeeze around his throbbing cock makes him roll his hips, and Oboro groans as he presses himself closer up against Shouta’s ass. 

“Feels so good,” Oboro murmurs, lips moving over the shell of Shouta’s ear. “Keep grinding up on me, babe.” 

He rubs his thumb over the outline of Shouta’s cockhead, and you end your kiss with a wet pop to watch his flushed, desperate face contorted in pleasure. 

“You like that, Shouta?” you coo at him, stroking his hair away from his face so tenderly. Oboro’s fingers creep beneath the waistband of his pants and slip inside. “Too stubborn for a kiss, but so ready to have your cock played with?”

Shouta releases a broken whimper as Oboro finally grasps his cock. You smirk and hook your thumbs into his pants to pull them down enough for Oboro to fist him properly. This firm, calloused grip is so different from yours - Oboro’s palm was large enough to cup the underside of his cock and wrap his long fingers around him with ease. And he knew just how to touch Shouta, all the right ways to spread the precum beading on his cockhead and stroke his painfully hard erection with just enough speed and pressure. 

It is embarrassing how quickly Oboro can send him spiralling rapidly into an impending orgasm. He’s already pathetically clawing his blunt nails along your upper arms as his head falls back to rest in the crook of Oboro’s shoulder, panting and writhing into each purposeful pump along his cock. Your lips creep up along his exposed neck, light and simple, past the saliva-slickened lovebites etched into his skin, and ending their journey on Oboro’s eager mouth. 

Shouta would be lying if he said he didn’t find the sound of you making out with Oboro to be immensely hot. Warm, desperate breaths brush along the side of his face. The wet dance of your tongues as your lips suck on each other, Oboro’s deep moans as you fist his hair and Shouta feels his balls tighten, his cock throbbing and pulsing as he is fisted quicker and quicker - 

“I’m gonna come - “ he gasps, and - 

You drop to your knees in an instant, almost like you read his mind, like you knew he would worry about cleanliness even in the middle of having a mindblowing orgasm.

Oboro guides his leaking cockhead onto your tongue, and Shouta has to look down, he needs to see you kneeling obediently in front of him as you stare up at him with that sly little smile. Your tongue undulates beneath him, and as Oboro twists his grip in a circular motion and you wrap your wet, reddened lips around him, Shouta comes with a rumbling low moan as spurts of cum hit the back of your throat. 

He is nothing more than a tightly wound coil. You bob your head until your lips come into contact with Oboro’s fingers, sucking his cock deeper down your mouth as Oboro slowly pumps him. Shouta shivers when you swallow his cum and run your tongue over his cock to clean him properly. Oboro chastely kisses Shouta’s shoulder as he releases his cock and pets your head. You nuzzle into the tender touch for a moment before getting back onto your feet, licking your lips as you survey the sorry state of affairs that is Shouta. 

Oboro is practically holding him up at this point. Shouta can’t feel his legs. He’s leaning so heavily onto Oboro’s chest, and he can’t deny how nice it feels to have two sets of hands lightly stroking him and tucking him back into his pants. 

“You two are going to be the death of me,” he rasps after he catches his breath.

You chuckle with Oboro. “You’re the one who left us hanging,” you murmured, and Oboro pressed his erection against him for emphasis. “Didn’t even wait for us.” 

“Shouta’s so greedy, ain’t he, kitten?” 

“And he still hasn’t kissed you!” 

Shouta sighs in exasperation, yet his smile is undeniably fond as he turns his head and grasps the side of Oboro’s face to press their lips together. The angle is a little awkward, but it pales in comparison to how deep and sound the kiss is. Oboro barely lets him breathe as he wraps his arms tightly around his waist and eagerly allows Shouta’s tongue inside. When Shouta breaks the kiss, Oboro is already leaning in for more. 

But Shouta feels sweaty and unbelievably embarrassed, now that his senses have returned to him. A blowjob on the roof of his workplace is … something he needs to compartmentalize, lest he find himself unable to look Yamada and Kayama in the eye ever again. 

He worms himself out of the greedy hold you both have on him. “If you’re both so adamant for company, then you can entertain yourselves,” he firmly states on his way towards the door.

“Boo!” 

“We’re gonna fuck so loudly that you’ll be coming back,” you call out, and Shouta throws a flushed glare over his shoulder. Oboro already has his hands shoved down the back of your outfit to cup your ass. Of course. “You’ll come running up here to yell at us, and then you’ll be sorry, baby!” 

Shouta rushes through the door and slams it shut behind him, his heart beating a million miles a minute as he resists the urge to hunt down his capture weapon and restrain you horny maniacs. 

So much more is yet to come indeed, he wryly thinks to himself. 

[dramaticviolincrescendo]

A Fitting Finale: Bringing Ian Full-Circle

Is everyone sick of my essays yet? Excellent. Here’s another anyway!

I’ve been trying to put my finger on what it is about Ian’s story in s11 that I love so much. It’s clear that he’s struggling on a number of levels, and he’s certainly spent the first third of the season under so much stress that it’s impacted his moods and marriage. In 11x04, we began to see hints of the tension breaking, and it made me realize that there’s a common trend in Ian’s behavior throughout the series coming to a head in his final act. It’s part of what has him so passionately advocating for Mickey to get a legal job, communicating their need to hammer out the specifics of what their marriage means, and upset at his own employment status.

From start to finish, Ian has been driven by two important motivators: love and fear.

Ian’s deep sense of love and compassion for others is well documented. We know that he will do anything for his family. I’ve mentioned before that Ian is at his best when he’s with them and his worst when he’s not. They’re his support system, and he’s a key part of theirs. They look after each other and rely on one another when the chips are down. They’re all grown up now, Liam being the exception, but those bonds are strong. They’ve matured and branched out to include Mickey, Tami, Franny, and Freddie. Ian’s heart belongs to his family, and he’s given as much of himself as he can to the people he’s been with over the years in whatever capacity they’ve needed him to.

Ian has also always been a fearful character, though not in the manner we typically visualize. He’s strong and motivated, ambitious and sensible, clever and insightful. When he decides that he wants something, he goes for it, from a South Side thug hovering in his orbit to pursuing the highest military accolades despite his small beginnings. Over and over again, we’ve seen him leap into serious and often strange situations in order to achieve his ends or something for the people he cares about. This man stole a water heater from a dead person’s house with his brother and tried to help his best friend hide a body. Certainly, he doesn’t fit the traditional stereotype. He’s not a coward.

But Ian is terrified—of everything:

·        Not amounting to anything

·        Not being worthy of love

·        Being the center of attention

·        Fading into the background and being forgotten

·        Not being able to help other people or those he loves

·        Not having a path

·        Not being in control of himself

·        Not being enough

He’s never said it. He’s never discussed these issues, except perhaps not having control. That isn’t who he is. That’s never been his way. Maybe we should add fear of communicating too, or fear of being seen as weak.

In s1, Ian makes a lot of brave choices. He comes out to three people, two of them family members, knowing how that is viewed in their neighborhood. When Mickey is after him, Ian takes the battle to his doorstep. He turns his back on an arguably easier life in a nice, middle-class neighborhood and a home with a father who would provide for him to live in the constant struggle to which he has grown accustomed. On the surface, he’s one put together kid. But then there’s Kash. There’s this man who preys on him, a middle child so responsible (and so male) that no one thinks he’d fall into any sort of trap—and Ian is desperate to keep him. He fights Lip over it and so painfully tries to make him understand his perspective, that he’s spending money he should probably be using for things he needs to buy Kash music and baseball tickets, to make him like what Ian does so that they can build their so-called relationship. That Kash is married with kids is unimportant to him; that he’s exploiting Ian’s fear of loneliness and not finding love outside his siblings, unthinkable. We know it. Lip sees it, powerless as he feels to do anything about it. Ian can’t. To date, he never will. He’s blinded by a culture that doesn’t believe such things can happen to males, and until Mickey comes along as a viable outlet for his affections and source of the ones he needs, he’s too afraid to be cautious.

Throughout s2 and s3, Ian makes difficult decisions. They’re not always smart, but it takes great strength to commit to the choices he makes: allowing Monica into his life, voicing even an ounce of his feelings to Mickey, pursuing West Point, and running away. All of them, however, are driven by love and fear alike. He’s vulnerable and needs his mother, the one who slaps Frank for shoving him and listens when he feels alone. She assuages his fears by telling him what he needs to hear: that he can do and be anything. We know there’s a danger in that, especially when she takes him to enlist when he’s nowhere near old enough, but it’s still validating for him. It feeds that need for attention but not too much attention, for understanding but not coddling, for love that originates from someone who isn’t his siblings. We see similar trends emerge: fear of losing Mickey on multiple occasions, fear that he’ll forever be in Lip’s shadow when he receives a letter of recommendation instead of Ian, and fear of never having Mickey’s full affections spiraling into fear of facing his own emotions in the aftermath of the wedding. We’ve seen that Ian runs from what he can’t process. He runs from what he can’t handle. He runs when he’s scared, especially of himself.

It continues repeatedly throughout the series. In s4, Ian is afraid of going backwards and once again losing his position in Mickey’s life. In s5, he’s afraid of being a burden on everyone around him, changing them, and losing control of his own mind. In s6, he’s afraid that this is it: his path and his goals have come to nothing, and he’s doomed to fall into the shadows where no one will ever see or love him. In s7, that fear of himself re-emerges when a patient is hurt on his watch and he has to come to terms with the fact that being better doesn’t mean he’s “cured.” In s8, he’s afraid of the void where Monica and Mickey used to be, and it sends him spiraling into a deeper one he doesn’t fear until it’s too late. In s9, he fears a lack of guidance, an indecisiveness born of having been able to rely on his hallucinations to tell him what to do. His path is gone, and he has no options. And that’s terrifying. Then Mickey is there, and he can put some of his fears to rest until they resurge with the idea of marriage in s10. All of a sudden, he’s back where he was in s5, fearing himself but also what he’ll do to someone he loves.

In s11, we’re seeing an Ian far more like he was in earlier seasons: rigidly devoted to having a plan, knowing what’s coming next, and ticking off certain boxes on the list of things you’re “supposed to do” as a married adult male. He’s spent a lot of this season seeking value in his employment and position in their marriage, and the stress has been dragging him down—quickly.

And it’s no wonder: he has every reason to be scared right now.

The thing about prison is that it is what’s known as a total institution. It is removed from society and, as such, operates under its own social beliefs, values, and norms. Like the military, another total institution, prison involves an initial period of sloughing off roles and identities from the greater society and subsequently being resocialized into a new role set. Upon release, a person undergoes the same process in reverse, and there’s an adjustment period to reintegrate into normal society. We can see that process begin when Ian gets in the car with Lip and shudders a bit, unsettled at the prospect of being outside these walls for the first time in months—going home far earlier than anticipated. For many people, it’s a difficult transformation, especially once they realize the full extent of how your life changes as an ex-convict in the U.S.

