#they want us to despair and give up. interrupt that obedience. resist.

[zimshan]

do not fear the winter blowing in the hearts of men i’ve seen american flowers they will bloom again

[overalls4all]

Kyle sighed as he stood in front of the mirror.

"All right, here we go I guess."

Kyle initially scoffed at the idea when the law was first proposed. Surely mandatory overalls for all men was just some kind of joke. But it seemed to find popularity. Several of Kyle's friends started wearing overalls and voicing support for the law. His manager even started giving raises to employees who worked in overalls. In spite of all of this, Kyle never imagined the law would come to pass.

That morning is etched in Kyle's mind when Overalls for All became law. He remembers looking at his phone and seeing the headlines: "Bibs Become Law - All Men to Don Overalls", "A Triumph for Masculinity", "Overalls Distribution to Begin Tomorrow". Kyle spent the whole morning pouring over social media, in shock at his freedom of expression being taken away. While many expressed anger at the new law, Kyle was more surprised at the levels of support especially from his friends and family. A post from his cousin praised the leaders for voting to protect traditional masculinity, while his friend Jake posted a photo of himself, hand over his heart, in overalls.

Suddenly a call: it was from his friend Michael. Kyle knew Michael opposed overalls, so he was eager to commiserate with him.

"Can you believe his, man?" Michael asked on the verge of fury.

"It's crazy. We all have to wear overalls by tomorrow? What about freedom of expression?" Kyle replied, his voice a mix of anger and despair.

"We can't just lay down and accept this like so many others. We have to resist! Let them know we won't just let them walk all over us. Because if we do, who knows how else they will try to control us?"

Michael's rant was interrupted by a text: All male citizens are to report to their local Overalls Distribution Center by 6:00AM tomorrow. Please wear a white shirt to create a greater uniform appearance. Please see address below for the location of your local Overalls Distribution Center. Failure to report will result in arrest and prosecution under the Overalls for All Act.

"Dude, did you also just get this text?" asked Kyle.

"We need to fight back today!" proclaimed Michael. "We need to show them we aren't weak! Can I count on you, Kyle?"

Kyle's head was spinning; it all seemed so real now. Was he really going to report tomorrow to receive his overalls? He didn't want to wear a uniform, but also he didn't want to get arrested. He didn't know what to do.

"I - I don't," stammered Kyle. Was he really strong enough to resist?

"Come on, Kyle, please," Michael begged. "I can't lose another friend to this conformity."

Michael was right. A lot of their friends cut off communication when they adopted overalls. In the Overalls for All movement, men were only to socialize with other men in overalls. They called themselves "bib brothers". They did seem pretty happy to conform, Kyle thought. It certainly seemed easier to just go along with it all.

"Michael," sighed Kyle. "I need to think about this. I mean how long do we expect to fight back?"

"I see. You're going to give in. Fine, be that way. Be obedient like all of the others. You don't deserve freedom if you won't fight for it!" Michael was shouting by the time Kyle hung up. Kyle couldn't deny Michael's words, but he couldn't deny that overalls were the law of the land now. He had no choice.

Kyle spent the rest of the day packing up his old pants. He wouldn't need them any more of course. He received texts from enthusiastic friends and family asking if he was going to wear overalls now. Kyle decided to ignore them for now. He still felt ashamed for submitting to the new law. He went to bed early that night, eager to just get the first step over with.

Kyle arrived at the Overalls Distribution Center a little before 6:00AM and already the line had over one hundred men, all in white shirts and the last pair of normal pants they would ever wear. This is it thenI, Kyle thought to himself. He could see on the faces of the other men that he was not the only reluctant one.

The line began to move. Each man was given a pair of blue denim overalls and forced to change n front of every one. In groups of ten, they were forced to watch a video explaining how overalls foster masculine traits like hard-work, respect for authority, and conformity. After the video, each man was forced to individually and then as group recite a pledge to wear overalls for life. As it came to his turn, Kyle had more moment where he considered resisting. He seeing the group of men, dressed identically, he didn't want to let them down. They were all here for a reason and that was to conform and obey. Kyle knew if he just recited the pledge, it would confirm to the group that they made the right decision.

Kyle stood, placed his hand on his bib and recited, "I pledge to wear overalls every day for the rest of my life. I will commit myself to uphold the masculine ideals of hard-work, respect for authority, and conformity. I love my overalls and I will fight until men around the world join me in bibs. Overalls for All!"

The group applauded, causing a small smile to appear on Kyle's face. He felt affirmed in conforming, and as he sat back down, feeling the straps on his shoulders gave him a rush of excitement.

After the pledges concluded, Kyle marched single-file out of the Center. Outside were crowds of men in overalls, cheering the new recruits into the Overalls for All movement. Chants of "Overalls for All" echoed through the streets as Kyle made his way home. He knew there was one thing left he to do.

Kyle sighed as he stood in front of the mirror.

"All right, here we go I guess."

Kyle snapped a picture of himself in his overalls. He posted it to his social media with the caption: Couldn't resist, and overall, I'm feeling great. Overalls for All!

Immediately, he was flooded with like and supportive comments.

Looking great man! Welcome to the club!

I'm proud to wear overalls besides you, bro!

I'm so happy for you, son. Can't wait to recite the pledge as father and son!

Kyle was beaming as he read each comment. He knew now that he made he right choice. He hadn't lost any freedom; he was freer than ever! All he had to do was obey and conform and he knew he would have the support of a community of men.

Kyle spent the rest of the day chatting with friends, raving about how great overalls feel. Kyle especially loved feeling the bib against his chest. As he was commenting on posts, he came across a story of protesters getting arrested. It appears they would be sent to re-education centers to learn the value of overalls. Kyle wondered if Michael would be among them. He hoped so; Kyle wanted Michael to see the errors of his ways and embrace the uniformity of overalls.

Kyle counted himself lucky to live in a country that valued conformity in its citizens. The nation was united like never before. Kyle was happier and prouder than ever before. He stood again in front of the mirror, smiling bib strap to bib strap, as he recited his pledge once more:

"I pledge to wear overalls every day for the rest of my life. I will commit myself to uphold the masculine ideals of hard-work, respect for authority, and conformity. I love my overalls and I will fight until men around the world join me in bibs. Overalls for All!"

[trashscenariihxh]

Uvogin x Reader Smut

WARNING: Very, very, extremely dubcon.  Almost noncon.  Please don’t read if that is upsetting to you.  This is kind of an add on to @ramwrites glorious Warlord!Uvo fic, which can be found here.  Go give it a read, it’s amazing!  Anyway, onwards:

The war-tent in which Uvogin had left you was large but sparsely furnished.  There was a table, a chair, and an enormous bed covered in a variety of fur pelts.

“Make yourself comfortable,” Uvogin said as he unceremoniously deposited you on the ground, “and don’t even think about leaving.”

“And what if I do?” You felt defiant then, spurred on by the rage of seeing your village ransacked.  Using all your strength, you stood, glaring up at the giant before you.

Uvogin smiled predatorily down at you and stroked your cheek with a long, bloodstained finger.  “___, I just destroyed an entire village.  Laid waste to the local militia.  Imagine what I could do to you.”

He turned and left, laughing as though the idea of crushing you was the funniest thing he could imagine.  As soon as he was gone your resolve disintegrated; your knees buckled and you fell to the floor, your body wracked with sobs as the reality of the situation slammed into you.  Your village was gone, your family was gone, your friends were gone. Now, there was only Uvogin.

You supposed that you should count yourself as lucky.  After all, you’d been spared… but what kind of life awaited you?  Did Uvogin expect you to be his kept woman?  His plaything? Bile rose in your throat at the thought; you rushed to the side of the tent and vomited into a chamber pot.  You coughed and sputtered, trying to regain some semblance of composure as thoughts rushed through your head.

