#time to switch gears and promote the man you actually work for maybe?

[faithinlouisfuture]

.

[procrastinatorimagines]

I Want Us Part 2

Fandom: SVU / Chicago PD

Series: I Want Us

Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4 // Part 5 // Part 6 // Part 7 // Part 8 // Part 9 // Part 10 (Final)

Pairing: Carisi x Reader

Warning/s: mentions of kidnapping

Word Count: 1,513

Summary:  When a child abduction case crosses state lines in New York, Intelligence flies out to meet the Special Victims Unit and track down the missing boy. With the clock ticking, both units decide to mix up partners in order to combine their knowledge of the case with knowledge of New York City, pairing Intelligence’s newest member Y/N with Detective Carisi. Soon these new partners find themselves staking out a potential location for their suspect, getting to know each other to pass the time.

Tags: @inlovewith3​ //

“Chicago or New York, a stakeout is stakeout,” you yawned, checking your watch through tired eyes. It was coming up to 2 am and while you wanted nothing more than to be asleep, all your intel pointed to O’Connell conducting his business after midnight.

Carisi couldn’t agree more, sat next to you in the drivers seat as you watched bar O’Connell reportedly owned. The place was dark, scaffolding to one side of newspaper covered doors. Apparently, apparently this old run down building was his newest investment, and you’d thought it was a good a place as any to conduct private business, especially the kind involving a missing child that an entire city was out looking for. 

Voight and Benson had agreed, you and Carisi had found yourselves parked just down the road, undercover car largely obscured by a hedge and fence. Hours combing through files at his desk had cumulated into this, swapping intel between both units as you all tried to figure out and navigate your new temporary partnerships.

“What is this guy, a vampire or something?” Carisi half joked, half complained. You were both wearing your vests, but had since ditched your police jackets, the heat making both of you more tired that you’d like. The night had brought little relief from the Summer sun that had been beating down all day, the leaves on the hedge barely conveying any signs of a breeze. 

“Maybe I was wrong about this,” you admitted after a moment, watching yet another car that wasn’t O’Connell drive down the street and into the distance. None had stopped outside the bar, no one had even walked close to it except an elderly couple on the other side of the street.

Carisi glanced your way for a long moment, watching as you worried your lip as you thought about Logan. You didn’t know what was going through his mind, but he’d been torn away from his entire life by a man he barely knew, and you didn’t want to think about what would happen if you didn’t get him back tonight.

“You trust your gut?” Carisi asked, the question giving you pause. Gut instinct had always been something Voight valued in his Intelligence Unit, you had to trust yourself and those around you if you were going to make it through the day, and catch the bad guy. 

“I do,” you told him with conviction. With limited information and limited time, you could afford the luxury of spending days checking out each of O’Connell’s potential locations, it was now or never, and every fiber of your being was telling you that this was the place.

“Well okay,” Carisi replied, “then we stay put. The rest of our units are checking out other possible spots he might show tonight, we’ll get him.” He gave you a reassuring smile and reached into the bag by his feat, pulling out a tupperware box.

You had to ask. “How can you be so confident? I mean the Special Victims Unit, you guys do this kind of thing all the time, I’m not sure I could remain as optimistic as you.” He chuckled at that, offering you what looked like home made cannoli from the box as he thought over your question. You thanked him, devouring the sweet treat a little too eagerly, it tasted great and you hadn’t eaten in hours.

“I have faith, without it I don’t know if I’d have been able to do it for as long as I have,” he answered honestly, “what we do makes a difference, protecting those who need it the most and making the world a little safer, you just need to think about the ones you’ve saved, not the ones you haven’t.”

“But these cases... I mean we deal with the worst people, but you deal with the worst of the worst,” you continued. All the cases in Intelligence that stuck with you were like the cases SVU dealt with all the time, but despite the years he’d spent doing these cases, Carisi still had such a light and hope about him.

Antonio was your partner, and friend, you’d take a bullet for him in a heartbeat, but you’d seen what years on the job had done to him. The divorce, the drugs... it weighed on him, you could see it in his eyes. It had obviously occurred to you that Intelligence wasn’t your average unit by any means, but this different perspective was more refreshing that you expected.