Ian doesn’t really get to adjust. From s8 to the start of s11, he undergoes a whirlwind of emotion and change. He literally loses touch with reality, starts a cult, commits a felony, is on the run from law enforcement, allows himself to be captured with one final display, goes to jail, remains unmedicated until he’s bailed out, panics at what his movement became, feels alone in the house as everyone deals with their own business and leaves him to his own devices, seeks guidance from above only to realize it wasn’t what he thought it was, can’t find answers, has warring factions telling him how to plead in court, ostensibly takes a plea deal that requires some amount of time behind bars, goes to prison, finds the love of his life there waiting for him, has to let his sister go, is released without Mickey, gets repeatedly screwed over by a corrupt PO, gets engaged, breaks up (sort of), gets engaged again, sees his wedding venue burned down, gets married, and hurtles straight into a pandemic. That’s… That’s a lot. Being a newlywed in a pandemic is a lot without all the rest of it, but this is what Ian is dealing with going into s11, and he hasn’t had the benefit of a stable readjustment and reintegration period.

He’s drowning.

He’s scared.

He has every reason to be. Marriage is scary, especially if you are so young and so in love with the person you’re marrying. Employment is scary, especially for them, because it could mean the difference between paying the utilities and running out of water. Change in general is scary, especially when it hasn’t done you any favors before.

Add all that to what Ian’s behavior has indicated that he’s been afraid of since the start, and you have a recipe for disaster.

To a great extent, that’s what I think his arc is all about this season: learning how to live again. It’s about not being so afraid of himself that he desperately grasps for any stereotypical structure for married life that he can. It’s about regaining the confidence that has always left him clawing his way to the top instead of letting life beat him down. It’s about finding the happy medium where he and Mickey aren’t doing anything illegal but aren’t stuck in a valueless spiral, scrambling and struggling to pay the bills like when they were kids.

It’s about learning not to be so afraid anymore, and I think that’s a beautiful goodbye for a beautiful character.

[talpup]

Summary: Yami Sukehiro just wanted to join the Magic Knights and make his mentor proud.  He knew there would be trails.  He knew trouble would come his way.  Knew he would be faced with discrimination for being a foreigner and a peasant.  What he didn’t know.  Didn’t expect.  Was that literal Chaos would come his way.  That he and his mentor’s sister would be at the center of world ending trouble.  Or that he would fall in love with his mentor’s sister and face more than discrimination; but the jealously of Nozel Silva who loved the same woman he did.

Please remember this fic is rated mature and has warnings of violence, abuse, sexual tension, sexual behavior, and other possible triggers. For a full list of story tags please check the fics AO3 (link to that at the top of my tumblrs homepage).

***Unlike most chapters which are segmented into a days events, this one is a continuation of the same day as the previous chapter.

Chapter 99

Yami and Teris had spent the evening out at the Saber Wolf pens.  It had meant missing supper but neither had minded.  With the way Yami had been this last month or so, it was clear he needed space to breath.  And with events having Jax bar Yami from going out riding, cuddling after sharing what happened during each others morning had been the least and best Teris could offer.

In truth, Teris had needed the breather too.  Her reluctance to leave the space and return to the rest of the world and its never ending troubles leading her to tarry longer than she normally would have.  Yami hadn’t been happy about the reminder of this evenings meeting.  But his hope that Jax would finally tell them whatever it was he had been hiding for the past few weeks kept him from putting up much of a fight when Teris said they should head in.

Jax was coming up from the back hall when Yami and Teris entered the house.  “There you two are.  I was getting ready to send someone out to search for you.”  His eyes narrowed.  “You didn’t go out riding did you?”

“No.” Yami glowered.

Teris sighed heavily.  There went any release of tension their evening together had brought.

Jax huffed at Yami’s growling tone.  “I see you’re still in a temper.”

“Yami!” Bran dashed down the stairs.  Seeing Jax, he straightened and gave him a nod.  “Captain.”  Clearing his throat, he turned back to Yami.  “I need to talk with you.”

“It’ll have to wait, Bran.  I have a meeting with my Vice Captain's.”  Jax turned, expecting Yami and Teris to follow.

“It can’t wait!  It’s important.”  Bran blurted.

Jax turned back, brow raised.  Bran wasn’t the type to challenge.

Looking up at Yami, Bran told.  “It—it has to do with that thing we talked about at my family's farm on Vanessa’s birthday.”

Yami rubbed the back of his neck, muttering a curse.

“What’s he talking about?”  Teris asked Yami.

“You know what this meeting is for.  Is this really that important?” Jax asked, subtlety reminding Yami of the people waiting in his office.

“Yeah.” Yami told the Captain.  He looked down at Bran.  “It better be.”

“Fine. Teris.  With me.”  Jax pointed at Yami.  “My office, quick as you can.”

Yami gave Jax a nod.

Teris hesitated by Yami’s side.

Hand brushing down her arm, Yami tilted his head toward Jax, encouraging Teris to follow the Captain.  “I’ll be there in a bit.”

99.1.2

“Where’s Yami?”  Greywright asked when Jax entered with only Teris.

“Had something important to deal with.  He’ll be here shortly.”  Jax closed the office door.

“Well in that case.  If I may, I’d like to start by discussing the meeting I had with Teris this afternoon at Magic Investigations.” Marx said, not wanting to spend the evening repeating themselves to catch Yami up.  He looked at Teris.  “I am correct in figuring you already told Yami about that, yes?”

Sinking into a hard-backed chair, Teris nodded.

“You had a meeting with one of my Vice Captain's?”  Jax turned from Marx to Teris.  “Why didn’t I know of this?”

Teris opened her mouth to explain; but Marx spoke up first, telling Jax, Greywright, and Julius about the small painting Magic Investigations had unearth in the ruins of Yurist’s lab.  Marx stopped at the point where he had asked Teris to look at the portrait and ask the History of Chaos about it.

Julius turned to his sister.  “You had never thought to ask the History of Chaos about its author before?”

At his incredulous tone, Teris became defensive.  “It’s called the History of Chaos!  How was I to know it had any information about Yurist himself?”

“Because most authors put some kind of note or forward in their work.” Julius shot back.

“Enough.” Greywright ordered.

Caught between annoyed and humored, Jax complained.  “You two are such siblings.”

“I said, enough.”  Greywright rumbled.  He glanced at Julius, thinking the same as Jax and cursed the way of things.  Even if everything worked out to its best possible outcome, Julius and Teris would still face hardship and heartache.

A Wizard King gave up all family ties to serve the kingdom and its people.  On paper it sounded sensible.  It kept the Wizard King, and therefore the Magic Knights from focusing on the welfare of certain citizens.  Cutting ties and taking on a new last name also meant enemies couldn’t exploit a familial weakness, since there wasn’t any.  But in reality, many Magic Knights still focused on the welfare of certain citizens.  And while enemies might not be able to fully exploit a familial weakness; becoming Wizard King, cutting ties and changing your family name didn’t erase the love and experiences one had before those ties were cut.

Sighing, Greywright focused on Teris.  “What did the page of Chaos say when faced with this portrait Magic Investigations found?”

“It’d be easier if I just showed you.”  Teris unclasped the case that hung at the back of her waist and called forth her grimoire.  The tome landed in her hand, falling open to the page of Chaos.

Julius didn’t even try to tamp down his curiosity.  Getting to his feet, he moved to stand behind his sister eagerly looking over her shoulder.

“Who is this?”  Teris asked the page, thinking of the man and pregnant woman she had seen in the portrait.

“There’s a mental link?”  Jax uttered, unnerved.

“What’s that?”  Marx asked, turning to him.

“Since when could she think something and have the page pull an image from her head?”  Jax asked, wondering why no one else seemed distressed by this.

Marx blinked, eyes going wide at the disturbing realization.  He censured himself for missing such a thing when just this morning he had asked Teris if all Nova’s were guilty of ignoring the painfully obvious.

Too mesmerized by what looked like ink billowing on the page of Chaos, Julius didn’t even hear them.  The swirling dark liquid coalesced into letters, words, and finally full sentences.  He reached without thought, needing to get a better look at the magical sight.

Teris gladly let her brother take the spell-book, having read the answering message twice.  Once with Marx and then when she had shown Yami.

“My son is death.”  Julius read.  He looked up at Jax and Greywright, and clarified.  “Lower case ‘d’.”

Jax exhaled, relieved at the distinction.

Eyes lowering, Julius continued reading.  “He killed my beloved Celeste who died bringing him into this world.  A world dimmed of light and full of darkness now that she’s gone.”

“Little ‘l’ and ‘d’?”  Jax asked.

Julius nodded and went on.  “If I had seen it, I would have stopped it. Found some way to save my sweet, beautiful beloved.  What good is a Prophecy Mage who cannot see what will effect him most?  But the more connected I am to a happening, the harder it is for me to see.  I left my newborn son with a governess and threw myself into my work.  Years must’ve passed for he is now grown.  I didn’t even know Erin had left for the Spade Kingdom until this portrait had arrived.  He looks happy.  He and his bride, heavy with their child.  He and Mir—“ Julius faltered, looking up at the others, “Mira Spade.”

The Azure Deers Captain looked at Marx.  “Not the Mira Spade?”

“The time frame fits.  Though we have no images of her.  So even if we had a proper date, we wouldn’t be able to say for certain.”  Marx answered.

“Why? Who’s Mira Spade?”  Jax asked.

“The daughter of some long past Spade Kingdom King.”  Greywright said. “There’s not much we really know of her.  But the little we do has fed into some fantastical tales.  It was said she married a foreigner who took her name as a show of fealty to his new home and family.  Story says she was cursed for the marriage, and began to wither soon after becoming pregnant.  She supposedly didn’t last till term.  Weakening and dying.  It’s said the babe was cut out of her.  And despite being only seven months, that the child lived. That every nursemaid that came on to care for the child began to wither and weaken just like Mira had; all the while the child continued to get stronger.”

They all stared at the Magic Knights Commander.

“What? I know things too.”  Greywright said.

“Hear the story from Sabine?”  Julius teased, mentioning the Knights Commander’s ex who had once been an Investigations Mage.

Greywright colored slightly at being caught.  “It was a favorite tale of hers.”

“And tale is all it is.  For there is little we actually know about Mira Spade.”  Marx said.

“Well I guess you now know she married Yurist’s son.  Bet you and your fellows in Investigations will have a field day with that.”  Jax said.

Marx had to admit that confirmation of such a long held question many had wondered over would be a rather large deal in Magic Investigations. That was if he wrote up a report detailing the discovery.  “There will be no field days for Magic Investigations yet, Captain.  The meeting I had with Teris was off book for a reason.”

Greywright nodded, glad he wouldn’t have to tell Marx to keep quiet.  “He’s right.  So long as Ellara is running Magic Investigations, nothing about Yami, Teris, or what we learn about the Agents of Chaos can be reported over there.  That includes anything involving the History of Chaos, Yurist, or any of his other works.”  He looked at Julius. “What else does the page say?”

Teris shook her head even as Julius answered.  “That’s it.”

“But what does it even have to do with Yami, Teris, or the Agents of Chaos?  Other than that Yami and Teris have the History of Chaos and Yurist wrote it and had a son who married some Spade Kingdom Princess who died before their child was born?”  Jax asked.

Marx opened his mouth to answer.  But before he could speak, a knocked sounded.  Yami entered with Bran in tow.

Jax shot to his feet.  “What’s going on?”

“That important matter was even more important than I thought.”  Yami said, closing the door behind Bran.  Sighing, he told them of the task he gave Bran the day of Vanessa’s party.

Jax stared in disbelief.  “You ordered him to spy on members of his own squad?  My squad!”

“Asked.” Yami corrected.

Jax scoffed, anger bubbling.  “As if he’d tell you no, even if you weren’t his Vice Captain.  In case you haven’t noticed, Yami, the boy looks up to you.”

