#the subtlety of using that and a hundred other small moments to SHOW rather than tell us that logan absolutely did know all about cruises

[takemetodragonstone]

television used to have season 2 of succession

[justoneofthoseghosts]

Brettsey + any prompt you want

Ok, after that last one, I need to write some fluff!

I used a randomizer (lol), plugged in 1 to 50 and got this one:

16. "Would you like to stay?"

This one takes place sometime after the end of season 8.

It's been two weeks since Julie passed. Sometimes it still feels like a dream, or more aptly, a nightmare, to Sylvie. Her relationship with Julie was only beginning. They were supposed to have years not months. She barely got to know her birth mother.

Possibly the only silver lining in the situation was her baby sister - happy and healthy. She had been to Rockford twice to visit Scott and Amelia. Scott sent her regular updates on her sister, saying she looked more and more like Julie everyday with her blonde hair and big, blue eyes.

She rearranges herself on the couch. The one at the loft definitely wasn't as comfortable than her own but she didn't want to be alone right now. She didn't want to be in a crowd full of people either so when Matt invited her come over and watch a hockey game, saying that Stella and Severide were spending their 48 hours off shift at the cabin, she agreed.

She saw right through it though. It wasn't like she was a huge hockey fan. There wasn't even an Indiana NHL team but she knew it was because he was worried about her. Despite his subtlety, she noticed his concerned glances whenever they were on shift, how he checked in with her more frequently than usual since Julie's death.

She's grateful for his presence, for being there for her, because he understood what she was going through - how grief showed up during the strangest moments, how grief never really fully went away.

She glances at him now, at the concentrated look on his face.

"So, who's winning?" She asks before taking a swig of her beer.

Matt grumbles out a response, "St. Louis."

She lets out a snort, "I'm guessing that's a bad thing?"

He turns to face her, raising an eyebrow.

"Oh, come on, Matt," she says, swatting his arm, "you had to know I'm not that much of a hockey fan."

He shrugs, letting out some non-committal noise before grabbing his beer bottle and taking a long pull.

She takes that as enough confirmation.

"Would you rather we watch HGTV?" He inquires.

She shakes her head, "no, it's fine. You want to watch the hockey match."

He chuckles before reaching for the remote. Sylvie guesses she didn't sound convincing. Well, HGTV was her weakness after all.

He flips the channel in time for the middle of a Property Brothers episode Sylvie's probably watched a hundred times.

"Thanks, Matt," she tells his softly, "and not just for changing the channel."

She sends him a loaded look, one she hopes conveys how truly thankful she is for him.

He scoots closer to her, "how are you, Sylvie?"

She sighs, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, "fine - I think. I still miss her a lot. It's crazy because we barely knew each other but I really, really, do miss her."

"It's not."

She furrows her eyebrows at him, "not what?"

"Not crazy - she was a part of your life and it's not crazy to miss her. It's never crazy to miss someone you loved deeply no matter how long you knew each other."

He smiles softly at her, eyes extremely sincere.

She feels that swoop in her stomach, the one that's become a regular occurrence whenever Matt so much as looked at her. Over the past two years, they began to grow closer as friends. She leaned on him during tough moments and he did the same.

She knew she was teetering on dangerous ground, maybe a tightrope even. She shouldn't be feeling these types of feelings for him but as the days pass, her fondness for the Captain continues to grow, inching in small increments.

How could it not? He asked if she wanted to hang out so that she didn't have to swimming in a sea of her grief alone.

No, she really shouldn't be giving into this. He was simply being a good friend.

Yes, that was it. Matt Casey was always dependable - he was sweet and caring to all his friends, not just to her. She feels her resolve building back up again.

"Thanks, Matt. I really appreciate it," she tells him.

They end up watching a few more shows on HGTV. Sylvie sees him looking at scores on his phone, insisting that they switch the channel back to ESPN so that they could catch the latter part of the game. Matt teaches her a bit about hockey and by the end of the match, she's cheering along with him as the Blackhawks win by the skin of their teeth.

It's a fun night for sure, one she didn't want to end but it was getting late.

"I should go," she says, getting up slowly from the couch, "it's getting late."

"Would you like to stay?"

Her eyes go wide at his request. It takes her a moment to process, unsure of what to say. Sylvie thinks there's a bit of hopefulness in his voice but she shrugs it off. She must be imagining it.

"I -"

His eyes go wide too at the realization that it sounded not so platonic, stammering out an explanation.

"I mean - stay for one more episode of House Hunters maybe?" He questions, shooting her a look that she could no longer deny was a hopeful one.

She gnaws on her bottom lip. She should not be feeling these feelings for him, she reminds herself. Matt was off limits but then he exudes earnestness that she feels that carefully rebuilt resolved crumbling.

"Okay - one more episode," she relents.

He grins. Her heart skips, no, it gallops in her chest rather.

One episode turns into two then there's this movie she can't believe he's never seen so she makes him watch it. They end up falling asleep on the couch, her head on his shoulder, his arms around her, like he was protecting her. By the time they wake up, it's early morning.

He sends her a sleepy smile that she finds really, truly adorable. It's this side of him he rarely shares with other people and it makes their friendship all the more special.

Maybe, when she looks back on it, it's this one moment that tears down her walls completely, the one where she figures out that even through continuous cycles of denial, her feelings for Matt have already changed and crossed over to the realm of romantic.

"Breakfast?" he asks, voice still laced with sleep.

She considers her options before nodding. He grabs his phone, looking for a restaurant that's open at 6 in the morning. She notices how he invades her space once more, not that she minded, while he scrolls through the delivery app.

"Bagels okay with you?"

"Yeah - and coffee too."

"Light and sweet right?" He asks.

She blushes, not realizing he's memorized her coffee order.

'Yes, that's right."

He beams at her, proud, before going back to his phone.

She glances at him furtively, the crease in between his brows appearing as he looked through options.

Yeah, she's definitely crossed over all right.

She hopes it's a secret she can keep.

[butterbeerblurbs]

boyfriend boost (f.w.)

💌: meet your biggest hype man (and boyfriend), fred weasley. 📝: word count: 3,128 words / fred weasley x reader / 🌸fluffflufffluff 💬: tell me i’m wrong that fred would not be your biggest hype man. i’m wAITING [also this was very self-indulgent so let me bask in this thankuloveububs]

there was nothing, and nothing subtle about fred weasley. if there were two boxes, one being the tamest option there is and the other being the grandest of the grand, oh, wonder where fred weasley would’ve been put into? you guessed it right, folks, the grandest of them all. don’t get it twisted, though. when he’s being all that grand, it was more in the form of how he showed his appreciation for you rather than himself. he was confident with his successes and strengths, sure, but he was rather humble about it. he’d rather hear it come from others than himself.

but when it involves you? oh, subtleties be damned.

fred weasley was y/n y/l/n’s number one cheerleader and hype man combined, no less. a hundred and ten million percent always willing to back you up and will throw hands if anyone dared to lay a finger on you (not that he didn’t think you couldn’t fend for yourself - he believes in you - but he’d rather much take up on the fight because his anger would fuel him faster than you could hold him back). he’d gladly holler through the bleachers of how gorgeous you were, even if it meant he’d get into trouble (he has). a surge of pride would go through his veins as he cheers for how you’ve managed to achieve good grades (and comfort you when you don’t). he’ll yell at the top of his lungs that he’s the luckiest man alive to be dating you when his team wins a match of quidditch and you’d hear your name echoing across the pitch area - along with the whole bloody castle (which, he also has).  

although you could do without his continuous yelling because one day, that man will lose his voice, you have to admit that you love it. how unafraid he was being with you. how proud he was with every single one of your achievements and celebrated yours like it was his. he has his loud moments, but his quiet ones are the ones you equally loved as well. how gentle he was whenever you needed a shoulder to cry on or how he’d resort to using his body to cocoon you in from the world. or how he’d fetch you the things you craved for just to make sure he’d see a small smile on your face. on top of it all, his company and his presence; willing to make himself known with a hand in yours as you bundled up in the sheets together. 

there was no other man like fred weasley and you were well-aware of it; more so when he’s kissing you like you’re the only person that mattered in this world, and... letting you go to sit down beside him as if he hadn’t snogged you in front of all of your friends.

he mutters a soft: “you’re welcome for the show there, fellas!” and they groan in response, waving him off as they dig into breakfast. oliver even going as far as to toss a napkin to fred’s face who only snickers in response. it seems like they’ve grown numb to fred’s never-ending affections towards you and for someone rather reserved, they’re always questioning how you were so calm in the midst of fred’s hurricane of affections. you fondly brush his hair back and chuckle as he leans in for a small peck on your lips, along with kissing the side of your head after and he settles down for breakfast. as he does, he adores how you still blush after being kissed by him yet try to pretend like it doesn’t affect you. he knows because you hit the side of his thigh under the table and he catches your hand, holding onto it and winking at you before starting to eat.

fred was generally a romantic person to begin with; and he showed that off pretty much in public, in private, whenever he could. it felt like the chase was never over. it was far from it. it’s been quite some time since you agreed to date him and it was one of your best choices yet. two years and still going strong, it feels like there’s more to fred weasley to love day by day. the new things you learnt about him made you love him more. and any disagreements that came your way, resolved together felt like levelling up in life and in relationship through growth and communication. it felt like two pieces of a puzzle coming together, finally completing each other.

it was the same for said boy, too. (but we’ll save that for another time, let’s focus on you this time around)

at any moment, he’d find an opportunity to make you feel like you’re the luckiest person alive. and when that feeling subsides, he does it all over again, even at times he didn’t appear to be trying. oftentimes, his glances, the way he cares for you, the little things he notices; those were everything to you. how he has a hand on your lower back as you walked, or how he’d pull the chair open for you or snatching your books away as he accompanied you to your next class. fred was a touchy person, more so when it involved you - he can’t take his hands off you. and when he can’t find the words, or show you the way he feels... well... there’s one answer to that.

a bang. 

surely, that’s one of the things that led up to his reputation - and that’s exactly how he plans to show you. he squeezes your hand and you slow down on your chewing to gaze at him in the middle of katie’s little ramble to the whole gang. you swallow down the food in your mouth and he points to under the table, where you reach for the note he’s placed between the pair of you. he then leans in to whisper into your ear, “read it later during herbology,” and you nod silently, easily slotting it into your pocket and return to listening to katie’s story.

though on the outside you seem to have it together, deep down, your heart was racing at the thought of what it could be. fred was never one to be on the down-low with his advances, and it only got progressively more and more daring in public when the pair of you got together. you try not to press too much on it for now, enjoying fred’s fingers between your own beneath the table and basking in the tranquil of the morning shared with your friends.

//

although you had been rather good at keeping your facade up for the whole day, you had to admit, you were curious what was up fred weasley’s sleeves. the boy was super excited as well and you could tell. throughout the class today, he still wouldn’t let slip to what he has planned. not even george would tell you when you tried to prod for more information; swiftly directing you away from the topic (and back to your seat). it only affirms your suspicions that george is in on it too...

angelina notices your furrowed brows towards the end of class, poking your arm with a grin, “what’s going on in that head of yours, y/l/n?”

you pout as you reach for the piece of parchment fred had slipped into your hands earlier, now passing it for her to scan through the words.

“weasley’s handwriting is ghastly,” she comments, and you laugh quietly but still flick her forehead, “alright, alright, sorry mrs. weasley,” she giggles in response, but upon reading the note properly, she sighs, “well, guess it’s another one of his grand scenes again, isn’t it?”

the note reaches back to you and you frown at the words you’ve deciphered earlier:

love, after dinner come out to the courtyard. got a little surprise for you ;)

- your favorite ginger, freddie

“he better not,” you mumble under your breath, recollecting how he pulled a stunt during valentine’s day that even got you in trouble. you’ll admit, your heart swooned at the sight of him bursting heart balloons and making it rain chocolate but it just so happened a balloon exploded in front of professor snape’s face. even when fred pleaded for you not to get involved, snape... wouldn’t be snape if he had listened and granted all of you detention for two weeks. not only that, he was a little bit harsher on fred soon after, which only made you somewhat sad. fred could handle it, of course he could, but it doesn’t make you feel better knowing this situation happened because he absolute adores surprising you like this.

you look over your shoulder to see fred chatting with george animatedly past the plants. it seems like your stare can travel past the air when fred takes his turn to listen to george speak, ever so casually gazing your way as well. he stops george mid-sentence, the weasley twins now looking at you and you lift up the piece of paper, shaking your head with a small frown, to which they easily translate to: please don’t do it.

george chuckles and shakes his head, the same time fred lifts a finger up and wiggles it disapprovingly, to which you translate to: not a chance, love.

well, so be it then. if fred is aiming to be the first person to get expelled for professing his love then... oh god, please don’t get expelled.

//

your stomach is turning upside down the moment you’re done with dinner. the great hall is still filled with people, but it starts to disperse when students get up to leave. your heart drops when you already see fred and george gone, gaping at the sudden lost of the ginger haired boys - how could you have let them slip?!

you rise up to your feet and nudge angelina to follow suit. she links arms with you as you make your way to the courtyard, and she can tell you’re nervous mainly for fred’s wellbeing. she finds it adorable, but you’re a mess inside. of course you appreciated fred’s gestures and his way of showing he loves you, but you’d rather him do it in a way that doesn’t jeopardise his studies... which... you somewhat understand he’d rather much risk it all.

it was simply in fred weasley’s blood. apparently george’s as well when the moment you reach the courtyard, you’re gaping at the pair of them on their broomsticks, as if they had been swirling around to wait for your arrival. it amazes you how they haven’t got caught yet. now that they deserve an award for.

your jaw drops, anxiety fills your bones and you frantically look around in hopes you don’t spot a professor in sight. lee’s voice fills the courtyard as he hollers to the twins above, “y/n y/l/n is in sight!”

“let em’ rip, freddie!”

“when you do, georgie!”

“what the bloody-!” your voice gets cut off when the pair of them swing whatever it is in their hands up into the air, erupting explosions of fireworks out on display. cheers can be heard from the people who have gathered to watch, some from the sidelines, some from past the gaps of the corridors but you... out here in the open as the sparks of blue, red, and yellow intertwined up to paint the night sky. midnight blue, spread across with glitters of white all dancing along in the air and it keeps going.

the shapes morph from hearts, to stars, and you swear you see your initials being spelled out like constellations. your breath starts to quicken at the sight and angelina rubs your arm soothingly to calm you down, but she can already see the glow in your eyes in admiration to fred’s stunt. of course, she chuckles, and you take a side glance to her and playfully nudge her by bumping your shoulder to hers.

“and you wonder why fred does it? when you’re looking at the surprise like that?” she muses, and you shake your head, eyes gazing back up to the sight and your heart is full. “he’s gone mad,” you snort, but angelina knows your true feelings when you squeeze her arm, the firework of hearts now embedded in your eyes instead. 

more people start to gather around and it’s only a matter of time before you’d all get into trouble. but when you look up and manage to lock eyes with fred who looks like he’ll gladly even steal the moon for you if that’s what you wanted, your heart rests easy. we’ll go down together, then.

before you can hold eye contact with the ginger haired boy and express your gratitude, a bunch of girls on the side nudge you for your attention. you turn over to them, along with angelina who raises a brow.

“where on earth did you get him from?” one of them asks, and you didn’t know if they were being serious or not. yet, their tone really sounds like they’re genuinely curious. it makes angelina laugh, already looking away to continue watching the fireworks and you shrug, shaking your head, “honestly, i have no idea,”

“you’re one bloody lucky girl, y/n,”

“yeah,” you breathed, watching how wide fred smiles at you like you are the world and truly, you were. but fred was the same, if not more to you, too. literal stars in his eyes as he continues to fly around in the air, his movements somewhat coordinated with the on-going fireworks. your eyes are locked on him the whole time, biting down on your lip to stop yourself from grinning too hard. when he slows down on his broom and sways down to you, his eyes remain on you as you release the bite from your lip, smiling face to face at fred,  “i am.”

((”freddie!” you manage to leap into his arms and he catches you, always does. he chuckles when you squeeze him tight around his neck and he’s taking advantage of his grip on you to tug you to the side so at least, you two would somehow have a moment together in decent privacy. he kisses the side of your head, arms wrapping around you to give you a squeeze back. he grins at you when you pull back, one of his hands reaching up to push your hair from your face, “hello there, gorgeous,” his hand then goes back to your waist, now swaying the pair of you idly in the midst of loud chatter of the people around you but somehow, fred only sees you. 

“did you like the surprise?” he wiggles his brows, earning a grateful nod from you, “i love it freddie,” you admit shyly, feeling heat rising to your cheeks and fred resists the urge to openly snog the heck out of you, willing to hold back... for now, at least. “you always make me feel like the luckiest person alive,” 

he frowns, brows knitting together, “hey! don’t go around stealing my line,” his nose scrunches up in disapproval, “’m supposed to say that!”

“oh, you’ve surely said enough with those fireworks,” you snort, hitting the back of his neck gently. he opens his mouth to say something - if you had to guess, probably something along the lines of ‘reckon i could’ve said a whole lot more’ because fred believes life’s too short to not go out with a bang - but you quickly place a finger on his lips, beating him to it.

“speaking of, lay low a little, please?” you huff, “wouldn’t want to explain to molly and arthur that you got expelled just to profess your love to me,” fred reads between the lines and it’s code words for please don’t get expelled and not try to complete your studies or ruin your remaining time in hogwarts just for this. the amount of love and care you had for him was insane and he never knew someone could love him like this before. it made his heart feel like it was floating in his ribcage.

“i’ll try, i guess... if you give me a kiss?” he raises a brow, even though he knows it’s not a question that had any other answer than leaning in with a grin, aiming for his puckered lips, only to be-”mr. weasley,”

you don’t know if you’re grateful that at least, it wasn’t professor snape. instead it was professor mcgonagall who’s pulling fred by the ear. he yelps in response, refusing to let go of his arms on your waist until you brush his hands off. for a moment he looks a little hurt, but you can tell he’s just being playful.

“p-professor,” you lower your head, and she only tuts at the pair of you, but more towards-”i expect to see you in detention, mr. weasley,” her hand extends out to the side and she grabs ahold of-”this mr. weasley as well,” george groans when professor mcgonagall drags your weasley by the ear, and the other by his robe. “your time starts now,” she sternly reprimands, nudging them to the side to make their move and you frown and keep your head down when she turns to look at you.

yet, she doesn’t say much, only dusting your robe and offering you a small smile, to which you return as well. “i’m still surprised how you’re with mr. weasley but,” she leans in and you instinctively do the same, “as sweet as that was, do keep it under the covers. wouldn’t want to expel him,”

you let your reaction get the best of you by saying: “that’s what i said-!” you notice your outburst surprises her and you quiet down, “w-will do, professor, thank you,”

she lets a soft chuckle escape before clearing her throat to the rest of the-”students, off to bed!”

“but professor! look at how pretty she is! not even a kiss?!” fred hollers just as he’s a good distance away, his voice echoing in the courtyard as it blends with laughs from some of the students. you can’t help but keep your eyes away from anyone staring and angelina swoops in to drag you back to your dorm, but not until you’re able to blow a kiss to fred and bid him goodnight without words.

“look at that! so gorgeous! so unfair-ah!” fred yelps and you hear a smack, to which you can only make up is from professor mcgonagall when they disappear in the halls and you’d have to wait until tomorrow morning to give fred that kiss he’s earned... a few kisses, at least.))

[nautiscarader]

Beach in heat (Yumalia, E)

Older Yumalia written for @yumalianinja for his Adult Wakfu Art Jam 2021. Also, today happens to be his birthday!

=============

(Ao3)

- I'd like to remind you, Yugo, you are officially my bodyguard... We don't want any more gossip about us...

Amalia smiled and kissed him, just before the two hopped from the carriage onto the road that lead them straight to arguably the largest beach in the World of Twelve. The familiar scent of sea, so familiar from their old journeys hit their noses, and was immediately combined with the noises of hundreds of other beach goers that decided to spend their holidays at the famous Cocabanana.

Amalia lead the way, through narrow streets leading to the beach, letting Yugo carry the many baskets with her personal belongings, making him wish he could just portal them to the correct place. But he'd have to know where that location was, and princess Amalia seemed to take her sweet time in picking up perfect spot for sunbathing.

- Ah, there!

She pointed, perplexingly, to the the large bush that grew next to the natural, rocky wall that created natural border with the city, and with a simple move of her feet, she used her magic to make it wither and collapse, ensuring quite a large space for their belongings.

Yugo gladly put the packages down and spread the blankets all over the sand, to ensure his girlfriend won't find any smaller rocks underneath it she could complain about. He then set up the umbrella so that his princess would have perfect amount of shade and sunlight. Lastly, came the small stool with drinks and snacks he helped preparing the day before. But when he turned around to report his work done, words got stuck in his mouth, as he laid his eyes on Amalia, and her attire, or rather lack thereof.

With her dress gone, the Sadida princess wore only her leafy bra and panties, even skimpier than her already short skirt Yugo remembered so well. He had to restrain himself from ogling her scrumptious curves, only accented by those few parts of her body she wasn't showing to the world, and he looked away to say he was done.

- Thank, you, Yugo.

She spoke nonchalantly, treating him like any of her servants, though as she walked past him, she winked from behind her sunglasses. She lay down on the blanket, and as she tried to find the best place for her royal tushy, Yugo couldn't stop thinking that he was the only one meant to see that alluring show.

And he promptly had to look away when he felt his needs awakening in his shorts.

Shorts which he had to be left in, as the sun above them started giving more and more heat, forcing Yugo out of his equally short trousers. he sat down next to her and handed her a glass of drink, trying not to see her curves about to escape the leafy prison she put them in.

"Think of some cute Bow-meows...", he thought. And as he looked to his right, he got his wish... in form of three, long-legged Ecaflipettes that most certainly did not have the modesty of Amalia, proudly squeezing her breasts and shaking their posteriors, as they coiled their tails around a few men that swarmed them.

Yugo swallowed loudly, feeling the pressure between his legs. It's been a rather long fortnight, full of diplomacy and boring meetings, and worst of all, he had to do his duties as a hero of the World of Twelve to help fix the broken world away from Amalia, giving the two very little time together. She came up with the idea of the beach trip, though of course they couldn't act like a couple, afraid of any rumours that might arise...

The juice cooled him down partially, and took some of the heat away, as he concentrated on the distant waves of the azure ocean. But his willpower was only given a moment of rest when Amalia reached to one of the baskets, took a bottle of sunbathing cream, and began her show.

She gladly lifted and exposed her long, smooth legs, now shining from the protective substance, as she coated them with, and as her hands moved up, she could see Yugo's eyes moving with them, despite his best attempts at staying in character. Her arms were soon covered as well, but it was only when Amalia reached her belly when she heard Yugo's needy sigh.

- Oops, spilled a little...

The sight of several streaks of whiteness covering her belly and reaching up to her breasts was too much for the Eliatrope, who had to turn away once more, his mind flooding with imagery of all the times he painted his love in such way. And Yugo instantly realised he shouldn't have done that, when his princess reached to him.

- Would you lend me your hand?

When Yugo turned to his side, he saw Amalia lying on her chest, proudly showing her backside curves, accentuated by her now-untied bra.