“We also catch the worst of the worst, most of the time,” Carisi countered and you grinned. You hadn’t really thought about it like that, helping yourself to some more food. He regarded you for a second before adding: “you haven’t been a detective long have you?”

You shrugged, “couple of years, moved out of uniform as quickly as I could though, barely got the promotion before Voight offered me a spot in his unit.” You thought back to those early days, how excited you’d been to be offered the job, everyone knew about Intelligence and its reputation, you’d jumped at the chance to be a part of the unit and hadn’t looked back since. 

“Give it some time, you’ll find the right mentality you need to process these kinds of cases,” Carisi assured you, eyes flicking back to the deserted, half lit street. You could tell he was just as worried and determined as you were to save Logan, but he also had a calm about him right then that you really wished you could master.

“These are amazing by the way,” you told him, cannoli in hand as you tried to steer the conversation away from the serious edge it had acquired, “did you make them?” 

He smiled, eyes lighting up a little. “Yeah I did, family recipe. I like to make them on long stakeouts, keeps the blood sugar high and the spirits up.”

“Well I am going to have to cozy up to your family then if you all cook like this,” you laughed, thinking about your own family, and then thinking about Logan’s as the laughter died.

“So what about you, you cook?” Carisi asked and you pulled yourself out of your worried thoughts.

“Me? Nah, not so much. I mean, I used to, but I never seem to find the time anymore,” you admitted. Working in Intelligence was pretty demanding, worth it, but still, there was only so much take out a person should eat, and you’d definitely surpassed that limit getting back from work after all those late nights. 

“Order some of your pie pizzas instead?” He teased and you feigned dramatic insult.

“Oh really? You had to go there?” You laughed, “keep your paper pizzas alright, Chicago knows what it’s doing.” Carisi shook his head and you knew it was an argument neither of you would concede, but you’d found yourself getting pretty comfortable in the car. 

“Forgive me if I don’t take the word of someone who only once got a connecting flight through here, have you ever actually had proper New York pizza? Because I’ve had Chicago’s attempt,” he pointed out, causing you to pause with your mouth half open, knowing that you didn’t have anyway to dispute that.

“I- shut up,” you replied like a middle schooler and soon you were both laughing. Carisi was easy to talk to, not just with his clarity about the job, but his welcoming personality too. 

“You should try it before you go back to Chicago, after we wrap this case,” he suggested and you offered a little shrug to say you’d think about it just as another car was driving down the road. 

You were instantly alert as you noticed the car beginning to slow, both you and Carisi switching gears into police mode as the car pulled up outside of the bar. Gotcha.

You waited with bated breath, one hand resting on the handle of your door while the other inched towards your thigh holster. Carisi radioed in a potential sighting, both ready to go at a moments notice as three figures emerged from the car. Two taller, male, the other quite clearly a child. 

While the dimly lit street prevented you both from making a clear ID, the plates on the car matched the ones seen leaving JFK. You and Carisi nodded to each other, this was it. Carisi confirmed the sighting and you were ordered to hold your position unless absolutely necessary, with Voight placing pointed emphasis on your name as he relayed the instructions.

You clenched your jaw, hating waiting as they all went to the entrance of the bar, knocking before being let it. There were other people inside, maybe O’Connell himself. Part of you wanted to go in right now, finish it, but you didn’t know how many people were inside, or how armed they were. Waiting for back up was the only option for now, so you reluctantly sat tight.

“We’ll get him,” Carisi insisted, noticing your tension, just as ready to spring into action as you were.

[buckthegrump]

I’ve Been Trying Hard Not To Talk To You - 3

Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: Y/n hates Bucky Barnes. Absolutely loathes him what makes it worse is that she has to share her office with him. Now with a promotion on the horizon she has to find a way to work with him and not against him.

Warnings: Angst (kind of), it’s an enemies to loves, there’s not fluff in this part

Word Count: 1480

A/n: i love a good car ride scene

Y/n didn’t know how to make it any more clear that she did not want to go on this company team building beach trip. Jill smiled at her earning herself a glare. They were all gathered int the parking lot at 8:30 in the morning because this was a weekend-long thing. Y/n loved both Maria and Phil, but part of her wondered how hard it would be to find another job at a different company that didn’t do weekend-long team-building things.