“In case you haven’t noticed, the kid’s grown up.”  Yami snapped back.  “Yeah, he’s a bit creepy with the way he looks up to me. But I made it clear this wasn’t an order but a personal and dangerous ask that could land him in trouble if caught.”

Bran colored slightly, embarrassed at being called creepy and being discussed so openly.

Jax shook his head, still upset.

“If he didn’t have the backbone to tell me no, I wouldn’t have asked.”  Yami said.

Though nervous, Bran took a step forward.  “I did it cause I wanted to help.”

Jax ignored Bran.  “What did you tell him?  Did you tell him about Ellara?  Yami.  What were you thinking!”

“I was thinking that we have an unwitting spy and a creepy ass bastard, who knows more than he’s saying, living under this roof and it would be nice to know what they were up to when they thought no one was watching.”  Yami said, his own anger rising.

“He has a point.”  Greywright said.  “While I trust that you, Yami, and Teris are careful about what you say around Olsen; this is one area we can be pro-active about.  None of us want to think Olsen is being used to spy but what if Ellara used him to plant something?”

Jax frowned.  “Plant what?”

Greywright shrugged.  “I don’t know.  That’s the point.  None of us know. Bran’s ability to listen in was invaluable during the Nine Day War. It would be a waste not to make use of him.”

Bran ducked his head, tinting at the praise.

“Make use of him against my own people?”  Jax challenged.  Before Greywright could speak, he sighed and turned to Bran.  “What did you overhear?”

Bran quickly told how he had been riding a Jay following Iban through the forest when Ellara appeared, and had then explained how he jumped into several bees to listen in.

Jax was barely able to keep silent and let Bran finish.  As soon as he was done, the Black Bulls Captain exclaimed.  “She’s married to him!”

Disturbing as that was.  As troubled as Teris was hearing Bran tell of the deal Iban had with Alowishus, the entire thing sounding as if the Blood Mage use to have some personal and not just ancestral connection to the Agents of Chaos; she was more concerned about Yami.

Settling down Jax a glanced at Julius, Greywright, and Marx.  Naturally, he had told them about Iban and the binding vow Alowishus forced Iban into.  Jax had been disappointed when Julius and Marx confirmed that such a binding blood vow couldn’t be broken without suffering the ill effects stipulated when the vow was made; but somewhat reassured that Iban hadn’t lied about it.

The Black Bulls Captain looked at Yami.  “Well I suppose that explains your temper.  Good to know, I guess.”

Teris didn’t see anything good about any of this.  The Darkness within Yami was affecting his temperament, and according to what Bran overheard would consume him if left to grow.

“What do they mean, ’more desirous of Teris’?” Julius questioned, protective brotherly instinct simmering to the surface.

Mildly chagrined, Yami rubbed the back of neck, avoiding his mentor’s gaze.  “Yeah.  I’ve been struggling a bit.  Feeling pent up and angry.  But the force inside me isn’t going to consume me.  I’m handling it.”  He shot Jax a brooding look.  “Though it’d help if Teris and I could go riding on our wolves.”

Jax’s eyes narrowed.

Yami looked at Teris asking the question he had wanted to ask but hadn’t because he didn’t want to worry her.  “Did you have the same problem in the year leading up to the Solstice?”

“Yeah, but not--”

Teris was cut off by Julius.  “If the ritual the Agents of Chaos did on the Summer Solstice released the building force inside Teris.  What happens to Yami when we stop them from doing the same to him for the Winter Solstice?”

Teris’ eyes widened, darting from Julius and back to Yami.

“Let’s table that disturbing thought and come back around to it.” Greywright said.  “Everyone take a seat.”

Jax sat back down, while Julius handed Teris back her grimoire and returned to his place on the sofa.  Yami pulled a hard-backed chair next to Teris’ and sat down beside her.

Bran looked about nervously.  He hadn’t been invited to this meeting. He hadn’t even known the Magic Knights Commander, Captain Julius, and a top ranking Investigations Mage had been in here.  Yami had merely brought him in to relay what he had overheard while riding the bees.

“Take a seat, Bran.  You’re a part of this now.”  Greywright said.

Even though the Commander outranked his Captain, Bran looked to Jax for confirmation.

Jax nodded.

Bran looked at Yami.  This clearly surrounded him and Teris.  If either Vice Captain told him to leave--

“Sit!” Yami barked.

Bran nearly sat on the floor in his rush to comply.  He managed to back up a step and sit on a chest near the door.

“There’s that temper again.”  Jax chastised.

“No. That’s just Yami.”  Julius said, hiding his humor in his sympathy for Bran.

Greywright rubbed his forehead and sighed, thinking he was surrounded by a bunch of children.  “Julius, even though Marx was the one to discover it, Shadow was once a Captain of your squad.  So why don’t you tell Teris.”

Instead of telling, Julius picked up a fabric bound book from the coffee table and handed it to his sister.

“What is it?”  Teris asked, taking the book.

“It’s the last journal of Captain Shadow Banashe.”  Julius saw the change in Teris’ expression, and gave her a reproving look.  “I see you recognize the name.”

“She made no mention of Captain Shadow’s name in her report or debriefing of the geyser labyrinth.”  Jax said of Teris.

“I got it from you.”  Teris said, looking at Marx.

Eyebrows knitting together, Marx opened his mouth to refute ever telling her such a thing.

“Well not you directly.”  Teris went on.  “There were several files left open on the table during my debriefing that day.  I didn’t see her last name but I saw the first, and that she had been a Captain of the Azure Deers.”

Julius’ expression darkened, disapproval growing.

Marx bristled at the violating breach of classified files.  Julius never would've done such a thing.  Well, Marx amended in his head, Julius’ obsessive curiosity most definitely would’ve seen him do such a thing; but he never would’ve admitted to it without any sign of guilt or shame the way Teris just had.

Jax ran a hand over his face, both exasperated and impressed by his Vice Captain.

Thinking she would make one hell of a Magic Knights Commander one day, Greywright fought a smirk hoping Sir Jorah truly could find a way to keep Teris from being banished for her refusal to wed Nozel.

“Did you see anything else?”  Greywright asked.

“Nothing of use or that I’ve been able to piece together to make sense of.” Teris frowned, annoyed with herself.  Shadow had been the Clover Kingdoms last light magic user before her.  The mummified corpse had called herself the Light Bringer and Harbinger of Darkness.  She looked down at the long dead Captain's journal, the cover frayed and faded.  “When did you find this thing?”

“The day before Flic turned himself over to your comrades.”  Marx said.

Teris’ frown deepened.  She had held so much hope that Commander Greywright would learn something about the Agents of Chaos’ plans or whereabouts from Flic; but it seemed that even when something was dropped right in their lap, nothing of sizable use came from it.  It was frustrating.  They were always one step behind Alowishus and his followers.  No.  That was far too generous; they were no where near that close.  They were barely working on the same playing field.

“That was seven days ago.  You all keeping stuff from us again?”  Yami asked, eyes on Jax.

Jax stared back.  Even though he had listened to Commander Greywright and Julius despite his own wanting to tell Yami and Teris about the leather bound journal he found four weeks ago, he wasn’t about to be shamed by his Vice Captain for it.

“It wasn’t like we had much of a chance.  What with Nozel and Fuegoleon turning up missing the morning after Flic turned himself in.  You and Teris being taken later that evening.  Flic becoming gravely ill two days after you returned, and then him dying yesterday.”  Julius said, in defense of himself and his friend.  He glanced at Bran disturbed that what the young man overheard between Ellara and Iban all but confirmed his and Marx’s theory on how Flic was killed.  A part of him wanted to find Iban and force the man to tell everything he knew no matter how insignificant, and no matter the cost to the Blood Mages family.

“Julius only informed me about the late Captain's journal two days ago.  Marx telling him that same morning.”  Greywright said, thinking that they needed to come up with a better way to communicate.  But even communication crystals could be tapped into.  And according to what Yami had seen the morning of the Summer Solstice, the Agents of Chaos had hundreds of members.  Without knowing what type of magic those members had...

“A quarter of the journal is blank.”  Marx said.

“I’m guessing it’s more than just empty pages of an unfinished journal from a life cut short.”  Teris said, not seeing any other reason Marx would point out such a thing.

Marx nodded.  “While the blank pages are at the end and likely would have been thought of as empty, there are two sentences and a signature three pages later.”

“Three blank pages and then more writing?”  Teris looked between Marx and Julius figuring that even with everything going on they would've tried something to reveal what, if anything was written.

“You were able to sense what no one else did in the geyser labyrinth.  As if the remains of Captain Shadow had been calling to you.”  Julius said, disturbed and intrigued.

Teris darkened at the memory.  “She used me.”

Julius’ eyebrows furrowed in confusion.  “Used you?”

Teris picked at the threads of the frayed journal.  “She used me to get to Yami.  She called herself the Harbinger of Darkness.  Said she called to me to fulfill her destiny.  A destiny that was clearly to bring out the Darkness in Yami.”

Julius sighed.  “I can see how you might think that, but--”

“There’s no other way to think of it.  It’s what she did!”  Teris stormed.

Yami grabbed Teris’ hand and got to his feet, pulling her up with him. “Excuse us a moment.”

Jax and Julius blinked as Yami opened the office door, stepped out with Teris, and closed it behind.

“Well,” Greywright sighed, sitting back, “anyone want to relay to Bran the importance of keeping quiet about all this while we wait?”

Jax, Julius, and Marx turned to Bran.

Not knowing what to do, Bran smiled and waved.  Knowing that was the wrong thing to do but unable to stop, his other hand grabbed his waving hand and pulled it down.

An embarrassed blush tinted Bran’s cheeks.  “Sorry.  I’m just really nervous.”

99.1.3

Yami turned to Teris as soon as the door closed.  “You’re not some transformation mage pretending to be Teris, are you?”

“What?” Teris’ eyes furrowed.  “Yami, this is serious.”

“I know.  So why are you afraid to look at that thing?  It’s not like you.”

Teris bristled.  “You heard why.  She--”

“Whatever happened, happened cause I needed to get to you.”  Yami said, cutting her off.  He looked at her remembering the fear and anger he felt when she disappeared behind the rock wall.  He shook the memory away, telling himself as well as her.  “We’re not in some labyrinth where you can be locked away from me.”

“No we’re not.”  Teris agreed.  “We’re standing here after having just heard that the force inside you is growing so fast and strong that it might consume you.  That even the crazies who want to see that force grow are concerned.”

“Weren’t you listening?  I said I was handling it.”

“Yami. I’m worried.  I love you.”

Yami’s fingers clasped behind Teris’ neck, palms cupping her face in both hands.  His forehead pressed against hers, steel grey eyes staring into her dark bottomless ones.  “I love you too, Ikigai.” His nose bumped hers, breath fanning her face. “It’s why you have no reason to worry.  I’d never lose to anything, least of all some force inside me, so long as I have you.”

Head shaking in his hands, Teris opened her mouth.  Yami silenced her with a kiss.  It was meant to be a brief, reassuring kiss; but as soon as his lips touched hers his desire for her ignited like a broken jar of Wild Fire.

One hand dropped from her face, arm wrapping tightly around her waist. Yami pulled her close, leaning over her.  The words Bran overheard Iban tell Ellara replayed in his mind.  “The Darkness is already bleeding out and effecting him.  He has been more volatile.  Angrier than usually.  Possibly even more desirous of Teris and the Light that is inside her.”   That last sentence echoed as he kissed her.  “Possibly even more desirous of Teris and the Light that is inside her.”