- I need some help... - though her voice was soft, he could hear the sly undertone, as she pointed to her back.

Once more Yugo swallowed, reached for the bottle and with trembling hands, began massaging the cream into the skin of her back.

- Oh come on, you need to get closer. - Amalia reprimanded him - Sit here.

And she playfully smacked her ass. Yugo could already hear some snickering from the gang of Ecaflipettes, but he followed his princess' orders, straddling her perfect posterior, as he hoped his boner wasn't too visible from the side to any of the onlookers.

- Mhm, that's right, Yugo - Amalia let out a deep, languorous moan, as his hands touched her. - I love the feeling of your fingers caressing me...

- A-Am-, I mean, princess... - And I love how you rock back and forth against me...

Yugo stopped at once, realising his body's subconscious behaviour and how it must have looked. Amalia let out another, disappointing sigh when he did that. With his hands still shaking, he continued his job, ensureing that his fingers don't accidentally slide to her breasts.

- Good job, Yugo. You have creamed me so much... - she praised him out of nowehre. - Princess, p-please...

Amalia turned her head and gave his lover a subtle, playful wink.

- That would be enough, thank you.

She spoke with a much serious tone, letting her boyfriend take a breather. But twenty minutes later he was called again, when Amalia went for a swim, this time with a rather serious shriek.

- Ah! Yugo! quick, I need your help!

At once, he got up and jumped into the sea, wondering what has happened. The answer became obvious, when he noticed how Amalia was holding her arms around her bare chest.

- My bra untied itself! It must have sank somewhere here... - she asked with a pretence sweetness - Would you please help me find it...?

Yugo raised his brow, responding to her equally mischievous smile, and dived into the shallow water. It took him a while to realise her plan. Amalia was holding the leafy bra with her toes, giving him chance to get even closer to her body. His hands closer around her ankles, calves and thighs, feeling shivers on her skin. And as he swam further up, her other hand slipped down and untied her panties as well, giving Yugo a tantalisingly short view of her naked bush.

And then he nearly ran out of air and had to swim up.

- Thank you, Yugo...

With a few swift moves, her body was covered once more with her "lost" bra, and she began swimming towards the shore. But it only took her one step on the sand, before she started complaining again.

- Though of course now my bikini is covered in sand from the bottom of the ocean..! - she added with annoyance in her voice - I'm heading to the changing booth.

Amalia spoke nonchalantly, and only after a moment Yugo noticed that the princess hasn't moved at all, staring at him expectantly.

- Well? - she raised her brow - I *need* my bodyguard to help me...

The delicate stress she put to her words, combined with her lips curling into a seductive smile had an immediate effect on her boyfriend that jumped to his feet, trying not to appear too excited for other beach-goers. But that notion disappeared the moment the wooden door closed behind the two.

There was no subtlety in Yugo's behaviour: Amalia was quickly pushed to the wall of the small, cramped room, her legs were spread and she was lifted into the air to better accommodate Yugo sliding against her half-naked body. There was no place for long foreplay and the masterful use of his fingers and tongue she was used to. By the time Amalia broke their kiss to take a much needed breath, he was already naked, his cock pressed against her lips, waiting for the final conformation that came in form of a frisky gleam in her eye.

Amalia needed his lips again to contain her scream, as he buried himself inside her wet core in a single, forceful thrust that shook her body, and, thanks to her legs and arms pressed tightly against the walls, the entire booth. But it was only the beginning, as the entire afternoon of teasing suddenly materialised itself in form of Yugo's immense, raw power and strength with each push.

At that point, the small, wooden stall was rocking back and forth, clearly giving away what was going inside, but neither of them cared. Amalia was living through waves of pleasure, reaping the consequences of her actions, as her powerful boyfriend claimed her body as his.

Though her legs and arms were twisted to accommodate both of their bodies in the cramped space, Amalia was feeling reasonably secure, even under the constant barrage of deep thrusts. But that changed when Yugo moved his right hand to her underbelly, and his thumb brushed her clit, sending a very audible shriek from her lungs, as she lived through not one, but several orgasms that made her almost lose her balance. She wasn't sure how her boyfriend was channelling the raw, primal Wakfu, but he concentrated it on her most delicate of places, making her instantly drift into bliss.

But even in her half-lucid state, she clearly heard his grunts and her name being chanted, louder and louder, and knew he wasn't far behind her. And if she thought that his fingers pulsating with energy against her clit would be the peak of her pleasure, she sheer warmth and volume of his potent load that flooded her sex made her lose her composure again, and if it wasn't for his lips against hers, the entire beach would have heard her maddening blabbering about Yugo's manhood.

A tsunami of his hot seed filled her to the brim in no time and quickly began to leak onto the sand, as her pussy spasmed and quaked, just like her entire body. His strong arms soon gave up, just like her limbs, and the two gently collapsed onto the small bench, as their breathing returned to normal.

- Thank... thank you, Yugo for helping me... change my outfit...

She looked down, at their discarded, almost ripped clothes and between their sweaty bodies, seeing a streak of his seed, clinging to her left thigh, after it leaked out of her overfilled sex.

- That's... that's my duty... - he fixed his hat and sneaked a kiss or two to her breasts, which he sadly neglected. - Though I see what your master plan has been all the time, Yugo... - she wheezed, her body still locked in an awkward position - You wanted to prevent me from ever going to the beach again to torture you...

Yugo raised his brow, unsure what his girlfriend meant, until she took his hand and moved it to her underbelly, just like when he caressed her clit.

- After all, I wouldn't be able to fit into any of my swimsuits if you ruin my perfect beach body...

Only now, with Amalia's sly and seductive tone, Yugo realised what she meant, and, understanding his mistake, brought by two weeks of abstinence, and sheer deisre to make up for that. He tried to pull out, but the cramped space effectively locked him in the dangerous position, but even if he could move, Amalia's arms and legs were closed around his torso and neck, respectively.

- A-Ami, I-I forgot, I'm-I'm sorry- - Ssh, it's okay, I'm on a potion - she kissed him - I knew you wouldn't be able to stop yourself after I'd tease you all day... I can't blame you... - Ami, I-I-

But Yugo's apologies were cut by sudden, loud clamouring against the wooden door. And when Amalia and Yugo looked down, they could see more than one pair of feet waiting in line.

- I think it's time to go.

Amalia kissed Yugo and let go of her body, as the two fell through the portal in the wall, leaving their ripped clothes, a small pool of cum sinking into the sand, and a potent scent of a summer passion lingering in the air, hoping to inspire some other couple after them.

[inkformyblood]

i wish i was only as cruel

Jangobi Week 2021 Prompt #4 Forced to Work Together (Modern!AU, Background other relationships)

Obi-Wan carefully placed his tea down at his desk, the wood highlighted by a chain of rings from all the cups that had come before it, and settled into his seat. His office still felt oppressive to him — inherited quickly from Qui-Gon in the wake of his sudden passing — as it was still fitted with the dark wood and occasional twisted plant that his old teacher had favoured. Obi-Wan had tried to put his own touch on things, but found himself hampered time and time again by the guilt that twisted through his ribs like a living creature, settling to bite at his heart. 

Pausing for a moment, Obi-Wan allowed himself to turn towards the large window set in the centre of the only wall uncovered by bookshelves and disguised filing cabinets. Beneath him, almost hidden through the heavy smog that rose from the twisted roads that could be mistaken for rivers, lay the city of Coruscant, lit in a fire of reds and sickly yellows.

The building, a set of law offices inhabited by every speciality possible, was quiet around him, except for the distant rumble of a trolley passing over one the floors above — the sound filtering down the towering central staircase — and the muted almost bubbling music from Plo Koon’s office two floors down. They had passed each other that morning, the other man smiling at him from behind his brightly patterned mask while his assistant, Wolffe — Obi-Wan had never quite been able to meet his eyes properly — nodded his greetings before readjusting the pile of files in his arms. Obi-Wan had been able to hear their voices, pitched low but he could still hear the note of care twisting through Wolffe’s words, the other man a constant presence at Plo Koon’s side. 

His own assistant, Cody, was one of Wolffe’s half-brothers, proving time and time again that the universe was conspiring against Obi-Wan specifically, and that it truly was a small world for all that Coruscant was filled with people. Obi-Wan was surrounded by the children — the echoes as Jango called them when they let him — of the man he once loved with everything he was. 

Shaking his head to clear the cobwebs of old regrets from his mind, Obi-Wan took a sip of his rapidly cooling tea, letting the slight bitter taste centre him for the day ahead, and turned to the first page of his paperwork. 

⁂

“Tea, sir.”

Obi-Wan startled, eyes dry and aching as he blinked slowly, feeling the final lines of text sear into his eyes as he glanced up. Cody pointed towards the gently steaming cup next to his elbow, his brow creased in familiar worry lines, before shifting his grip on the notepad tucked beneath his arm like a shield. With a gentle smile to try and soothe some of the other man’s worries, Obi-Wan reached for the cup, and paused. 

“Cody?”

“Sir?” Cody didn’t shift nervously from foot to foot, or duck his head to try and get away like some of his half-brothers would when confronted with Obi-Wan’s reproachful stare. He had never acted that way since the first day he walked through Obi-Wan’s office door, and pushed the older lawyer out for a break so Cody could organise his files in peace. But Obi-Wan knew the look on his face — the slightly widened eyes, the mild look of surprise communicated solely through a slightly raised eyebrow — although Obi-Wan had first learned it from Jango. 

The thought sent a pang of grief through his heart, grief for what could have been, and his nails dug into his palms for a moment before he moved past the emotion, letting it flow through him rather than fester in his chest like a wound. “What is going on?”

“If I tell you, it’s an internal matter—” Cody looked like every word was being dragged out of him, the corner of one eye starting to twitch “—would you let us handle it?”

As if on cue, a crash echoed through the half-open door, followed by indistinguishable yells. Obi-Wan was standing in an instant, moving towards the landing as Cody sighed, a far too world-weary sigh for such a young man, and followed him, moving with an almost military-like precision. 

Sound carried through the floors, and on the landings above and below him, Obi-Wan could see the familiar faces of his colleagues peering down, all to a man pretending they weren’t deeply invested in finding out what was going on. Glancing down towards the entrance, Obi-Wan felt his blood run cold. 

Boil and Waxer stood in the glass entryway to the building, hackles raised and arms outstretched to bar the door from the man trying to argue his way inside. Numa, their adopted daughter, was curled into Kix’s arms, her bright blue braids the only part of her that was visible, the man hovering half tucked into a doorway. 

“Boil, Waxer?”

Waxer turned, using the motion to check on Numa as he did so, and caught Obi-Wan’s eye. Next to him, he could sense Cody’s glare lessen, the other man raising a hand to press it into his eyes next to him. Even Cody’s organisation couldn’t account for the force of nature that was Jango Fett. 

“Is Jango here to see me?” Through the glass, Obi-Wan saw Jango freeze, his arms lowering as he pressed them to his side, but couldn’t make out the expression on his face. Was he angry? Remorseful? Obi-Wan still woke from nightmares of their final parting, the rain crashing down on them both as Jango kissed him once — fierce and desperate, his hand leaving bruises on Obi-Wan’s hip — before he walked away from everything they had built together. 

Waxer looked at Cody first, the gesture small but it spoke volumes, before nodding hesitantly. 

Obi-Wan turned to Cody, catching the rapid-fire flashes of guilt and grief flickering over his face before it was tucked away once more. “I’ll be fine,” Obi-Wan reassured him, laying a careful hand on his arm and squeezing. 

“If you’re sure, sir,” Cody said, hesitancy clear in every unspoken word kept in his chest. 

“Let him up. I’ll see him in my office. I’m sure he would appreciate someone showing him the way.”

It was a low blow, but a deserved one as Obi-Wan saw Jango flinch at the reminder through the glass that while he was slowly rebuilding relationships with his sons — those that would let him following the clerical error that led to their existences — he knew nothing about Obi-Wan’s life anymore.

“Tell your brothers thank you, Cody. And I thank you as well for looking out for me,” Obi-Wan murmured, as the crowd began to slowly disperse, assistants corralling their lawyers back into their offices with a careful word or, in the case of Rex and Anakin, hoisting the man over his shoulder and carrying him when subtlety failed to work.

“I know he’s trying, but—” Cody broke off with a frown and a shake of his head.

“He’s here. I can hear him out, at least.”

“Would you like some company, sir?”

Obi-Wan carefully sat back down in his chair, drawing his cup of tea closer to him. He stared at the dark liquid as he thought, breathing in the sweet floral scent. “No, thank you Cody. I believe this is a conversation best had by ourselves.”

Cody’s frown only deepened, too harsh an expression to have found its place on such a young face, and Obi-Wan sighed softly. “I believe Plo Koon was needing some help?”

It was an obvious ploy, but one he knew would work. Given Plo Koon’s involvement in their own case, all of Jango’s sons had a soft spot for the man, although he often had more than enough help in the form of his ‘Wolf Pack’. 

“Sir.”

Cody turned to leave, and tensed. His bulk was blocking most of Obi-Wan’s view of the door, but the atmosphere in the room grew cold. “Buir.”

“Eyayad.”

Jango’s voice was softer than Obi-Wan remembered, tempered by time. Cody’s back stiffened further at the endearment, glancing back over his shoulder at Obi-Wan — worry clear in his eyes — before he marched out of the room. 

Jango’s hair was speckled with grey, and longer than Obi-Wan remembered, curling around his ears. His face was lined and scarred, but his smile was the same — causing Obi-Wan’s stomach to flip reflexively, warmth flooding through him.

“I see you still need to cause an entrance,” he murmured, gesturing for Jango to sit opposite him. The man did so, glancing around the room with equal parts curiosity and apprehension, his gaze never fully landing on Obi-Wan.

“I didn’t want our first meeting back to be like this,” Jango sighed, scrubbing a hand across his eyes, leaning forward for a moment — looking as vulnerable as Obi-Wan had ever seen him, stripped out of his customary dark green court suit — before he settled back in his chair. “I had plans before I, before—” He broke off.

“Before you left shortly after finding out that you had inadvertently fathered hundreds of children?”

“I was a starving student at the time of those “donations”,” Jango snapped, catching himself before he escalated any further. “But that doesn’t excuse me running away.”

“It’s been nearly a decade, Jango,” Obi-Wan said, running a thumb against the faded pattern on his mug, feeling the heat press at his skin. “I thought you were dead. I mourned you.”

“I can’t apologise enough, cyar’ika. I was a coward.” He spat the word with more venom than Obi-Wan had ever heard. “And I will spend the rest of my life trying to correct my mistakes, not just the ones I inflicted on you, but on my children. But, what I came here before is more than that.”

“Oh?”

Obi-Wan sat back in his chair, saw Jango flinch at the appearance of his court persona, before the other man straightened in his chair. They had met in court, a courtship of arguments and battles fought with words, coffee and meals exchanged in the dead of night when neither of them could even see straight anymore. Jango had quit prosecuting when he left, fleeing without a word into the night, but he still knew how to pull on that mask, like an old familiar coat. 

They had been legendary, and Obi-Wan couldn’t hide the grin that slipped out. 

“I’m here because I’m being framed for murder. And you are the only person who can help me, even if you must hate me right now.”

“Jango, I don’t think I could ever hate you.”

Obi-Wan sighed, letting his head drop until his forehead was pressed into the soft leather adorning the top of his desk, breathing in the age old scent of varnish and coffee. “I will help you though. But you have to tell me everything.”

Jango could have carved from marble, but he nodded slowly, hands curled into fists so tight that Obi-Wan wondered if they would break. 

“Okay, cyar’ika. What would you like to know?”

[lo-55]

Tilt The Hourglass Ch. 11

Forget putting a bell on Maul, Maul was going to put a leash on Kenobi. 

The foolish boy had made the executive decision to leave before dawn with no more than a note.  

Maul handed the piece of flimsi to Jango, his jaw set tight. 

Dear Mr. Fett and Maul, 

I went back to the Agri-Corps dome to get another look at the secret room in case I saw something I missed before that might help Master Jinn. I will return with lunch around midday planet time. Thank you for last night, and I apologize for the inconvenience. 

Sincerely, Jedi Initiate Obi Wan Kenobi

Jango didn’t look any happier to see the note than Maul felt. He knew Kenobi was impulsive and foolish but this was truly ridiculous. 

How was it possible that this was the same man who had consistently beaten Maul through his lifetime? 

Maul paused. 

Well. Kenobi had charged a Sith head on after his vaunted master had fallen to his hand. He’d taken only a single other Jedi to confront that same Sith when he had back up. He’d left the Jedi with no help at all to try to rescue Satine. Maul had seen him fight on full battlefields and loose his lightsaber. And, he was also the one who had raised Skywalker and Tano. 

What was that saying about Neti falling from their branches? 

Maul realized with no small degree of horror that Kenobi had mellowed with age, and this one was twice as rash as the one he’d known. 

Well fuck. 

Maul had been busy in his room in the morning after breakfast, and Jango had been off talking to someone on a private comm that he wasn’t allowed to eavesdrop on, and in the middle of all that Kenobi had just. Vanished. 

“I should have kept a better eye on him,” Maul scowled at the flimsi, quietly willing it to light on fire. He’d never gotten the hang of spontaneous combustion, and it didn’t work now either. 

Jango shot him an unimpressed look over the edge of the parchment. It was small, hotel issued. 

“I’m pretty sure you’re younger than him,” Jango said patiently, “so if anything he should have been watching you.” 

He didn’t even bother with Maul’s bristling pride this time. Jango wouldn’t snap at him, of that Maul was certain, but he was clearly irritated by Kenobi’s lack of forethought. 

It didn’t help that a moment later the door swung open and Clat’Ha strode in, her eyes white around the edges, with Jinn in tow. 

Maul blinked at the white bandages plastered to the normally dignified Jedi’s nose. Was Jinn getting in bar fights now? At this point it wouldn’t surprise Maul. 

“What-” 

Jango was cut off by Clat’Ha, who had gone pale. 

“It’s Obi Wan. He’s gone missing.” 

Maul’s blood went cold. His face blanched to grey-pink. “What?” 

Missing? Truly missing? 

Maul’s mind went to Xanatos. He was the only other threat they had encountered on this journey. Well, the only one that still lived. The draigons were gone, the pirates were space dust, only the washed out Padawan was left. 

“He went to the AgriCorps dome this morning,” Jango said, showing them the note. Jinn’s mouth thinned into a line and his brows pinched together. 

“Si Treemba said he saw him there, but he vanished. They heard shouting and fighting near the annex they found the other day, but when they got there Obi Wan was gone,” Clat’Ha shook her head mournfully. 

“We have to find him,” Jango spoke for all of them. 

Jinn held up his hand. 

“We must be patient,” he counselled, and Maul knew he wasn’t the only one who wanted to strike the Jedi in the face. “If we rush in with haste, we run the risk of putting him in further danger.” 

“Funny to hear that from the Jedi,” Jango snapped. 

Jinn narrowed his eyes. “I wouldn’t expect a man like yourself to understand the subtleties of bidding ones time and gathering information-”

“It’s hard to gather information when you hoard cards to your chest like a hutt on a losing streak-” 

“If you needed to know I would tell you-”

“Like you told Obi Wan? Listen you-” 

“Enough!” Clat’Ha snapped, stepping between the bickering men. It was enough to get them to cut it out, at least momentarily. “Arguing helps no one, now shut up. Our first priority needs to be looking for Obi Wan. I’m going out to the dome to see if I can find any leads. And you two are not going to go after eachother the second I’m gone, got it?” 

She looked pointedly from one man to the other, until both were bowed to her will. 

Maul would have been impressed in any other situation. 

“Kenobi isn’t dead,” Maul said with certainty. All three looked at him, startled. Maul met their eyes defiantly. “He’s not weak enough as to roll over and die just like that.”

“...The kids right,” Clat’Ha’s shoulders relaxed and she slowly eased into a smile. “We’ll find him. I’m off, I’ll comm you if I find anything new.” 

“I’m going to go to the dockmaster,” Jango said finally. “I’ll find out if there’s a ship that’s left Bandomeer that might have him on it. Maul, you should come with me. It’ll be dangerous.” 

Maul shook his head. “I’ll find you later. I wanna check on a rumor I heard first.” 

Jango eyed him suspiciously, but Maul had proven himself resourceful and dangerous. Reluctantly, the Mandalorian agreed. 

“Just keep your head down, okay? I’ll be very upset if I don’t get the chance to adopt you properly.” 

Maul kicked his boot. “Cut the sentimental Banthashit,” he scolded. “You’re supposed to be a Mandalorian, a fearsome warrior!” 

“And there’s nothing Mandalorian’s value more than our ade, Maul’ika. Children are our future, and you are mine.” Jango patted his head lightly, minding his horns. “Meet back here tonight, or I’m coming to find you.” 

Maul rolled his eyes. As it he hadn’t noticed the tracer Jango had slipped into his poncho pocket. He would leave it be for now. If he went somewhere he didn’t want Jango following he would take it out and attach it a tooka for Jango to follow after. 

For the time being, he left the apartments and headed to the Offworld admin building in Bando. 

It wasn’t hard to sneak in through the vents. It was one of the only good things about being this small again, was how easy it was to slide through buildings and ships. He had to carefully rerout a few cleaning droids, but besides that he didn’t have any trouble finding Xanatos’ office. He did, however, notice that the door was hidden behind the same opaque wall that Kenobi had found in the dome. 

Certainly Xanatos’ work. 

Maul briefly considered kicking out the grate and ripping Kenobi’s location from Xanatos’ screaming throat, but the building was situated between an actual mine and a smelting facility. There would be guards, miners, and a hundred other workers in the building, and if it went into lock down Maul had seen laser grid generators in the vents on his way in. He didn’t fancy fighting an army of disgruntled Offworlders or getting cut in half again, thank you. 

There was always window, he supposed… 

But Maul was patient. He had to be. 

He hated it. 

It went against his very nature. Still, he was rather good at lying in wait. 

He watched Xanatos work. It was hard to see from this angle, but in the reflection of the window Maul caught his fingers moving, and the input of codes. He watched the pattern that formed. The computer showed only a code, and while Maul didn’t have the key he had enough to work it out. 

He even got the password. 

Crion. 

When Xanatos made for the door Maul carefully lifted a familiar lightsaber off of his hip and set it gently aside. As soon as Xanatos left Maul slowly eased his way out of his hiding place. He grabbed the lightsaber, one he had once thrown into the plasma generators in Theed, and searched Xanatos’ correspondences for any mention of Obi Wan in his little code. He found a few, but they were vague and brief. 

It told Maul just enough to know that Obi Wan was alive, and had been sent a mine in the seas. 

Maul copied as many files as he could and saved them a data stick in the desk drawer before he made off for the vents and the outside world. 

By then it was nearing dark. The miners had traded shifts, and the office workers had gone home. 

Maul was sneaking around the side of the building when he heard something very interesting. 

Jinn. 

The master was sneaking around the shadows like a common thief. Like Sith. Maul nearly laughed. The Jedi hypocrisy would never cease to amaze him.  

"If you have plans for Bandomeer, you should know I am here to stop you," he said, his voice low but full of Force. It really was his intention to put a stop to his former Padawan’s ploy here. 