Everyone was trying to figure out who was driving and who was going in which car. Typically, Y/n would offer to drive, but Carol’s stupid car was taking much longer than it should. Why did she have to be such a good aunt? This would be so much easier if Carol didn’t have Monica to hold over Y/n’s head.

“Hey, boss,” Peter beamed. “You excited for the trip?”

She was forcing herself to be at least civil to him, but goddamn did he have so much fucking energy for this early in the morning.

“You could say that,” she answered. He held out a Starbucks cup. “I can’t drink coffee.”

“It’s a chai latte,” he says. “You don’t drink coffee because of anxiety, right?”

She held back tears (she had the tendency to be a bit dramatic in the mornings). “Peter, someday you are going to make someone very happy.”

He blushed and looked at the ground but didn’t walk away.

“Bucky, can you take Y/n and Peter?” Maria’s voice cut through the fog in Y/n’s brain. “They’re the only ones that still need a ride.”

“Oh, no, no, no, no, no,” Y/n whispered to herself.

“Sure,” Bucky shrugged as if he didn’t hate her. As if they didn’t spend up to eight hours a day getting on each other’s nerves.

Y/n opened her mouth to protest, but then everyone started putting their bags in trunks. She barely registered when Peter offered to take her bag to Bucky’s car. She told him that she could take her own luggage, but Bucky swooped in and grabbed the handles before she could.

“Come on, we don’t want to be late.” Y/n couldn’t tell if he was kidding or not as Bucky led them to the car.

Ten minutes later, they were on the road.

Peter had oh so graciously, let Y/n have shot-gun while he was seated in the back. Bucky, who drove a stick (because of course, he did) set up the music.

Bucky Barnes, who was already devastatingly handsome (in an unfortunate sort of way that made her want to fling herself off a cliff), didn’t need to be any hotter. And that’s where Y/n’s problem was. She had always thought that a man driving was unreasonably hot, especially if they were mostly calm as they drove. 

With any luck, Bucky would have major road rage, and she could switch with someone for the drive home.

The beach was about an hour’s drive. Y/n wondered how hard it would be to fall asleep, but she didn’t know if she could trust Bucky not to find a way to draw on her face or something. Maybe she should have let Peter sit in the front.

Ten minutes into the drive, Bucky dug out his phone from his pocket and handed it to Y/n.

“Can you -” he started.

Without thinking about it, she took it. “Sure. Why is Stark Industries calling you?”

“Ignore it,” Bucky said, rolling his eyes.

“Ya know, if you roll your eyes too much, they’ll get stuck in the back of your head. And that would end up being very boring for you because there’s nothing back there.” Y/n rejected the call. A few seconds later, it started buzzing again. Only this time, the contact read Tony Stark. “Barnes, wh-wh-wh-”

“Is your brain not connected to your mouth right now? What’s going on?” Bucky chuckled.

“Why is the Tony Stark calling you? Why do you have Tony Stark’s number saved in your phone?”

“You know Tony Stark?” Peter spoke in awe.

Bucky ignored all their questions. “Will you answer it and tell him that I’m driving and can’t really talk right now?”

Y/n barked out a laugh. “I’m not answering the phone for the biggest tech genius in America. Do it yourself if you’re such good friends with him.”

Bucky rolled his eyes, again, not heeding Y/n’s warning. He grabbed the phone and answered. “Tony, I can’t really talk right now. . . Because I’m driving. . . I did. Monday morning. . . Bruce said it was fine -”

“Bruce Banner?” Peter asked in a hushed whisper.

“Tony. . . I told you I was busy this weekend. . . Yes, I can come to dinner on Thursday. . . I don’t know why you ask the answer is always no.”

Y/n strained her ears, trying to hear the second half of the conversation. Now she wished she had answered the phone.

Bucky lowered his voice a little. “No, I’m not going to do that. That’s one of the dumbest ideas you’ve ever had. I will see you Thursday.”

Bucky hung up the phone and put it in the cupholder between him and Y/n. The silence lasted all of three seconds before Peter started up again.

“So how well do you know Mr. Stark?” He asked.