Where was Uvogin?  Would you be able to sneak away?  Could you make a run for it?

No.  You remembered what he’d said, and you knew it to be true; he could crush you like an insect.

You covered your eyes with your hands, groaning as you wiped your tears away.  Who would have thought that the affable giant you’d met the night before would be the blood-stained, ruthless warlord who had carried you away?  Last night, when Uvogin had laughed at your jokes, drunk your alcohol, and fucked you against the back of the bar, you’d felt so light, so carefree.  Yesterday seemed like an eternity ago.

You looked down at yourself, at your filthy, blood-smeared clothes caked with mud and wondered why Uvogin had even bothered to take you with him.  You’d put up a fight of course, but terror and exhaustion had soon overcome you, and you’d allowed him to carry you away.  To here, wherever here was.

Your thoughts were interrupted by the tent flap opening.  A small woman flashed you a shy smile as she entered the tent, carrying a large bucket full of water.  You studied her briefly; she must be stronger than she looked; the bucket looked extremely heavy/

“You must be ____.” her cheerful voice contrasted sharply with your despair.  “I was told to bring you this.”  She set the bucket on the ground before you, smiling expectantly.  “To wash,” she explained.  When you still didn’t move, she sighed.

“Still in shock, eh?  Poor thing.”  Without asking your permission, she immediately began removing your clothes.  You resisted, but only for a few moments.  You were too exhausted to resist anything anymore.

The water was icy cold.  You winced when the woman dabbed your neck with the wet washcloth.  “I know,” she soothed, dunking the cloth into the water and ringing it out.  “You’ll get used to it.”

You didn’t get used to it, but you endured it.  After what felt like far too long, you were clean and in new clothes.  They were far too big and hung off your frame, but anything was better than what you’d been wearing before.  A large part of you wanted to balk at the idea of wearing anything that Uvogin- for it surely it had been him who had sent the clothes- had given you, but unless you wanted to keep wearing clothes stained with the blood of your family and friends, you had no choice. 

You were so deep in thought that you didn’t notice the friendly woman slipping away.  By the time you realized, she was gone, leaving you alone again without so much as a name.  You looked around the tent and saw that there was nothing you could amuse yourself with, nothing with which to pass the time until Uvogin inevitably returned.  Resigning yourself to your fate, you crawled into the giant bed and fell asleep.

You were awoken by heavy footsteps, and you opened your eyes to see Uvogin towering over you. He was filthy; his wild hair stuck out in all directions, and his face was smeared with ash and blood.  Fresh blood.  You shuddered at the sight.

Seeing the obvious fear on your face, Uvogin let out a bark of laughter.  “What is it, ____?  Aren’t you happy to see me?”

You trembled before him; your hair stood on end, shivers ran down your spine… had it been full, you would have emptied your bladder.  The man in front of you was just so big, so imposing, so… 

Terrifying.

“Please don’t hurt me.”  Your voice was small, weak, barely above a whisper.

More boisterous laughter.  “I’m not going to hurt you, ___.”  He bared his teeth in a feral grin.  “If I wanted to hurt you, you’d be dead already.”  With another bark of laughter, he headed over to the bucket of water in the corner of the tent and splashed some onto his face and arms.  It did little in the way of removing the more caked-on grime, but most of the blood washed away.

Uvogin returned to the bed, leering down at you.  When you curled into a ball and scrambled to get away from him, he merely grabbed your leg and tugged you towards him.

You froze, powerless to break his monstrous grip.  Pain shot through your leg; he was holding you too tightly.  For a moment you thought he was going to crush your tibia, but Uvogin let go. 

“Where do you think you’re going?” His lip curled in a snarl.  “Be careful.  You’re starting to try my patience.”

“What.. what are you going to do to me?”  The feral look in his eyes made you wish you hadn’t asked; you knew what he wanted.

A large hand ran down your thigh.  “What a little thing you are,” he murmured, his hoarse voice growing softer.  “So small, so soft… so easy to break.”  The bed dipped as he joined you on it. 

You shivered at his touch.  His enormous hands were warm and rough, and yet, there was something oddly soothing about the way he was stroking you.  You again remembered the night at the tavern when he’d taken you so completely; it had felt so good, so wonderful then.  And now…

“Uvogin,” you mumbled softly, “please don’t…” Please don’t what?  You were in no position to be making demands.  “Please don’t break me.”

“Break you?”  Uvogin sat back on his heels and grinned down at you.  “I have no intention of breaking you, ____.  Although, you are mine to break.” Before you could say anything more, he bore down on you, covering your mouth with his own in an all-consuming kiss.

You squeaked in surprise, as if you didn’t know exactly how the night was going to end.  The kiss seemed to ignite something within Uvogin; he drew back, and within seconds he tore your clothes from your body.  “I’ll have more brought to you,” he promised as he kissed you again, softer this time.

Despite everything, you found yourself relaxing into the kiss.  Something about having him on top of you was strangely comforting.  As comforting as a giant, murderous man could be, that is.  Memories of the previous night, of just how good Uvogin had felt inside you, came flooding back, manifesting as a little twinge between your legs.

With a soft growl, Uvogin turned his attention to your neck, nibbling and sucking on the delicate skin.  For a man of his stature, he was being surprisingly gentle, a fact you appreciated.

“____,” he moaned, stroking your thigh again, “____…” Drawing back, he lied down on the bed, seizing your hips and pulling you on top of him in a quick motion.  He smiled wolfishly up at you.  “Look at what you do to me.”  He thrust his pelvis upwards as his thumbs rubbed warm circles onto your thighs.

You glanced down and immediately noticed his massive erection straining against his pants.  You gulped.  How had you taken that last night?  With shaking hands, you carefully undid his pants, allowing his erection to spring free.  You could feel his gaze, and slowly raised your eyes to meet his.  You wondered if he could see the terror in yours.

“What, don’t you want it?” He thrust his hips again.  “I thought you would, after last night.”

Had you been less wise and more brash, you would have retorted that murdering an entire village is something of a turn-off, but you kept your mouth shut.  It was for the best.

Uvogin looked at you expectantly, clearly wanting you to do something about his achingly-hard cock.  Slowly, tentatively, you wrapped your hand around its base, and lowered yourself down so you could lick along the shaft.  Uvogin’s breath hitched when you swirled your tongue over the head.  “That’s good, love, so good.”

You froze.  Love? How dare he use that word, after what he’d done?  You continued as if he hadn’t said anything, and took his cock into your mouth.  Uvogin groaned as you sucked and began to pump his shaft, his hips bucking slightly.  It was clear that he was doing his best to hold back.

“That’s enough, love,” he rasped, tangling his fingers in your hair and pulling you off of him.

Love.  There was that word again.  You looked into his eyes and saw nothing like love in them.

Thick fingers pressed against your lips; you obediently opened your mouth.  You gagged at the intrusion, and Uvogin merely laughed at your discomfort.  “You’d better get them nice and wet,” he threatened, “or else you’ll regret it.”  Satisfied with how much you’d licked his fingers, he pulled them from your mouth with a slick pop and reached between your legs.

You winced at the prospect of him slipping into your core, but you parted your legs and repositioned yourself to allow him access all the same.  Better to go along with it, you told yourself.  Better to pretend to like it, to want it.  You felt no tenderness towards this man, but you would force yourself if you had to.  You wanted to live. 

Uvogin’s fingers entered you, and you cried out in pain.

“Too much?” he asked, withdrawing a bit.  When you nodded, he sighed and pulled his fingers out, only to slip one inside you again.

You bit your lip; it wasn’t painful anymore, but it was certainly uncomfortable.  Again, you asked yourself how you’d taken him the night before.  After pumping into you a few more times, Uvogin added another finger.  You groaned at the stretch.