Xanatos flung one side of his cloak behind him dramatically, and Maul could see the lines of lineage. Kenobi had a habit of stripping himself of his own cloaks, as did Tano. His hand rested casually on the hilt of a lightsaber. A familiar lightsaber. 

Xanatos patted the lightsaber. "Yes, I still have it. After all, I trained for all those years. Why should I give it up like a thief, when I deserve to carry it?"

Maul was beginning to think he was going to have to write down when he knew about Jedi traditions and cross check it. He had been raised to kill them, which meant he needed to learn how they fought and how their sentimentality made them weak. 

He didn’t know there were rules about keeping lightsabers after leaving an order. 

To be fair, a sith never would have been given the chance. 

"Because you deserve it no longer," Jinn answered. "You shame it."

A flush spread over Xanatos' face. Jinn’s comment had hit him. Xanatos still cared what Jinn thought of him. 

Good. 

Maul could use that. 

He was stiff, and angry, then he relaxed, smiling. Maul tracked his emotions carefully. Weaknesses. Everyone had weaknesses. 

"I see you are still a hard man, Qui-Gon. Once that bothered me. Now it amuses me." Xanatos began to circle around him. "We were friends at the end, more than Master and apprentice."

"Yes," Jinn said, taking careful steps to keep up with Xanatos. Maul tensed when he turned so he could have seen him if he were looking. He didn’t. 

 "We were."

"All the more reason for you to betray me. To you, friendship is nothing. You enjoyed my suffering."

"The betrayal was yours. As was the enjoyment of suffering. That is what you discovered on Telos. Yoda had already seen it. And that is why he knew you would fail."

"Yoda!" Xanatos spat the word. "That knee-high troll! He thinks he has power. He hasn't dreamed of a tenth of the power I know!"

"You know?" Qui-Gon asked mildly. "How do you know such power, Xanatos? A mid-level manager of a corporation, sent to do the board's bidding?"

"I do no one's bidding but my own."

"Is that why you're here? Is Bandomeer a test of your abilities?" 

"I don't take tests," Xanatos snapped. "I make the rules. Bandomeer is mine. All I have to do is reach out my hand and take it."

He circled closer, his cloak swirling and brushing against Jinn. He was a viper waiting to strike, but his fangs weren’t out. Maul knew Xanatos’ words. He had heard the same himself. 

A Sith does not wait for opportunity. He makes opportunity, and then he reaches out and takes what is rightfully his! 

The lesson, like many, was accompanied by pain. Maul had limped for a week afterwards, but only where Sidious could not see it. 

Power. What did this wash out know of power? He hadn’t even made it to Jedi Knight. 

"It's a tiny planet. Galactically insignificant. Yet it pours forth wealth into my hands. If you would only lose the tiresome rules of the Jedi, it would do the same for you. But no, Qui-Gon is too good. He is not tempted. He is never tempted."

"Bandomeer is not yours to own! You were always overconfident. You have gone too far

this time."

"No." Xanatos drew his lightsaber. "Now I have gone too far."

Maul cocked his head. He could feel the Darkside swirling around him, brushing his skin, searching for its place inside him. His body was too small to house much of it yet, but it was not he who called it, merely he who had a true hold of it. He who was its child. 

“Those who accept the power of the dark side must also accept the challenge of holding on to it.” Maul startled. He didn’t recognize the voice of his memories. “By its very nature the dark side invites rivalry and strife. This is the greatest strength of the Sith: it culls the weak from our order. Yet this rivalry can also be our greatest weakness.”

Xanatos laughed again, breaking Maul away from his thoughts and the voice. 

"You destroyed everything I loved," he accused, his lightsaber barely missing Jinn’s shoulder, so close it singed the fabric of his tunic. "You destroyed me that day, Qui-Gon. Yet I was reborn. Stronger, wiser. I have surpassed you."

Maul snorted, and started to leave. He decided he didn’t care about the rest of the fight. He needed to find Kenobi and he actually had a lead. He would come back and finish cleaning up Xanatos’ mess later. 

Kill him, maybe. Offer Kenobi his head for recompense. 

Well. 

Maybe not that exactly. Kenobi could be squeamish, 

"And where is your new apprentice?" Xanatos sneered.

Maul didn’t stick around to hear the rest of it. He knew the answers already. A deep sea mine. There were only a few close enough to the shore for a control freak like Xanatos to send Obi Wa- Kenobi to. 

Maul did stop long enough to send the information to Jango. He figured he might like to know where he was going, and where Xanatos and Jinn currently were duking it out. 

Meanwhile Maul found a small transport to take him out to see. He knocked the owner out cold, stashed his body, and stole the ship. He kept it low to the waves. In the darkness of the night any guards would be hard pressed to see him approach. 

He wasn’t met with blasterfire when he stopped the transport underneath one of the high legs of the rig. Maul secured it and spidered up the sides until he was sneaking on board. His come flashed with an incoming message from Jango, one that he soundly ignored. 

When he reached the top of his rig Maul pulled out his (finally finished) weapon. 

Maul held what looked like a S-195 blaster pistol, with slightly longer than average barrels. 

They made a perfectly functional blaster, with only slightly weaker bolts than a regular one would have. 

Maul was still working on that.  

It would work for this. 

Carefully, he snuck into the mine. 

 He had to ride on top of the turbolift, out of sight of the hulking, but stupid guards. They would be easy to mind trick, but tricks only lasted so long and he had seen slave collars like the ones on the sentients he passed. Those would be rigged with explosives. He rather liked Kenobi with his head on his shoulders, thank you. 

Once he was further down he could feel it. 

Kenobi’s light. 

Something was keeping it dim, but still there. A suppressant? 

Xanatos was really getting annoying. Maul was killing him when they got back to the mainland. 

If Jango didn’t beat him to it. 

Maul should have answered him comm so he could call dibs. 

Too late now. 

He hopped off the turbolift when he reached the floor where Kenobi’s presence was the strongest. It was till a phantom thing compared to what it had been before, nevermind what it would be. 

Maul kept his hood drawn firmly and made his way further inside. 

Deep in the undersea caves the slaves were kept in bunks. There were no bars to keep them in place, for their collars and their emaciated state did that just fine by itself. Maul could tell at a glance that most of them were half starved, or more, and beaten on the regular. 

The collars around their throats stood out over standard, tattered jumpsuits. The guards were lax beings, and with a simple command the two playing dice outside the bunks fell asleep. 

Maul picked his way through the slaves. 

It reeked of unwashed beings, blood, and sickness. 

Maul found his way to Obi- Kenobi, who was resting uneasily beside a spindly limbed being. Phindian. Weak joints, and a particularly pronounced jugular. Maul considered fourteen ways to kill him before he turned to his target. 

Maul tapped Kenobi lightly on the shoulder with his boot, startling the little Jedi awake. Maul touched his mind lightly, minding the darkness inside of him and keeping it careful. Just enough that Kenobi recognized him in his frightened, sleep addled state. 

Blue eyes stared up at him, Kenobi’s mouth dropped open in shock. 

“Maul?” he asked quietly. Hope trembled in his voice and Maul’s stomach twisted unpleasantly. 

People weren’t supposed to feel hope around him. They were supposed to fear him! Maul scowled down at him and tossed his lightsaber at Kenobi’s gaping face. 

Kenobi caught it on reflex alone, the weapon calling to him. It had felt utterly wrong in Maul’s calloused hands, his anger not mixing with the righteous light and the burning hope that lived inside Kenobi’s crystal. 

Kenobi cradled it to his chest. 

“This weapon is my life…” he whispered, a sentiment that was shared between Jedi and Sith alike. 

“Then you can owe me twice,” Maul said derisively. “Let’s go. “

“I can’t!” Kenobi touched his collar. It was buzzing faintly with electricity. Maul scowled. 

“Can’t you use the Force to turn it off?” Maul asked irritably. 

Kenobi shook his head miserably. He was a sorry sight, his clothes tattered and, now that Maul was close enough to see, his back burned with familiar marks of electric whips. 

Maul had a veritable tapestry of those same scars across his own back. 

“They’ve cut me off. I can barely feel it anymore,” Kenobi’s voice cracked.  

Maul winced in unwanted sympathy. He knew the feeling well. It was one of his masters favorite punishments. 

Maul knelt before Kenobi and reached for his throat. The little Jedi twitched but didn’t fight against him. He tilted his chin to give Maul better access. 

The metal was sturdy, it would be hard to cut through without killing Kenobi along with it, and the electric charge was near to the tiny explosive. Not small enough to blow through a wall, but it would do plenty of damage to soft human skin. 

It would be easy to turn it off. Getting it off was another matter. 

Not to mention the rest of the slaves that lay around them. 

Maul looked down to find the phindian watching him through slitted eyes. 

“...You’re not going to let me leave the rest of them here, are you?” Maul asked, exasperated. 

Kenobi startled. “What?” 

Maul pulled his hands away and stood up to brush off his cloak. 

“Show me where they keep the spare parts for the equipment,” Maul ordered shortly. Kenobi frowned. 

“I don’t know where those are.” 

Maul gave him an unimpressed look. “Haven’t you ever escaped from a prison before?” 

Kenobi frowned at him. “Why would I have had to do that?” 

“... Jedi really don’t teach anything useful, do they?” 

“Hey!” 

“Obawan,” the phindian finally gave up his ruse and sat up. “Your friend will free us.” 

Maul quirked a brow. 

“Not so!” The phindian waved his long arms. “He will cause us trouble.” 

“I’ll definitely cause you trouble if you don’t quiet down. Who knows here where the spare parts are kept?” Maul demanded shortly. He pulled his hand back to reveal the blaster holstered at his side. The phindian paled and Kenobi smacked Maul on the leg. 

“Don’t threaten him! He’s my friend, Guerra!” 

Maul rolled his eyes. “Then he should be helping. I won’t ask again.” 

The phindian, Guerra, stood up reluctantly. He looked dead in the eyes. Yet, in the furthest depth, there was hope. 

Maul bit back the urge to stomp it out. He needed this being’s help, for the time. 

Guerra looked to the sleeping guards warily. Maul rolled his eyes. “They aren’t waking up soon. Get going.” 

Other slaves stirred around them. Eyes watched them through hooded darkness. Maul breathed in the despair and fortified himself. It was going to be a long night. 

Guerra lead him into the tunnels, down the hall to locked room of spare parts. It took Maul less than a minute to pick the locks. They were old school and not very advance to begin with. 

Once inside he found a power pack for one of the big drills they used in lower levels, a wire coil, and disemboweled the locking mechanism for the doors. The circuit boards were kept carefully intact while he fetched a small tool box, conveniently equipped with a soldering iron, and set to work.He attached his wire coil to the capacitor for the door, and connected that to the big battery. While he was at it he found a heavy magnetic coupling splitter. He wished for Daleen. She’d already have the whole place turned on its head electronically. 

With his girls, and his brothers, Maul could have done anything. 

He would get to them soon enough. 

“What are you doing?” Guerra asked nervously. “This is fun! Not so. I do not trust your friend, Obawan.” 

“I’m making an EMP generator,” Maul said shortly. 

Kenobi’s face split into a startled, hopeful smile. “You can do that? Where did you learn? Did Jango teach you?” 

“Hmm? No. Now hold still. The collar’s going to tingle and then all the lights will go out. Stay close to me. Humans have terrible vision.” 

“Hey!” 

Maul ignored Kenobi’s indignation and pushed the ‘lock’ button. The door fizzled, the battering flickered faintly with electricity, and everything went dark. 

Maul relished it. 

“Let’s go get your friends, Kenobi.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Obi Wan stayed close to Maul as they prowled through the darkness. 

He couldn’t understand how he could see so well, his gold eyes glowing faintly in the darkness like embers to an unseen fire. Maul was one mystery after another. 

Obi Wan had thought him to be a Mandalorian, like Jango, but he wore no armor and he didn’t speak with the same accent. He fought viciously and without mercy when it was needed. Kenobi could not forget the grim comfort he had taken during their fight with the draigon’s to have someone as skilled and determined at Maul at his back while they battled off their death. His every shot was perfect. 

Even before that, he’d felled two hutts in the span of a breath. 

Maul was unlike anyone Obi Wan had ever met before. 

Admittedly, he had mostly met Jedi. Obi Wan had never been out of the temple, and it showed sometimes now. In the temple he had never been hungry. In the temple he had never hurt so badly for so long. 

Obi Wan swallowed those thoughts and followed Maul in the darkness. He could sense him through the Force, his presence dense and heavy. There was a gravity to Maul, in his sharp teeth and gleaming gaze. His ferocity was frightening, but as Maul had said, he did not allow his anger to control him. 

He controlled it. 

Obi Wan could not say the same thing. 

It was his own temper that had resulted in him being sent away from the order, and his own impulsiveness that had lead him to leave behind the safety of Jango and Maul to investigate on his own. He just wanted so badly to impress Master Jinn he thought- 

They would have come with him, he realized now. 

Fett was a good man. Even if he was Mandalorian, and Obi Wan had only hear horror stories about them, he had held Obi Wan’s shoulder when he’d felt like he was drowning in his despair and spoke kindly to him when he didn’t have to. He offered to help with no chance of recompense. 

And here Maul was, guiding him through darkness. Saving him. 

Saving all of them. 

Shame welled up in Obi Wan’s chest. 

How could Obi Wan tell Maul that when he’d come to free him he’d been so relieved he barely thought of the other prisoners? He had thought only of the weight being lifted off himself, in the scant seconds before Maul brought up the idea of freeing everyone. How could he call himself a jedi when he was so self centered?

When he’d opened his eyes and found his friend looking down at him, half hidden in his familiar poncho, he’d been confused. But the Force whispered of Maul, of bright eyes and vicious determination, and he hadn’t been afraid for even a moment. 

Maul was comfortable, in the same way a nexu would be to those familiar with it. He was dangerous to be certain, but he’d never hurt Obi Wan. He’d only ever helped him, from the moment they had met on the Monument, when he’d been thrown into Mauls arms. 

Obi Wan grasped Maul’s poncho as he trailed after him. His other hand held his lightsaber. 

“If you throw up, I don’t have anything to clean your mouth with,” was the only warning Obi Wan got when they returned to the slave bunks. Maul pulled a knife from his boot, the movement something Obi Wan felt more than saw, and slit the guads throats. 

Obi Wan should have mourned their loss. Any good jedi would have. 

But his back stung, and Guerra’s haunted words whispered through his mind, and the pain of the miners and the death that permeated the air choked down any grief he would have for the slavers. Obi Wan was sickened to realize he would have killed them too if he could have. 

“The light, Little Jedi.” 

Obi Wan, somewhere between grief-sick and warm whenever Maul called his that, lifted his saber and ignited it. 

In the pale blue glow hallowed faces watched the three of them. 

“We’re leaving,” was all he said. 

“The collars,” started one slave, a human who had lost his eye fighting the other day. 

“They’re off,” Maul said shortly. “And if you’re that worried, here,” he held up something shaped vaguely like a wrench. Obi Wan stayed still when Maul reached for his collar again. The soft leather of his gloves ran across Obi Wan’s throat before the wrench found its way across a seam he hadn’t noticed. There was a click and the collar fell off in two pieces. 

Silence fell. Then, one by one, starting with Guerra, the rest of the slaves approached. Maul unlocked their collars. He set them all free. 

“What is your name?” One of them asked at last, their voice hoarse and rough. 

Obi Wan’s companion regarded him carefully. 

“...Maul,” he said at length. 

The word spread through the slaves in the whisper. Maul hunched his shoulders and shoved the wrench into a togruta’s hands. 

“It’s a magnet lock,” he said gruffly. “Fit it around the edges.” 

He stalked away, and was followed by the rest of the newly freed slaves. 

A young twi’lek women, one scarred across her face, stopped them. There were tears in her eyes. A single one fell from the left and she wiped it away before touching it to Maul’s cheek. Maul twitched away from her, his hand flying to his blaster, but he didn’t draw. 

“You have broken our chains,” she said quietly. “May water find you in the desert, and the sun find you in the snow.” 

Obi Wan didn’t understand, and the look on Maul’s shadowed face said that he didn’t either, but he inclined his head all the same. For someone who boiled with anger all the time he was remarkably patient. 

Obi Wan had never seen him take his temper out on someone who hadn’t wronged him first. 

They make their way through the darkness. More than once did Maul had Obi Wan extinguish his saber before guards rounded the corner. In the shadows he draw his knife and snuffed their lives out. He didn’t fire his blaster once. It would have made too much noise, and given away his position. 

Where had Maul come from, if Jango had not taught him these things? 

The finally reached the surface. The clear air of the night blanketed the newly freed sentients. 

There was no way to call for a ship to pick them up, but within an hour one came to investigate the silence from the mine. The Offworld insignia blazed on the side. 

Obi Wan helped Maul take the ship by force. Together he guarded Maul with his ‘saber while Maul blasted through their attackers. 

The climbed on boards. 

It was a good sized ship, and once they were further in Obi Wan understood why. 

The ship wasn’t just sent to investigate. It was sent to reinforce them. New slaves took up cages in the cargo hold, and across from them were exotic animals. There were monkey-lizards and glittering vulptex. He saw colorful kiros birds fluttering around one cage. Obi Wan found a tiny varactyl in a cage that squeaked at him when he came closer. It was no bigger than a tooka, and it payed through its cages, as if sensing safety from him. 

Obi Wan broke the lock and took out the little lizard to cradle in his palm. He turn to ask Maul when he thought and paused. 

Maul had stopped in front of a small crate where shadows moved within. 

It took Obi Wan a minute to realize that the shadows were three slim, young creatures that hummed with the Force. Tails lashed through the crate and tiny clawed paws lashed out. Maul growled, something low in the back of his throat. Obi Wan felt it then. The hair on the back of his neck prickled with anger, hurt, sorrow and grief. It swelled the room before reached a crescendo and falling again. 

The fighting from the animals was over. 

Maul opened the crate and three small vornskr, two males and female with a chopped ear and a crooked tail, went tumbling out. 

They circled Maul, rubbing their cheeks along his legs and chirping up at the startled looking boy. 

The moment was ruined when a human woman came back from the front of the ship. The togruta with the locking device followed after her.

“We’re going back to the mainland,” the human said. “You should buckled in.” 

“Thank you,” Obi Wan said with a short bow. 

She nodded once at him and left. 

Obi Wan looked Maul, who finally gave him a crooked, gap toothed grin. 

“Through victory our chains are broken,” he said, the words slow and solemn despite his smile. There was something familiar to them, and the Force hummed its agreement.

Maul had set him free.

[queermediastudies]

Little Effort for LGBTQ Representation in a “Maximum Effort” Superhero Movie

In comic books, one of my favorite characters is and has always been Deadpool. He is “popularly known to be pansexual and isn't particularly choosy about the gender of his partner, much like he has no particular affinity to anything. While this wasn't reflected in the 2016 film starring Ryan Reynolds, both Reynolds and director Tim Miller have hinted that this might come up in the sequel” (Vijaykumar, 2016). After watching it, I feel that the movie succeeds on some marks for giving out adequate LGBTQ representation, but not for the character one might expect. The movie Deadpool 2centers around Wade Wilson’s “one or two moments” that make him an (anti)hero. After losing his love Vanessa from the first movie, Wade finds himself attempting to create the X-Force in order to protect Russell, a mutant teenager from Cable, an experienced and genetically enhanced time-traveling soldier on a quest for revenge. Most of the movie focuses on the drama that ensues after Deadpool’s vain attempt to die is foiled by his own mutant abilities, his grudging acceptance of life and a sense of responsibility for Russell only to then (spoiler alert!) die. Except he doesn’t. Yet, in all of the CGI fights and snarky comments and constant breaking of the fourth wall, the movie does actually manage to discuss some elements of LGBTQ identities and representation. There are two main topics surrounding LGBTQ issues that the movie Deadpool 2 focuses on: the alleged hypersexuality of bi/pansexual people and alternatively, the de-sexualization of queer couples already in a relationship. Deadpool’s‘R’ rating and the characters’ own desire to “Fuck Wolverine” by getting better ratings in the second film took away from the potential of better, full-fledged LGBTQ representation stemming from the titular character, however, the film manages to cover up some of its pitfalls by succeeding in portraying a healthy lesbian relationship between one of the already established characters in the franchise and threading subtleties that condemn conversion therapy and argue for acceptance of others.

           At the start of the film, Deadpool makes a valiant, but luckily, unsuccessful attempt at suicide with the first two words being “Fuck Wolverine.” This merges directly into his habit of breaking the fourth wall and speaking directly to the audience and promising that he’ll be dying in this film too. Deadpool, played by Ryan Reynolds then goes on to explain what led up to this moment which can be quickly summed up as the love of his life, Vanessa, was killed and he feels responsible for her death. The fact that Deadpool only begins to show more signs of a queer sexuality after Vanessa (his love from the entire first movie dies) indicates that being queer means exhausting every other opportunity of expressing yourself. Without the director and actor Ryan Reynolds discussing it in interviews, the average viewer would have been largely unaware of Deadpool’s canon queer identity in the comics. GLAAD actually gave the first movie some flack for its “veiled references” to Deadpool’s sexuality, however, the second film does not seem to take the subject much further (Romano, 2018). It is easy to view Deadpool’s flirtatious manner with Colossus as simply a moment of weakness and used as a joke, rather than an affirmation of his queer identity and sexuality.

           The other, more direct aspect of LGBTQ identity that is given in the movie is between Negasonic Teenage Warhead and her girlfriend, Yukio. The following scene occurs just prior to Deadpool’s confrontation with Colossus.

           “The power-couple proves groundbreaking, proving to be the first truly open, explicitly LGBT couple in superhero cinema” (Armstrong, n.d.). Despite this being the first out relationship in a Hollywood movie, the moment isn’t treated like a groundbreaking moment. In some ways, this could be seen as negative, because it isn’t treated like a big deal, but Armstrong argues that it could also be a way of trying to prevent alienating viewers by “mak[ing] any LGBT representation too visible [then] make certain audiences uncomfortable” (n.d.).

           In the article from Scott, Darieck & Fawaz, the authors explore queerness using the X-Men as an example (2018). The queerness in X-Men characters is even more pronounced for certain individuals, such as Iceman who are actually labeled as gay/bi/pansexual, alongside of Deadpool. There is a scene in the second X-Men movie in which Iceman “comes out” to his parents, except rather than dealing with sexuality, it is about his mutant status (Puchko, 2018).

           Exchange the word “gifted/mutant” for “gay” in the previous clip, and the movie would have passed for solid LGBTQ representation. This movie was filmed before “the character Iceman realizes that he has been in the closet after his younger self confronts his older self in Uncanny X-Men (in a messy time-travelling episode)” (Vijaykumar, 2016), but the franchise as a whole still works to entice LGBTQ viewers for the marginalization that mutants feel in society that mirrors the lack of acceptance for LGBTQ individuals. Going back to the film, although Deadpool 2fails at giving enough exposure and time to focus on Deadpool’s pansexuality, it still adopts many of the themes from previous X-Men movies that argue for acceptance alongside of Negasonic’s relationship with Yukio. The movie provides its own anxious teen serving as a symbol for queer youth and their fight against with bigoted condemnation through flame-throwing Russell Collins” (Puchko, 2018). Russell, or “Firefist” lashes out in violence because of the torture suffered at the hands of Essex House’s mutant-hating headmaster whose techniques are similar to real-life “pray away the gay” conversion therapy (2018). Given that Russell is seen purely as a victim, regardless of the violence he instigated and the reckless choices he made that led to Cable searching for revenge against him in the first place show how damaging the lack of acceptance is for people in marginalized communities. Russell was persecuted because of his mutant status, and despite the film not exploring the canon texts of queer visibility in the comics in any nuanced way, it still provides some representation what is still a hilarious movie.