“Considering that he just agreed to go to dinner with him on Thursday,” Y/n piped up, “I’d say they were in love.”

“That’s not what -” Bucky sighed. “I know him pretty well, kid. Why?”

“I applied for his internship, but I never got a call back.”

Y/n turned around in her seat and looked at him. “Peter, do you not like working here?” She shot Bucky a quick glare.

“No, it’s not that. I just - I’m more of a science person, and I just took whatever job I could get. This one paid the best, but I was really hoping that I would be able to work in the field that I actually want to go in.”

Y/n turned back around. “Told ya, you should be nicer,” she grumbled.

Bucky didn’t justify that with a response. The rest of the ride happened in silence, but Y/n really wanted to know what had happened Monday morning. Clearly, Bucky had some kind of appointment, which explained why he was so calm when he’d walked in late. She should leave it alone. He was allowed to have his secrets just as she was allowed to have hers.

* * *

Y/n had scolded herself about thirty times in the past twenty minutes. She couldn’t stop watching Bucky drive, because yes, he was very calm as he drove. It was really attractive, and his right hand would rest on the gear shift, and -

Get it together, Y/n. She scolded herself again. If she wouldn’t get car sick, she’d pull out one of the books she’d brought along for the weekend. She was trying to fall into one of her extensive daydreams when an all too familiar tune came out from the car speakers.

Saw your body language, and I know how you feeling. You look like the kind of girl who’s tired of speaking.

She bit back the laugh that was begging to be released. Glancing at the radio, she doubled checked that this was, in fact, his playlist and not the actual radio. She was struggling with whether she should say something or let it slide. Letting it slide was winning because she didn’t want to get kicked out of the car, but god bless Peter Parker.

“You like One Direction?” He asked a little too gleefully.

Y/n waited for Bucky to quickly change the song and grumble about it being on there because of his sister or an ex-girlfriend. But he didn’t.

“I’d be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy some of their songs,” he said simply.

Bucky said it so casually as if that wasn’t a surefire way to set her off. He needed to do something dickish so she could go right back to hating him. Hating him was as easy as breathing. It came naturally. This entire car ride was confusing the fuck out of her, and she didn’t particularly like it.

“Really?” Peter, who was sounding more and more like an excited puppy, asked.

“Yeah, my sister made me listen to them once, and I guess I just didn’t stop.”

Y/n bit the inside of her cheek.

“What?” Bucky asked. It took her a second for her to realize he was talking to her. “Are you gonna sit there and pretend that you don’t like them?”

“No, I just didn’t think that you would admit to liking one direction is all.”

“Well, sunflower, I guess there are still a few things you don’t know about me.”

[luca-moreno]

Operation Asteria (sidebar to x)

---

Kate scans his wrist and smiles when the result comes back clear.

“Well, there you go. You’re all clear to fly, Luca.”

He exhales a sigh of relief. “I’m glad, I need to get off the ship.”

Kate tucks her gear away but the concern in her eyes is hard to miss. Luca almost regrets saying anything. “How are you feeling? After everything that happened?”

“Um, okay I guess. Everyone has been really good about it. And Captain says he’s gonna be dealt with. So…” Luca shrugs.

“Well, I’m working on a solution for your aids but it’s going to take me a little time to pull it together.”

“That phoenix tech you were talking about last time?”

“Yes, it seems Huntsman’s other half is onboard and he was always the brains behind this little operation,” she gestures around at her small lab. “If anyone can help, it will be him.”

“But I’m okay to go now, right? You fixed them?”

“It’s a short term fix, but yes, it’s enough to get you out of trouble. Go enjoy yourself. Bring me back something fun.”

Luca chuckles. “You’ll have to be more specific, Doc. Fun can mean a lot of different things to different people. What if I bring back the wrong thing?”

Her eyes narrow playfully. “Just make sure it’s not something I can’t fix.”

--

It’s a smooth flight, without any drama and Luca knows he’s nailed all the necessary maneuvers needed for a seamless docking, but as soon as the clamps hiss and settle into place on the dock, he breathes a sigh of relief anyway.