Yami didn’t think anything could make him more desirous of Teris.  He certainly didn’t like the idea of anything effecting him that way. But as the kiss grew ever more heated, he thought he understood what Iban meant.  It had nothing to do with desire.  At least not his usual loving desire.  This desire was darker.  Consuming and unquenchable.  It wasn’t for Teris herself, but for what Teris was. What Teris could be.  A light and warmth that could fill a dark cold, bottomless hunger.

Yami pulled away leaving them both breathless.  “Read the damn pages.  I know you want to.”

Teris stared up at him.

Yami quirked a brow.  “Aren’t you the least bit curious?”

“Yeah. But…  The last time I gave into my curiosity where Captain Shadow was concerned bad things happened.”

Yami’s lips brushed hers as he spoke.  “You have no clue what you mean to me If you think some long dead woman could take me away from you.”

99.2

“A letter from Lady Ellara.”  Calen said, entering his Master’s office.

Alowishus frowned.  He wasn’t expecting anything from her.  Given the suspicions of Captain's Julius and Jax, coupled with the traitor Flic surrendering himself to the Magic Knights, Alowishus hadn’t imagined he would hear from Ellara for more than six months. Something had to have happened.

Alowishus opened the missive.  It was a brief message, straight to the point.  Typical of her communications.  But what wasn’t was that it didn’t bear her usual endearment at the end.  Curious.

Setting down the letter, Alowishus told Calen almost proudly.  “The Darkness in Yami is growing.”

“Already? Isn’t it far too soon?”  Calen asked.

Alowishus thought back to his latest dealing with Yami and Teris, three days ago. He supposed his eagerness and following anger over the Future of Chaos had something to do with his having missed the signs.  Still, that was hardly an excuse.  He was better than that. He had spent too much time and had too much riding on his plans to become sloppy and not notice every little thing.

“How do we tamp the force down?”  Calen asked.

“Tamp it down!  We will do no such thing.”  Alowishus said.

“But--”

“Yami is not the real concern here, his fix is an easy one.  What we need to worry about is Teris.  At this rate she will not survive the Ritual of Darkness.  If she doesn’t grow stronger, the Darkness within Yami will kill her and the Light inside her with it.”

“What are we going to do?”  Calen asked, worried for their hopes for the new existence.

“We will deal with Yami.  Contact King Morris.  I think it’s time I made good on my promise to let the Diamond Kingdom have Teris.”

  99.3

Back in Jax’s office, Teris took up Captain Shadow’s journal.  She hesitated, eyes lifting to Yami.

Yami gave her an encouraging nod.

Taking in a fortifying breath, Teris opened the journal to the marked page. Her eyebrows furrowed, wondering if the page marker had been put in the wrong place.  The pages weren’t blank.  Sure, that’s what Julius and Marx had been hoping for.  That as a light magic user like Shadow, she would be able to read the blank pages.  But surely it couldn’t be this easy.  Could it?

Teris began to read aloud, half expecting them to stop her and say that wasn’t the spot.  Only they never did.

“I was a fool.  I fell in love with him.  Everard Spade.”

Jax straightened in his seat.

Yami saw the looks the Knights Commander, two Captain's, and Marx shared. Was this about whatever secret Jax was keeping that the Captain had been going to tell him about before Greywright called in about Flic dying?

“But how could I not?” Teris continued reading.  “He was handsome and kind.  Powerful and strong.  More powerful than I could have ever imagined.  But we will get to that.  There was always something about him.  A melancholy.  Even when he smiled, it never fully reached his eyes.  He told of his mother's death.  And I thought that was why.  Who wouldn’t be forever marked by sadness when your own father said you caused your mothers death?  It broke my heart for him.  Opened me up to him.  Which I learned too late is what he had wanted.  He didn’t need to lie to gain my care and sympathy. His truth is that sad and broken.  He truly is a wounded, tormented soul. But the way he used that truth.  Sprinkled in just enough without telling the whole horrid tale…

I thought I was going to spend my life with him.  Little did I know.  It was my life he wanted.  The betrayal happened on the Summer Solstice.  He came to my base before dawn.  I thought it romantic.  Thought he couldn’t wait for our picnic that afternoon to see me.  He was ravenous.  Insatiable. The two of us making love as the sun rose on the longest day of the year.  Little did I know he was feeding on more than my lips.  He left me in bed weak.  Nearly dead and drained of mana.  My Vice Captain found me.  I was unconscious for days.  Stuck in Healer’s Hall for two weeks.  Confused. Heartbroken.  He had used me.  It was months later that I realized just much he had used me.  Had any of it been real?  I don’t know.  He never said.  Doubt I would have believed him if he had.

He was the Master of a group that called themselves the Agents of Chaos. The group apparently went back several hundred years.  Several say they were started by Yurist’s son.  Others that Yurist himself began the group.  All I know is that they were a group of zealots obsessed with ending it all to bring about some knew reality.  And that they were being led by the man I once loved and thought had loved me in return.

Everard Spade stole my heart to steal most of my mana.  Did he know I would survive?  Did he even care?  Was our accidental meeting even an accident?  Over the course our continued battles I would learn that Everard left nothing to chance.  Our meeting had been no accident.  Our love affair fully planned.  The man was patient.  Obsessed. While he might not have known I would survive having nearly all my mana taken the morning of that Summer Solstice, he had to have had a good idea that I would.  For his plans for me were far from over.

I don’t know how, but he began to enter my dreams.  Showing and telling me such haunting things that I wish I could have forgotten upon waking. One of the things he continually told me about were the primordial forces and the rise of Chaos.  That there would one day be a light magic user who was inhabited by a portion of Light; and a dark magic user inhabited by a portion of Darkness. That together their magic could end not just the world but existence itself. As time passed I came to dream of this Light and Darkness; but never when Everard visited me in my dreams which always happened on the night of the New Moon and the two nights before it.

It was during those dreams of Light and Darkness that I came to realize my destiny.  I am the Harbinger of Darkness.  I will call the Light and see the Darkness show itself, announcing the rise and growth of Darkness.  I don’t understand it or know why; but I am certain my fate as the Harbinger will be locked in place this day. Which is why I am writing to you, my fellow light magic user. Because those dreams have also told that I am the Light Bringer. I am the light magic user that comes before you, the one who is inhabited by a portion of Light.  It is to you that I write this warning.

Everard Spade is ancient and strong.  Older than any person has a right to be.  It is little wonder that he has gone mad.  Seeking out knowledge and making plans that will let him finally, truly, have the peace and rest he so desperately desires. But how does one kill Death?  Mana knows I have tried.  Tried to give him the death he wants and justly deserves. In the years following that Summer Solstice he has haunted and tormented my every step.  And I have tried and failed to rid the world of him and give him the eternal sleep he wants. I thought I had finally succeeded. That you and this dark magic user would be spared of his plans.  The world safe from his aims.  But I fear I was wrong. Though small and faint, I feel his presence once more. I fear I only succeeded in killing the body.  A body I know no soul could still reside in.  I saw that body burn to ash. I incinerated it with my magic.  But somehow the life force that had been within that body is growing and among us once more. Whether because of a curse.  A spell gone wrong.  Or a cruel twist of fate.  The man that calls himself Death lives on.”

Comments are VERY MUCH appreciated and really make my day.  Thank you to those who have left hearts.  And a special THANK YOU to those who have recently commented or re-blogged. It really means a lot.

Next chapter snippet:

Julius’ eyebrows pulled together.  He didn’t like Jax thinking he was right.  He didn’t want to be right.  It had been a crazy theory at the time.  It was still a crazy thought.  Just because what they had learned last night further pointed to such a possibility didn’t make the idea any less insane.  But given everything else; talk of Chaos and primordial forces, and crazy zealots who wanted to end everything to start a new beginning.  Was the notion that they were dealing with someone that old really that insane?

[trensu]

crack tangled au that nobody asked for

i saw a pic of wang yibo with blond hair and decided that lan wangji needed to be rapunzel. idk what else to tell you guys. there’s literally no other reason this exists.

so lwj has lived in his tower for as long as he can remember. his father says he’s not allowed to leave it ever bc the outside is Dangerous. There’s all sorts of unsavory folk that want to take his magic blond hair and use it for Nefarious Purposes. 

lwj is not all that interested in going outside. he trusts and loves his father. his father only wants what’s best for him. the outside world sounds scary anyway. besides, his father gave him a friend a few years back in the form of a small, surprisingly intelligent lizard named huaisang so he’s not lonely. And his father brings him books and other things for his hobbies. he hopes his father visits again soon bc his guqin’s strings snapped and now he can’t play.

lwj would have lived his whole life quite content with his little huaisang in the tower. except one day someone crawled in through his window. a STRANGER found his tower!! a DANGEROUS STRANGER was in his tower for NEFARIOUS PURPOSES. Probably. His father warned him about these guys. so he does the sensible thing and whacks the STRANGER over the head with his stringless guqin.

he stares blankly at the unconscious stranger and then looks at huaisang. 

“what are we supposed to do with him now?” lwj murmurs to his little lizard. huaisang makes a little growly sound. lwj nods. “But I don’t think we have any rope.”

lwj decides to use his hair.

--

look, wwx is not having a great day. he got chased by royal guards after he and jc were caught trying to steal from rich ppl (hey, he and his brother and sister were orphans without a penny to their name!! and sure, jyl brings in some income playing nursemaid to a fairly well to-do family and he and his brother find odd jobs here and there, but thats hardly what you’d call stable income...so maybe sometimes they help themselves to extra gold from the lordly families like the Jins; nbd, right? it’s not like they’d even notice the loss and also they’re all Assholes so they deserve to get robbed) bc maybe, MAYBE jc had a point when he said they’d be overreaching trying to steal from the royal Lan family.

he eventually loses the guards which is good! but then he loses track of his brother, which was bad. and then he somehow acquired a Very Angry Horse that won’t stop following him which is weird. also mildly inconvenient but an angry horse is still a step up from angry guards. then there was this tower he climbs up, ignoring the angry horse’s whinnies.

and now? Now he’s slowly regaining consciousness and finding himself tied to a chair by golden rope...hey, wwx is up for some bondage every now and again but, like, he’s gotta go through all the kink negotiation and safeword confirmation and sort out all the consent stuff before he gives the go ahead. he’s pretty sure none of that has happened.  So this is the UN-fun type of bondage and...wait a minute...this isn’t rope...is this--?

“who are you and what are your Nefarious Plans for my hair?”

wwx looks up and sees the most beautiful face he’s ever seen in his entire life. if jc were here he’d be shouting up a storm, demanding they be freed this instant. jc is about 90% of wwx’s impulse control and 20% of his common sense (the other 80% of his common sense resides with jyl at all times for safekeeping). So instead of demanding to be released, wwx puts on his most charming smile and leans forward towards the prettiest man in the world who’s hovering not nearly close enough in his space.

“well, hello. you can call me your future husband and the only plans i have for your hair involve a bed, you, and--”

He really should have expected the next hit to the head.

--

as far as meet-cutes go...it could’ve gone worse.

--

“i can’t believe you’ve been stuck in that tower all your life. don’t you get bored??”

“No.”

“don’t you ever want to stretch your legs and enjoy the sunshine?? go for a swim maybe?”