           I only just recalled the Celine Dion music video that came out before the movie that Deadpool did a music video to and is the song for the very Bond-esque opening credits for this movie. Check it below, both the music video and the opening credits.

Music video: 

Opening credits to Deadpool 2: 

Given that I’ve read the Deadpoolcomics, I saw the moments where Wade is flirting with Colossus as an affirmation of his sexuality in the most “Deadpool way,” that is, ridden with crude humor and sexual overtones. However, it is understandable to me where audiences would downplay those moments because the movie does not return to them or make them “a big deal,” when it needs to be in order to provide a critical and engaged LGBTQ character. Additionally, Deadpool’s character is very much an anti-hero. Although we see him have a couple heroic moments in this movie, he is still a mercenary who has a murder tally in the hundreds for the movies and thousands in comic books, which doesn’t bode well for overall positive LGBTQ representation. Also, given that the network Fox was subsequently bought out by Disney just prior to this movie’s release makes me concerned for the future of Deadpool and the X-Force as a whole because of Disney’s now long-running trick of the presenting their “first” LGBTQ character appearing in a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it scene in recent movies (Beauty and the Beast, Star Wars: The Rise of Skywalker, Onward). Personally, I identify as pansexual, so seeing a superhero movie where it was at least alluded to more directly, alongside an explicit lesbian couple appearing on-screen simply gives me great joy although I definitely want to see Hollywood go further in how it portrays queer characters. My biggest issue with the movie was actually that the character Yukio has already been portrayed in X-Men films and is actually at one point, dating Wolverine. Therefore, her relationship with Negasonic does not make any sense if one follows the movies and comics very closely, however, it is a sin I was willing to forgive because other than Yukio’s rather small presence in other movies, she shines in Deadpool 2.

References:

Armstrong, B. (n.d.). Deadpool 2 is Groundbreaking, But Still Lukewarm LGBT Representation. Retrieved October 2020, from Metzia.com <https://metiza.com/culture/lifestyle/deadpool-2-is-groundbreaking-but-still-lukewarm-lgbt-representation/>

Puchko, K. (2018). ‘Deadpool 2’ is the gayest superhero movie yet. That’s not saying much. Retrieved October 2020, from Mashable. <https://mashable.com/2018/05/20/deadpool-2-queer-representation/>

Romano, N. (2018). What Deadpool 2 gets right and wrong about Hollywood’s first LGBTQ Marvel heroes. Retrieved October 2020, fro, Entertainment Weekly. <https://ew.com/movies/2018/05/18/deadpool-2-lgbtq-superheroes/>

Scott, Darieck & Fawaz, R. (2018). “Queer About Comics.” American Literature 90(2), 197-219.

Vijaykumar, N. (2016). Wonder Woman and other LGBT characters in comics universe. Retrieved October 2020, from The Week. <https://www.theweek.in/webworld/features/society/lgbt-comic-characters-wonder-woman-deadpool.html>

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[fragmentedink-archived]

Hell to Pay: Chapter Forty-Three

I, II, III, IV, V, VI, VII, VIII, IX, X, XI, XII, XIII, XIV, XV, XVI, IX, IX, XX, XXI, XXII, XXIII, XIV, XV, XVI, XVII, XVIII, XVIIII, XXX, XXXI, XXXII, XXXIII, XXXIV, XXXV, XXXVI, XXXVII, XXXVIII, XXXIX, XL, XLI, XLII

cowritten by @lux-scriptum

A/N: trigger warnings for suggested abortions

Sitting still and being patient was driving Lev nuts, but he watched Cameron anxiously. He’d been told he was well enough today to see Eden, and while he waited for Nate to bring Eden over, he fidgeted anxiously. Nik hadn’t gotten out of bed either, and was curled into Lev. Lev petted his hair lightly, just to have something to do.

Shrieks of laughter announced Eden’s presence long before Nate appeared in the doorway. When she saw Lev, she kicked excitedly, babbling out a quick, “DaDaDaDa.”

Unexpectedly Lev’s eyes welled up. “She- she’s saying my name,” he said, sitting up enough he dislodged Nik.

Nik whined at him. Lev patted his hair, but reached out for Eden.

The moment Eden was in Lev’s lap, she smacked his face. Lev caught her hands even as she babbled angrily at him.

“I’m sorry bitty girl,” Lev said gently. In retaliation, she headbutted him. “Eden!” Lev scolded, touching his nose. At that her eyes filled with black tears, and she started crying. Lev switched gears immediately, tucking her close.

“You know she’s manipulating you, yes?” Cameron asked dryly.

“After being gone for four months, I think she’s entitled,” Lev mumbled, pressing a kiss to Eden’s hair. “I’m right here, baby. Did you miss me?”

Her little nails dug into his skin, but Lev just hummed. “Did Cameron send your clothes?” Lev asked, pointedly not looking in Cameron’s direction. “Someone needs to get some color for your wardrobe.”

“Like yours is any better,” Cameron replied.

Lev looked down at his black hoodie and grey tee shirt. “Fair,” Lev admitted. “But I was making attempts. My sweaters are colorful. Nik picked them out.”

“Exactly. Nik did.”

“I picked out the bear pyjamas. Which I still can't find, by the way.” Lev’s bottom lip jutted out in a pout.

“And you’ll never find them,” Cameron said without mercy. When Lev stuck his tongue out at him, all Cameron said was, “Careful.”

Lev hummed once more, and returned his attention to Eden.

---

Ash showed up a few hours later with the intentions of checking both Nik and Lev over, especially after he had allowed Nate to bring Eden for Lev to see. He had waited for Nate to bring the little hellion back before heading that way.

Unsurprisingly he found them in Lev’s bed. Ash leaned against the bedroom doorway, watching how Nik was curled into Lev as close as he could possibly get. He wasn’t going to keep that up for long if he was planning on keeping the fetus. Or if he wasn’t planning on telling either Cameron or Lev, even if he did suspect Cameron had his suspicions.

He debated on waiting to see if Lev would wake for their appointment but decided to go talk to Cameron in the kitchen instead. As much as Cameron irritated him, he couldn’t help but appreciate just how nice Cameron’s kitchen was. The sleek black marble and appliances to match contrasted deeply against Cameron’s moonwhite skin and even paler hair.

Cameron seemed to be skillfully chopping up vegetables at the kitchen island in pure silence and did not even look up when he gave a firm, “Sit.”

Ash fought the urge to turn around and leave right then, instead he sat across from the ass and swiped an apple for his troubles. He bit down into it and looked at him. “So.”

Cameron sliced into the broccoli deliberately before looking up at him. “What.”

Ash hummed for a long moment, mostly just to waste Cameron’s time. “We, uh, gonna keep trading one word sentences? Or?”

Cameron held direct eye contact while he resumed his slicing. “Well?”

“How was Lev with Eden, today?” he asked, knowing Cameron was going to keep being a petty petulant dick until Ash got to his point.

Cameron went back to chopping up his vegetables. “He stayed in bed for the whole duration. When he started to get exhausted I had Nate take Eden and leave. He’s been sleeping since they left. As has Nik.”

Ash thrummed his fingers along the black marble. “And how has Nik been?”

Cameron put down the knife and leaned forward on his delicate hands. “Why don’t we skip the part where we pretend you don't know I already know,” he suggested flatly. “Stop wasting my time.”

Ash took another bite from his apple. “What was it that tipped it off? The drinking comment or the Nik being overly emotional?”

Cameron lifted a slight brow. “Nik is always being overly emotional,” he replied, “and you’ve never tried cutting back his drinking until now. So I wouldn’t say you were being all that subtle.”

“Subtlety is not my forté,” Ash said. “And I wasn’t sure if you maintained the brain cells to catch my drift.”

“No worries,” Cameron said, going back to resuming his work, “I know you aren’t capable of commonsense thinking. Of course you wouldn’t realize that I am more intelligent than you.” he flicked Ash a look. “In more ways than one.”

Ash bit his tongue to stop from raising to that bait. “Do you know who the father is?” he asked.

Cameron hesitated so slightly Ash almost did not catch it. “I am.”

“That’s not-”

Cameron gave him a dark look. “I said I am.”

The clipped tone had Ash raising his hands in defense. “Fine. Does Nik know you know?”

Cameron picked back up with a silky smoothness that had a chill running down Ash’s spine. “No. He does not want me knowing, so I’m going to play ignorance and pretend that it’s not painfully obvious.”

“That’s rather kind of you,” Ash observed.

“No,” Cameron said. “It’s a waste of my time to make him upset by confronting him about it when I can just wait until he wants to tell me. He only has a finite amount of time to tell me before he either starts showing or decides to terminate it.”

Ash could tell he was telling the truth, for the most part. Even if there was just the slightest flutter that suggested otherwise. Cameron was most likely as well adept at lying as Bay or Nik. Possibly quite more if he lived and breathed court life for five hundred years.

It was then that Lev shuffled into the kitchen with his IV stand in tow. He still looked a bit groggy, but he was awake. Cameron peered narrowly at Lev, but it was Ash that said, “Did you come here without an escort?”

Lev blinked owlishly at them both. “One of the sentries followed me.” he said, moving to sit in one of the chairs.

“I should have made it clear,” Ash said. “When I said I wanted you walking with someone, I meant either Cameron or myself or Amara or someone that isn’t hired help like the sentries.”

Cameron pointed at Lev with his knife. “Never do that again, understood?”

“Okay,” Lev said. “I’m sorry. I just didn’t want to wake up Nik.”

“How much has Nik been sleeping?” Ash asked, either of them.

“He sleeps whenever Lev sleeps,” Cameron said.

He looked to Lev for confirmation. “What do you say?”

Lev looked a little guilty. “I’ve been sleeping a lot,” he admitted. “I don’t have much else to do.”

It was Cameron that said, “If you’d prefer, I could have you do tasks for me here in the kitchen. Keep you alert. Nothing too difficult.”

Like Cameron was going to let Lev do anything of substance in his kitchen.

“I’d like that,” Lev said, quietly.

It was then that Nik decided to drag his carcass out of the bedroom and come plop down next to Lev. His hair was a mess and he was wearing sweats and a loose black shirt. He snaked his hand into Lev’s and pressed his forehead against Lev’s shoulder. “You left,” he mumbled, still half asleep.

Lev kissed his temple. “You were sleeping.”

“So?” Nik said, petulantly. “You were too.”

“And then I wasn’t.”

Nik groaned and lightly bit Lev’s shoulder before moving back to the counter. He palmed his eyes and looked tiredly at Ash. “I’m guessing you’re here to mother us?”

“Something like that,” Ash said.

Lev gently smacked Nik’s shoulder. “Nik.”

Nik jutted out his bottom lip at Lev. “What?” he mumbled. “He’s always doing that. I’m allowed to call him out on being overbearing for the last nineteen years of my life.”

“He worries about you,” Lev said. “And so do I.”

Nik muttered under his breath and went back to pressing his forehead against Lev’s shoulder. Lev looked back to Ash. “Other than the sleeping, I think I’ve been doing better. I haven’t thrown up in almost a day now.”

Now that was interesting.

“Well I’m glad,” Ash said, finally. “Let’s keep it that way.”

---

Ash waited until it was just him and Lev in the bedroom before deciding to question him further, and to scold him as well. He had helped Lev into bed and had forced Nik out of the room, and had Cameron keep him busy so Ash could work with Lev in peace.

“Cameron said you stayed in bed when seeing Eden?” Ash said, more in asking for confirmation while we went about starting with Lev’s vitals.

Lev nodded. “She was a little mad,” he said, amusement shading his sheepish tone.

“I can imagine,” Ash said, wryly. “She did not make it easy for Bay and Nate. Imagine that little beast at full speed nonstop for the last four months.” On top of a newborn, who luckily, has been well behaved for the most part.

That had the undesirable effect of Lev wincing. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I should have been there to take care of her.”

“Well,” Ash said, squeezing Lev’s shoulder. “You did what you could. And what you did manage to do, for the most part, stopped her from reigning hell down on my entire family. So.” except for the small part of Lev, well, trying to keep his best friend dead, but considering Lev didn’t have his memories at the moment, he was going to put a pin in that particular bomb.

Lev rubbed at his eyes. “At least I’m back. I can take care of her now.”

“Uh, no,” Ash said. “What you are going to do is not exhaust yourself so you keel over on me. Speaking of. Walking to the kitchen? Alone? See, I remember telling you to do exactly the opposite. And do not try to split hairs with me by saying you had a sentry with you. Like I’d trust a glorified bodyguard to take care of one of my patients. Do something like that again, and I’ll confine your sorry ass to a wheelchair. Then we’ll talk about following orders, Levant.”

“I’m sorry,” Lev said. “I didn’t think about it. It won’t happen again. I don’t wanna die again. Nik needs me.”

“You know you have value outside of what you provide to others, yes?” Ash asked, leaning back. “You can just not wanna die because dying sucks. You don’t need to justify wanting to stay alive.”

Lev looked down at his lap. “I’m sorry,” he said, again. “I don’t know how to change my thinking over night.”

“Well,” Ash said. “Follow my orders and you might just get a hell of a long time to figure out how. Anyways, now that that is hammered into your head, and I am trusting you to not disobey my orders again, tell me how everything went the last few days. Leave nothing out.”

“I kept my last two meals down,” Lev said. “And I’m very tired.”

“Was a three day nap not long enough,” Ash said, with a dry smile. “I’m thinking that should fade soon enough.”

“I’m still cold.”

“Is it painful?” he asked. “Have there been times when your body heat went back to normal?”

“Sometimes,” Lev said. “Nik can rub some warmth into my arms, and baths help, but it always settles back into cold. It’s not hurting me,” he added. “It’s not stopping me from functioning, either. It’s just- cold.”

Ash hummed, thinking. “We can get you some food to produce some natural body heat,” he said. “Maybe it’ll help warm you up and it might jumpstart your body into its regular temperature. Maybe we can also jumpstart a heat…?”

That would definitely jumpstart something.

Lev wrinkled his nose. “I don’t want a heat. Not so soon after losing my baby.”

Ash sighed softly. “I know,” he said. “A heat, even if it’s not being used for reproductive uses like most omegas, or well, just simple intercourse, has many functions that are designed to help your body get back to it’s normal. Some patients who have been sick can have a heat induced to try to get the boost to their immune system that they need in order to get healthy again.”

“I’d still like to wait,” Lev said. “If it’s possible. At least… don’t induce one. Everything’s so weird right now.”

“Alright,” Ash said. “Your body has its own natural defenses. Odds are your body is going to want to keep itself alive on it’s own anyway. But you need to help. And since we’re not inducing a heat, that means we get to change your diet to include some new foods.”

“New foods would be nice,” Lev said. “Everything’s been kind of boring lately. Food included.”

Ash snorted. “Yeah? How do you feel about spices.”

---

Nik was chomping at the bit by the time Ash and Lev came out of the room. When they appeared in the kitchen, Ash’s eyes went for him while Lev went for Cameron’s lap. “Alright,” Ash said. “Your turn.” Nik grumbled and got up and startled for the bedroom, but not before hearing Ash say, “He’s gonna have a new diet. I’ll catch you up later.”

Nik went to plop down on the bed. “They’re going to ask why you keep wanting to see me,” Nik said, eyeing him.

“And I’ll tell them to mind their own business,” Ash retorted, sitting down in front of him. “How are you feeling?”

“I keep throwing up and crying and eating and sleeping all the damn time. Somehow, I turned into Lev overnight and I’d like to stop and go back to being not neurotic., thanks.”

“Well,” Ash said, “You’re pregnant. It’ll be that way for a few months, yet, unless you decide to take further action and terminate.”

That whole exchange scraped against his mind. “I don’t- When do I have to say anything?” Nik gnawed at his bracelets, trying to stop himself from getting worked up at the thought of having that particular conversation with either Lev or Cameron.

Ash lifted a shoulder. “You can start showing between 12 and 16 weeks,” Ash said. “Maybe less. However, you don’t have to say anything. It’s your body and your right to tell people to fuck off where it is concerned.”

Nik grimaced. “I don’t- I can’t have a kid,” Nik said, voice dropping more and more by the second. “Eden is different because I did not push that screaming ball of joy out of my body. And just. It’s not Cameron’s. He would know it’s not his, like he knows everything for some damn reason. What’s he going to do when the kid comes out looking nothing like him? Just because he lacks any kind of pigment does not mean that he’s not going to realize that the kid’s gonna look nothing like him, damn it.”

“Have you considered,” Ash said, irritatingly calm, “that Cameron just would not care?”

“Okay but he’s going to care that I cheated on him with-” Nik’s mouth snapped shut. “He’s going to care.”

“You have your options,” Ash said. “If you want, we can figure something out, but the longer we do nothing, the worse off it’ll be in the long run. You need to be on prenatal vitamins and need to adjust your diet. Especially if you’re getting sick.”

Nik wrinkled his nose. “Why?”

“Do you want that kid coming out with two heads?” Ash asked. “No, no you do not.”

“I came out with two heads and I’m doing just fine.”

“Nik. Focus.”

Nik folded his arms and slumped back into the bed, sighing tiredly. “What if he makes me go again,” he said, hating how his voice almost broke. “I don’t want to go.” He palmed his eyes when he felt the telltale prickle. He was not going to cry damn it.

“Destris is dead,” Ash said. “You’re going to stay home, wherever home is for you. And right now, he’s probably going to keep you as close as he can. You and Lev.”

Nik snapped up into a sitting position, too startled to focus much on anything but apparently the fact Destris was now dead and once again no one bothered to tell him a damn thing. “I- what? Since when?”

“A soul for a soul,” Ash said, tiredly. “Took his soul to get Lev’s back, I guess. Besides I figured his days were numbered anyway. It’s why Mar bailed on us at the beach.”

Nik curled back into the bed and pressed his face into the pillows. Made sense that Amara would prioritize putting Destris down to get her cousin back over Nik. Seemed everyone was prioritizing Lev over Nik lately. “Are we done now, because I want to go back to sleep.”

Ash put his hand on Nik’s shoulder. He seemed to want to say something, but thought better of it. “I’ll go get Lev for you.”

“You don’t have to,” Nik mumbled.

Ash gave him a final squeeze before getting up and leaving him alone in this irritatingly large bed. He only had a few minutes of quiet tears before he heard them come back towards the bedroom. Nik hastily wiped his eyes just in time for Cameron to carry a comatose Lev into the room.

Lev instantly curled in towards Nik the moment Cameron put him in the bed with him. Cameron watched Nik silently, gaging. “Do you need me to stay?”

“I’m sure you have paperwork or something else important to do,” Nik said, curling in against Lev. “Didn’t you burn your club down or something? Probably already working on the blueprints for a new one.”

“That’s not an answer,” Cameron said, flatly.

“Well it’s the one you’re getting.” He closed his eyes, pressing his forehead against Lev. Maybe if he got lucky he’d have needled Cameron in the right way to get him to leave him alone. But of course it wasn’t his luck because he could feel Cameron’s eye roll directed at him.

A few moments later Cameron was climbing in bed with them, and even if Nik’s omega preened at the contact from his alpha he hadn’t had in months, it didn’t stop the guilt eating at him like acid.

---

It was Nik who woke Lev. He assumed it was for dinner, but when he sat up, Amara was in the doorway. Cameron was behind her, looking somewhat displeased. “Mar?” Lev asked, still half out of it.

“You get five minutes,” Cameron told Amara. “I won’t have you wearing him out.”

“Looks like he’s been sleeping plenty,” Amara said the moment she was out of arm's reach.

In a bored voice, Cameron said, “Sleep does not equate rest.”

Lev rubbed his eyes, and when Amara sat down on the edge of the bed, he leaned into her. She clung to him tightly. The kiss she pressed to his hair was firm. “Missed you,” she mumbled.

“I don’t remember… any of it,” he offered.

“Good. You were a fucking mess.” She pulled back, frowning. “Stars, you smell like roadkill. Minus the rot.”

“Shut up,” Nik said snippily.

“I do?” Lev asked in a small voice. He looked between Nik and Cameron. “Why didn’t you tell me? I’ve been snuggling up with the two of you for days now.”

Cameron shrugged. “You didn’t ask.”

“I wouldn’t know to ask if I smell dead,” Lev retorted, distressed.

“It’s fine,” Nik mumbled against his shoulder.

Lev pursed his lips, but looked away from them all. “I don’t know where my phone is,” he told Amara. “Or else I would have called you.”

“It’s fine.” Amara petted his curls. “I just wanted to make sure you’re alright.”

“As you can see,” Cameron said. “He’s still breathing. You can leave now.”

Lev grabbed her wrist, knowing Cameron could see. “When I get a phone I’ll call you,” he said carefully, “But Cameron’s right. I need rest.”

“Are you accusing me of being non-restful?” Amara asked, pulling Lev’s hair lightly. Before anyone could call her out on it, “Yeah, alright. I’m not. Renee might head over this way,” She added. “Just? Call me? Semi often? Scared the shit out of me, lollygagging for three days. Thought you’d up and die again on me.”

“I didn’t mean to.”

“I know,” Amara said, sounding tired. “Just don’t do it again, okay?”

Lev nodded, and leaned into the kiss she pressed to the top of his head. “Okay.”

Amara ruffled his hair, pointed a threatening finger in Nik’s direction with a mouthed ‘fucking call me’, and then stood, flouncing past Cameron with a loud, “AIright, alright, I’m going. Out of your hair.”

Nik looked a little resigned.

“I’ll be back,” Cameron said, nodding at Nik as he added, “Keep him entertained.”

Lev looked over to Nik once Cameron was gone. “I’m guessing he didn’t mean the usual way,” Lev said solemnly.

Nik lifted his brows. “I’m guessing not, but I’m not opposed.”

Lev gave a small snort. “Are you ever?” He asked.

Nik gave a tiny smile. “I have my moments.”

Well. Fair. Lev touched Nik’s cheek, pressed their foreheads together. Nik kissed him, soft and hesitant. Lev kissed him back, wrapping his non-IV’d arm around Nik’s neck.

“That’s not resting,” Cameron said from the doorway, startling Lev away from Nik.

Lev blinked. “You said to keep him entertained,” Lev replied sheepishly.

“I did,” Cameron said dryly.

When Lev looked at Nik, he was glowering at Cameron. “Yeah, you said keep me entertained, Cameron.”

“It was just kissing,” Lev promised. “Nothing stressful. Promise.”

“Oh, I’m sure.”

Lev leaned back into Nik. Nik bit down on Lev’s shoulder. “Is it time for dinner?” Lev asked settling a little more comfortably against Nik.

Cameron watched him. Eventually he said, “It will be soon. I can come get you when it’s ready, unless you want to help.”

Lev shook his head. “Honestly, I’m tired,” he admitted. “I was going to ask if I could eat in bed.”

Cameron pursed his lips. “Alright,” he said quietly. “If you need anything, have one of the sentries come get me.”