“Do you think you’re ready for me?” Uvogin asked.  He’d begun stroking his cock in time with each pump of his fingers.

You nodded shakily.  Better to get it over with.

With a groan, Uvogin drew his fingers out of you and, grabbing your hips, positioned you above his cock.  Slowly, with far more caution than you’d come to expect, he lowered you down onto him.  You hissed as you stretched to accommodate him.

“That’s it,” Uvogin gritted out as he eased you onto his cock, “just like that.”

You whimpered when you took him in as far as you possibly could, and bit your lower lip hard enough to bleed.  Uvogin felt impossibly big inside you; he was in so very, very deep.

With a grunt, Uvogin lifted you up, only to slam you down onto him again.  You cried out at the suddenness of it.  When he did it again, you cursed.  “Shit, Uvogin!”

He grinned up at you.  “Say my name again, ____.”  As he spoke, he began to bounce you up and down on his cock at a much faster pace than before.

You obliged, and cried out his name once more.  Despite it all, despite your fear and hatred of the man below you, wicked little flashes of pleasure were beginning to flit through your core.  You closed your eyes and cast your mind back to the night before, when Uvogin had been so funny, so charming, so caring.  You remembered the ways he had touched you, and the way he’d taken such care not to hurt you when he’d fucked you.  So engrossed were you in the fog of your memories that you didn’t catch a moan of your name.  At least, not at first.

Uvogin was groaning out your name repeatedly as he fucked into you, his hips snapping up to meet you as he slammed you down onto his cock.  You opened your eyes and looked at him, really looked at him, then; his eyes were closed, his jaw clenched, his hair fanned out on the pillows.  You felt a little tug in your chest; under different circumstances, perhaps, you could have felt some affection towards him.

Another groan from the man below you signaled that he was close; he slammed you down onto  him a few more times before finding his release.  With a deep grunt he came, filling you up with his cum.

His hands fell to his sides as he panted, leaving you to gingerly lift yourself off of his now-softening cock.  You made to get off of the bed, but a large arm wrapped around you and pulled you down to Uvogin’s chest.  You lied there for a moment, feeling suddenly sleepy, finding confusing enjoyment in the warmth of Uvogin’s skin and the rise and fall of his chest.  You were about to fall asleep when Uvogin spoke.

“____, you didn’t cum for me that time, did you?”

“Hm?”

“Be honest.  You didn’t.”

Too afraid to lie, you answered that you hadn’t.  “But it’s okay!” you quickly added.  “I don’t mind, really.”

“We’ll have to fix that next time.”

Next time?

“Oh no, that’s fine, you don’t have to--”

“You’re mine and I can do as I please with you,” Uvogin growled, holding you closer.  “Never forget that you’re mine now, ____.”  He turned to you to press a lazy kiss to your mouth.  “Forever.”

[vkelleyart]

For well-meaning white American friends/followers struggling to understand black anger.

Disclaimer: I’d like to begin by saying that this message should not in any way be interpreted as implying that all looting/violence has been committed by protesters, especially since criminal gangs, anarchists, and white power groups have been caught coopting violent protest with the intent to undermine the struggle for racial justice. Nor is it meant to diminish the tragic effect that looting/violent protest has had on the very marginalized communities that need the most help. It is simply a window into a perspective you might not have considered or explored, which I offer in hopes of cultivating empathy.

It may make you uncomfortable to read this. Please bear with me.

Systemic racism is a term you want to get familiar with. It's larger and more insidious than black people being killed and brutalized by law enforcement, which should give you an idea of just how big a beast we're dealing with. Now, this is important: We ALL are immersed in systemic racism every day of our lives and, especially if you are white, you will not be able to see the ways in which you benefit from the oppression of black people.

I can feel your tension from here––the voice within saying “not me.” This is not what you wanted to hear. You're not a racist, you think to yourself. You have friends of color. Maybe family, too. You'd never intentionally harm a black or brown individual on the basis of their skin color. 

You're a good person. I'm not here to argue that particular point.

That said, please integrate this concept. If you are white, you are benefiting from systemic racism, which hurts black and brown people. It is sewn into the fabric of our culture. It's entrenched in everything you take for granted, from your property to your education to your access to healthcare and food. Moreover, systemic racism is specifically constructed to protect you from being able to see its effect on your life and the lives of people of color. 

In other words, you have a blind spot, by default. It's not your fault you have it. You were born into this culture made to shelter you from its evils. 

It also doesn’t invalidate any trials or injustices you have experienced as a result of any other marginalized facets of your identity, since discrimination can also happen due to class, ability, gender, orientation, etc. But it does mean that your skin color doesn’t compound your risk of being killed/brutalized/imprisoned within a definitively racialized justice system.  

Now that you know this, it's imperative that you realize you are not an authority on the experiences of people of color. You have not lived it. You do not know. To pass judgment on the despair of black people is to reinstate and protect white dominance. Which is a definitively racist thing to do, even if you’re not aware of it.

Follow me here.

One way systemic racism oppresses people of color is by codifying the law in such a way that literally prevents people of color from overcoming their own oppression. By extension, law enforcement historically has functioned as the arm of white supremacy, enforcing laws that by and large serve to protect white dominance and insulate white culture from its own racial self-awareness. 

Consider the ways police once functioned to enforce Jim Crow laws and segregation. These patterns didn't just erase with legislation. After the Civil Rights movement, bigoted lawmakers buried inequality deeper into the law, coated it in sanitized legalese, and assigned punishments designed to disproportionately imprison black bodies compared to whites.

This is the legal system that police enforce regardless of whether the officers themselves are white or black. That alone would be enough to indict law enforcement for their hand in perpetuating systemic racism, but it's clearly worse than that. "Bad apples" abound, with FBI investigations revealing the infiltration of KKK and other white supremacist organizations into police forces across the United States. There is very little leadership when it comes to finding these bad apples, prosecuting them, and preventing their existence in the first place. 

Now try to understand that the problem is bigger than bad apples who will brutalize black individuals and execute them without a trial. You need only compare how meek entire swaths of police officers were in the presence of armed white men spitting in their faces demanding the end of the COVID lockdowns to the ferocious way they tear gassed and pelted with rubber bullets the black lives protesters who were on their knees.

When you lack ancestral wealth, when you are born into a world that resists your right to agency, independence, access and dignity in every single possible way, and then makes it impossible for you to stand up for your right to all those things, these are the conditions that spawn violence. 

Looters who say this is about more than George Floyd are correct. It's not just about George Floyd. It's about forced subjugation in all ways, shapes and forms, being denied the right to exist in public, being denied access to wealth, prosperity, healthcare, etc.

It's about knowing, hundreds of years post-slavery, that your body still does not belong to you. To walk with a target on your back. Every. Single. Day. To struggle to protect your children from a world that does not value their promise. 

In the comfort of your home, try now to imagine the despair. The hopelessness. The abject terror. The anger over trauma that began in your childhood but keeps happening over and over and over again and therefore can never heal. 

White people can never fully understand because it is not our lived experience––it's theirs.

When you are white, you are safe, seen, protected, and included in a legal system built to insulate you at the *direct expense* of black individuals. That's why all this sounds so radical. Only people of color have insight into this reality, but instead of listening, we keep telling them to stop interrupting our lives with their desperation to be seen.

How many of you have either said or heard someone say these things? Each one reinstates white dominance:

"How could he kneel during the national anthem? That's so disrespectful!"

"How dare they stop traffic and make me late for work!"

"Listen to that thuggish language! If they want equality so badly, they should rethink the way they talk to us!"

Now is the time to silence your judgment. You have no right. You have no clue. People of color do not owe you their patience, their kindness, their time, or their obedience. You've taken from them your whole life and yes, you were unaware, but you were complicit.