He’s the last one to leave the shuttle, hoisting on his pack and stepping down the ramp. The planet’s gravity pulls on him, and his pack feels far heavier than it should. And above them, it’s wide, open, terrifying sky and that doesn’t even begin to include the multitude of scents and smells that assault his senses. He pauses halfway down, taking in a deep breath to steel himself but his tiny crisis must play too vividly across his face because suddenly Eva is at his side.

“Are you alright, Luca?”

Luca blinks his eyes open and squints at her with a rueful smile as he adjusts the pack on his back and pats his pockets. He only brought Neebo today, and only under duress. Marie had been clear that they weren’t expecting trouble but there’s no reason to assume it wouldn’t come looking for them.

“Yeah, just… takes a minute to adjust I guess. Gravity’s a bitch. The real stuff, I mean.”

“You’ll be fine,” Eva chuckles lightly and loops her arm through his as she leads him the rest of the way off the ramp and towards the others. “Come on, Captain is waiting.”

--

Luca keeps half an eye on Isaac and Eva as they wander further away through the market stalls, switching to tracking them on his omnitool’s systems when they disappear from sight. He didn’t want to get too close to them, knowing how rare this time alone for them would be. Well, as alone as they could be in the crush of the marketplace throng.

He’s jostled by a large, dark skinned human man and a cranky asari as he tries to tuck himself away from the flow of the crowd and into the side of the soup stall. Ben seems to be arguing with the vendor about what he wants but Luca had taken one look what seemed suspiciously like an eyeball floating and decided he wasn’t hungry.

Instead he powers up his omnitool and scans the ‘shopping lists’ Harris and Davis had both slid him that morning in the mess and laughs at the blinking, late notice addendum from the commander: Find me chocolate and you’ll get a promotion.

He probably could, he thinks to himself.There was a lot about this place that reminded him uncomfortably of Kithoi, where anything could be found and bought and traded for a price. Maybe that’s what it was that was muting his excitement too much - memories of being small and hungry and worried every moment he turned around that c-sec were about to haul him back to his father for another beating.

He shakes that off and looks around, eying the asari and her booth of loose parts across the aisle and decides to take his chances. She scans her eyes over his armor, but the hostility he half expects isn’t there. He supposes she’ll tolerate him if he has the credits.

He rummages through the pile of parts on the table and she watches him with shrewd eyes.

“What are you looking for exactly, Alliance?”

Luca cuts straight to the chase.

“I need a triolic charge drive plates, chroniton splitter, iridium alloy caesium ramscoop and glob bio-tubing, depolarized of course. Got any of those?”

“If you have the credits, I have everything.”

“Here? Right now?” Luca narrows his eyes. Sometimes the definition of having something varied greatly. And sometimes ’having it’ meant it was actually in transit somewhere in a distant solar system.

The asari seems amused by that. “I have a warehouse by the docks. But you’re not really here for that, are you?”

He looks at her sharply, wondering what exactly she means by that. “Excuse me?”

She leans in. “What’s the Alliance doing here, and with Cerberus in tow?”

She jerks her head over his shoulder and Luca knows instantly she means Ben. “Gonna go kill some reapers,” he says with more bravado than he feels. Something prickles at the back of his mind but he pushes it aside. “Can you help with the parts or not?”

“Of course I can.”

Luca pauses. “And… what about information?”

Her eyes glitter. “What are you looking for, human?”

“Not what. Who. I... I want to find my brother.”

[coffee-n-bagels-comic-universe]

January 3rd or One's Beginning is another's end (Daughters of Darkness)

This passage contains potentially: Explicit Language, Depictions of Violence (including mentions of blood), Smoking, Slang and maybe some bad translations.

Summary: An introduction to the world of the Daughters of Darkness, through the eyes of series protagonist Kirby 'Gluttony' Lucifarian. The first day and night, from her perspective, of them working for the WWF.

Kirby's POV:

Tuesday. The first day of being 'on the job', Tuesday the third of January 1984. Damien got us into the WWF. … Damien, managed to get us into the quickest rising wrestling promotion, popularity wise. To be honest with you, Damien's given us free reign to get to know people, for now. I don't know anyone here. I've heard of people here, such as the most famous giant in the world, and … Hogan.