“I will,” Lev promised. Once Cameron was gone, Nik curled into Lev. Lev kissed Nik again, before closing his eyes. “Wake me when Cameron comes to get us?” Lev asked sleepily.

“Okay,” Nik replied quietly. He kissed Lev’s forehead, and gave a soft, “Love you.”

Lev blinked hard. “What?” He asked, looking up at Nik.

Nik looked startled. “Um. I love you?”

Something warm bloomed in Lev’s chest. “I love you too,” Lev promised.

Nik kissed Lev’s forehead. “Go to sleep,” he said.

So Lev did, pleased and content.

 Tagging: @incandescent-creativity @idreamonpaper @solangelo3088 @halstudies @alittleyellowdinosaur @i-want-to-pinch-cams-cheeks @caelisis

[cloakedandsoaked]

Celestial North

It was warmer than Dantalion was used to it being, when he visited this place. Barely below freezing, in fact, and the ice was thinner than he would have liked, though there were still several metres of it separating him from the sea below. A glance skyward showed he was as close as the stars could guide him. He would travel on foot from here, and rely on his other senses to find his destination. 

A few kilometres north, he stopped. The feeling of the entire earth spinning directly below him couldn’t be faked.

He cleared a circle some twenty metres across, and smoothed the surface down to a perfect sheen with a wave of his hand. Only the keenest of eyes could spot the reflection of the Cynosure and the surrounding sky, but Dantalion had keener eyes than most. The star declined farther away from the celestial pole than it had sometimes done in the past, but closer than usual. In fact, of the hundred or so times he’d made this journey, only a dozen saw the five-fold light of Polaris as the North Star at all.

When everything was prepared, the demon sat and rested for a moment.

He sipped from a verdigris can that could only be described as incongruent. He would need his strength, and tonight, strength came in the form of aspartame. Chilled fingers drew small loops on the ice.

<You're late.>

The voice caught him off guard. (The voice didn't catch him off guard.) 

The voice seemed even colder than he had expected, laced with a familiar irritation that he probably should have expected. (The voice was exactly as cold as he expected, and, indeed, could not have been otherwise.)

The voice spoke directly to his mind. (The voice, as is most apparent to us outside viewers, was from his mind.)

A figure appeared in the center of the circle, only a meter away, mirroring Dantalion's pose exactly.

Dantalion didn't allow his gaze to linger for long. "I'm sorry, Teacher. I was-- " He reached for a lie: I was tending my garden, and found his mind forcibly redirected to the truth: my library.

<As well as usual?>

"No."

<No.> There was no judgement in the agreement, merely a quiet acknowledgement. The figure tilted its head. <What are they like?>

Dantalion flinched. His forced hallucination was going off script; that was never a good sign. <~A dead tree's root system holds the earth together, and provides a home for many creatures.~> He sat his soft drink aside. <~Honeysuckle and lilac grow on the banks of the river. The waters rise again and again, but each year, the flowers return. The river becomes rerouted by a dam. // Fire, and fire, and fire. // A man follows a mirage in the desert, and finds water. // A copse houses many small creatures, but its resin burns at the cars parked below. // A dust devil. A meal tainted with ash. // A broken pane of glass. // An open cupboard reveals that the mementos within are now moth-eaten. Sour cherry candy, melted, blisters the skin it touches. // Rum burns in a throat and belly. Heirloom china is broken without a thought. // A hatchet strikes a wrought iron fence. Sparks fly. // A grain of wheat gives way beneath a mill. Bread comes later. // Fairy lights and grave dirt and blood and sugarcane. // A flame that appears small, but is really just far away. // A would-be martyr considers recanting.~> He paused, grimacing as he drew out the last image: <~A garden, scorched to the soil, is never replanted. In place of new life, a gift of honey is spilt upon the ground.~>

Is this good enough? It's not an excuse, but is it worthy? Two hundred thousand years, two deaths, and a very long reconstruction had failed to temper his desire to please, even as he tried to stifle the thoughts.

The other figure gave no answer, which Dantalion at least knew to take as a genuine lack of an answer. <Why are you here?>

Dantalion pondered the point for a moment, images flashing through his mind -- crisis, confusion, brokenness, despair -- and tried to find the trail that would lead to a true answer. <I think I broke something vital in me. I need to find out when and why and how, so I can fix it.>

<You noticed you were confused,> the other voice summarised, not incorrectly. 

Dantalion felt his mind suddenly enveloped as if in an embrace, and let himself be taken in whole. This was why he was here, uncomfortable though he knew it would be as his own recent memories began swirling around him like a smoothie in a blender, a trillion thoughts and feelings and sensations reeling about at incomprehensible speed. He knew better than to try and grasp at any individual one, as the disorientation would grow exponentially. Instead, he waited (minutes? surely it could not have been hours) for the spinning to slow to a comfortable twirl. At this speed, he could see the memories tinged with crisis almost as if they had a separate color filter laid upon them, instead of the color being smeared into the total. Spinning, spinning.... stop!

The whirling came to an abrupt stop, one memory focused in his mind: the first domino in the particular line of crises that currently held him hostage. Bingo. But unexpectedly (unexpectedly!), the spinning began anew, disallowing his mind to find purchase in the memory, disallowing any of the analysis he had come to this place expecting.

Another crisis memory presented itself. A pause. 

Again the spinning, again a pause.

Again.

Again.

Addled beyond all prediction, Dantalion grasped at each memory, striking out for purchase with the grip of his mind, only to be forcibly ripped away each time. Each furious pull was agonising, in a way the demon had never experienced pain before, not in his entire existence.

Again.

Again.

Suddenly the voice thrilled across the surface of his mind in a violent bellow. (He had never heard that voice bellow. Such a thing seemed anathema.)

<WHY ARE YOU HERE?>

Stunned, Dantalion skittered back from the other figure in the circle, bum never leaving the ice. What the fuck. What the fuck. What the fuck.

<Why are you here?> the voice repeated, still firm, but (blessedly!) no longer shouting.

The demon, now shaking as if from the cold, took a deep breath. "I notice that I am confused!" he spat. Somehow, repeating his part in the script forced the crest of terror in his gut to ebb into a thing closer to soft alarm. This was what he had come for, not whatever-the-fuck had just happened.

<Let us try again.> This time, the other mind grabbed Dantalion with all the subtlety of a typhoon, pulling him under and into the maelstrom of his own memories.

Gasping and flailing against the current, the demon took his next breath as the churning slowed once more, stopping at a very familiar memory. This time, the greenish tinge of crisis was minimal. Instead, the memory glowed golden with contentment: A folk-styled resort room in Finland, burrowed beneath a stack of blankets with someone he loved. Dantalion clung to the mirage as if to a life preserver, sucking in the warmth like a man's next breath.

He cried aloud when he was ripped from it and thrown into the chaos once more.

The next stop again featured a bed, this time a hospital bed with a lovely, if wan, redhead within. He was bent over her, and this time saw the scene from two impassioned directions. Then, before he could so much as react, he was flung back to spinning.

Again. A London flat.

Again. Magical hands in thick fur.

Golden memory after golden memory, each torn from his bleeding mental grasp like a toenail ripped from its bed by a particularly unforgiving kerb. His physical form sobbed, collapsing forward onto the ice in supplication. <Make it stop, Teacher!> But it did not stop, and the pain continued with each memory shredded from his consciousness.

Some two dozen memories in, he finally submitted, letting his mind be heaved and hurled every which way without resistance, taking only the shortest moment of solace in each pause before the disorientation began anew. Still, it did not stop; fond moment after fond moment found him, all within the past decade. Nor did the confusion cease, for each memory was followed by the careening press of time and rhythm and ways to live that interspersed the few moments of genuine joy he was allowed.

Surely, this time it had been hours when the spinning slowed to a final and complete stop, spitting Dantalion back into himself, a ruined spectre to inhabit the body lying prostrate on the ice. Sense was truly beyond him, now, and with it, speech; he was unaware of his own mental howling, a cant consisting only of why-why-why-why?

Only minutes, though, did it take for him to come back to himself. He grasped for the memories, making sure each was still in its designated place. Safe. They're safe. His mind was still its own. Wild confusion lit his eyes as he dared a glance up at the other figure, who was still sitting quite upright, quite unbothered, quite normal (as much as such a creature could be called 'normal' in the first place). Dantalion flinched when the voice arose once more:

<Why did you fight me so?>

Pain, again, and this time a pain of the heart. They were never meant to be opposed. Not in the beginning, when there were truly two of them, and certainly not now. Why are you here? The question echoed in Dantalion's mind, with no voice needed to call it forth. And then the pain was joined by shame.

"Is this the lesson, then, Teacher? Am I set against myself, a clinging, pathetic thing? No great crisis to undo the Great Duke Dantalion, merely the inability to let go of the past, good or ill?" It was a bit of an intuitive jump, accepting the horrible thing he had just experienced as an object lesson rather than a direct attempt at correction, but, well. They rather did know one another's language. "Have I come all this way to be merely kicked down the road like an empty tin can that doesn't know its place?"

Of course, he was allowed to be a touch bitter, if the mental construct he put so much effort into creating was allowed to torture him. Or so he reasoned.

<Let go,> the voice adjured, though it carried the weight of a command. Such things always did.

Dantalion pushed himself up, grabbed the can of soda which had emptied itself onto the ice in the fray, then stood and brushed the stray crystals from his clothing. He stared at the other for a long moment, heavy with spite and tenderness.

Then, in a blink, both figures were gone, and the circle held only Fresca and starlight.

[superman86to99]

Adventures of Superman #505 (October 1993)

REIGN OF THE SUPERMAN! The Reign is over, and Superman does what we’d all do after being dead for several weeks and coming back to life: no, not visiting your parents, making out with Lois Lane.

Or more than making out, since the next page starts with a caption that says “Later...” and lets us know that they both had to take a shower. (NOTE: Check Don Sparrow’s section below for artist Tom Grummett’s definitive take on what happened in that scene.)

Their post-resurrection bliss comes to a stop when they remember a little detail: Clark Kent is still presumed dead. How are they gonna explain his return without making the extremely smart residents of Metropolis suspect that Superman and the guy who looks like Superman but with glasses are actually the same person? Superman’s mind immediately goes into “wacky bullshit excuse” mode and he starts spitballing ideas, like claiming Clark lost his memory, or was carried by underwater currents, or was abducted by aliens. Honestly, I’m pretty sure that last one would work, since there have been THREE major alien invasions in the past few years, but Lois thinks no one would be dumb enough to fall for that sort of thing. Really, Lois? No one?

At this point, Superman picks up some supervillain activity with his super hearing, so he gets dressed and goes there (though it would have been pretty intimidating for the criminals if she’d shown up in that shower rug). A bank uptown has been taken over by Loophole, a S.T.A.R. Labs accountant who stole a gizmo that allows him to phase through walls. When Superman shows up to arrest him and his henchmen (are they all villainous accountants?), Loophole literally puts his first through Superman’s chest, instantly killing him. RIP Superman, again.

Nah, Supes just swats Loophole away and breaks the gizmo, causing him to get his crotch area stuck inside a vault door. Now he has to change his supervillain name to “DickVault”.

(I freaking love Maggie Sawyer, btw.)

After that, Superman goes to one of the areas trashed by his fight with Doomsday and helps clean up the junk that’s still laying around there. It’s then that he finally reunites with his best friend and most valued ally: Bibbo Bibbowski. (Jimmy Olsen’s there, too, unfortunately.)

Bibbo also introduces Superman to the dog he named in honor of his home planet, Krypto -- and it’s Krypto who provides the most significant moment in this issue. The little mutt starts barking at some debris from a destroyed building, leading Superman to examine it with his X-Ray vision and find some kids underneath.

Turns out the kids had been trapped there since the Doomsday fight, leading some random passerby (fine, Jimmy) to wonder if Clark could be stuck in a similar situation. Superman and Lois look at each other... giving Superman an idea and providing the premise for next week’s issue.

Character-Watch:

First appearance of Loophole (real name Deke Dickinson, C.P.A.), who would become a running joke in Karl Kesel’s Superman and Superboy comics. While his phasing powers are tech based, he also has the metahuman ability to somehow convince attractive women to be his girlfriends/henchwomen despite being a balding little dweeb. In this issue he’s dating a blonde named Sheila (who wears a mask, so maybe she’s actually hideous), but I’m pretty sure he had other girlfriends in future issues.

Plotline-Watch:

As I said... holy shit, five years ago: no one draws Supes coming back to Lois after an extended absence like Tom Grummett. This scene is almost a remake of the one from that issue when Superman comes back from his time traveling jaunt. There’s also a callback to Man of Steel #25, when Lois hears a tap on her window and thinks it’s Superman, but it’s just some dumb bird. This time she gets it the other way around:

Don Sparrow says: “There’s a cute visual callback to the last time Superman returned after a long absence on page 18, when Superman is reunited with Jimmy. It’s a near identical pose to Action #643, where Superman returned from exile in space (and in that moment, infected Jimmy with Eradicator-based space sickness, womp womp).” I think he’s instinctively throwing Jimmy up in the air, hoping the cold of space will kill him. Unfortunately, both murder attempts were unsuccessful.

As seen above, Maggie Sawyer wasn’t too convinced that “Fabio” here was Superman at first. That changes when he calls her “Captain” even though she was recently promoted to Inspector, and she’s like “only a dead man wouldn’t know all the precise ranks for the local authorities!”

The surviving non-Supermen are seen arriving at S.T.A.R. Labs for medical care after the Engine City showdown. Don again: “There are some mild continuity issues stemming from Superman #82, which perhaps wasn’t completely finished being drawn while Tom Grummett worked on this one, as Steel’s costume is almost entirely intact, when we last saw it a week ago, it was in tatters. Ditto the Eradicator, who was a wizened husk, and now is apparently a scorched Ivan Drago.” Let’s assume Supergirl worked her clothes-shifting magic on Steel’s armor and the Eradicator’s, uh, hair.

There’s a short scene where Superboy is visited by his reporter pal Tana Moon, who tells him she quit WGBS and is leaving Metropolis. Awww. Goodbye, Tana. Or should I say... aloha?

Meanwhile, Lex Luthor Jr. has a scene with Dr. Happersen where he says he intends to control or destroy anyone who wears the “S” symbol. Basically, if he can’t date them, they should be dead. He also instructs Happersen to help Cadmus’ Director Westfield get in contact with disgraced genetician Dabney Donovan. Get ready for a whole lot of clone-related shenanigans in the near future.

And now, more Don Sparrow-related shenanigans after the jump!

Art-Watch (by @donsparrow​):

This issue is another favourite of mine, but I suppose all these issues around the Death and Return are faves when I really think about it.  My copy of this issue had the holographic fireworks cover, and it’s a good one.  I like that Superman and the Daily Planet are in natural colour, rather than holograms.  The cover credit goes Karl Kesel, Tom Grummett and Doug Hazlewood, so I’m not sure what the breakdown was (or if that’s just a handwritten cover credit, just in case?

The story opens with one of my favourite sequences ever, with Lois waking up on her couch, having fallen asleep following the events in Coast City.  I love the detail as she opens the curtain, we see her engagement ring, indicating she knows her real fiancée has returned.  This sequence is followed up by two pages of splashes of the passionate reunion of the best couple in comics.  All beautifully rendered as they float, locked in a passionate, sunrise kiss.  Just lovely (so lovely that I am willing to overlook a small colouring error, as Lois has black hair instead of reddish brown for one panel).  [Max: I can confirm that they fixed that in the collections.]

What follows is a very cute scene, and one of some debate among Superman fans.  There’s no overt evidence of what happened, all we get is a cryptic caption reading “later…”.   Again, I give credit for the subtlety of the writers, as they depict this scene in a way that can be read either way:  maybe Clark and Lois made love, and the “later” we are seeing is afterglow, or maybe Lois had a shower since she just woke up after sleeping in her clothes. Then, after calling his parents while Lois showered, Clark had a shower himself.  I feel like today’s writers wouldn’t feel the need to be so subtle, and might lose the sweetness of this scene.  

In previous posts, I’ve talked about my friendship with artist Tom Grummett, and how as a boy, I would wear him out with all my dumb fanboy questions.  Once I got older, and our relationship became a little more collegial (just a little closer to collegial, since I in no way consider myself anywhere near his level of skill or success) I would really try not to geek out too much when we would visit.  But the one question I had to ask was about this scene, and what their intention, or interpretation of it was, as I was always curious.  Once I had explained to him which issue it was (the guy has drawn hundreds, so they might not all spring to mind immediately!) he admitted that his assumption was indeed that they had sex.  So there you have it!  [Max: Hot damn! Another Superman ‘86 to ‘99 exclusive, folks!]

However you wish to read this scene, the choreography, and facial expressions as they horse around is really sweet and fun, and such a nice, light tone compared to the do-or-die pace the books had been for the last two years or so.   Their easy joking, and back and forth banter really do a great job of showing them as a real couple.

It’s a very nice pose on Supergirl as she lifts off, simultaneously spurning Superboy’s romantic complaints.

I quite like the design on Loophole, and his gang.  Loophole himself kinda harkens back to the silver age villains of the Flash as Loophole has a unique hairline, is an older man, with a pretty average build, which was rare for villains in the 90s. His gimmick is pretty cool, too, though we immediately see its vulnerability.

The tearful reunion of the now-sober Bibbo and Superman is also a great moment—if anyone rose to the challenge of living up to Superman’s example in his absence, it was Bibbo.  I discuss the scene in more detail in the observations later, but the image of Superman whipping away the debris on page 20 is a great visual, with the dust clouds creating great motion and urgency.

On the whole, a great first issue for the return to the never-ending battle, even if it brings us closer to Grummett’s last issue on this title (for a while).

STRAY OBSERVATIONS:

Could Superman referring to the Death and Return storyline as a dream, while stepping out of the shower be a reference to Dallas, and their famous about-face after an unpopular season, where Bobby Ewing emerged from the shower, alive and well, dismissing a yearlong storyline as a dream?

A coy semi-reference to perhaps my favourite line in the first Reeve Superman film on page 8, where Supergirl says “Easy steel, we’ve got you, then later adding, “ok, you got me”.  

A little more issue-to-issue dissonance with Superboy reversing himself from the end of Superman #82, where he said clearly that Kal-El was Superman, with Superboy pointing out that legally, he’s Superman and not Kal. [Max: I think he’s talking strictly in the legal sense, since he helps Superman deal with the legal problem on the next issue and all.]

For all the times that Superman has used his heat vision on guns (as he does on page 11), we’ve never seen rounds get burned off, firing on their own because of the heat.  There might be an idea there.    

An odd sorta-cameo by Erik Larsen’s Savage Dragon, who Superman apparently defeats in the waterfront district. An eagle-eyed reader asked Larsen about it in issue #6 of Dragon’s own book, and he nixed any proper crossover rumours, saying it was just a shout-out from Larsen’s buddy Karl Kesel.  Eventually they’d meet in Superman/Savage Dragon: Chicago, a so-so crossover in 2002.

A slightly bawdy joke from one of the Loophole gang, on page 14, as the moll of Deke Dickson calls Loophole a “weiner”.  

GODWATCH: A stirring moment when Superman detects the faintest of life-signs, thanks to would-be super-pup, Krypto, and responds “God willing” when someone asks if anyone is alive in that wreckage.  The love and concern in Superman’s eyes when he says he’d “rather die” himself than let little ones perish is a tear-jerker moment for sure.  Bonus points for the cuteness of Superman heaping praise on Krypto, with the line “if that dog could fly, I’d put a cape on him…”

Question:  Does Jimmy know? He comes up with the solution to the Clark problem very conveniently.  Maybe he’s smarter than we (and by we, I mean Max) give him credit for? [Max: It was all Krypto! Okay, I’ll concede that maybe Jimmy is as smart as a dog.]

[namelessandfamous]

The 2010s

THE 2010s

Ahh, the 2010s. The decade that I became a full fledged adult in. I experienced the highs, the lows, the mids, the joy, the pain, the riches, the squalor and everything in between. I lived in five different states, five different cities. I traveled the nation multiple times around. I jumped jobs, locations, identities like any fledgling twentysomething that possess the gravitas to explore.

Outside of my being, the world experienced a lot. We experienced two terms of Obama only to enter the Trump era during the final three years of the decade. We lost many a legend—Prince being the one that hit me hardest—and gained a few more. Activism reached a visibility not seen since the 1960s—from Occupy Wall Street to Black Lives Matter. Mass murders became a regular occurrence as overall crime rose all across the nation. Global warming made for both Los Angeles and New York to share similar temperatures in December despite being on the opposite side of the seaboard.

And, musically …

Things shifted so much that they remained the same. Record sales reached a record low yet the record industry began to rebound with the rise of streaming. An entire century’s worth of music is only nanoseconds away for a small monthly fee. The decade saw the rise (and sometimes fall) of dubstep, “alternative R&B”, cloud rap, mumble rap, trap beats (which punctuated almost a majority of popular songs regardless of genres throughout the past ten years), etc.  Adele sold the most records than anyone else despite pop getting more and more EDM-influenced by the minute, Drake was easily the most popular rapper as rap became increasingly non-rap in its sound, R&B continued to thrive outside of the mainstream, rock increasingly became a genre of the past and well, everything else remained the same.

Yet, in my headphones, these ten albums provided the aural narration for various times and places and mental explorations and live experiences throughout this past decade. While I listened to hundreds of albums—and liked just as many—these ten stood out the most to me even if my individual interest in a few has dissipated beyond the time that they spoke to me the most. These ten albums remind me that despite the roller coasters of emotions, thoughts, experiences and mindsets I’ve experienced these past ten years, the 2010s was a good decade, overall. Here are my 10 of the ‘10s:

1.      D’ANGELO, Black Messiah (RCA, 2014)

Arriving on the scene when the nation was in tatters after the rash of police brutality targeting black men around the country (which was never a rare occurrence, mind you, but that’s another screed for another day ….) and the Black Lives Matter movement was in full bloom in the mainstream media, D’Angelo re-appeared some 14 years after his last album, the landmark Voodoo. This re-appearance feel right on time even if it was almost a decade and a half late in an increasingly ADHD world. That it spoke to a nation’s frustration as well as its joy despite such an extended wait was almost miraculous and made claim to it’s title claim. Even more miraculous is just how much the music resonates as much as D’s storied past. A D’Angelo album is almost as mythic as the man but like any myth, neither fails to be magical. So magical that Messiah resulted in many album-long reactions by artists that spanned various genres and commercial statuses.

 2.      KAYTRANADA, 99.9% (XL, 2016)

Released just months before the end of the Obama administration, 99.9%, the full length debut by Montreal maestro Kaytranada treated the pre-election tension in the air—then placing Donald Trump and Hillary Rodham Clinton as contenders to replace the nation’s first black president—like the perfect atmosphere for a party. A decidedly Pan-African dance party, at that. Kaytranda, born Louis Celestin, is an obvious student of black music that spans decades, genres and continents. The son of Haitian immigrants, Kay knows the power of rhythm like any Caribbean expat does. This rhythm powers an one hour long song cycle that never lets up despite many variations in groove and voice (Kay gives the floor to a multitude of vocalists which include  everyone from Anderson .Paak and Phonte to Syd of The Internet and Little Dragon’s Yukimi Nagona to rappers Goldlink and Vic Mensa to even 2000s British pop/R&B superstar Craig David). The sheer joy here—peaking with the late-album, Gal Costa-powered “Lite Spots”—is palpable and it’s groove unstoppable. And it will surely remain so for many years to come.