What you can do (which will have the long term effect of mitigating violence) is amplify their voices. Support their businesses. Post their bail. Vote them into office. Use your protection, your privilege, your voice to demand change like YOU are the one in the crosshairs. Nothing will change without good white people owning the struggle for equality, and in a racialized world, we cannot expect the courtesy of being asked nicely.

ETA: This barely scratches the surface, I know. There is so much more to say regarding how racism overlaps with homophobia, ablism, sexism, transphobia, to oppress and endanger black lives. Wherever you reside on the spectrum of privilege, I just hope this provides an inroad to further introspection before you share a critical meme or pass a sweeping judgment on the anger of your POC neighbors. <3  

[writingwife-83]

Just Us Now, ch 1

A couple days ago I posted an excerpt of this first chapter, but here’s the whole thing. Again, thank you to @little-reylo-heart for the initial inspiration post. 😉 This has actually morphed into a multi chapter so I’m excited to take it places. 😊 Big thanks to my beta reader and plotting partner @thisisartbylexie. And also, @potatoheadthewise you requested to be tagged, so there you go! ❤️ 

You can also read and subscribe on AO3

Before that blissful moment, Rey might have questioned if his lips even knew how to lift in such a way. She’d never seen anything quite like it. Understandable, of course. None of their past encounters merited such a reaction. But now that she’d seen it- been the cause of it- Rey instantly wondered how she’d managed to get by all this time without such a devastatingly beautiful sight.

But just as euphoria set in, that was the moment Ben’s smile began to fall, eyelids drooped, and the grip of his solid arms softened around her as he fell backwards before she could fully stop him.

“Ben!”

Rey leaned over him, panic mounting as she took hold of his shoulders and gave him a little shake. She moved one hand to cradle his now stilled features as her other found his wrist and pressed against the cool flesh in hopes of feeling any tiny little beat.

And then she felt it.

Rey released an unsteady breath, leaning down to let her check rest against his chest in relief. The slow and gentle thumping against her cheek reinforced the comfort of his pulse against her fingertips, and for a quiet moment she stayed like that, content just to know he was living and breathing. That was enough.

But it was only a matter of time before the chaotic noises above reminded her of where she truly was, and what had just happened. What was still happening, to some degree, despite their victory.

Rey lifted her eyes to the sky, knowing that she needed to get off Exegol and back to Ajan Kloss. But then her eyes fell downward again...to the especially large figure who apparently wasn’t planning to regain consciousness any time soon.

“Ben,” she tried again. “We’ve got to get out of here. Come on, please wake up!”

She sighed, glancing around, even though there was nothing and nobody there that would be of any use.

“If you don’t get up, I’m going to have to move you myself,” Rey said with a little shake of her head, her tone not unlike one used on a difficult little child who refused to listen to their parent.

If only he were the size of a child, she mused.

Rey stood slowly, feeling as though she hadn’t done so in days. Everything truly felt new.

She took a breath and let it out steadily, staring at Ben on the ground and gathering her strength. She’d halted and manipulated a transport flying through the air...surely this would be nothing.

Rey picked up the fallen lightsabers and secured them on her belt before stepping back and reached out to where Ben lay, shutting her eyes and pulling him up and towards her. As she slowly opened her eyes again, she was greeted by the welcome sight of him hovering above the ground. Just a few inches, but it was a start.

With a bit more concentration, Ben’s body lifted further from the ground and Rey began gingerly making her way toward the now rubble filled hallway. She moved Ben ahead of her, watching where he was going and following closely behind, stepping over fallen stones as well as the Knights of Ren.

She could tell there was so much about that day that her mind was desperate to process and focus on, questions that demanded answers, but she fought against them. This was not the time. All her strength needed to be put towards simply getting them both to safety.

She knew she needed to get back to her transport, and she hoped that she could just go back the way she had come; the platform was still at her level just ahead. She was beginning to feel the exhaustion of using so much of her energy and keeping Ben just off the ground was sapping her quickly.

Rey stepped onto the platform beside Ben, groaning inwardly at the fact that there didn’t seem to be a power source that was functional and without it, she’d have to be the one to lift them. She summoned all her focus and strength, shutting her eyes and slowly lifting her hands in the air, coaxing the platform to move.

A loud rumble and they lifted several inches...but then she felt herself slip, and they crashed back to the ground.

Rey lost her balance, nearly falling off completely and then desperately grabbing Ben’s body in hopes he wasn’t going to fall off as well. She stopped for a moment, kneeling next to him and catching her breath, staring up in despair at how far she’d have to take them both.

Instead of looking up though, she shifted her gaze to him, focusing on his peaceful face and how badly she wanted to quite literally carry him to safety. She just wanted to be away from all of it, but what if she wasn’t strong enough?

Rey draped an arm over Ben’s torso and laid her head on his chest, as she’d done before, just desperate for a moment of rest and to gather her strength and willpower in order to do what was needed. She might have been imagining it, but his heartbeat felt stronger than it had some minutes before. To think that he was becoming stronger gave her hope for herself. She was just about to push herself up once more and give it another go, despite how insurmountable it seemed.

That’s when the platform began to move.

Rey’s eyes widened as she looked around, holding onto Ben even more tightly. But her shock lasted for only the space of a breath. Almost right away...she knew. A watery smile formed on Rey’s lips as they were safely lifted to the ground level. The safety and care that washed over her in those moments left her in no doubt of what had just happened. Especially when the platform came to a halt, and she heard Leia’s voice as clear as day.

“Go now!”

Rey stood obediently, feeling newly energized, and instantly concentrated to lift Ben from the platform, moving him to solid ground before jumping off herself. The moment that her feet hit solid ground, the platform fell at full force, crashing into pieces on the subterranean level.

She felt a quick chill rush through her at that sight, whispered a heartfelt thanks to Leia, and then began moving Ben toward their ships.

But just as Rey began to feel that the hard work was done, it dawned on her that neither of these ships were built for two. Considering both options, as much as she hated to leave Luke's X-wing, there was no possible way to cram Ben’s body anywhere into that ship with her in the pilot seat.

Rey set Ben down to open the Tie fighter’s hatch, then lifted him up high and began moving his body in behind the cockpit. The thud of his shoulder hitting the seat made her wince and she tried to change the angle, which only caused another thud, this time his head hitting some controls on the ceiling.

“Sorry,” Rey murmured to herself as Ben’s body came crashing down somewhat haphazardly the last couple feet onto the floor of the fighter.

She climbed in and shut the hatch, unable to avoid a small chuckle at the sight of Ben’s legs draped around the side of the pilots seat. Giving Luke’s X-wing one more glance, with a silent promise to return for it, she started the Tie fighter and took off.

It was at least twenty minutes into the flight that she finally heard a grunt behind her.

“Ben?” She glanced round the seat a bit, seeing some movement in her peripheral.

“Rey?”

The sound of her name on his lips, regardless of his voice being so weary and broken, was better than any music she’d ever heard.

“How am I alive?” he murmured.

“Don’t you remember waking up before?”

“But you’re alive.”

That statement made her frown and she let out a short laugh. “That doesn’t mean you can’t be. What do you mean?”

He paused for a long moment before replying softly. “Nothing...thank you,” he added.

“You don’t have to thank me, Ben,” she countered. “You went there for me. I was leaving with you or I wouldn’t have left at all.”

Silence set in again and a very strange and unfamiliar fear took hold of Rey. She was suddenly struck with the realization that almost everything that she and Ben Solo had shared up to then...was gone. Every encounter they’d shared, at least in person, had been wrapped up in a war, in a conflict. Sometimes they were at odds with each other and sometimes fighting shoulder to shoulder. But either way, to fight for something was all they knew.

Now that the conflict was gone...would there anything else left?