“No.”

“well why are you making me take you to through this awful forest and go to the palace??”

“Huaisang.”

“umm...bless you?”

The pretty man known as lwj sighs. “No. Huaisang is my lizard. It’s not fair for him to stay cooped up with me all the time.”

The lizard perched on lwj’s shoulder wiggles its disconcerting little lizard hand at him and, like, smiles at him. can lizards smile? they shouldn’t. it looks creepy. lwj cups a hand over the little lizards head and whispers to wwx.

“he thinks he’s a dragon. i want him to see what a real dragon looks like so he can figure out for himself that he isn’t one.”

“oh, so that’s why you wanna go to the palace. yeah, i wish someone had told me before that they had a dragon guarding the royal coffers.”

lwj narrows his eyes suspiciously at him. “why.”

“uh, no reason,” wwx winces and discreetly tugs the burnt edges of his robes out of view.

an awkward silence lingers for a painfully long time. the Angry Horse makes a sound. wwx suspects that he’s laughing at him. wwx sighs. at least he gets to enjoy the view, he thinks as lwj marches confidently ahead and subsequently gets them all lost.

--

lwj was just trying to be nice. that’s all. he wanted his little lizard friend to be happy. that’s it. his life was just fine before that!

but in the course of 48 hours, he finds out huaisang really IS a dragon, and is actually the little brother of nie mingjue, the dragon that guards the royal coffers. he falls in love with a roguish, penniless thief whose smile outshines the sun and carries a heart as golden as lwj’s hair. Said thief is now being held hostage by the man he calls his father but is in reality Meng Yao, the lan’s royal adviser who kidnapped him as an infant in order to use his magical hair for Nefarious Purposes. Oh, and apparently lwj is the long lost lan prince.

...he knew he should’ve stayed in the tower.

--

lwj feels his lips quirk up slightly as wwx runs his fingers through his now very black, very shortly cropped hair. wwx beams at him.

“didn’t i say i was gonna be your husband?”

“Hm,” lwj gives a small nod. “but having a horse at the wedding is a surprise.”

“yeah well, apparently we’re a package deal bc he won’t quit following me.”

wen qing, the witch officiating their wedding, scoffs. “seriously?? you haven’t figured it out yet??”

she taps the horse angrily chewing at wwx’s robes and suddenly there’s a man in purple robes shouting at the top of his lungs.

“A WEEK. I’VE BEEN CURSED INTO A HORSE FOR A WEEK, WEI WUXIAN, YOU IDIOT. HOW GODDAMN STUPID ARE YOU THAT YOU DIDN’T REALIZE---”

“Oh, jiang cheng! you’re just in time for the wedding!!”

The shouting lost all coherency at that point. but that’s okay. lwj is very happy he finally left his tower anyway.

[letitrainathousandflames]

ANON I LOVE YOU SO MUCH. You are NOT being rude and you, in fact, just pulled me out of a writer’s block?? I love you so much??? AAAAA???

So this right here is the setting, okay? Think of it as, collecting each part of this lovely lovely trio to then just be worried about finding a big enough bed later okay?

PLEASE BULLY ME INTO CONTINUING IT LATER AS WELL!

-

Rating: Explicit

Category: Multi | F/M/M/M

Fandom: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008)

Relationship: Reader/Rex, Reader/Cody, Reader/Wolffe, Reader/Cody & Wolffe & Rex

Character: CT-7567 | Rex, CT-2224 | Cody, CT-3636 | Wolffe, Reader Character

Additional Tags: clone smut, public sex, exhibitionism kink, slow burn but it’s more like medium rare? bc we want that Meat lmao, interrupted sexytimes bc duty calls, part 1/???, literally just writing as i go, as the saying goes - we’ll fuck on that bridge when we come to it, no beta we die like men

The 79’s may be loud, rowdy and a bit crowded, but it’s where the best eye candy in the republic comes to drink and chill. Bless the Republic for having an entire army of insanely hot men. Each one of the clone troopers is beautiful in their own particular way, and if you could ever stop being a shy disaster and just talk to any of them, maybe you could get to know more about them, have a fun night together and even…

You blow a few bubbles into the straw in your colorful drink, feeling the heat that travels up to your face just at the thought of getting handsy on one of them. Well, a girl can dream, right?

A man dressed in white-and-blue armor walks up to the bar, standing right next to you and speaking loudly to the bartender to make himself heard over the music.

“That neon-green thing, just like the lady’s, whatever this is.” he asks, discreetly pointing at you with his eyes still on the barman and chuckling “The whole deal, even the tiny umbrella; I’m celebrating tonight. No wounded, no dead. All my boys got back home.”

The bartender smiles wide at him, busying themself with the bottles. The clone trooper must have felt your gaze on him, because he turns to you with a small smile that makes you heart jump; moons above, he’s handsome. His hair is buzzed short and is of a light blond shade – unusual for a clone. There’s a blue leather pauldron over his shoulder, and a black kama trimmed with blue hanging from his hips; from what you’ve heard, these meant the clone was a high-rank officer, either an ARC trooper or a Commander. You would be lying if you said that didn’t make him even hotter.

You can tell he must be broad and strong even out of the armor, and you flash your tongue over your lips by reflex. Oh. Oh no, you are crushing hard on this man and you don’t even know his name. The barman sets his order down, the clone picks it up and this is your last chance to say anything before this man turns away with his drink and you never see each other again-

“Cheers!” you blurt out, raising your glass at him

The clone turns around to look at you, looking slightly confused.

“Excuse me?”

“C-Cheers.” You repeat weakily “For your men. You said you were celebrating, right?”

The man smiles wide, and there’s nothing you can do to stop yourself from falling for him now.

“Right. Cheers.” He clinks his glass against yours, takes a sip and hesitates for a moment before continuing “I’m Captain Rex, pleased to meet you. And, uh… what’s your name?”

You introduce yourself and Rex looks at you for a few seconds, mouth opening and closing at first like he’s still considering what he’s going to say. Then…

“Mind if I sit here?” he gestures at the barstool next to yours

“Not at all!” you say, painfully aware of how eager you just sounded; Rex sits down, eyeing his own colorful drink curiously “So… captain. I don’t think I’ve ever met a high rank officer before. Rare sight around here.”

Rex tries a sip from his drink to then look pleasantly surprised, taking another before setting down his glass.

“Probably because we spend most of the time buried in paperwork.”

You spend one of the nicest nights you’ve had in a long time with Rex, talking about the bar, life in coruscant and in the army, funny stories from Rex’s job and yours, and the two of you have a lot of fun trying to pick the drinks with the weirdest colors and hoping they taste good.

By the end of the night you exchange contacts, and from then on you would often meet Rex at the 79’s for some drinks and kissing that would often turn into feeling each other up while making out in a less busy corner of the bar.

One night, the two of you are kissing by the dance floor when commander Cody walks up to the both of you, ignoring the men and women swooning at him along the way and stopping close to the two of you.

“Hey, Cody.” Rex smiles at him to then acknowledge his nod at you, telling him your name and introducing him to you in return “This is Cody, commander of the 212th.”

“Nice to meet you.” you smile back at Cody as the three of you dance absently to the music

You take a few moments to notice the similarities and differences between the two clones. Cody has a large scar branding the left side of his face, and his hair is black, shaped in the standard haircut most clones have, and he doesn’t have the few scattered freckles you had noticed on Rex’s cheeks and nose. But their eyes are of the same golden-brown shade, their lips full and inviting, their hollow cheeks and strong jawlines just perfect.

At one point Cody steals a glance at Rex, smirking, and Rex looks from him to you and back to him for a few beats, wetting his lips and then nodding. Cody slowly moves his hand over to your waist without touching you yet, eyes looking at you as if asking for permission.

You look at Rex with a puzzled look on your face and Rex moves in closer, pressing a kiss to your lips and speaking close to your ear over the loud music. His hot breath fans over your skin, sending shivers prickling all over your shoulder and down your arms.

“My brother wants you, cyare.” He nips at your earlobe, sending a shiver down your spine as he grinds against your thigh “Wants to know if that’s okay with you.”

You turn to look at Cody some more. The man is strikingly handsome just like any other clone, and his frame is that of a commander as well, big and broad and seeming strong enough to snap you like a twig with his bare hands. The hungry look in his eyes… it’s like he wants to eat you whole, his teeth dragging over his lower lip in a playful smirk.

“That’s… very okay with me.” you reply, making sure Cody could read your lips even though you speak with Rex still “But is it okay with you?”

Rex kisses a wet trail down your neck, nipping at a tendon there. His armored chest is pressed against your own, his thigh finding its way between yours, cold plastoid meeting your heated thighs.

“Us clones are used to sharing everything with one another… I’ve never shared anything as precious as you before though. M’not sure I want to.” Rex nips ever so delicately on a tendon, making you whimper softly “Maybe… if you promise you won’t forget that you are mine, I don’t think I’ll mind if you become his as well.”

The words send a warm excitement that settles in your lower stomach, and you reach for Rex’s face, making him look at you in the eyes.

“I don’t think there’s anything in this galaxy that could make me forget that I’m yours, Rex.”

Rex offers you that warm smile that always makes you weak in the knees to then press a kiss to the corner of your mouth.

“Shall we invite him, then?”

You nod with a wide grin and soon you’re holding out your hand, pulling Cody in closer and tilting your head up to kiss him. He smiles into the kiss, and you laugh softly. You then pull back to turn your face to Rex, kissing him in turn. Every time you kiss one of them, the other traces the back of your neck with his fingers and watches you with aching need until you turn and kissed him instead. The three of you are barely dancing at all at that point, just swaying in place and becoming more and more breathless and hot with desire.

Cody is the one to interrupt all the kissing and groping between the three of you, calling you and Rex back to a more secluded spot under a staircase, far from the booming boxes that blasted music and all the merry drunks on the dance floor, so that the three of you could talk some.

Having interrupted the eager touching and kissing from before, the three of you share a moment of awkward silence before Cody sensibly breaks the moment asking about what you work with.

It leads to an interesting conversation where you get to know each other better – turns out that was the famous Marshall Commander Cody, the highest authority in the Clone Army of the Republic, and Rex himself was Captain of the 501st, the troops under the charge of the famous Jedi General Anakin Skywalker.

The two of them were interested in what you told them of your work, regardless of how boring you believe it would sound next to their own. You laugh at their jokes, enjoy their stories and share your own. At some point you start kissing them again between words, and soon enough none of you is speaking anymore, except for a few goading words and hushed hums.

You wind up pressed up between the two of them, and you press each of your palms over their codpieces. The way Rex’s eyes roll back before falling shut is truly something else, and so is the strained grunt from Cody close to your ear. Rex gropes and kneads at your breasts over your shirt and Cody’s gloved hands hike your skirt up some so that he can press his fingers over the heated skin between your thighs. The commander tugs at the edge of your underwear, kissing the side of your neck.

“Can I get this off the way?”

Moons, his voice is hungry with need and you whine a long, pleading ‘yes’ that is met with a dragging of teeth over the crook of your neck while Rex kisses you. Cody’s gloved fingers tease at your slit and you whine against Rex’s mouth. The way he rubs your clit is so good it should be illegal.

Still, you snap your eyes open and glance over Rex’s shoulder to make sure you’re not being seen by anybody. Luckily enough, the dark corner you chose seems to be hidden enough for no one seems to be staring. Being sandwiched between the two muscular men as they have their way with you in a public place is exciting, and it sends shivers down your spine.