 3.      INC., No World (4AD, 2013)

The Brothers Aged—Daniel and Andrew-- created a quixotic, otherworldly mood piece in their debut No World. The juxtaposition between D’Angelo and especially Maxwell’s largely carnal “neo soul” velvet and the post-punk atmosphere that colored many a classic on the label that released the album made for an intriguing listen. What stands out most about No World is its subtlety. This is a work that requires several listens before it entirely sinks in. And when it sinks in, it completely submerges.

 4.      JESSIE WARE, Devotion (PMR, 2012)

A merger of soignée “diva” vocals, distinctively British tastefulness, dance music rhythms and commitment to low-key R&B of decades past made Devotion a promising prospect even before its spring 2012 release. Jessie Ware had already built a name for herself via cameos on records by fellow forward thinking Brits SBTRKT, The Joker and Sampha but on Devotion that name became emboldened and placed in caps. A set that’s gossamer (the precise Aaliyah channeling on its opening title track; the lush and almost folksy closer “Something Inside”), earnest (the single “Wildest Moments”), funky (“Sweet Talk”, the Little Dragon-esque “110%”) and stately (the single “Running” which piqued my interest in the first place from its blatant nods to Sade’s “Cherry Pie” and so much sophisti-pop of the same era and origin). Devotion turned out to be such a masterwork that its author has yet to match its range and breadth with a couple more follow-ups that were increasingly pop-orientated and plainer in sound. Regardless of Ware’s musical trajectory, Devotion still stands as one of the best debuts that the 2010s birthed.

 5.      KENDRICK LAMAR, Good Kid mAAd City (Aftermath/Interscope, 2012)/ To Pimp a Butterfly (Aftermath/Interscope, 2015)

Kendrick Lamar. The rapper that almost tracked my entry into adulthood and became one of the biggest rap stars in the world by decades end. In a way, Kendrick almost seemed like a kindred spirit. He and I are both young black men from coastal city-suburbs, born the same year (almost exactly six months apart, in fact), introverted, always exploring even if we don’t like what we find. While Section .80 introduced me into me—and many, many others—into the fantastical world of Mr. Duckworth, it was his 2012 major label debut Good Kid mAAd City that showed the world his actual palate. An incredibly well-curated and extremely accessible release, Good Kid tells the story of really, Lamar’s public persona: a good kid in a mAAd city escapes the turmoil around him—narrowly—when he finds a higher power. In his case, that higher power that provided peace of mind was music. If Good Kid showed the world who mainstream rap’s next auteur was, To Pimp a Butterfly showed us all just how much he was capable of. Arguably, the rap album of the decade, Butterfly was a work of extreme vision. It’s 79 minutes packed with rage, depression, remembrance, questioning, soul and resolve all stoked by Lamar’s new found widespread adulation—sparked by his recent rap fame—and his realization of where his black skin placed him in society. Butterfly’s adventurous yet vaunted sprawl could characterize itself as a wild theater of the mind of one of the last gifted pop-rappers we’ve seen. It could also stand as the Magnus opus that is hard to follow up. Lamar’s subsequent work achieved even more commercial success than Good Kid and Butterfly—both of which debuted at the top of the US pop charts and earned platinum status in a climate where such an award had become extremely rare—as well as continued critical adoration but failed to compel as much as its predecessors. This rather swift creative peak wasn’t relegated to Lamar, however, but also applied to many others that emerged as exciting young forces in music—Drake, J. Cole, Frank Ocean, The Weeknd, Big K.R.I.T. , Miguel, Toro y Moi, etc.—at the dawn of the decades but seemed creatively tapped just a few short later despite wildly increased commercial profiles. Still, both Good Kid and Butterfly’s mark on the game is permanent.

 6.      TORO Y MOI, Anything in Return (Carpark, 2013)

Chazwick Bundwick began as an insanely talented hipster recording warm yet self conscious “chillwave” under the name Toro y Moi during the beginning of the decade. Then Anything in Return, his third album,  was released and Bundwick was no lomger a cutesy indie poster boy but a distinct artist in his own right. A swooning, often sensual set of midtempo grooves with hooks that stick like gum, Anything in Return is millennial angst with a sweet aftertaste. Inspired by a failed relationship, While Bundwick’s melancholy is audible, the music’s sexy optimistic is what makes it so hard to shake. Toro’s following releases were all less interesting than the last even if at least a couple tried to follow Anything’s template. Yet, the bar set by Anything may have proven hard for Toro to reach even if the bar for its sheer enjoyment will likely never too high.

 7.      SOLANGE, A Seat at the Table (Columbia, 2016)

On the night of November 8, 2016, I stood downstairs of a LA Fitness in the San Fernando Valley, California and watched with several others on the television screens above as Donald Trump was in a landslide of a lead over Hillary Rodham Clinton as the 45th President of the United States of America. Amongst all of us that stood there, there was a multitude of emotions and reactions. Mine was one of sheer rage, if not astonishment. Prior to this night, I had been living in Glendale, a predominately Armenian-American enclave to the east of Hollywood. The lack of fellow black faces was assuaged by three aural black girl manifestos—Jamila Woods’ debut Heavn, Esperanza Spalding’s Emily D+Evolution and most strikingly, Solange’s third release A Seat the Table. Yet, on this night that the country was beginning a steep decline that it couldn’t retract for another quarter-decade, A Seat the Table acted as an elixir yet again. An album of mood—mainly rage and frustration—that was dictated by tone—delicate, airy, proudly feminine and definitely defined by its culture-Black with a capital AND bolded B, Seat played a feminine yang to the aforementioned Black Messiah (the album that undoubtedly inspired its creation) and Butterfly’s more masculine yin. It was the album that summed up a collective mood of a people even if it was markedly personal. The political has always been personal and vice versa and Solange knew this. A huge turning point for both Ms. Knowles’ career—it launched her as a must-hear artist spanning genres and scenes instead of being just you-know-who’s little sister that also sung—and really, many other artists in its wake.

 8.      THE INTERNET, Ego Death (Columbia, 2015)

The Internet began as a likeable but painfully tentative—and youthful-- answer to the “future soul” of LA of the past decade heralded by the likes of trailblazers like J*Davey, Sa-Ra Creative Partners and Georgia Anne Muldrow. Members of the Odd Future collective, The Internet brought a sense of sophistication to the otherwise “bratty”, then under-25 crew. On each follow-up, The Internet grew away from Odd Future’s “shock” image and into their own as a legit force in modern live band soul. By the time of Ego Death, The Internet were no longer just a legit force but now arguably one of the best bands of their generation. Ego Death is a magnus opus and easily the best album to ever come out of the Odd Future camp (only Channel Orange can match it but it can be argued if Ocean was ever an actual member of the crew). Sleek, sexy, clever, thoughtful and distinctively LA (dizzy, balmy, calm), Ego Death is the sound of a band not only finding its wings but soaring. Syd’s supple soprano is fully realized now whereas it was still in development a couple albums ever before. Now fleshed out into a five-member band, the grooves are all vivid—the bass warm and sometimes rumbling, the guitar prickly, the keys always sweet—and the songs—which were just loose groove sketches before—all fully formed. Ego Death’s peaks with the dreamy “Girl”, co-produced with Kaytranada, and proved to be a career highlight for both acts (and made for my personal favorite song of the decade). Yet, despite “Girl”’’s awestruckness, Ego Death never falters. And even if ego dies, its appeal will not.

 9.      THE WEEKND, House of Balloons (self released, 2011)

I still remember listening to “What You Need” on some music blog back in late 2010 in my college dorm. It’s sinewy sexed up R&B groove and lyrical promises to “knock your boot off” were nothing new but it’s approach was. There was something alien about it and sinister. Very sinister. It was almost like hearing the aural equivalent of a Jodeci video directed by David Lynch. It was sensual but dark. Little was known about the artist that recorded “Need” when I first started to listening to the song. All we were given was the name The Weeknd and a blurry gray picture of an obscured face. Soon enough, “What You Need” was given a home via release entitled House of Balloons which was self released and available for free download. And The Weeknd was given a face via an Ethiopian-Canadian singer from Toronto named Abel Tesfaye.  And both House of Balloons and The Weekend were given a distinct aesthetic; an aesthetic that would inform and influence popular music for the entire decade.

 Listening to House of Balloons nearly a decade later is an interesting experience. Back in the days when I downloaded Balloons on its day of release, it’s sound was incredibly fresh. The noirish, downtempo grooves, Tesfaye’s slightly off-key falsetto, naked references to Oxycontin, drugged out debauchery, empty sex and fatal heartbreak, indie rock samples and unrelenting vibe-over-song structure was all so, well, new. It didn’t take long for The Weeknd to be labeled as the vanguard of something called “Alternative R&B” alongside LA-based auteurs Frank Ocean and Miguel.

 Yet, nearly a decade later, Balloons sounds almost like parody. Tesfaye’s vocals seem almost amateur-ish. The lyrics can feel almost like bad fan-fiction. Its low-slung, vibey atmospheres almost generic. Yet, this reappraisal just speaks to just how massive Balloons’ influence was on mainstream R&B and hip hop. What was new in 2011 had become commonplace a decade later. In other words, House of Balloons set the template for what followed on the charts (alongside the entire oeuvre of another fellow Toronto native who went from teen TV star to the rap superstar of the decade). Even if its follow-ups—released months apart—were stronger and more realized. Even if a sanitized and often altered version of these songs were re-released upon The Weeknd signing to a major label conglomerate within a year of his first three efforts’ self releases and packaged as Trilogy (the alterations were largely due to sample clearance issues). Even if The Weeknd became a shell of himself artistically after Balloons—and its two follow-ups Thursday and Echoes of Silence, respectively--while becoming one of the biggest male pop stars in the world by the middle of the decade. Despite whatever occurred in its aftermath, House of Balloons will always remain a document in time of when the new became the standard. And Abel Tesfaye was an exciting force in music, regardless of how brief.

  10.  KHRUANGBIN, Como Todo El Mundo (Dead Oceans, 2018)

By 2018, I finally caught up with the world and entered into the world of streamimg after having my umpteenth iPod Classic clash. Tired of spending $340 every 1.5 to 2 years because of glitch Apple software, I reluctantly decided to let my android become my new source of sound. I signed up for a premium membership on Spotify (no plug!) for $9.99 and pressed play. One feature on Spotify that I grew to anticipate was the Discover Weekly playlist which collected thirty songs that almogriths decided I’d like based on listening history. I was both startled and delighted by how accurate the selections were. While I was already familiar with a large percentage of the songs compiled, I made several wonderful discoveries. The one that stands out amongst the rest is a lazy but endless little funk groove called “Evan Finds the Third Room”. There was something very “exotic” about “Evan” yet familiar. It evoked a lot of things—early ‘80s Lower East Side NYC post-punk, early ‘70s garage funk, Jamaican dub—but sounded like nothing specific. And that is the magic of Como Todo El Mundo, Khruangbin’s--a Texan trio comprised of bassist Laura Lee, guitarist Mark Speer and drummer Donald Johnson—sophomore album. It is music that conjures up a slew of vibes that you’ve heard before but nothing in particular. In other words, it like nothing that you’ve heard before. For instance, the closer (and standout) “Friday Morning” sounds vaguely like what Ice Cube’s “It Was A Good Day” would sound like if it were on a hell of an acid trip. That the trio created such a wonderful psychedelic musical carpet ride that remains funky and irresistible throughout its duration with few words is even incredible. With Como, there is no need for any psychedelic substance your body when the music here already bends your mind and soothes your spirits so vividly.

 10 That Almost Made the 10 of the ‘10s:

Frank Ocean, Channel Orange (Def Jam, 2012)

Jose James, Blackmagic (Brownswood, 2010)

Erykah Badu, New Amerykah: Return of the Anhk (Universal Motown, 2010)

JMSN, JMSN (White Room, 2014)

Dam-Funk, Invite the Light (Stones Thow, 2015)

Freddie Gibbs & Madlib, Pinata (Madlib Invasion, 2014)

Little Dragon, Ritual Union (Peacefrog, 2011) OR Nabuma Rubberband (Loma Vista, 2014)

Flying Lotus, Until the Quiet Comes (Warp, 2012)

Robert Glasper Experiment, Black Radio (Blue Note, 2012)

YG, My Krazy Life (Def Jam, 2014)

[rkxsoojin-blog]

 MGA5 C A L L B A C K SINGING I DON’T WANT IT AT ALL by KIM PETRAS [1:53-2:28, 3:05-4:06]

 It takes Minkyung a minute to check her email, even after she hears the tiny little ding of the notification, and when she does, she’s initially a little surprised; she thinks she did pretty well at her audition, she just hadn’t given much thought to the what if of her actually making it through. Somehow in her mind it had been done and dusted the moment she’d returned her cute little nametag and left, and mentally, she had moved on. 

 For a moment, she considers backing out; she hadn’t really auditioned out of any true desire to be an idol, right? But there’s already a pool of leaden resolve forming in her belly, one that she recognises, and one that she isn’t exactly happy to see. 

 Minkyung loves a good challenge. She’s competitive down to her very core, and knowing that out of all the idol hopefuls, all the fame-hungry whomevers that would have auditioned for this show, that she’s in the top hundred? She’s satisfied with that, she just thinks she could do a whole lot better, that’s all. 

 Not to mention that the audition itself had been really quite fun. Minkyung feels like she’s her best self when she’s performing, and the allure of a bigger stage, more of a production, as opposed to some practice room in the back of a high school is positively alluring. 

 She immediately begins bouncing options around in her mind, and as always, she’s got a thousand ideas buzzing about her, so it’s really a job of whittling the numbers down. 

 The one thing she knows for absolute certain is that she wants to make a bit of a scene, it’s just a question of how to do so in the way she wanted to, with a bit of subtlety, so it might seem a little more organic. 

 She decides that she wants to lean into the cutesy thing, in an ever-so-slightly tongue-in-cheek way, as always. She supposes that’s just her thing. 

 The outfit comes first, for some reason, a little high-waisted denim mini skirt, a faded Spice World tee, a choker, and a pair of glittery silver knee-high boots that she’d gotten from a stall in Hongdae that were almost certainly some kind of designer bootleg. 

 It’s then, looking at the bootleg leg boots that she has a bit of a creative epiphany. 

 She doesn’t want to do something dour, or serious, not yet at the very least. She wants something bubblegum bubbly, something fun and bouncy, so she designs to lean into the fraudulent designer aesthetic and do I Don’t Want It At All; a high energy bop with cutesy materialistic lyrics that will be fun to jump around to. It’s also a rather challenging song in some respects, and Minkyung relishes chances to show-off just a tad. 

 She isn’t a dancer, so she doesn’t bother with a choreography, or any such thing, but instead sets into figuring out an arrangement. She only has two minutes and wants to make sure that her performance still has a sense of build, some peaks and valleys, lest it become monotonous by remaining at a singular level the entire time. She also wants to make sure she can show off a decent range of vocal technique within that short time span. 

  She opts to do the second verse and the pre-chorus, to create a bit of a build from a lower energy to a higher one, but instead of going straight into the chorus, she’ll instead jump into the bridge, and finish off with the final chorus, which is higher energy than all the ones before it, and will also give her the opportunity to really belt out a high note or two. She thinks it’s a well-balanced arrangement, and she practices it often enough that the song clings to her head like glue, almost driving her nuts. 

 By the time the day of rolls around, she wakes up to the song already playing in her head, which is perhaps a good thing. 

 She dolls herself up, throwing a denim jacket over the outfit she’d previously selected, cinching her hair into a high pony, something fun to throw around, and before long, she’s arrived. 

 It’s always interesting seeing the other side of this sort of a production, the security check-ins, the form-signing, the cameras and boom mics and stage lighting, the bones of the operation all naked like you never see them on the actual show. Its both grounding and a little exciting, like being let in on a big secret. 

 She finds a seat at random, smiling at Yuqi and her little girlfriend as she passes them by, quietly wishing them luck and ending up sat between a girl called Kyulkyung, and a boy called Suwoong, surrounded by a great load of noisy people, which ends up being great fun. Her and Kyulkyung eye one another up for a moment, whispering a few mild critiques and some small talk between one another before she’s distracted by Suwoong, who is uniquely friendly, on a similar wavelength to herself, Minkyung thinks. He initiates small talk with her, leaning over after every performance so they can express some brief opinions on it, their opinions becoming more imaginative as the performances continue, eventually turning into a strange game of elaborating on the theoretical life of the contestant in question based on their outfit, or gait, or choice of song and dance. 

 The section she’s sat with are all chatter, and they cheer and clap for every contestant who goes up, and by the time Minkyung hears her name called, shes been imbued with enough of that joyous energy that she hops up with zeal, finding her way to the stage easily where she she bounces into the the designated spot, the stage lights immediately rather warm against her skin, the cameras trained on her. 

 She gives the judges, and the camera, a sweet smile, bowing a good ninety degrees before pulling back up and introducing herself with a bit of a giggle. 

 “Hello! I’m Kim Minkyung! It’s nice to meet you on the stage today” she says, the smile that parts her lips suddenly a little strange, mysterious almost, as though she knew something those whom she smiled at did not. The glimmer of confidence, the cool unarrogant sort, unmistakable in her eyes. She doesn’t bother expressing some hope that they’ll enjoy her performance, as she’s more than hopeful that they will. She’ll make sure they do.

 There’s a brief count from some staff members behind the cameras, and without time to waste, the music starts, an instrumental that she’d artfully snipped together herself to match the arrangement she was doing. As it does, she doesn’t begin to sing, having purposely left a few extra seconds of music on the front of the track, but rather feigns surprise, almost worry, lifting an urgent finger to the judges to indicate that they wait, as though she’d forgotten something crucial, skittering quickly to the side of the stage in her boots, where she bends down to accept a plastic tiara, with little LED lights spelling the word “princess” on its front from a waiting staff member, a gag that she’d arranged beforehand, even though everyone on the show’s end seemed to be confused by the request. She secures the fluffy pink tiara tightly to the front of her head with a smile, flicking a switch on its rearside to turn the lights on, and then skips confidently back to the centre of the stage, stomping her feet into a self-assured stance and jumping right into her verse.

If you wanna get down tonight You better hook it up at the place I like Better make it fit like the perfect size Aw yeah, aw yeah And if you give me everything I want You go from none to number one Yeah, you're so cute, yeah, you're so fun Aw yeah, aw yeah

 She holds her position for this potion of her performance, her voice easy over top the bright, glittery synths. As she slides into the pre-chorus she begins to strut along the stage, each girlish stomp in time with a beat of the song. She’s not a dancer, but she’s got enough bodily sense to keep on rhythm as she bops and sways along with the song, a grin on her lips, pivoting her head so that she can feel her ponytail whipping about behind her. 

Baby, don't you fight it Close your eyes and swipe it Maybe I could be with you If you buy me diamonds And you keep me smiling Baby, I can be with you Oh, with you 

 Minkyung is having a lot of fun with her performance, bouncing along with each word, the vocals themselves having yet to become too demanding for that. She flutters her eyes with girlish flourish, mimicking the motion of a credit card swipe alongside the pertinent words, pointing at the camera with a wink, smiling wide and flashing the cartoonishly large hunk of plastic masquerading as a diamond on the cheap costume jewelry she was wearing. She’d initially wanted to strike a balance, to figure out how to be peppy and referential without being too much, but she had realised that being a little too much was a perfect fit for this particular song, and had decided to lean into it as a concept, summoning every drop of pseudo-ironic bubbly zest she could, although the gleam in her eye was entirely real. 

 She ends the pre-chorus with a high note on “Oh, with you,” ceasing her gleeful prancing so she could properly belt in out, the music fading into a more subtle, slow synth build beneath her as she flips her ponytail with apparent delight to sing an adorable “Woo! ah...” once the high note is through, blowing a kiss with the judges with her two fingers before bringing her hand forward so she could form a finger heart in the same motion, in time with each syllable. The gallivanting she’d been doing across the edge of the stage now slowing to a sensuous prowl to reflect the energy of the song itself.

I don't want it all  Give me summer in the Hamptons Give me summer in the Hamptons (I don't want it at all) Give me summer in the Hamptons In the Hamptons In the Hamptons I want all I want

 On the original track, the bridge made use of a robotic filter of sorts, but Minkyung takes the opportunity to show off some of her technique, leaning into a bit of vocal fry distortion to give her voice some edge and grit in lieu of any metallic effect, the bridge slowly building into a belt before she jumps straight into the final chorus, which she opts to stand still for, having found her way to centre stage once again, she focuses her attention back onto the microphone, and her singing, knowing that this bit was a challenge in terms of maintaining proper breath support, the way she wanted to do it. 

I want all my clothes designer (Ooh!) I want someone else to buy 'em (Yeah!) If I cannot get it right now (Now!) I don't want it, I don't want it, I don't want it at all I don't want it, I don't want it, I don't want it at all Give me all of your attention (Ooh!) Give me summer in the Hamptons (Yeah!) If I cannot get it right now (Now!) I don't want it, I don't want it, I don't want it at all I don't want it, I don't want it, I don't want it at all

 The synths rocket upwards in intensity the minute the bridge ends, and Minkyung launches right into the chorus, asserting what she wants and how she wants it. She chooses to lean into some of the ad-libs that Kim had done on the final chorus, including a sustained belt at the end of the fifth line. It’s fairly close to the ceiling of her range, especially after all of the energy she’d just expended, right in the middle of a bunch of other singing, and she has to sneak a breath as inconspicuously as possible, almost gasping it, turning her head away from the mic to do so. She manages it, however, having practiced this exact part almost endlessly, and plows through the rest of the chorus with a smile of self-satisfaction gracing her lips. 

 The song ends just as she makes one final declaration of how she wants it, and she’s sure to close with a bit of flourish, bringing her arm up in a big dramatic swoop to pose cutely with a v-sign at her temple. 

 She’s shocked at first, by the cheers from her little loud section, jumping ever so slightly before bursting into a laugh, bowing and thanking the judges quickly before she returned to her seat, happy to plop down in her seat, her legs trembling with the rush of adrenaline.

 As she watches the next contestant step up to bat, she begins to process just how much she enjoyed that, the bloom of desire to win this in her chest now twofold in nature.

[hethrewmyheartinthecut]

The Bride • Chapter 10

The Honeymoon: he’s heartbroken, she’s homesick, they both go hunting. what could go wrong?

in which everything is settled, until suddenly it isn’t

Prologue (if you haven’t read The Bride yet) • Chapter Eleven (not yet written) • on ao3

Although Tommy had insisted there was a bit of side business with the Chinese that needed wrapping up, Polly put her foot down and more or less kicked him out of the city.

"Honeymoon?" Esme said, just as displeased. "Where to? I'm not going to bloody France."

"I'm absolutely not fucking going to France," said Tommy.

"Not going to Italy, either," said Esme.

"And if we go to Ireland, we're likely to get our throats cut," said Tommy.

"The IRA."

"Exactly."