“Where are we going?”

Rey was grateful for the interruption of her thoughts.

“Ajan Kloss. It’s where the resistance is stationed.”

She heard him moving around a little, probably shifting to sit upright on the only small ledge that was available.

“I shouldn’t be going there with you.”

She instantly felt the hesitation, the growing seeds of fear within him once more.

“I’ll explain everything to them,” Rey assured him, turning partly, quickly beginning to hate the fact that she wasn’t really able to fully look at him and doing her best to focus on the light. “They’ll understand once they know what happened.”

“Would you trust me?” he asked simply. “If you were them.”

Rey hesitated, knowing he was right. “Maybe not...right away,” she admitted.

“There’s almost nowhere I can go,” Ben went on. “Nowhere I wouldn’t be recognized and hated, or at least feared. You know that’s true. I didn’t think I’d have to worry about this.”

She narrowed her eyes at those words, but chose not to press for more.

“There’s a place we could take you,” Rey offered reluctantly. “Until things can be worked out...Tatooine.”

He paused, but she already knew he wouldn’t argue. He said himself his options were limited. If he wanted to lay low, that was one of the few places he could do it.

“Ok.”

Rey nodded, setting a course to the decided upon planet, though she couldn’t help wondering what would happen after that. She’d have to continue on her way to Ajan Kloss after getting him to Tatooine. It wasn’t exactly that she was worried for him, she knew he could likely take care of himself and figure things out. It wasn’t that. It was the simple fact that she just didn’t want to leave him.

[cleverwordsandotherstuffilike]

For well-meaning white American friends/followers struggling to understand black anger.

Disclaimer: I’d like to begin by saying that this message should not in any way be interpreted as implying that all looting/violence has been committed by protesters, especially since criminal gangs, anarchists, and white power groups have been caught coopting violent protest with the intent to undermine the struggle for racial justice. Nor is it meant to diminish the tragic effect that looting/violent protest has had on the very marginalized communities that need the most help. It is simply a window into a perspective you might not have considered or explored, which I offer in hopes of cultivating empathy.

It may make you uncomfortable to read this. Please bear with me.

Systemic racism is a term you want to get familiar with. It’s larger and more insidious than black people being killed and brutalized by law enforcement, which should give you an idea of just how big a beast we’re dealing with. Now, this is important: We ALL are immersed in systemic racism every day of our lives and, especially if you are white, you will not be able to see the ways in which you benefit from the oppression of black people.

I can feel your tension from here––the voice within saying “not me.” This is not what you wanted to hear. You’re not a racist, you think to yourself. You have friends of color. Maybe family, too. You’d never intentionally harm a black or brown individual on the basis of their skin color.

You’re a good person. I’m not here to argue that particular point.

That said, please integrate this concept. If you are white, you are benefiting from systemic racism, which hurts black and brown people. It is sewn into the fabric of our culture. It’s entrenched in everything you take for granted, from your property to your education to your access to healthcare and food. Moreover, systemic racism is specifically constructed to protect you from being able to see its effect on your life and the lives of people of color.

In other words, you have a blind spot, by default. It’s not your fault you have it. You were born into this culture made to shelter you from its evils.

It also doesn’t invalidate any trials or injustices you have experienced as a result of any other marginalized facets of your identity, since discrimination can also happen due to class, ability, gender, orientation, etc. But it does mean that your skin color doesn’t compound your risk of being killed/brutalized/imprisoned within a definitively racialized justice system.  

Now that you know this, it’s imperative that you realize you are not an authority on the experiences of people of color. You have not lived it. You do not know. To pass judgment on the despair of black people is to reinstate and protect white dominance. Which is a definitively racist thing to do, even if you’re not aware of it.

Follow me here.

One way systemic racism oppresses people of color is by codifying the law in such a way that literally prevents people of color from overcoming their own oppression. By extension, law enforcement historically has functioned as the arm of white supremacy, enforcing laws that by and large serve to protect white dominance and insulate white culture from its own racial self-awareness.

Consider the ways police once functioned to enforce Jim Crow laws and segregation. These patterns didn’t just erase with legislation. After the Civil Rights movement, bigoted lawmakers buried inequality deeper into the law, coated it in sanitized legalese, and assigned punishments designed to disproportionately imprison black bodies compared to whites.

This is the legal system that police enforce regardless of whether the officers themselves are white or black. That alone would be enough to indict law enforcement for their hand in perpetuating systemic racism, but it’s clearly worse than that. “Bad apples” abound, with FBI investigations revealing the infiltration of KKK and other white supremacist organizations into police forces across the United States. There is very little leadership when it comes to finding these bad apples, prosecuting them, and preventing their existence in the first place.

Now try to understand that the problem is bigger than bad apples who will brutalize black individuals and execute them without a trial. You need only compare how meek entire swaths of police officers were in the presence of armed white men spitting in their faces demanding the end of the COVID lockdowns to the ferocious way they tear gassed and pelted with rubber bullets the black lives protesters who were on their knees.

When you lack ancestral wealth, when you are born into a world that resists your right to agency, independence, access and dignity in every single possible way, and then makes it impossible for you to stand up for your right to all those things, these are the conditions that spawn violence.

Looters who say this is about more than George Floyd are correct. It’s not just about George Floyd. It’s about forced subjugation in all ways, shapes and forms, being denied the right to exist in public, being denied access to wealth, prosperity, healthcare, etc.

It’s about knowing, hundreds of years post-slavery, that your body still does not belong to you. To walk with a target on your back. Every. Single. Day. To struggle to protect your children from a world that does not value their promise.

In the comfort of your home, try now to imagine the despair. The hopelessness. The abject terror. The anger over trauma that began in your childhood but keeps happening over and over and over again and therefore can never heal.

White people can never fully understand because it is not our lived experience––it’s theirs.

When you are white, you are safe, seen, protected, and included in a legal system built to insulate you at the *direct expense* of black individuals. That’s why all this sounds so radical. Only people of color have insight into this reality, but instead of listening, we keep telling them to stop interrupting our lives with their desperation to be seen.

How many of you have either said or heard someone say these things? Each one reinstates white dominance:

“How could he kneel during the national anthem? That’s so disrespectful!”

“How dare they stop traffic and make me late for work!”

“Listen to that thuggish language! If they want equality so badly, they should rethink the way they talk to us!”

Now is the time to silence your judgment. You have no right. You have no clue. People of color do not owe you their patience, their kindness, their time, or their obedience. You’ve taken from them your whole life and yes, you were unaware, but you were complicit.

What you can do (which will have the long term effect of mitigating violence) is amplify their voices. Support their businesses. Post their bail. Vote them into office. Use your protection, your privilege, your voice to demand change like YOU are the one in the crosshairs. Nothing will change without good white people owning the struggle for equality, and in a racialized world, we cannot expect the courtesy of being asked nicely.

ETA: This barely scratches the surface, I know. There is so much more to say regarding how racism overlaps with homophobia, ablism, sexism, transphobia, to oppress and endanger black lives. Wherever you reside on the spectrum of privilege, I just hope this provides an inroad to further introspection before you share a critical meme or pass a sweeping judgment on the anger of your POC neighbors.