Before you know it, you’re rolling your hips to get Cody’s fingers to tease you harder while Rex pinches your nipples between his fingers, squeezing you breasts and sucking hard at the side of your neck, certainly leaving a trail of hickeys there.

Cody picks up his pace, his own hips thrusting to get more of your touch despite the stiff codpiece that stands in the way. Rex sucks your lower lip into his mouth, and Cody’s middle finger presses against your clit over and over, dipping only ever so shallowly inside you to spread some of the moisture collecting in your heated slit over your clit to ease the friction; you giggle just at the thought of the three of you getting caught, the indecency of it all almost sending you over the edge.

You’re about to suggest that the three of you find an actually private place where you can all get rid of your clothes and move more freely when you hear a faint beep and a small square panel on Cody’s arm – the one moving up and down as he fingers you – lights up with a red hue.

“Kriff!” Cody hisses, retreating his fingers with a grimace; he takes a moment to move your underwear back in place and pulls his hand back “Sorry, I have to take this. Give me a moment…”

Cody places his hand on his ear, visibly displeased. Rex holds you close, gently rubbing your arms and giving you soft pecks to your lips.

“…Yeah?” Cody’s voice and posture suddenly shifts as he jerks himself upright, eyes going sharp “General Kenobi. What is it, sir? Yes. I understand, sir. Yessir. I’ll get the boys back in a minute.” He lowers his hand, shooting Rex the same annoyed look from before “They want us back in the base. Something urgent came up.”

Rex sighs between his teeth heavily enough to make a few strands of your hair fly up for a second. You can imagine he had other plans for tonight, probably the same ones you were having yourself.

Cody grimaces, his golden-brown eyes burning at you while Rex takes his side. You shiver at the loss of Rex’s warmth, crossing your arms.

“You have Rex’s number, right?” Cody smirks at you when you nod, licking the slickness over his gloved finger, eyes sharp at you “We’ll finish this on another occasion then…”

He says your name slowly, almost spelling it like he’s savoring it, eyes trailing over your frame like he wants to commit it to memory before departing. Rex takes your free hand, bringing it to his lips and kissing your knuckles.

“I’ll call you soon, cyare.”

You mean to ask him what the word means, but instead you just say quietly:

“I’ll be waiting…”

-

You spend most of the time after that texting them every day, and while they are very sweet, both of them can only get back at you at very late hours, and the reason why they are so busy is classified. Since they’re both such high-ranking troopers you can imagine how serious it must be. So despite feeling bitter about being unable to see them anytime soon, you promise them to wait for a new date.

The dates that come barely count as dates though, rushed meetings at the bar late at night that only amount to some chatting and kissing and little beyond that before they rush back out. Maybe that’s commander-dating for you, these two are most likely the busiest clones in the GAR and you just had to fall hard for them, haven’t you?

When they finally text you saying they will soon be stationed in Coruscant while their Generals sorted out some things with the Jedi Council in two weeks and that you should pick a date for you to actually have dinner together, you have to muffle a scream of sheer giddiness into your pillow before replying that the nearest date possible sounds great.

To the hells with not looking as stars-damned eager as you are. You are damn thirsty for those two, and they better know it by now.

Two weeks later you are sitting alone in a booth at the 79’s second floor, waiting for them to arrive. You can’t help but smile in excitement, curious about the reason why this had been regarded as a special date. This is a nice space, quieter than the dance floor below, and you spot other couples having quiet conversations or simply enjoying the nice atmosphere to sit closer together and kiss.

You run a hand through your hair, fixing the upper half you had tied up in a low ponytail; you’re about to wonder what could be taking so long when they show up, climbing the stairs with smiles on their faces.

Rex and Cody. Your boyfriends. You still cannot understand how you managed to be lucky enough to have all of the three commanders completely in love with you and willing to share you with one another.

“Hey, gorgeous.” Cody strokes the back of your hand as he takes the seat in front of you, leaning to give you a kiss

“Looking prettier than ever.” Rex says softly, taking his seat next to you and kissing you as well

You can feel many eyes turning towards your direction, and you giggle shyly. Yeah, most people were just as smitten as you are over having the attention of the commander and the captain. You look from Cody to Rex with the widest smile on your face.

“I’m so happy you guys called me. I was worried about the two of you. What kept you so busy these days?” Cody and Rex hesitate and you shrug “It’s okay if you can’t tell me. You…wanna talk about something else instead?”

The two clones visibly deflate in relief when you chuckle, and Rex nods.

“Yeah, please. Don’t wanna think any more about work for the day if that’s okay with you…”

He says your name like just doing it makes him happy, and you rest your head on his shoulder for a moment, feeling Cody’s thumb stroking your knuckles and staring lovingly at the commander’s eyes. Sometimes you feel like your presence is like a small vacation for them, and it makes you feel all fuzzy inside. It’s a nice feeling, knowing that you make them nearly as happy as they make you.

That is when you notice a clone dressed in white-and-grey commander armor walking up the stairs and stopping for a moment to say hi to another clone nearby. That man looked good enough to eat, big and boad as commanders go, with a large scar over his right eye and a face that said he wasn’t to be messed with. The way he carried himself probably got enemies to surrender on the spot, and right now it’s making you press your thighs together in desire as you straighten yourself up on your sit.

Cody furrowed his brows, turning his head towards the direction you were looking at to then chuckle, turned to you with a broad grin on his face.

“My, my, so you want him as well? You are an insatiable one, cyare.”

“Wha-?” you blurt out, blushing heavily “I didn’t say anything, Cody!”

The man in commander armor had just noticed Cody and Rex sitting with you in the booth and Rex waved at him as he began walking towards you.

“Didn’t have to.” Cody said just low enough not to be heard by the approaching commander “That look on your face says it all. Say, Rex, how about we invite Wolffe into our little relationship, hm?”

Rex glances at Cody to then reach a hand over your thigh under the table, caressing it so gently it pulls a sigh out of your lips. The warmth of his hands can be felt even though his gloves and the fabric of your dress, soothing and enticing all at once.

“Like I said before” Rex looks at your eyes, biting the corner of his lip “I don’t mind sharing, as long as you know you’re mine... ours.” He adds with a pointed look at Cody “All else is up to you, love.”

You are still being pulled in by the possessive look in Rex’s eyes when Wolffe sits down in front of you, placing his hands on the table and lacing his fingers.

“Rex. Cody.” He greets the fellow officers with a nod to then look at you with a small smile “And you are?...”

You introduce yourself with a smile, trying not to let it show on your face how much you’re attracted by that gruff voice and the proud posture of the clone. The three of you order some food and drinks, talking about the time Wolffe had to go on a relief mission and ended up having to find Skywalker���s protocol droid that had gotten lost; Cody’s laughter is contagious as he elbows the commander and say he can “almost see him rolling his eyes at the kriffing thing, vod”.

Wolffe reaches for a handful of chips, nodding at you.

“I’ve seen you and Rex around here before. Are you two... together?”

Maybe it’s wishful thinking, but you wonder if that was a bit of a hopeful tone in the commander’s voice. Maybe he is interested in you as well and want to check with his brothers if it’s okay to hit on you?

The way Rex licks his lips with a quick glance at you and Cody leans back on his sit some to only graze the side of his armored shin along your own makes you shiver, sputtering some.

“I’m- A-actually the three of us are together.”

You make a point to lean closer to Rex while reaching your hand out for Cody to take, and Wolffe’s eyes go from the fingers that Cody laces with yours to the cheek you rest on Rex’s shoulder guard. You are pretty sure you notice him smirk, but on the very next second he is back to his serious self, taking a sip from his glass.

“I see.”

You chew on the inside of your cheek. Okay, here goes nothing. You straighten yourself up, leaning closer to Wolffe, eyes locked on his.

“Why’d you ask? You’re interested?”

You try to avoid looking at Cody because his “ooh, you didn’t!” face is bound to end up making you laugh. Wolffe, however, instead of going red or denying just leans forward as well, his gorgeous mismatched eyes staring right back at you.

“Honestly? Yes.” his gaze shifted to Rex for a second “But I’m not about stepping over anyone’s boundaries.”

Okay, that renders you absolutely speechless. The amount of provoking seduction that Cody has seem to be exactly the same amount of blunt honesty and practicality that Wolffe has, and it hits you like a ton of bricks. Rex reaches for a few chips himself, eating calmly while Cody chuckles.

“You won’t, as far as I’m concerned...” Rex says your name, hand moving over to your thigh under the table again “-She wants you. That’s fine by me. We’re all adults, we’re not jealous of each other, and if any of us ever feel uncomfortable about our deal...” he looks at you, eyes gentle and soft “We’ll talk about it, all of us, and work it out.”

“Yeah.” Cody brings your hand to his lips, kissing your knuckles “And as long as we’re all happy, it’s nobody’s business.”

Wolffe looks at you, a small smile softening his features, and he moves his hand close to your free one, tracing your knuckles with his fingers.

“Sounds perfect to me.”

[stylishanachronism]

Okay so we’re going to open with the fact that while Obsidian has at least one person on staff who understands armor, literally nobody understands clothing, especially historical clothing, and though they stumbled into something... acceptable in two and a half cases(1), literally everything else they’ve produced on the subject is garbage.

So what’s the most garbage cultural garb in Eora? I’m going to shock you, despite my complaining on the affront that is the Dyrwood, it’s actually the Vailians. They’re supposedly primarily metalsmiths and textile traders, (iirc Obsidian called Venice and the Phoenicians as the major guiding influences), with really strong textual aesthetic sensibilities, and yet they’re all wearing drab closefitting garments with neither wild shaping nor excess fabric, mostly in deeply boring greys. It’s like... bad period piece Renaissance Venetians, but make it 90s haute couture. It is *painfully* bad. Deadfire improves, a little bit, but these are supposedly the most baroque bitches around, I should be seeing vivid colors (especially in reds and blues and purples), rich blacks, and enough spare fabric to drown a medium sized child. Also lace. A famous vineyard’s worth of lace. At least blackwork, come on Obsidian they look cheap.

Based on Pallegina’s armor, I should also be seeing a ‘pigeon breast’ silhouette on literally everyone, or alternatively low, square cut bodices to show off extremely fancy underwear (and don’t worry, we’ll get to the underwear), and I should be seeing split hose, not pants, if I am seeing hose at all. I will accept pants for exactly two cultures and no more. and the Republics do not apply.(2) Deadfire did them a good turn by introducing brocades but where is the velvet. The silk. The weird hats. The dagged, slashed sleeves to show off the fact you’re rich enough to wear an overdress, an underdress, and then your underwear’s fancy as hell too. Everybody on the south-eastern half of the Eastern reach is wearing, at minimum, a chemise, hose, and if you’ve got boobs some sort of stays to keep said boobs put, and pockets, before you even get to their outerwear.and just like today, everybody wants pretty underwear. Embroidered cuffs and collars, clocked hose, lace on everything, if you’re rich, blackwork if you aren’t, extremely beautiful pockets, the works. The Republics, being the rich people with all the fabric, have canonically raised fashion to an art form, so they should be dripping with extra details, and they should not only be the only people with flat patterning, they should be reveling in that fact. They are not doing any of these things.