Polly put down her pen. "I pray every morning for the patience to get through the day, and every day, He fucking tests me. Esme, don't you want to be out in the countryside, with the grass and the rabbits and the shite?"

"Yes," Esme admitted.

"And Thomas, would you rather be shooting birds, or would you rather be dragged into the hellhole of social dilemmas that is planning a wedding between a Catholic Rrom and a Protestant prostitute, with all of Birmingham watching?"

Tommy gave her a look that expressed his willingness to die instead.

"It's all happening now," Polly said. "Better to get the wedding in sooner than later, otherwise she'll be showing the baby as she walks down the aisle. I'll handle it for a couple days. Now go and pack." She picked up her pen again.

Packing was simple: food, a horse, and a rifle each. A tent. The complicated part was figuring out how exactly she was going to bring herself to fuck him.

Yes, he hadn't betrayed his sister, and she still felt mildly guilty about fighting him so hard on it now that she knew the truth; and yes, he'd been blessed with the austere, savage beauty of a mountain god; but at the end of the day, there was nothing on the face of the Earth less appealing than the prospect of fucking a man who would be thinking of someone else the entire bloody time.

Their ride together didn't help. There was nothing romantic about hunting with a heartbroken Tommy; he was exactly the same, except surlier and more taciturn, to the point where Esme couldn't tell whether or not he was only generally angry at the world, or also angry at her specifically. By the evening, she was so irritated with him that she stopped trying to figure it out, and instead focused on the familiar pleasures of the sunlight and birdsong round them, the slight chill in the wind, the silent communication between herself and the roan mare beneath her.

The one pleasant surprise came when they settled in a relatively high spot, sheltered from the east wind by a small copse of trees. Esme was expecting the messy job of plucking the wood pigeon he'd shot, but he did it himself. After she'd rustled up the tent, she watched him still aggressively plucking away. It was a little funny, the childishness of it all.

Tommy glanced up and caught her smiling. "What?" he demanded.

"Nothing." But that settled it. He could be as sullen as he liked; she didn't take it personally. The night air was as crisp, the silence as full as she remembered. It was good to be halfway home, at least for a little while.

That peace slipped away when they slipped into the tent. It wasn't quite autumn yet, but it was cool enough that she was aware of his warmth beside her. The one thing the hill lacked, she thought, was a watch. Without a way to tell time, every excruciating moment of this fucking waiting rolled into the next with no warning of when it might be done, and he neither moved nor slept. How long? How long? How fucking--

"Alright," Tommy said roughly, turning on his side. For a moment, he hovered above her, pale eyes hard as flint, and then, as he came close, she put her hand over his mouth. He froze.

"We could lie," she said. "There's no way they could tell otherwise. There's years of lying in it before anyone begins asking questions about fertility. Then there's doctors, all kinds of tests. We have time."

His eyes moved over her face, and she thought she could read disbelief, then relief. Or possibly disappointment? How could relief and disappointment coexist? She lifted her hand.

"I thought you weren't leaving," he said.

"I'm not."

"Then why?"

"Because I'm not leaving."

Silence.

A smile flitted across her face.

"What?"

"'s just occurred to me that I may be the first woman who's ever said no."

He propped himself up, half-sitting against the saddlebags, and produced a cigarette. "Regan O'Donnell, fifth form."

"Your poor little heart."

He gave a wry smile, and offered her a cigarette. She took it, and he lit it.

"Good odds I'm not the first man," he said.

"The first man that's not wanted me? Is this another lovely Shelby tradition, telling your wife she's ugly?"

"Not the first man you've turned down."

"Ah." She went through her past quickly. "I wasn't so discriminating in my younger days, especially during the war. The number's lower than you might think."

He cocked an eyebrow, then settled back for half a cigarette's silence before saying, "Do you think you'll ever change your mind?"

She shook her head. "Just think of me as the blood relative that everyone's always reminding me I'm not."

"Don't think a blood relative would've kissed me like that," he murmured.

The corners of her mouth lifted. "A woman's entitled to a little fun on her wedding."

"And a husband's entitled to what?"

There was no threat in it, so she gave it genuine thought. "Don't think I've ever lied to you properly before. And I don't think I'll start. It's not what you're entitled to, it's just something you get."

Their cigarettes were spent, and Tommy took them both and ground them into the dirt with his boot before he lay back down on their bedroll.

Esme gave him a moment to counteroffer, and when he didn't, she prodded him. "What does a wife get?"

"A family, a room, a job. And when business permits, when she's getting choked by the factory smoke or when she thinks she wants to kill me, a ride on a horse of her own."

The offer was substantial and safe. It wasn't everything, but she acquiesced anyway. Some things could only be offered, never bargained for. "Sounds alright."

"I think it will be." With both of them on backs, in the darkness, she couldn't make out his face, but she thought he sounded satisfied.

"Goodnight, Tommy."

"Goodnight, Esme."

Esme woke panicked without knowing why. It was pitch dark and there were small unformed sounds, beside her, and fast breathing and oh. He has nightmares. She sat up, moved as far away as she could within the tent, and then pinched his shoulder. He awoke with a gasp, flailing under the blanket till he'd got it off, breathing hard and looking around him wildly. The moment he saw her, his surroundings became clear, and he visibly settled, at least a little, though there was a fear there she didn't understand until he spoke.

"Did I hit you?"

"No. I'm alright." She swallowed. Her hand moved on her knee, forwards a little, but no further. "I'm going to make some tea."

He rubbed his face and adopted his I'm-surrounded-by-mere-children voice. "We're in the middle of the woods, Esme."

"I brought a tin. What kind of a heathen do you think I am?" She reached out, palm warm and steady on the nape of his neck, as he took a deep breath in and refused to look at her. Then she ducked out of the tent.

It wasn't long before he emerged from the tent and sat beside her. She'd hung the little camp pot directly over the fire, and was poking and blowing at the embers to get a new fire started.

"I don't need any," he said.

"Well I do."

They both looked into the eye-ache of a smoky orange fire, sitting cross-legged, his elbow resting on her knee.

"It was a good speech you had back there," he said.

"Which one? I think I've given you a few by now."

"The one about the war."

"Losing people."

"Yeah."

She leaned over to check on the water, found it hadn't boiled, and settled back closer than she had before, this time loosely hugging her knees. "I meant it at the time, but looking back, I think it's bullshit."

"Didn't sound like bullshit at all." Gentle, almost.

Esme hesitated to take his invitation. "It wasn't easier then. There's just more time to think about it now. All the ways they tried to kill us, and it filled the sky with noise, and it filled every bed with people, and I think it just crowded out time to notice that you'd lost anyone for more than a minute." She checked the water again. "Do you want lemon or orange pekoe?"

"Doesn't matter."

She handed him a tin mug and a teabag, then poured carefully from the pot.

"Where's your cup?" he said.

"Only packed for myself."

"I didn't anticipate the variety of beverages."

"Next time."

He sipped slowly. In the east, the sky was showed no signs of getting any lighter. "I heard you were a nurse," he said, "But I thought you were at some hospital in the city."

"No. I was an ambulance driver for a couple weeks, then was reassigned as a base nurse."

"Don't you need training for that?"

"There wasn't much technical subtlety in what they were having me do in the thick of my first big battle."

"Which was?"

"The Somme." Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him turn to look at her. "I know. But, Tommy, there were hundreds of thousands there. You can't expect to have a monopoly on a battle like that."

"I was thinking we could have met."

"You wouldn't have wanted to meet me then."

"You were in the surgery ward?"

"Mm-hm. One doctor per surgery. And because I was stronger than some of the other nurses, they had me in on amputations, when there were amputations."

"You had to make the cut?"

"No, that was the doctor, and they had something like a guillotine rigged up for it. I had to help hold the patient down."

"Fuck."

"Don't...I asked for the reassignment."

"Was ambulance driving so bad?"

"I didn't like talking to the people." He passed her his empty mug, and when she refilled it, he stuck his hands in the pockets of his jacket. So now it was her turn to drink. "How did you like it?" she said, between sips. "Come on, Tommy, I'm sure you've got yourself a pretty nurse story. Every soldier has a tale to rival the Iliad when he's got a free hour and he meets a pretty nurse."

"Oh, but those were always lies," he said.

"I know, but I liked them."

"All right, you want a story. Let me see." He leaned back, supporting himself with his arms. They were closer now. Esme leaned into it, a little. It was chilly out, and the tea was not enough. "I had a mate, Auerbach, a half-German boy. He was a card fiend, and he was terrible at it. I used to lose to him sometimes on purpose, that's how bad he was." Esme could hear the smile in his voice. "One day, Auerbach got a straight flush, won a bunch of money off of John and a few others, and by bad luck, that was the day that Big Jimmy came by. He used to sell us cigarettes, and trinkets, but his main racket was bottles, and Auerbach, fresh off the win, got absinthe."

"Oh no."

"Yep. I got distracted helping our captain, who had fucked up some regimental papers, and before you know it, there's Auerbach climbing up out of the trench and cutting our own fucking wire to get through No Man's Land."

"Was there a strafe on?"

"No, we'd just had the one in the morning, and this was mid-afternoon."

"Did he run across?"

"Like the devil was after him. Shouting the whole time. Shouting: it's gonna be over, lads! It's gonna be over! Almost believed him for a second, when he didn't get shot right away. He made it all the way to the other side, chucked the bottle--still half-full of absinthe--at some German, and then came running back home. Poor captain wasn't sure whether to court-martial him or give him a medal. Next morning, he swore he'd become a teetotaler. Never drank a drop since."

By now, somehow his arm was round her, her hand was on his knee, and her head rested on his shoulder. It was too comfortable, she thought, to bother moving. "I like your story," Esme said.

"Thank you."

"It's not a pretty nurse story, though."

"Of course not. In reality, he got caught in the wire halfway through and shot to pieces."

She patted his knee by way of apology. She hadn't been looking to make him speak of reality. "I only meant that for this to be a pretty nurse story, it'd have to make you the hero."

"I'm never the hero in any war stories."

"The king seems to think differently."

"The king can kiss my ass. Why do you want this so much, eh?"

"I thought you might like to tell. Everyone knows you threw your medals in the Cut, and it takes a particular kind of man to both throw away his medals and let everyone know he's had them at the same time. The kind of man who tells stories."

Tommy made a noise of disgust. "That's Arthur's fault. He found out when I got the damn things and he never let me forget it. It's almost an insult. Or he's proud of it."

"Or both."

"Or both," he conceded.

"We keep doing this to each other," Esme said. "Have you noticed? Taking up spare pieces of information, and then making the worst out of them."

"See enemies in everyone, and you're bound to be right eventually," said Tommy. "In Birmingham more often than not."

"But we've been mistaken every time."

"Might have to do something about that."

"Hm." She looked to the east, in mild curiosity. The sky was starting to show streaks of indigo. "What do you suggest?"

"Maybe..."

Tommy said it half into her hair, and she turned to him and tilted her head back a little to get a look. What? she was going to say, but then she knew.

They kissed.

At first, it was slow and luscious, but then Esme made a small sound in the back of her throat and surged up, clutching at his coat collar, and his fingers tangled in her hair, and oh. Oh.

He laid her down on the grass, her head on his arm and his hand on her hip and the ache was still there but fuck, so was he, tender. He pressed kisses to her jaw, her neck, her shoulder, and at the exact second she opened her eyes and saw a golden eagle overhead, he reached down and lifted up her skirt.

"Tommy."

"Mm?" His hand paused, warm, on her thigh.

Esme pushed at him, once, twice. He rolled off, onto his side, as she sat.

"I have to take a walk." She sounded wrecked, even to her own ears.

He looked as wrecked as she sounded, sprawled out on the grass, one button nearly torn off his shirt. "Esme." That was his only concession to pleading, and she was glad of it. Begging wouldn't have suited either of them, anyway; his ragged breath was enough.

His blue eyes were left unguarded and she couldn't help it. She leaned down and gave him one more kiss.

"Fuck," she said, realizing that she was still holding his face in her hands, that this was the part where she'd have to let go. She did. She got to her feet. "Fuck." She looked around. "I have to take a walk."

"Where?"

"Anywhere." The copse of trees looked inviting enough, if only because it held shadows against the light of day that she'd very much like to hide in. Without looking back, she walked into it until she was able to stop and lean against a birch and catch her breath.

God, he was fit to break her heart and she was almost stupid enough to let him.

"Fuck."

Chapter Eleven • The Boy (unwritten): Just when Esme thinks she’s got the full story on the Shelby family, a brief conversation with a local shopkeeper proves her wrong.

Thank you so much to everyone who send asks and commented and liked and reblogged and replied! you have no idea how much I needed it. this one was a struggle to get out for some reason, but I’m so happy now that it’s out.

if you have a prompt for a fic or a vid that you would like, feel free to enter my 100 followers giveaway raffle by liking or otherwise interacting with this post. I’ll randomly pick 5 people and each person can ask for a one shot fic or a short vid with whatever they like in it (no smut). I wish I could make lovely things for all of you but I still gotta finish the fic at hand as well lol. anyways. tl;dr: I love all of you very much.

@blinder-secrets @peakystitches, @prettieparker86, @tommyshelyb, @sympathyfortheblinderdevil, @annaistiredofyourshit, @lolashelby, @peakyrach, @fookingblinders, @helloandreabeth, @b000ks, @pure-bastard-extract, @siobhanlovesfilm

[nanashi1869]

🌼Flowers for my wounds🌸

(@kondo-hijikata @liuet in case you feel like reading it? ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ )

~Yes, woo what a surprise, a long rant about the Shinsengumi again, how original Nashi. ~

Why thank you, dear reader ;) In all seriousness though, all the previous rants I made were spoiler free and it made me ridiculously furious that I held back all the salt and awe I have in me just for the sake of not spoiling any potential newcomers. I’ve covered some of this in vague posts hundreds of times, but today I will break that habit, I will spoil this to hell and back and enjoy it just as much.  

You've been warned.

PS: I’m doing this entirely based on my memory and some snippets I’ve seen one time too many for my own good. Inaccuracies are bound to happen. 

As always, what better way to begin than with the infamous episode 33...

I'm kidding, today I'm starting by digging into the post office. As with the usual routine the theme to talk about with this wreck is - guilt. Guilt over losing money in a gamble like a complete fool, guilt over buying a book and being too big of a shit (with rather solid arguments) to admit it, guilt over making rules you can't break even though going through the consequences once was enough to make you regret it for the next few miserable years... (Yes I lied, inadvertently everything comes back to the foolish daffodils). But let's talk about our pure accountant who is one 'i' short of being nothing but cute. Let's talk about the edge they put us on a bit before the main event took place, when the (drama version) of the idiot trio tore that scroll. Never forget that could have been the reason for all our tears, yet in the end it still had to be some more complex scheme. An act with the convict being an innocent man and the true criminal roaming free, while Toshi had all the time in the world to steep in deep, raging self-denial over the legitimacy of his past actions and life choices, all the while ending up the scapegoat to whom all the anger can be directed towards. The subtlety with which we were deceived to think the "actual events" of episode 38 were to play out earlier is truly commendable. But with this drama nothing is ever easy. You get to know a new character, someone moves a chess piece and then instead of moving forward everything takes a step back and lets you seethe with nervousness because, without realizing, you've been tricked and have to wait for all the heartbreak a while longer. Takeda's resolve to keep to his decision, regardless of consequences, was in his eyes, completely justified. It did make sense to try and prevent Kano from buying the book for Ito in order to protect the group from his growing power, the action simply failed due to Toshi's own greed after it. Kawai innocently, perhaps naively, thought lending money more than once would not be punished in hopes his friends would be saved from harm. It is his kindnesses that is ultimately his doom and it is the unexpected, usually harmless twists in life that turn it into a spiral with no point of return. Takeda's following quest for redemption ends up being just as pointless as Kawai’s death - he is killed in an instant of hate directed at him, where the assailants are unaware of his reasoning for the justification of his friend's demise. The book too, loses value as Ito gets his own copy later on.

Most, if not all, tragedies in this drama happen because someone is trying to protect or shield - and idea, a person. Toshi's friends die because he must protect the order of the group for Kat-chan, Yamanami and Akesato have a rift in their final moments because they cannot be honest (likewise Souji and Hide), Kat-chan's relationship with Tsune suffers because he lies about Miyuki, Nagakura and the others write the petition to shield the group from Toshi and Kat-chan's (propensity) ego. The pattern is pretty clear.

I'm going to loop back to the script for just a second - watching this drama knowing what will happens adds a thrill, it makes you question when an event will take place even though you know the chronological sequence, because the “mini-arc” leading up to it has to be completed first and the tension must be just right. How long that is depends on the episode and event of course. But each arc is a stepping stone to a new point of no return.

I think, since I've mentioned him, I'll take a bit to talk about Ito as well. I love, love, love the confrontation Kondo and Ito have right before his death. It's absolutely stunning despite being simplistic in nature, because what Kondo states is in fact the very obvious truth and in no way some overly wise notion of the situation. However, it's that simplicity (to me) that adds to the charm of the scene. If you expected some courageous battle of wits, you might have been sourly disappointment, but otherwise - see the pattern? - what brings people to their knees is once again the basic things in life. Kondo’s sincerity, the fact that life is and always will be (mostly) separated into black and white for them. Farmers and samurai, poor and rich - they fit in a narrow grey zone, yet even there they are bullied, pushed away to leave. It's everything complex they're trying to achieve being haunted by little things. It's the desire and determination to be something big and more buried into the ground by the small things they were raised with, holding them back.

Ah, it’s about time this goo got to the good part.

No, it’s still not episode 33. Firstly because I’m sure everyone is tired of my whining about it and secondly because I like to leave best (in my opinion) for last.

This is for our Gargoyle and Tofu. Just imagine, for a second imagine that final hug again and bathe in it, then come back to me, okay? The wedding rings champagne caps and Toshi’s little grimace when he tries to convince himself ‘it’s not over yet’. (At this point I would just like to praise Mitani again for giving us closure with that hug, unlike some other shows I watch *side eyes knife pile*). I’m really glad the two of them got to hug it out before the whole deal blew up. Everytime a ‘Kat-channn’ or ‘Tossshii’ came around my heart melted a bit. THE DYNAMIC IS SO GOOD. (I get so, so jealous each time I see well written relationships between two guys. Doesn’t matter if it’s boyfriends/best friends/would-die-for-you combined or only one of these included. (*cough* NIF & Bleach for one *cough*) I don’t even know what to say! We all know Toshi would sacrifice the world for Kat-chan. We all know Kat-chan trusts him above all else. The guilt one feels and the content of the other having come so far together and being such a power combo…*noises*

I don’t even know how to put this.... (@kondo-hijikata help this is your expertise)

I’m going to move on to some more feathery stuff because I’m really at a loss about these two (analysing NIF’s LC/MCS has engraved so deep into me it’s ruined my perception for everyone else, I apologize).

Right, feathers…

I wrote about Serizawa and his issue of not being able to get over his “I’m a bad guy, therefore I must act like it” complex...somewhere before. I can’t find it, but I’m very sure that was once a thing. I know most people hate the man with a burning passion and part of me probably does too, yet the way he is presented also makes him fascinating, like he is very self-aware but cannot change anything about that (this is similar to Toshi’s “indifference” (we all know he actually cares) of his path to become the villain - he knows that what he is doing is morally wrong and has no intention of stopping). I feel like in the end both of them continued with “bad guy” roles simply because they were too far down that road to stop.

I would analyse Serizawa’s character more, but I honestly don’t remember much anymore. I did want to mention this though.  Toshi on the other hand…feels like someone who desperately wishes to rage quit everything, but keeps on going out of pure spite.

And since I’m speaking of our beloved vice-commander - one thing that opisses me off is that Kotetsu got mentioned, but the whole wow deal with Kanesada got dropped out, even in the movie. *cue bawling over that Katsugeki finale* I was hoping for that when Tetsu showed up dammit!

Am I tiring you yet? Come, sit down, have some tea Gen-san made because he is totally ok and alive an happy and you cannot convince me otherwise because the hugging thing did not happen. Period.

…

Lastly, because my mind is going blank this is quite long - the bane of my existence and the one thing (to me) more cursed than Ryoma himself. (I’m lying PMK upped this x100000 and I am not over that either. I’ll confess immediately I did not read the whole thing yet but this, this haunts me).

This stupid episode with it’s stupid ending and it’s stupid decisions. *insert me yelling about rice balls on the Mibugishiden review post* I mean what is it with this drama and ending brutally sad episodes with (unintentionally?) funny moments? *cue Toshi’s squeaky crying* I have covered my thoughts about Akesato here and here though and since that essentially recaps everything I want to say, I won’t repeat myself. (Thought you’d have to read through 5 more pages of me screaming? I did too before I forgot what I wanted to say.)

I might make a part 2 someday, if I think of more to say, but for now, I’m done, leaving you with this stressful mess. Feel free to add your own opinions, I’m really curious about what the rest of you think.

~Nashi out~

[berryarmstrong]

Bare Snow

Just a snippet of some RP I did with Avenio and @nocturne-naichengeru last night! I got to play a throwaway character; a recruiter for one of Aven’s NEFARIOUS NEMESIS’ pleasure houses. 

His name’s Barasnoe and he was pervy and dangerous. My writing was awful, but that’s just how it’s been these days. Nevertheless, I had so much fun with him that I’ve been tempted to make him a permanent NPC or something! 

Roleplay stuffs under the cut!

Avenio Naemig || Apparently at random, the ship-steerer thunked his wooden pole into the riverbed, and the tiny dhingy eddied to a stop.  Avenio rose, and disembarked onto an apparently random stretch of rock that seemed to lead exactly nowhere.  He waited for Nocturne to follow.  Once again, the moment both men had quit the vessel, the 'captain' started off again, headed in the same direction and not looking back once.  No turning back now.  Moments later, Avenio began to scale the cliff-face. 

It looked as though they were into a difficult climb, but after a small hop or two, it appeared as though someone had hewn a set of rocks that trailed up the side of the otherwise inhospitable rock.  Certainly you would have to know this path existed before it could possibly be found, and to one side the daunting sheer drop below to the tiny "river" purported certain trouble.  But Avenio scaled heedlessly, hesitating only enough to ensure Nocturne followed without trouble.

Soon they reached the top of the cliff, and they came to..... once again, absolutely nothing.  They reached a ridiculously small clearing, populated by a few scraggly, tenacious trees, and.... a large, imposing-looking Roegadyn.

Nocturne Philomel || Climbing a sheer cliff-face was a simple task, Nocturne's eyes looking more towards the fringes for other things--traps, snares, alarums or eyes. And then--the vacancy.

Avenio Naemig || Nocturne's sharp and perceptive gaze certainly picked out a few points -- an uninhabited murder hole here, a scout deftly hidden in a tree across the river there -- but nothing that would be a cause for concern.  Yet.  Avenio cleared his throat as they clambered over the last of the rocks, his voice lowering in tone and attitude until it was the texture of melted silk, "We've arrived, sire."