[hellokafkiana]

No (or "It Won't Happen Again" p3)

“I can’t believe it!” Porthos replied, ignoring her explicit and clear request to avoid the subject. God, Anne thought, this man can be even more annoying than his brothers, unbelievable. After that, she gave him a look that she hoped would have stopped him, but it had quite the opposite effect “All this time…” he started hesitantly, thinking back about all the unusual behaviour he had observed in her over the last... eight months “...you were screwing him” “Well he did his part, too” she replied rolling her eyes, it was not like she had abused him, Athos, on the contrary, had been more than... willing to have those… sexual intercourses with her. More than willing. “I knew something was going on,” Porthos said interrupting her thoughts “…but this?” he continued with a shocked expression. An expression for which Anne could honestly not blame him, an expression that she used to have as well “I know” she whispered agreeing with him. “I know…” “He’s with Sylvie!” he almost screamed some seconds later and Anne felt the urge to laugh at him. As if that tiny detail was something she could ever forget, as if the thought of him with her wasn’t haunting her dreams, making her feel physically sick and pathetic as if she had just thrown out everything “Oh now I remember” she said sarcastically. Thank you, my dear.” “And you don’t care?” the man asked her confused and Anne shook her head immediately in return “No. I mean…Yes” and then she snorted “I don’t know.” “Anne!” “Is not that easy…” she started, trying to defend herself “He’s MY husband, I was there before she even…” “Anne…” “I know he chose her” she replied irritated “But he’s still MY husband. The more I try to give up on him, the more… I fail. He’s Athos and…” “I thought he was happy,” the musketeer said interrupting her once again “And you…” he continued, “I thought you had moved on, you… were sleeping with that nice guy, the cadet, what was his name again? Joseph? Justin?” “Jacque.” “Yes, him” Porthos agreed nodding slightly, “You told me it was too soon to talk about something serious, but that you liked him, or that’s what I thought, but now…” Anne rolled her eyes. Porthos barely knew Jacque and surely didn’t know her or the motives that had let to… The truth was that whatever had happened with that “sweet, good, boy, Jacque the cadet” was all for… him, or maybe because of him, Athos, always Athos. How strange, uhm? Even fucking a pretty young thing had something to do with her husband. How foolish she had been, always repeating the same mistakes, always destroying everything, always, using people and still expect them to stick around, always letting the others do what they wanted with her. And yet Jacque had been good to her, he was young, maybe too young (not that her husband had had any kind of moral stands in taking as a mistress a woman young enough to be his daughter), Jacque was young and willing, and never tired. He had... been a nice, pleasing distraction. He had served his scope, he truly had, even if, and maybe especially because, the others Musketeers had found out about him and his... particular relationship with her. Anne smiled enigmatically at that though and then whispered: “If I recall correctly I told YOU he was a nice guy but that I had no intention of settling down and then I asked YOU to mind YOUR own business” she snorted “As I’m trying to do now. You have your letters, just go now. For God sake.” Porthos nodded, she had a point after all and then stood up, reaching the door, but turn one last time in her direction “You... don’t have to stay alone… you know that, right?” “But I needed it,” Anne said meeting his eyes. She didn’t like being seen like that. Vulnerable, needing, exposed. She hated to let anyone see her like that and Porthos nodded, respecting her wish. “In case you'll change your mind... you know where to find me.” “Do you want us to be friends now?” the woman hissed raising an eyebrow. Surprised, shocked, impressed. “Aren’t we already?” he replied with his typical calm expression, so Anne rolled her eyes in return before whispering “Just go. I don’t feel well yet, and I need to be alone. Please” The next time he sees Athos his dear friend is visibly drunk, his hands trembling around his last glass of wine, his eyes vacuous. Porthos looked at him, a man that used to be his greatest friend and that he could barely recognise at that moment. He sat in front in him, almost disgusted from the smell of alcohol coming out of his mouth. “Isn’t a little too early in the morning for that?” “It’s never too early for a good bottle of French red wine. I thought I told you that, years ago” Athos replied snorting, almost the same way Anne had. “I thought that that part of your life was over” Porthos pointed out, looking at him and Athos almost laughed in return “Yeah I thought that too, dear Porthos.” “Do you wanna talk about it?” Porthos dared, and his friend looked at him confused, clueless “About…?” “You and Anne” “No” he replied bitterly, looking once again at the glass “Leave me alone.” “I can keep you company, Athos. I want to.” “But,” He said interrupting his friend “You won’t drink because it’s 10 in the morning and you have a wife, and a child and drinking to death this early would be unwise. Guess what?” he laughed slightly before continuing “I have a child and a wife and yet here I am…” Pothos hesitated some minutes before daring to talk to him again “Do you… want me to bring you home?” “Which one?” “Your home” Porthos specified confused “The house you share with Sylvie and your child.” “Funny” Athos remarked drinking another gulp “I barely stay at that place, I’m not sure she even wants me there…” He stopped for some seconds contemplating the odd situation “Not that Anne wants me at her place either, so…” he continued, but this time Porthos stopped him gently “I can bring you to my house, then, if you…” “No” Athos replied “This…” he started pointing at the tavern “This is my home, it has all I need.” Porthos nodded but dragged him out of there regardless, bringing him to his place. In the delirium of alcohol Athos spoke again, but this time Porthos truly heard the pain in his voice, not just the arrogance, but the pride, the pain. The true profound pain, regret, despair. “I never intended to, I…” “What?” Porthos asked with caution. “Having an affair with my wife” Athos answered, losing himself in remembrance “I… It was not planned, she took me by surprise. She always does.” “What do you mean?” “It was a one-time thing” he started “It was supposed to be a one-time thing, she was beautiful, powerful, unassailable, fearless, strong. I couldn’t resist her… I tried but I couldn’t. She was…” he stopped for some seconds, biting his lips as he remembered the taste of hers “But it was a one-time thing, I knew it had to be, for Sylvie and our child. I had to… it was my duty to stand by them, to be faithful to them and I… I resisted” he paused for some further instants “I resisted. For a while.” “And then?” “Then I couldn’t any more” he continued, remembering everything. All the gazes and the anger, and the smiles, and the fucks, everything that had led to that moment “She was there. Every day, flirting with everyone, and every night I was there, and I knew she was sleeping in the nearby, I… “And the way she smiled and the way she…” his voice broke “Suffered in silence when no-one was watching when no-one cared. She’s not like… Milady De Winter is not who she wants to be, who she is, Milady is just…” he continued agitating himself, his beats accelerating “She…” “Athos calm,…” Porthos tried but the despair in Athos face stopped him “Porthos…” he started “There is still my Anne in there, I know it’s true, but I… can’t… I can’t be with her” he continued, some cruel tears falling from his eyes “, And she hates me for this” he paused some seconds “And I hate me for what I do to both of them” “Sylvie” Porthos said simply and his friend nodded in return “I tried to end things again this time, I tried. Sylvie deserves me trying, she’s so good, she…but Anne…” he stopped once again, almost ashamed of his weakness “Anne called me a liar and a coward, and I...” “And you slept with her” Porthos finished for him “And I slept with her” Athos confirmed; there was no point in denying that. “What are you doing?” his friend stated after some instances of pause “What..” “Her” Athos replied “I’m doing her” Porthos raised his eyebrow in a moment of shock and stayed silent, genuinely surprised by his friend’s attitude and expression “What do you want to know? You judgemental friend” Athos asked lying on Porthos’s bed. “What do you need to hear to feel yourself better, uhm?” “Nothing, I’m sorry” Porthos replied, seriously worried for Athos bitterness. In all those years he had never seen him like that, never. His friend made a long pause, and then, already half asleep grumbled “We were… we are, two consensual adults. The first time… I wasn’t, WE weren’t… thinking, but the second… the second we were, I can assure you that, it’s not like…" he stopped again, unsure on how to continue "The thing is that we are bound, we’ll always be bound to each other. Until we are both dead, Anne is...” He closed his eyes, remembering how that awkward relationship had restarted, remembering so clearly the second time they had been together, the time when both of them were thinking, wanted it. There were no words said, just a silent gaze on him, a silent burning gaze on him. The words had already been said the time before, far too many words. There was nothing left to say, or that was what Athos believed, and yet his feet had followed her obediently, eager to posses her, to taste that ancient again smell once again. He entered the room and saw her. Beautiful like an angel, her hair down, her corset far too tight, her green eyes shining in the dark. She was sitting on the desk, legs closed, hands resting comfortably on her side. “You miss me, yet?” her voice asked provoking him, just the way he liked it. “I don’t. I told you, I love her, we are happy.” “And yet here you are. To your…” “Don't.” “….Whore” “No.” “That’s what you said” “No.” “Do you regret it?” “No.” Whispering that he took some steps closer touching her tight, parting her legs on either side of him, leading her in a dance that he could barely remember but he had missed for all those years. Anne did not move though, she simply kept staring at him, his trembling hands fumbling with the laces of her corset, impatient to undo them. Then with a fast move, he unbuttoned his breeches too, finally freeing himself from the pressure that was annoying him. For a very short moment he buried his head in the crook of her neck, leaving a small kiss on her scar, but that small sign of tenderness angered her, so she moved back, lying down amongst the letters and the cyphers, and the ink. She did that, incredibly uninterested in all the work she was messing up to have a quick, useless fuck with the man that used to be her husband, she did that, and she parted her legs wider. “Is that what you want, right? Your personal whore.” “No.” He replied watching her, as her half-undone corset was opening up and her breasts were appearing. “Say it.” Anne insisted, looking in his eyes "Say it." “No.” “Say it” He didn’t listen and leant down with the intention to catch one of her perking nipples in his mouth, already enjoying the thought of hearing the sweet moans she used to make every time he pleasured her like that when they were… young. When they used to run in the field all day, making love to each other, being happy, being together. He leant down but Anne saw what his plan was so she stopped him, putting a single finger on his lips. “No.” “No?” “No.” She instead put her hand in his hair, holding it tightly, her legs wrapping around his hips and he couldn’t wait any longer. Luckily for him in a moment she lifted her skirts up to her waist, inviting and guiding him inside her. Then she got rid of his shirt, her hands exploring his chest, finding their final destination wrapped around his neck, putting her head in the crook of his neck, decided to avoid having to watch him during the act. Eventually, he started moving, his hips meeting hers, his thrusts every time stronger and deeper. It felt good, so good that he didn’t stop, it felt so good that he started grunting and moaning, and screaming “Anne…” and then again “Anne…” and again “Anne…” Athos felt her orgasm building as she arched her back and continued with his thrusts fiercely, fucking her as he used to do, the way she used to like and no long after she cum, but he continued, unwilling to give up on that contact. Only some time later he finally separated from her. Without saying a word, he started collecting his clothes, just after she had collapsed on the desk, speechless. Then she heard something she really hadn’t expect to hear. Not from him. Not even after a sex like that. “You’re not a whore.” he hesitated some more seconds before continuing “You are my wife. You’ll always be my wife.” and then he left. That night he went home feeling ashamed, but something else was devouring him. He was hungry, horny, all he could think about was having her again, and for real this time. To kiss her, to go down on her, to suck her. But he couldn’t, she had made clear that he wasn't allowed to, so he fucked Sylvie instead. All night, merciless. And yet she was not Anne. And he hated her for that. Because he needed Anne. He would have always needed Anne. His wife.