The second most garbage cultural garb is, of course, the Dyrwood. Again, I should be seeing lots of color, not necessarily saturated but given their climate and stated food products I can make an educated guess about what dye plants are around, so lots of greens and yellows and rusty-orange reds and (maybe) pale blues, and a billion extremely rich shades of brown and almost-black, mostly plainweave for themselves (they’re shipping out their brocades for the most part), but lots of embroidery again. They can keep the bracers, they’re the only canon-given detail I actually liked (and it plays into a different headcanon re: where the fuck did you get the standing army), but they don’t even get split hose, much less pants. Skirts for everybody! Again, these people are producing all the fabric, and it’s cold(ish), so multiple layers are a thing, as is excess cloth, and if you’re going to do that, you’ll dye your underdress a fun color to contrast with your overdress (which very well might be quartered, too), at the very least. There’s probably a lot of plain trimming, and guards, and they’re coming out of Aedyran fashion so there’s not a lot of shaping but stripes and plaids are probably a thing, and certainly no flat patterning. Think bilaut over later kirtles, with side lacing and belting around the waist for various purposes (like making your boobs stay put, depending on if you’ve got stays or not, or holding up said skirt when you’re working in the fields, to get it out of the way.)(3)

Based on the leather armor you pick up, I should also be seeing the beginnings of a more conical style, moving away from clothes you just drop over your head into separate skirts and bodices (for everybody, not just women), which still probably lace up the front or (more commonly) the sides. (There’s an argument to be made that kilts are a thing, coming out of Eir Glanfath, but it’s probably more of a western than an eastern thing, and frankly I’m not sold, get back to me on this.) Also, going back to my dearly cherished ring lace headcanon, pretty much everyone wears extremely beautiful knit lace shawls (but not trim, and not non-knit), because even if you’re selling all the really nice stuff you’ve still got piles and piles of little apprentices practicing their trade, and somebody’s got to wear it.

Unfortunately I just don’t have enough information about Glanfathians to say anything other than what they’re wearing is also probably garbage, and fashion is probably a hugely tribe-specific thing. More nomadic tribes probably don’t wear many wovens, probably saving what cloth they make or trade for for things like belts and blankets and carrying bags, but again, it should all be extremely colorful. You’ll see more shaping and piecework here, because leather does not appear in neat rectangles the way cloth does, and if you’ve already got that curve you might as well use it, lots of fur, mostly for warmth but also as decoration, and we might see Dyrwodian fashion influences with the more eastern tribes, depending on the mystery of what’s going down politically at that border and whether or not those tribes are more or less nomadic.

Ixmitl gets an honorable mention for having the most color and also horses, and so the pants are acceptable, but I’d like to see more color and more embellishment. And also more information. Rauatai gets an honorable mention for having actually reasonable rectangular construction on everything (clearly an accident but I’ll take it) and again, some color. Aedyr gets an honorable mention for having some logic put into it’s creation, even if that logic isn’t extended out to its colonies like it should be, and even if what we see in game makes it clear Obsidian doesn’t actually understand how things like chitons work.

Engwith gets all the honorable mentions for somehow being the most internally consistent culture as far as art and fashion go, despite 90% of that art and fashion being extremely hard to see frescoes, and the rest of it being Thaos. Yeah it’s basically a straight copy off Sumer but you know what? That just means it works.

At some point in the distant future I may update this with illustrations of canon v. what we reasonably should be seeing, but right now is not that time.

1: Whoever Obsidian picked up for Tyranny clearly stayed on (Tyranny’s clothing was uniformly pretty great, even if it had the same bra problem), and they’re the only person with half a clue, which is why the Huana look as good as they do. Pillars gets half a point for Aedyr, Iximtl, and hilariously enough Engwith, for having reasonable starting points, and Deadfire should get another half point for Rautai, but that picture of Maia exists and it is such an affront they lost it again.

2: Ixmitl and the various groups of the White that Wends can have pants, the first because they’re canonically horse people, and that’s what pants are for. The White doesn’t actually get pants, per se, they’re fairly clearly inspired variously by the Inuit and the Vikings, so they have separate undergarments we would call pants in order to help keep warm, but it counts for this. Nobody else gets pants.

3: Just for the record, this is also where Raedceras should be, fashion-wise, but we have huge amounts of nothing when it comes to non-priest everyday wear so I can’t really talk about. My logic still stands, plus they’re even less likely to know about flat patterning, but, y’know.

[mybeautifulchristianjourney]

A Difficult Passage

by Bishop J.C. Ryle

"Most assuredly, I say to you, unless you eat the flesh of the Son of Man and drink His blood, you have no life in you. Whoever eats My flesh and drinks My blood has eternal life, and I will raise him up at the last day. For My flesh is food indeed, and My blood is drink indeed. He who eats My flesh and drinks My blood abides in Me, and I in him. As the living Father sent Me, and I live because of the Father, so he who feeds on Me will live because of Me. This is the bread which came down from heaven--not as your father ate the manna, and are dead. He who eats this bread will live forever." - John 6:53-58

Few passages of Scripture have been so painfully distorted and perverted as that which we have now read. The Jews are not the only people who have striven about its meaning. A sense has been put upon it which it was never intended to bear. Fallen man, in interpreting the Bible, has an unhappy aptitude for turning food into poison. The things that were written for his benefit, he often makes an occasion for falling.

Let us first consider carefully what these verses do not mean. The "eating and drinking" of which Christ speaks do not mean any literal eating and drinking. Above all, the words were not spoken with any reference to the Sacrament of the Lord's Supper. We may eat the Lord's Supper, and yet not eat and drink Christ's body and blood. We may eat and drink Christ's body and blood, and yet not eat the Lord's Supper. Let this never be forgotten.

The opinion here expressed may startle some who have not looked closely into the subject. But it is an opinion which is supported by three weighty reasons. For one thing, a literal "eating and drinking" of Christ's body and blood would have been an idea utterly revolting to all Jews, and one flatly contradictory to an often repeated precept of their law.

For another thing, to take a literal view of "eating and drinking" is to interpose a bodily act between the soul of man and salvation. For this there is no precedent in Scripture. It cuts off from eternal life all who do not receive the communion: all who die in infancy and childhood, all who die of full age without coming to the communion, and also the penitent thief. It was to avoid this painful conclusion that many early Christians in Cyprian's time held the doctrine of infant communion.

To take a literal view of "eating and drinking" opens wide a door to formalism and superstition. It would admit to heaven thousands of ignorant, godless communicants in the present day who would wish nothing better than to hear, "He that eats my flesh and drinks my blood (that is, eats the sacramental bread and drinks the sacramental wine) has eternal life." Here is precisely what the heart of natural man likes! He likes to go to heaven by formally using ordinances. He literally eats and drinks, no doubt! But he has no eternal life and will not be raised to glory at the last day.

The plain truth is that there is a morbid anxiety in fallen man to put a carnal sense on Scriptural expressions wherever he possibly can. He struggles hard to make religion a matter of forms and ceremonies--of doing and performing, of sacraments and ordinances, of sense and of sight. He secretly dislikes that system of Christianity which makes the state of the heart the principal thing, and labors to keep sacraments and ordinances in the second place. Happy is that Christian who remembers these things and stands on his guard! Baptism and the Lord's supper, no doubt, are holy sacraments and mighty blessings, when rightly used. But it is worse than useless to drag them in everywhere, and to see them everywhere in God's Word.

Let us next consider carefully what these verses do mean. The expressions they contain are very remarkable. Let us try to get some clear notion of their meaning. The "flesh and blood of the Son of man" means that sacrifice of His own body which Christ offered up on the cross when He died for sinners. The atonement made by His death, the satisfaction made by his sufferings as our Substitute, the redemption effected by His enduring the penalty of our sins in His own body on the tree--this seems to be the true idea that we should set before our minds. The "eating and drinking," without which there is no life in us, means that reception of Christ's sacrifice, which takes place when a man believes on Christ crucified for salvation. It is an inward and spiritual act of the heart and has nothing to do with the body. Whenever a man, feeling his own guilt and sinfulness, lays hold on Christ and trusts in the atonement made for him by Christ's death, at once he "eats the flesh of the Son of man, and drinks His blood." His soul feeds on Christ's sacrifice by faith, just as his body would feed on bread. Believing, he is said to "eat." Believing, he is said to "drink." And the special thing that he eats and drinks and gets benefit from is the atonement made for his sins by Christ's death for him on Calvary.

The practical lessons which may be gathered are weighty and important. The point being once settled that "the flesh and blood" in these verses means Christ's atonement, and the "eating and drinking" means faith, we may find in these verses great principles of truth which lie at the very root of Christianity. We may learn that faith in Christ's atonement is a thing of absolute necessity to salvation. Just as there was no safety for the Israelite in Egypt who did not eat the passover lamb in the night when the first-born were slain, so there is no life for the sinner who does not eat the flesh of Christ and drink His blood.

We may learn that faith in Christ's atonement unites us by the closest possible bonds to our Savior, and entitles us to the highest privileges. Our souls shall find full satisfaction for all their needs--"His flesh is food indeed, and His blood is drink indeed." All things that we can need for time and eternity are secured to us. "Whoever eats my flesh and drinks my blood has eternal life, and I will raise him up at the last day."

Last, but not least, we may learn that faith in Christ's atonement is a personal act, a daily act, and an act that can be felt. No one can eat and drink for us, and no one, in like manner, can believe for us. We need food every day, and not once a week or once a month. In like manner, we need to employ faith every day. We feel benefit when we have eaten and drunk; we feel strengthened, nourished, and refreshed. In like manner, if we believe truly, we shall feel the better for it by sensible hope and peace in our inward man.

Let us take heed that we use these truths, as well as know them. The food of this world, for which so many take thought, will perish in the using and not feed our souls. He only that eats of "the bread that came down from heaven" shall live forever.

[mithranqueersmusings]

The Night Before XI

Chapter: 11/15

Rating: T

Summary: Ringo hangs around after the club closes and meets a stranger.

Tags: Smut, Slow Burn

Pairing: George Harrison/Ringo Starr (Background McLennon)

AO3 link here / Fic masterlist here

Ringo was relieved when John suggested that the three of them should go out clubbing, it was only two days before his date with George and he needed something to kill the nerves. John had recently been paid which meant he would splurge out on drinks and drugs to keep everybody happy, even if they repeatedly refused. It was nice to know that Ringo wouldn't have to worry about finding someone to go home with, he could even go to bed at a relatively more sensible hour.

The three of them left for the club in quite the state, Ringo had no clue exactly how much they'd drunk but he knew there was only more to come. John, in his infinite wisdom, had bought some cocaine out to mark the special occasion.

"What's the occasion?" Paul asked, clearly he'd said these same words before Ringo had arrived.

"I have enough money for coke!" John cheered.

He shared it out liberally, both Paul and Ringo refusing at first but indulging later on. The bag was still considerably full when they left for the club, meaning they would only grow more dishevelled as the night went on. They arrived at the familiar club, John exchanging a few quips with the bouncer as they welcomed the warmth and unnecessarily loud music. John headed straight for the bar, ordering a round of drinks for everyone without much thought. It was a common occurrence for John to spend most of his pay in one night, forcing him to live barrenly for the remainder of the month. There'd been times when Paul and Ringo were alarmed at this behaviour, but no amount of talking seemed to change his mind and so they allowed themselves to be pampered.