Farrzwyn Ryssdaegsyn || The Sea Wolf who stood waiting was a particularly massive speciment of a Roe. His long and wide frame was wreathed with musculature that seemed sculpted for aesthetic, his skin white as milk and just about as smooth. A few tattoos marked his left arm and what was visible of his legs, and well-styled blond hair swept upon his crown. He seemed a bit bored -- at least until Avenio made it up. A slow smile crept onto his oddly pink lips, topped off by a rather unsavoury and covetous gaze through ruby red eyes. "Well, well," He hummed in a bass rumble -- though something about his speech was a bit off, "We have an arrival. Greetings. My name is Barasnoe, and I will be happily escorting you to the...establishment as soon as I have deemed you satisfactory." His lower lip tugged under a couple pearly white teeth at the last word, slowly released under that scrutinizing stare.

Nocturne Philomel did nothing--and said nothing. He merely moved one half-step closer to Avenio and one half-step closer to the roe--Barasnoe. That was all.

Avenio Naemig had been prepared for this.  More or less.  He shot the imposing Roegadyn a brief, effete smile, and approached slowly, one foot placed in front of the other with all the care and exactitute of a professional dancer.  He approached Barasnoe, one hand moving up to touch the other's bare, milky wrist only long enough to illicit a sharp swipe of warmth.  He spoke in the same satin tones, and it seemed a playful grin was only barely able to keep from bursting onto his expression, "Certainly, my lord," he oozed, every pore leaking sycophantic charm, "We are prepared to meet any... 'stipulation' one might conjure.  Surely there's aught that keeps your mind busy all the way out here on your own, hmm...?"

Farrzwyn Ryssdaegsyn ||Up close, the Roegadyn was an odd construction of juxtapositions that somehow...worked. His features were angular, handsome and masculine, but their colouring and radiance were -- beautiful...at least in a haunting sense. Perhaps it had aught to do with the colour of his skin. There was that smile again. A nasty pulling of the lips that spoke no good intent. "I'm sure you are. And I'm sure you will." His eyes flitted up to the other man. "Is this your handler?"

Nocturne Philomel took one more step forward, letting a hand move over the hilt of his blade and then nodded in affirmation. "Cyan." The thin, reedy voice that he was using instead of his usual cut through the air.

Avenio Naemig 's gaze was immediately lowered, apparently humbled by the mention of his superior, "Y-yes, my lord.  He's been hired to stay with me, I'm afriad I haven't much say in the matter," then he paused, and glanced upwards slowly, until he was only looking up at the roegadyn from below his lashes, the effect enhanced by the fact that the majority of one eye was occluded, "Though he's been at my back for some time, and he does naught but watch, I assure you.  Some even.... prefer this arrangement."

Farrzwyn Ryssdaegsyn: "Cyan, eh?" Barasnoe rumbled, "Well I hope you don't mind, I like to take a hands on approach to the new ones." He stepped down from his perch and boldly set a massive white palm on Avenio's shoulder -- which remained there for only a tick before sliding down to his chest. It had no business resting there, but there it remained. It had even less business kneading and groping the way it was -- subtlety notwithstanding. "You'll keep me company from here on out, yes?"

Nocturne Philomel: "My company beyond watching is two-hundred for five minutes. Double if another is involved." All business and starkly set was his jaw. After a moment, he canted his head to one side, frowning in consideration before adding in a contemplative tone, "For you, I may make a discount." His hand never left his blade as he took a few steps back and sat down on the stone.

Avenio Naemig did manage to refrain from clocking the man, to his credit.  In fact, he barely moved, only to lock his gaze to the Sea Wolf's every moment, the barely-not-just-a-grin expression remaining as Barasnoe's fingers slipped over his bared skin.  The recent rains had left the pronounced musculature slick, the highlander's fighting form clearly in peak physique.  He might even be just barely flexing under that touch, as if daring the roegadyn further, "Why, certainly," he breathed, managing to allow a flash of his true eagerness to shine behind his cerulean stare, hoping the other would misinterpret to his desires, "I am at your command, my lord."  He flashed an altogether irritated glance over his shoulder, and rolled his eyes in such a way that would give a teenage sorority pledge goosebumps, "Ignore him.  He's not a fan of.... tongue-flapping."

Farrzwyn Ryssdaegsyn ||Barasnoe chucked, his vast chest heaving with each lilting note of mirth. He settled quickly with a nod. "Fine, fine, Ser Cyan. Watch, then. One of the perks of this job is that I get to sample for free. I'm not about to start paying now." The Sea Wolf was smiling pleasantly as he set his eyes on Avenio once more -- residue from his laughter that quickly transitioned into lecherous regard. "You don't have to worry, boy. I'll more than make up for what he lacks with his tongue." That hand of his wandered. Laterally at first, then low for inappropriately lascivious appraisals that saw his lower lip once more slide beneath his teeth. "Gods be praised, you are a specimen indeed. He'll be pleased. Most pleased with this, yes...perhaps enough to reward me as well." The snowy paw trailed up again -- this time to take the blond's chin between massive fingers. "He gave me this job because I like what he likes, you know." He leaned closer, beard to jaw in order to speak softly into the Highlander's ear. His grip on the man's chin tightened to a painful vice, "So I'll be having my fill of you before he comes to collect. And if you even think of breathing a word of it to him, I'll know. I'll know, and I'll snap that thick neck of yours like a twig. Understand, boy?"

Nocturne Philomel didn't shift from his spot. His hand went to his mouth--well, not his hand. Just a thumb as he leaned in a bit from his seated position, eyes opening a little wider---just a bit. And the corner of his lip...twitched. Upwards. Nocturne Philomel smiles weakly.

Avenio Naemig curled in his lower lip and bit down, only barely stopping himself from biting right through and severing his own lower lip.  But he managed to still his body, but for the subtle flexes and leans into the man's hands.  He let his eyes drift half-shut as the roegadyn did his 'inspection,' looking unsurprised but perhaps a bit cowed when his azure gaze drifted back up to meet the wide-set ambers above, "Understood," he murmured, "I'm sure I've enough stamina to slake any thirst you may have."

Avenio Naemig caught a glimpse of Nocturne enjoying the show out of the corner of his eye, and made a mental note later to give him hell for it later.  But for the time being... well, in for an ilm....  Without turning away from the roegadyn's hand he leaned up, fingers deftly passing through the man's hair and tucking a few errant strands behind an ear, "I am, after all, here to do just that."  He breathed.

Farrzwyn Ryssdaegsyn || Barasnoe drew back just a couple ilms to make eye contact with the Highlander -- there was murder written in those stark red eyes of his. Stern bloodthirst that bored and made a visual demand for compliance with an unspoken promise of grave consequence otherwise...and then it softened into a pleasant expression of delight. "Good. I like you already. I've had to fling too many upstarts from the cliffs this past turn. Come with me, yes? I'll lead you to where you'll be for a while. Cyan, you're welcome to come as well, and I'd beg the favour of your vigilance, if you do. There's always bloody opo-opos and coeurls about." That said, he gave poor Aven one last grope then moved to lead the way. The Sea Wolf possessed an odd stride. Half shoulder-swinging, swaggering gait...and half seductive sway. His hips performed a subtle roll as he walked. If gave his movements an imposing manliness that was accented heavily with feminine allure. By the looks of it he had worked his way up to being a 'recruiter'.

Nocturne Philomel rose and followed at a polite distance, his eyes watching for couerly and opo-opos and cut-throats and hide-aways and everything else too. Avenio Naemig was careful when he followed, giving the Sea Wolf a few paces' lead for several reasons - the majority of which being the effort with which he had to invest to not stride across the cliff-face like an armed SWAT team.  He knew how to make his footfalls silent easily however, and followed as Barasnoe led them down another little passageway cleft through the stone.  There they found tidy little private hot spring, tucked into a corner of the mountain with a breathtaking view.  Perched above the spring was a multi-storey hut that looked as though it had been thatched together with string and straw over a century or two, so aged was the wood of its time-petrified support beams.  When the roegadyn wasn't looking, Avenio shot the shinobi behind him a furtive but meaningful glance.  That was certainly their target -- likely the top floor, from what reconnaisance had divulged earlier.  Once he caught up with Barasnoe, the highlander made a pleased little noise.

Avenio Naemig: "A spring!  How quaint!  And you don't at all notice the smell!"

Farrzwyn Ryssdaegsyn |Barasnoe stopped and stretched -- whether it was for his comfort or for the rather bulky, shifting, lifting and heaving display was left to guesstimation. "It's nice, isn't it? A little slice of the seventh heaven." When he lowered his arms it was with all the grace of a court dancer. The manner in which he fluctuated between masculinity and femininty was jarringly seamless, even with his massive, obviously male build. "He comes here to relax sometimes -- and that's where you'll come in. Until that time comes, I'll make you as comfortable as you can." The Sea Wolf glanced back and cracked another one of his filthy smiles. "Anyroad. The spring's there to use as you like -- you too, Cyan, while you're here. Everything you need to settle is inside." He swagger-swayed to the entrance of the building confidently.

Nocturne Philomel walked to the door, giving Avenio a moment and a hand gesture to 'wait'. The door was checked and the man looked inside--he was not going to risk his income, apparently. Once a once-over was given, provided there were no men with blades or Yellowjackets, he would give the all-clear.

Avenio Naemig of course followed the direction of his escort, allowing the man to check it for would-be enemies, all the while affecting the air of the 'tourist', gawping and making delighted noises at finding the various 'amenities' of the shack.  He followed the roegadyn within, "Oh, I'm sure we'll be quite comfortable here, won't we, sire?"

Farrzwyn Ryssdaegsyn ||The Roegadyn allowed the inspection with confident expectation, then tilted his head back as Avenio spoke. "Oh, I like the way you call me 'sire', boy." He turned around to trap the blond Highlander between his bulk and the wall, and compounded the cage with an arm planted just above the other's shoulder. Up close there was an earthy musk about him with an undertone of flowery perfume. The combination was far from unpleasant, so effective was the blend. "Ye'll make sure an' call me that good an' loud when yer writhin' an' bleatin' underneath me like a bred bitch, aye...?" The request came out in a low, rasping and Lominsan-accented growl as the lantern light danced in his greedy eyes. It was a short lived thing; he blinked, turned to Cyan and then laughed with a hand rubbing at the back of his neck. "Forgive me. Your charge is mesmerising. Far too much so, I lost myself a moment. Please! Make yourselves at home. The journey here must have been taxing. Can I get either of you anything to drink or eat?"

Nocturne Philomel: "My charge knows better than to be anything BUT mesmerizing. As for food and drink, he will have neither--nor will I. Until I see this deal through to its end and the gil is in my hand."

Nocturne Philomel: "We learned our lesson in Kugane, didn't we?" He gave a bored glance to Avenio before looking back to Barasnoe.

Avenio Naemig 's surprise was genuine as he found himself genuinely trapped against the wall, suddenly so sweetly accosted.  He was a bit too stunned to reply, but the way it worked out, the awkward lean of his body played out as merely demure.  He reddened, and used it, affecting a coy grin, "Cyan's no fun, but he has the right of it.  And speaking of fun..." Avenio paused, then leaned forward and allowed the index and middle fingers of his right hand to trail along the pattern tattooed darkly against  milky white skin, "... Our contact did tell us that Master won't be 'home' for some time yet.  So unless I must needs cut out his wagging tongue for falsities, we've naught to do but wait, hmm?  Don't you have ways here to... pass the time?"

Farrzwyn Ryssdaegsyn: "Plenty ways, boy..." He murmured. Still he backed off a bit and sighed, "But Cyan's got the right of it, there's business to be done." He reached into a pocket and relieved his trousers of a fat pouch of high-denomination coins. It was perhaps unfortunate that he could not quite relieve them of the other obviously obscene burden. Nevertheless, he bore it shamelessly and tossed the pouch to the hyur. "It's all there, maybe a bit extra. Nothing to write home about. You can sit here and count it if you like." Nocturne Philomel: "I will. And when your master arrives, I wish to discuss more business." The coin in his hand, he ran his fingers around it a moment--and the motion to the eye that cared and the mind that dared looked...obscene. Or maybe not... "I am needing work myself. But please, don't mind me. Be about your--time-pass."

Nocturne Philomel offers you a humble greeting.

Avenio Naemig tossed his 'guard' a wide smirk before he leaned back against the wall behind him, still having not moved from the spot since the Sea Wolf had forced him against it.  He managed to look bored as the necessary evil of 'business' took place, "Ugh, *must you* always ruin the moment?" he griped, rather convincingly, "I'm already falling asleep.  Hey," he reached out to grab Barasnoe's bicep, his touch lingering a bit longer than was absolutely necessary.

Avenio Naemig: "I hear Master has quite the selection of particular entertainment.  You wouldn't happen to know where he keeps his... 'best stuff', would you?"

Farrzwyn Ryssdaegsyn || Barasnoe eyed Cyan for a moment, then looked him up and down. His eyes lingered on the hair -- that alluring yellow hair. "Well if you're sticking around, might be that we can come to an arrangement -- or you can deal with the boss. Either way there's opportunity here for you." The touch on his bicep drew his attention; he ostentatiously flexed it, while at the same time provided a dusted reciprocation of touch along the Highlander's skin. For a moment there was a cocky smirk on his face, though it melted into a soft expression that told all to well that the other's allure had done wonders. Still, a question had been asked. "Ah, yes. Come. His supplies here are actually quite well-stocked." With that said, he moved deeper into the hovel to begin his search behind some books on the shelf.

Nocturne Philomel: "I'll be bathing. Don't awake the neighbors while you have fun." He turned and made his way outside, stripping off his clothes as easily as if he were home, tossing them aside.

[23:48]Avenio Naemig lounged where he was until the roegadyn moved off, casting a brief glance in 'Cyan's' direction before he stalked off, then he made to follow Barasnoe, placing a hand on the man's shoulder as he approached, "Oh, goodie.  What do we have?"  He peered over the Sea Wolf's should--- nope, not gonna happen.  Rather he leaned around his side to have a look, hoping he wouldn't have to incapacitate the giant fool before he got too.... frisky.

Farrzwyn Ryssdaegsyn:  "Bit of everything, really," Snoe rumbled, "But all you get for now is moko. You'll get the harder stuff after you've done the work to earn it. And speaking of which..." One hand took a small box from the shelf, while the other sought to outright goose the man. "When you've got a nice head from using this...I'll take you to my bed, hm?"

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

((From there it went into NPC territory; poor Aven had to knock Snoe out so that he and 'Cyan' could carry out their mission unharassed. What became of him? Evidently...

He was last seen out cold and popping a boner. FUN STUFF. I enjoyed playing him a lot, my bad writing notwithstanding. I’m so tempted to use him for other stuff now! Hargh!! Thanks to Aven and Nocturne for the good time!))

[marril96]

Reconciliation

Characters: Rowena, reader

Pairing: Rowena/reader

Summary: Following a painful separation, Rowena and reader have a heart to heart.

Editor: @oswinthestrange

You've done your best to avoid her, but as the excitement died down and everyone pretty much accepted the world was going to hell whether they screamed about it or kept their mouths shut, the two of you found yourselves alone in the kitchen. 

Rummaging the cupboards in search for more liquor (the harder, the better. You were no drinker, but considering the world was going to end in a few hours, you figured might as well just go with the flow), you paid Rowena no mind. Drink, you reminded yourself, willing yourself to stay focused on you task. You're here for the drink. 

You just needed to find it, and then you would forget. Forget that the world was ending. Forget that there was a madwoman on the loose. Forget that up until a few hours ago you were working with a psychopath who was partly to blame for this tension. 

Forget her. 

Until she, along with you, along with the rest of this universe, disappears forever. 

"You might as well just say it," Rowena said as she put the kettle on, breaking the uncomfortable silence. 

You gulped. There goes the idea to ignore her. "Say what?" 

"Whatever it is you've been wanting to say." You turned to her, and she shot you a deadpan look, crossing her arms over her chest like a teacher who'd caught their student in a lie. "You've been staring at me for hours, dear. Don't think I haven't noticed." 

Great.  

You never were good at subtlety. 

"There's nothing to say." 

"Really? I think there's plenty." 

"The world's ending and I'm looking for a drink," you said, shrugging. 

Rowena narrowed her eyes. "You don't drink." 

You did now. "Maybe I do. Maybe I always did." She was doing this now, of all times? "Since when do you care what I'm doing?" 

"Don't do this," she said with a sigh. 

"I'm not doing anything," you said, a tad more harshly than intended. "Sorry your boyfriend's not here anymore. I'd say good riddance, but I don't wanna hurt your feelings." 

"Don't," she warned. 

You ignored her. "Must've felt good to see him again, after all this time." 

"That's enough, Mariana!" Rowena said sternly. "I won't let you talk to me like that." 

"Why don't you just ignore me – again? You're good at that." 

"You're acting like a child!" she accused. 

"At least I'm not pretending nothing happened!" you shot back. Tears prickled at your eyes, rimming them red. Memories flashed in your mind, as fresh and bright as if they were new. You begging Rowena not to do it. Her assuring you everything will be fine. The look of adoration on her face as she observed him, while you stood aside in the shadows, ignored and forgotten. The walls you'd hidden behind. A loud, spine-chilling crack. Her limp body falling to the ground. Eyes, once full of light, staring at you with a lifeless gaze. "You've made your choice, Rowena." 

"As have you," she said after a short break. "You knew what you were getting into. I'm a wicked witch, love. Never claimed to be otherwise. I'm not to blame for your unreasonable expectations." 

Ouch.  

"I never asked you to love me! I just wanted you to be my friend!" you snapped, tears spilling from your eyes. "I gave you a chance when everyone else thought you a lost cause. I left everything I had behind, just to be with you. I stood by you. Defended you. And how did you repay me? By trusting Satan over me! Fucking Satan, Rowena!" 

She had the decency to look ashamed, shifting her gaze aside. The words stung, but you had to let them out. You had to let her know. 

Your feelings for Rowena were no secret. At first you hid them, but with time it became harder to pretend as if nothing had changed between the two of you. So you stopped. There was no use acting like you thought of her as just a friend, when every single cell in your body burned with desire for her. Rowena noticed straight away, but said nothing. Her stance was clear. And so was yours. 

Just as she had a strict no feelings attached policy, you felt entitled to nothing. All you wanted was to learn from her, to be at least half a witch she was. Being her friend was more than enough. 

You'd known about her thirst for power from the very start. But to think she would trust Lucifer, of all people… 

What hurt the most wasn't her trusting him. 

It was her trusting him more than you. 

"You know why I was there? I was going to blackmail Crowley to release you," you told her, wiping your eyes with the sleeve of your shirt. "Instead I had to watch Lucifer kill you." 

"Darling, I…" Rowena looked at you, features softening. "It was foolish of me to trust him. I know that now. If you'd stayed–" 

"I couldn't," you cut in. "Every time you get hurt, I worry like crazy. And watching you die… I thought I'd lost you forever. I'd rather be away from you than go through that again." 

As much as it pained you to leave her, you couldn't stay with her anymore. Bruises and cuts popping up on her body from time to time were bad enough, but watching her die… It was hell. You could take care of a few injuries. Death, on the other hand, was out of your jurisdiction. She'd survived Lucifer's attempt on her life, but who's to say she would be this lucky next time? 

She hadn't even told you about the failsafe. When Lucifer snapped her neck, you thought that was it, that you would never see her again. Seeing her come back to life a few minutes afterwards, as you knelt beside her body and cried your eyes out, was a welcome surprise. But it was also the last straw. 

Rowena walked over to you, placing her hands on your cheeks. You eased into her touch, heart jumping at the feel of her delicate skin on yours. You'd almost forgotten how gentle she could be, how soft and warm her hands were. The same hands that wielded power you could only dream of having were caressing you so tenderly that you felt as if you would melt any moment now.  

You missed this; missed having her this close, missed touching her. 

"If I were to promise that things would be different, would you consider coming back?" she asked, eyes staring deep into yours. If you didn't know her any better, you'd think she was begging. But there was no way; she was Rowena, a wicked witch, unapologetic to the core. She didn't beg. She claimed and ruined and destroyed, but she never begged. Not unless she needed something, or… 

Or if there was more to her than met the eye. 

And if there was one thing you were one hundred percent certain of, it was that Rowena MacLeod was a complicated creature. She had a soft side. She could be kind. She could be sweet. 

Who's to say she hadn't cherished your friendship the same way you had? 

"Does it matter?" you asked. "We'll all be dead in a few hours, anyway." 

"That's a few hours less of solitude," Rowena said. 

You leaned forwards, pressing your forehead to hers. "I'm scared," you admitted, everything you'd been holding back for months pouring out in the form of tears and sobs. Gone was the anger and disappointment. All you had left now was pain; pain of life soon to be lost, pain of taking so long to face her. If you'd given her another chance, you could have had a few more months with her. You could have had her with you, as a mentor, perhaps even as a good friend. 

Instead, you were all alone. 

And now, it was too late to change that. 

You hadn't even had a full day to be with her. 

"I know, darling," Rowena cooed in a manner that was more motherly and tender than ever before. 

"I don't want to die," you wept. "I want to be with you. I'm sorry I left. I should've given you another chance." 

"You were in the right to leave," she soothed, using her fingers to wipe away your tears. "I have betrayed your trust. I was foolish to think the devil would make good on his promises. You warned me not to trust him and I ignored you. If anyone should apologize, it's me." 

"Forget it," you told her. She regretted her actions just as you had regretted yours. That was more than enough for you. "Just be here. Be my friend. That's all I want." 

"Friend?" Rowena stepped back, looking you in the eyes as she raised a pointed eyebrow. "Darling, who said anything about friendship?" 

She didn't give you time to process her words, whatever it is you'd mouthed to say forever cut off by the force of her lips connecting with yours. There was passion in that kiss that you'd never experienced before, hunger like no other. You found yourself as stiff as a statue, unable to move, unable to breathe, unable to do anything but just stand there and let her do as she pleased. 

Rowena was a fantastic kisser. She was an experienced lover, centuries your senior, and it showed. God, it showed! Not even in your wildest dreams had she kissed you like this. A mere fantasy could never be as good – as magical, as special – as the real thing. 

"You… you kissed me," you whispered as your lips parted, gasping for breath. 

"Aye," Rowena said. "Let's just say you aren't the only one who thought things through these past few months." 

She… liked you? Rowena MacLeod, one of the most powerful witches alive, a force of nature, the love of your life, liked you? Liked you liked you? 

If there was ever a time when you wanted to jump out of your skin, it was now. 

"But what about Chuck?" 

Rowena frowned. "What about him?" 

"You and him seemed quite… chummy," you said a tad too bitterly than you'd intended. Being angry wasn't the only reason you avoided her. Watching the person you're in love with practically drool all over someone else – God, of all people – was far from easy. Lucifer was one thing, but the Man Himself? A common witch like you couldn't compete with that. 

"That was just flattery, dear," Rowena said with a chuckle. 

You let out a small sigh. So it wasn't adoration. Rather, she was kissing his ass in a way only she knew how. 

"Are you jealous?" she asked, an amused smirk playing on her lips. 

You blushed. "I didn't even know you were into girls." 

"Oh, sweetie, I couldn't care less about what's down there," she said, motioning to your crotch. "The only thing that interests me is what's up here." She put a forefinger to your temple. "You're one intriguing lass." 

"I-I'm assuming that's a good thing?" you stammered, uncertain. 

"That's a great thing," Rowena said. "How about we find ourselves a room and make the best out of our few remaining hours?" 

A wide grin spread across your face. Dying didn't seem quite as bad with her by your side. 

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