[kentuckywrites]

Blood Love

The Blood Lobster has led Pongo on for this long. It’s time to end it...but at what price?

The night had set in hours ago, the moon’s light lost within the glow of the administrative district. BLADEs, at this hour, were getting off of their shifts, and Skells marched back to the barracks as operatives called it a night. But there were a few who stayed, as they worked better in the night, at their respective divisions in Division Drive. No matter the case, the administrative district was not eventful. Nothing presented itself as a threat.

Or so it seemed.

The past few days for Pongo had been hell. Upon discovering the plans of the Blood Lobster, he had avoided contact with any other humans until he collected all of the carefully scattered bombs. The search had taken a physical and mental toll on his body; he stumbles around, unable to find the strength to lift up his head, and occasionally he trips over his own two feet as he heads to the Mediators in Division Drive. The location of the second to last lobster bomb would be there, he had concluded after a thorough scan of the entire city.

And indeed, Pongo finds it behind one of the crates in the back, colored with the purple logo of the division. He picks it up, not caring about the whispers of the Mediators as they watch his actions, and opens up the bottom to press a few buttons, diffusing the bomb. He would've been filled with happiness, but now all that he feels is fatigue. Fatigue, and fear.

As he steps out of the Mediator’s division, his comm device buzzes in his back pocket. Expecting it to be Elma again, he almost doesn't want to answer it. But his mind, in its scattered state, makes him answer the call. A familiar masked voice begins to speak, and immediately Pongo’s fatigue diminishes, his anger beginning to show itself.

“My dear, dear Pongo! You’re finally down to the last of my precious babies. Such a busy worker bee. I just want to pull all your little bits apart and see what makes you tick!”

The Blood Lobster laughs, making Pongo cringe. “But that will have to wait until you find the last toy. And I’ve put that one in a veeery special place.”

Despite his rising anger, Pongo keeps himself calm as he asks, “Where is it?”

“Ah, such an obedient little puppet,” The Blood Lobster coos, “You make Daddy so very...ANGRY.” His tone shifts suddenly, “Oh, I am SO going to enjoy killing you in person! Just a bit longer now. Kyaaa ha ha ha ha! Are you EXCITED yet?”

Letting out a small sigh of content, the Blood Lobster tells him, “I left the last of my little babies with one of New LA’s especially useless citizens. It’s the perfect cure for their annoying little justice fetish.”

Pongo’s eyes widen as he immediately identifies the person the Blood Lobster refers to. “No….”

“...Well? Better find them before they go BOOM!” The Blood Lobster cackles, “The finale begins! The curtain rises! Author, author!”

And the device goes silent. Pongo closes his eyes as he places it back in his pocket. His hands clench into tight fists, and as he opens his eyes again, they hold an emotion that has rarely made itself present within him.

Rage.

~

Justin stands by the fountain, watching conversations unfold around him. His hands are on his hips in a dignified, heroic pose, and he smiles as he watches the people of New LA converse in peace. It is a quiet night, and he intends to keep it that way.

But his head turns as he hears someone running towards him, and he spots Pongo, one of his closest friends, sprinting at him. Justin’s hands fall off of his hips as Pongo stops in front of him, gasping for breath and using his knees to support his fatigued body. Justin doesn't see anything wrong with Pongo’s panicked look at first, and initiates a conversation.

“Hmm? Well, I’ll be! It’s the agent of justice!” As Pongo looks up at him, he grows concerned. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Is something wrong?”

Out of breath, Pongo’s response is broken up by gasps. “Have...have you...been given...a stuffed lobster?”

Justin grows confused. “A stuffed...lobster? Like a hunting trophy?” He realizes what he means and he makes an “O” shape with his mouth. “Oh, you mean a stuffed toy for children. Yes, actually, I did receive one recently. The note said it was from someone I helped on an assignment - it was quite kind of them to remember. But how did you know?”

Pongo hesitates, remembering how the Blood Lobster had threatened to kill anyone he told about his little mission. But he figures that he now has all of the bombs defused, so what harm could he do now? Pongo won, and he feels a little better as he explains his scenario to Justin, who absorbs the information with a shocked expression.

“...A bomb?” He clarifies, “And they were hidden all over the city? And there were a hundred of them...oh my word! Good thing you went out and found the rest.”

Justin reaches into his uniform pocket and pulls out a small stuffed lobster, handing it over to Pongo. “Er, yes, let me just hand this over to you…”

Pongo quickly takes the lobster and tears at the flap on its side, pressing the buttons to defuse the bomb once and for all. He lets out a sigh, and a laugh, and for the first time in days he smiles. “Yes! Take that, Blood Lobster! Gods…” Turning to Justin, Pongo throws the lobster towards the street and gives him a tight hug. “I got worried I would not make it in time…”

Justin chuckles, albeit awkwardly, but Pongo doesn't seem to notice or care. As they let go of each other, Justin tells him, “But when you find the evil genius behind this crime, bring down the mighty hammer of justice for me!”