The club was relatively full, Thursday was student night which only made the three of them feel ridiculously old as they worked through crowds of enthusiastic youths to the spot they usually took on the dance floor. Ringo felt positive, the music was decent and the company excellent. It wasn't too long before John was pulling them all into the toilets for a 'top up', it was one of the few clubs where the security didn't bat an eyelash when a group of men all crowded into a single cubicle. A year ago Ringo had bought John a necklace with a small spoon on it, he worried it would only be enabling his drug habits further but if anything it reduced the intake for without it John would be lumping varying amounts onto his key without any idea how much he was actually doing. The necklace had been brought out tonight, making Ringo feel quite satisfied with himself.

Paul had taken a while to come around to the harder drugs, but being reassured that the three of them would always look out for one another - to the best of their abilities when their brains were being warped - he began to join in with the shenanigans. They all passed around the baggie rather excitedly, Ringo couldn't deny he enjoyed the feeling of the powder shooting up his nose.

"You sure you don't want us to pay you for it?" Ringo asked, sniffing a few times more to ensure it had gone down fully.

"Don't be daft." John grinned, his pupils dilated "You can just get the next one."

It was an exchange that often took place between them, despite Ringo never actually buying the next one, but considering the amount of weed he bought for the three of them he figured it just about cancelled out. The three of them filtered out back into the bathroom, getting a few strange looks, as they tried to fix their appearance in the one mirror that was still intact. Paul had insisted that they all put a little bit of effort in with their clothing tonight so they appeared like a mismatched theatrical group, but Ringo thought it was quite a charming impression.

Back onto the dancefloor, Ringo could feel the music a lot more heavier than before. He felt twitchy, but it was easy enough to channel all that energy into dancing. It felt like such a weight off his shoulders to no longer have to be spying around the club for a potential suitor, instead he could just enjoy the company of his friends. At least, that's what he'd intended on doing before Paul pulled Ringo into close to shout into his ear.

"Is that George over there?"

Ringo felt his heart thumping, for a moment he was worried it was going to burst, as he craned his neck in the direction Paul was pointing. There he was, dancing with a friend. It shouldn't have surprised him too much, after all this was the club they'd met outside all those nights ago, but the suddenness of his appearance threw Ringo a little. He'd almost forgotten how attractive he was, wearing a loose fitting crop top and some tight-fitting jeans which accentuated his slim figure. Ringo struggled to pull his eyes away, but eventually managed when Paul spoke once more.

"Why don't you go and say hi?"

John had moved in close by this point, eavesdropping on their words as though they were in fact intended for him.

"No, no, I'm alright." Ringo tried to calm himself, though it wasn't working.

"Ringo, you literally had your dick inside him a couple of days ago but you can't even say hello?" John nudged Ringo forward slightly, but it only made him feel all the more nervous.

"Maybe later, if we see him outside." Ringo moved back into the space he previously occupied very quickly.

"Suit yourself." Paul lost interest quickly.

The three of them continued their usual routine: dancing enthusiastically to every other song that came on, darting to the bar for more drinks and then hurrying into the toilets for more bumps. Every so often they'd knock into someone who'd take offence, or be hounded by people in the bathroom who were desperate for them to hurry up, but none of them paid it too much mind, John would occasionally get physical with them but luckily it never got too far out of hand.

A couple of hours had passed since they'd first stepped foot in the club and Ringo was feeling great, he was full of energy and just hoped the night would never end. It was time for yet another smoke break, all three of them twitching to get their hands on a cigarette as they huddled close together in the cold. It was somewhat reassuring to see that they weren't the only people demonstrably off their faces, a couple of people sat gulping water in the corner with their eyes rolling uncontrollably, while the floor was littered with empty baggies and pools of sick from those who hadn't been so fortunate. Ringo practically inhaled the cigarette, tapping his foot wildly as every breath felt absolutely incredible.

Then he spotted George once again, talking with the same guy leaning against a wall with a cigarette in hand. It didn't take too long for Paul and John to notice what he was looking at, and neither of them seemed to be taking no for an answer.

"But I'm all coked up." Ringo tried to worm his way out "He's gonna think I'm a crackhead."

John laughed "Well it's better he finds that out sooner rather than later."

"Fine." Ringo groaned, finishing his cigarette off and making his way over to George.

What was he even going to say? Just a quick hello would suffice, then he could hurry back to the safety of his friends and focus on making a better impression when they went out for dinner. He could feel Paul and John watching him as he walked, doing nothing to help his nerves. Ringo hoped George would spot him to save him the awkwardness of having to interrupt whatever conversation he was having. The man was leaning into George's ear, whispering something that warranted a laugh. Maybe this was too personal of a moment for Ringo to interrupt, he debated turning around and heading to the bar before he stopped dead in his tracks.

The man had pulled George in for a kiss, a heated one at that. For a second Ringo hoped George would pull away, that the whole thing had been some strange misunderstanding, but he didn't; he only leaned in closer. Ringo couldn't move, he was stood uncomfortably close to them at this point but his body refused to walk away.

"What the fuck..." Ringo let out unintentionally, his brain practically screaming at him.

His presence didn't go unnoticed, George pulled away and turned to see where the words were coming from and his face dropped in an instant. The two of them looked at one another for a painfully long time, the other man quickly grew suspicious and then angry.

"You got a problem?" He asked in a rough voice, his hand still around George's waist. "Because if you d-"

"Shut the fuck up." George silenced him curtly, not breaking his eyes away "Ringo, I can explain."

Ringo tried to think of something to say, anything, but words entirely failed him. He felt tears beginning to form in his eyes, the only positive being that he seemed to have regained control of his legs and soon he was sprinting straight back into the club all the way to the entrance. He felt like throwing up, like screaming, like punching someone, anything to get this horrible feeling out of his body. What a fucking embarrassment, his mind replayed over and over. Behind him he could hear the sound of hurried footsteps, whether it was George or Paul or John, he didn't want to know, he just had to be alone. He kept walking, no destination in mind, just needing to get away.

"Ringo!" George called out, but Ringo didn't falter in his forceful movements "Please stop, let me explain. It wasn't what it looked like."

"Really? It looked pretty fucking crystal clear to me." Ringo spat, barely turning his head to speak.

"Please, just hear me out." George was catching up to him, people on the street were beginning to turn and watch.

Ringo turned a corner into an alley to get away from the prying eyes, the darkness seemed to numb his thoughts a little. He felt George's hand grip onto his shoulder to try and turn him around but Ringo remained firm, his mind and heart both racing.

"Leave me alone, George." Ringo's voice was low, rough "I feel embarrassed enough right now."

George kept his hand on Ringo's shoulder "Just listen, please... That guy, he's- He's been asking me out for so long and I figured if I took him out once it would shut him up. I don't like him Ringo... If I had known you were here tonight I never would've kissed him."

Ringo slowly turned around, glad that the darkness would mask the tears in his eyes "What an honest person you are."

"I'm not gonna pretend like I haven't done anything wrong tonight." George spoke softly, trying to balance out the harshness of Ringo's words.

Ringo sighed, unable to look at George directly "No, no you haven't. You don't owe me shit, it's not like we're going out for anything... I have no right to feel as pissed off as I do right now."

George paused, his hand gripping tighter onto Ringo's shoulder "Then why do you?"

Silence.

Ringo noticed Paul and John had caught up with them, standing just around the corner of the alley so that they weren't too visible. Paul looked completely distraught, having to hold back John who was more than ready to get physical. What an absolute mess.

"I really like you George, like too fucking much. Seeing you with that guy just hit me hard... I've never felt so fucking stupid." Ringo tried to speak quieter, he didn't need his friends to hear this.

George's eyes began to tear up, Ringo could only just about tell "Please don't tell me I've fucked this up."

Ringo scoffed "What is there to fuck up? We haven't even been on a date yet, this whole thing is ridiculous."

"I know but... I felt something from the moment I laid eyes on you Ringo, I'm not losing you this easy." George lowered himself somewhat so that they were on the same level.

"You're just saying that." Ringo dismissed, turning his head away.

George prevented him, gently pressing his fingers on Ringo's jaw so that they were facing one another "No, I mean it. Tonight was so fucking stupid, it didn't mean anything. I want you, Ringo, and only you."

Ringo was speechless, the entire thing felt like a strange nightmare that he was waiting to end.

"Please say something." George's voice wavered, it hurt more than anything else.

"I just don't know..." Ringo huffed "I've heard that same line so many times, yet someone always ends up getting hurt."

"But I'm not like anyone else, you said so yourself." George had a better hold on his voice, but the sadness was still evident.

Words escaped Ringo once more, part of him wanted to give in completely but he couldn't ignore the negative voice in the back of his mind that claimed this whole thing was a lie.

"I've never met anyone like you before, and a part of me knows you feel the same way about me." George was practically pleading "I'll never forgive myself if I lose you over this stupid fuckup."

Ringo looked up at him, entirely defeated, the sadness weighing far too heavily on his brain for it to be able to think of anything appropriate to say. George closed the space between them, pressing a forceful kiss onto Ringo's lips. He could taste the tears that had rolled down George's cheeks, the saltiness a bitter reminder. At first Ringo didn't respond at all, his body hardly felt like its own, then he tried to pull away but George remained adamant. As George relaxed more into the kiss, Ringo found that he was too. As though his body was acting without his knowledge, the familiar press of George's lips against his owns was definitely a comforting one. George held onto Ringo tightly, tears still falling from his eyes as he deepened the kiss slightly.

When Ringo tried to pull away once more, George moved away entirely. A sudden noise erupted from the other end of the alley, John and Paul were cheering obnoxiously loud which sent Ringo laughing. George turned alarmed, probably the last thing he'd been expecting as well as wanting to see in this moment. He let out a groan, looking back to Ringo who was already feeling surprisingly better.

"Fuck, they're gonna hate me now, aren't they?" George chuckled weakly, his voice a little croaky.

"I can't promise that they wont." Ringo felt normalcy returning to his body and mind.

A beat of silence passed between them.

"Please tell me we're still on for Friday." George sounded pained.

Ringo struggled to come out with a committed answer.

"Please." George repeated desperately "I'm really gonna make it up to you."

"Oh yeah?" Ringo asked, his voice lightening up a little.

"Anything you want, you name it." George already sounded relieved to get more of a positive response.

"A few things come to mind." Ringo joked, he was far from feeling normal but he was rapidly getting there "Anyway, I should probably go... John and Paul are gonna want the rundown and I'm in desperate need of a spliff and a bed."

George's face tensed a little, Ringo wondered if he felt left out of the intimacy they'd previously shared but he didn't address it "Alright... Again, I'm so sorry. I can't say it enough."

"You can show me how sorry you are on Friday." Ringo shuffled his feet.

"I intend to." George leaned in for a brief kiss, his hand resting on the small of Ringo's back.

Ringo found it difficult to pull away, as though the horrors he'd previously witnessed had never occurred at all. It was even more difficult to leave George in that dark alley, but he managed to get back to Paul and John without turning back. Paul and John both wrapped their hands around one of Ringo's arms, all three of them walking in a random direction to get some distance from the situation.

"You wanna talk about it?" Paul asked gently.

"Not really." Ringo managed a smile "It's all fine now... Let's just get home."

John was quick to order an Uber back to Ringo's, the three of them saying little as they performed the usual ritual of huddling together under a blanket and watching funny videos. It was just the remedy Ringo needed, although he couldn't deny that he missed the presence of a certain someone.