Pongo nods and goes to turn away, his energy restored after saving Justin from the bomb. However, his mood turns sour as he feels his comm device buzz. Taking it out, he listens to the Blood Lobster’s voice with a dark scowl.

“...It seems you’ve found the final piece, friend. And my preparations here are complete as well. Let’s end this, shall we? I’m inside the base of those useless puppets, the Definians. Don’t keep me waiting. I’m so eager to see you, I could just EXPLODE!”

The Ganglion Antropolis...he thinks to himself, time to end this, for the sake of New LA. He will pay for almost killing Justin. He will pay.

Pongo presses the button to end the call.

~

Pongo knows his way through the Ganglion Antropolis by now, and it doesn't take him long to reach the room where he had fought the Rexoskell. He only lets this memory plague him for a moment as he readies his guns, which he grips in both his hands. As he enters, he is surprised to see only one pink colored Skell, man made, standing near the back. He knows who this is. He is ready for whatever may come.

“Ah, it’s so nice to finally meet you.” The Blood Lobster’s voice sounds mechanical as it echoes from inside the Skell, “My name is the Blood Lobster. Yours is Pongo. There. Now we’re old friends.”

He continues, “I’m so very impressed with all your hard work. And as a special treat, I’ll answer one question of yours right here, right now.”

One question. The only one that matters. Pongo asks, “Why did you do this?”

The Blood Lobster chuckles. “Some people just want to see the world drowned in a tidal wave of chaos and hate. Is that so wrong?”

Pongo grits his teeth at this answer, but the Blood Lobster adds, “Oh, and before we fight, would you like me to kill a few more of New LA’s finest? Just to add to the drama, you understand.”

Pongo opens his mouth to shout at him, but he is interrupted. “No, don’t answer that. Let me answer it for you: ‘Why, yes, I’d love you to kill Director General Chausson!’” He calls out, “MINIONS! Bring the captive to me!”

Pongo spins around, expecting to see the general in chains, or beaten. His fear, his rage, all of his emotions are evident in his gaze, and as the Blood Lobster laughs, he resists the urge to shoot the Skell. Chausson isn't there. No one is.

“Kyaaaa ha ha ha! Oh, that’s rich! If you could have seen the look on your face! Priceless, I tell you...Anyway, question time is over. Now you and I will settle this for good and all. That is, if you can overcome the final weapon left by the Definians...the Blood Despair!”

The Skell braces itself to fight, and Pongo raises his guns. Immediately he uses Ghostwalker to gain a decoy, which makes the Blood Lobster groan. “Aww, that's cheating! But it’s not like that will work…”

The Skell fires off an electric ball from its gun, and it hits Pongo square in the chest, sending him flying into a wall. He quickly gets up and fires off another art to negate his attacks. He leaps gracefully into the air as he shouts, “Combat Limbo!”

Another groan from the Blood Lobster rings through the air. “You’re no fun. Fight me already!”

The Skell fires multiple rounds from its machine gun in its right hand. Pongo sprints towards his enemy, dodging each bullet with ease. Pulling out his longsword, his concentration increases as Pongo uses the right wall to leap into the air. At the highest point he shouts, “Ultraslash!”, before landing on one knee behind the Skell and using his longsword to slash the back of the armor. The Blood Lobster spins around, and Pongo smiles in triumph.

But it only lasts a moment. With its brute force the Skell swipes at Pongo, again knocking him into a wall. This time, Pongo struggles to stand, blue blood leaking from his wounds. He wipes some from his lip, staring at the Skell with a fiery rage. It is in this moment that Pongo knows how to end this.

Clenching the hilt of his longsword, he runs back up to the Skell and issues his most powerful art.

“Blossom Dance!”

Slash after slash, his longsword hits its mark, and the Blood Lobster shouts, “No! NO!”

And just like that, the battle is won. The Blood Lobster’s Skell falls to the ground, smoke rising from its joints. Pongo places his longsword back in its sheath and switches back to his dual guns, pointing them at the Skell in case it got up again. But instead, he watches as someone climbs out of the cockpit. Someone utterly familiar.

“Heh...victory is yours. I...knew it...Heeeee…You really are the agent of justice I longed for.”

Justin.

Every part of him screams, no! This cannot be right! Justin cannot be the Blood Lobster! And yet, Pongo doesn't lower his guard, despite feeling his hands go numb and his eyes widen, an emotion dominating his gaze that he has experienced over and over again.

Heartbreak.

“Surprised?” Justin says, crossing his hands over his chest as he watches Pongo begin to break, “You didn’t see this coming, did you?”

Stepping back, and lowering his guns, Pongo shakes his head as tears begin to form in his eyes. Justin smiles to himself as he witnesses him in the midst of a breakdown.

“High praise, I must say. Though that trusting nature is all part of your heroic appeal.” He sighs. “You’re amazing, you know that? I’d even say...perfect. Oh, my pulse is just racing right now!”

Justin doesn't see it, but this sparks some small renewal of hope in Pongo as his lips part. Justin continues, “I colluded with the Definians, planted bombs, killed scores of innocent people, all for this moment! All to become a villain worthy of you. To finally complete my story arc and earn the right to be smitten by the forces of justice.”

He moves to part his dirty blonde hair before staring into Pongo’s tearfilled gaze. “Now, what say we bring this story to a close? The only one fit to drop the curtain is an avatar of absolute good...you. Now end this! End the Blood Lobster’s villainous plot to plunge New LA into chaos - bring down your mighty hammer of justice!”

Pongo raises his guns again, fighting the urge to fire all of his ammo into Justin’s skull. How could he be so blind...and why was he destined for this life of heartbreak? What had he done to deserve such a fate? Why couldn't he be happy?

All of these questions, all of his rage and pain, all flow to his hands. He almost finds himself pulling the triggers, but something inside of him takes over. No. You are not like him. Do not do this.

And he listens.

Pongo lowers the guns, avoiding Justin’s shocked gaze. “No. I will not kill you.”

“Wh-what?” Justin stammers, “NO! I terrorized a city and killed innocent people just so I could die by your hand! I leaked Definian weapons to criminals in New LA! I incited them to perform horrible acts! I baited the disturbed into becoming mass murderers, all to set the stage for my perfect climax of good versus evil! Don’t you see, I am your archenemy! The perfect evil! Now, come,” He gestures towards himself, “Dispatch me as you see fit. Fast? Slow? I don't care. I only await your judgement.”

Pongo shakes his head, staying true to his previous statement. Justin starts to grow frantic. “Come on...Come on! WHY WON’T YOU KILL ME?! If I don’t die, my story can’t end! Someone this brilliant and evil can’t be left at large! That’s not how it WORKS! It can’t be!”

Pongo places his guns away, facing Justin with a look of pure hatred. “If you ever come back to the city…”

“You’ll kill me!” Justin finishes.

Pongo shakes his head. “No. I will give you a fate worse than death. I will have you imprisoned for life, unable to fight, unable to do anything to the people of New LA.” Taking a deep, shaky breath, he says, “Goodbye, Justin.”

As he turns and walks away, Justin falls to the floor, screaming. Pongo never looks back, never averts his gaze. His tears stop falling for a moment as he is consumed with hatred, a hatred suppressed by all of his other emotions and now freely in control. He finds his way out of the Ganglion Antropolis and finds his Skell outside of the cavern’s massive entrance. He doesn't get inside it; instead, he places a fist on the Skell’s leg.

Why….why am I so weak?

~

The BLADEs in Cauldros were unsure of where the screaming came from. They never went to investigate.