I'm not here because I earned it, I'm here because I'm a necessity for the team. That's how I view it. That's how I've always viewed it. Vickie needed someone to make fun of and, well, I'm the easiest choice. Then, in the midst of a darker path of thought becoming clearer in my mind...

WHAM

Both me and the figure I waltzed into thudded to the floor, "Oh, my good lord. I'm so sorry are you o..."

I looked at the figure before me, taking in how much trouble I had created in the last three seconds.

Taller than myself.

Head covered by a wild afro.

Around double my weight.

André.

André the giant.

Flat on his arse … because of me.

Oh … Shit.

"Are you alright, Mademoiselle…"

I could tell he was searching for a name but didn't know it. Too frightened to even speak I glanced away. I noticed his shadow move.

"Mademoiselle?"

His footsteps came closer, he sounded … worried, as if he didn't want me to get fired for this.

"Mademoiselle?"

He picked me up, not off the ground, but so I could stand. I whispered out a small 'thank you', or rather 'merci'. His hands still on my shoulders, he smiled sweetly and nodded, as if to beckon forth more words from me.

"I'm Kirby, or rather, Gluttony. I'm new around here."

André grinned, putting his arm around my shoulder, pulling me closer before stopping upon seeing how much taller than every other woman in the company I am.

"Are you, uh …" he searched for the words

"A giant, yes, technically a giantess."

I feel I should summarise the next hour or so, but, André took me on a tour of the backstage area and we talked, about everything. Within an hour I had gained a new friend, a genuine friend, someone who didn't care about my height or looks. I know the only reason he didn't care is because he knows what it's like to be stared at just because you aren't 'normal'.

By the time André's tour had ended it was time for Vickie and Damien's interview with Mean Gene, which I was to attend. I said a goodbye to André and rushed off to perform my usual role.

The Enforcer, or rather, the intimidation device, that's my role in this group, to scare people, that's all I do. Before joining the group I was part of another group back in England, The Celtic Warriors, I was part of a championship winning tag team. Now what am I, a damned intimidation device, a human scare tactic.

The Interview:

Gene's first question for us, actually, Damien and Vickie (whilst I stood behind them and looked 'menacing'), was 'How are you doing so far?'

Damien began, "You know something, Gene, my girls have yet to have a match, but we are doing absolutely fine. In shape, ready to rock, ready to roll. Gene, every one of the Daughters of Darkness are doing fine."

Vickie followed suit, "Just look at us," She gestured to me and then herself, "Don't we look marvellous, Gene."

Gene smirked, "You could say that again, miss?"

"Pride, though you can call me Vickie."

Damien glared at the smaller man, almost as if he was daring him to try and flirt with her.

Gene readjusted and focused in on the prospect of new women in the WWF and the possibility of more matches. "Uh hum, yes, now how soon do you girls think you'll be seeing a match on the cards?"

"Soon, Gene, Soon." Vickie stated, ending the interview by walking off.

The first night after 'work' was surprisingly normal, Damien and Vickie went off in their rental car, taking Holly and Eli with them whilst the rest of us stood around backstage for a while.

Billie brought a pack of cigarettes and a lighter out of her purse, lighting one up and walking over to me, sitting down on a box placed near by and blowing the smoke away from me she spoke up.

"What's up with you, Tall-ass."

"Thinking."

"Dangerous pastime hermana."

"I know, hermana"

"You collect phrases, don' cha?"

"They may come in handy, Billie, one day."

"You going to the gym tomorrow?"

"Of course. Gotta train. Gotta … gotta settle in somehow, right?"

"Right, mi hermana, I'll see you around, alright?"

"See ya, Billie."

She waved back at me as she walked away.

Billie was the only person who knew that I 'collected' those little phrases that seem like nothing until spoken. Language isn't my strongest aspect, more often than not I'm silent and I try to avoid other peo-

"Hey! watch where you're walking man!" I yelped out, shocked back into the present moment. Instantly regret flooded my mind as I realised who had barged past me to get out of the building.

Big John Studd.

One of the most disrespectful 'giants' in the world of wrestling. famous for being the one man who pisses André off more than anyone else, including the Iron Sheik.

He sneered back a quick, "Who gives a fuck." and continued to stroll away.

That … that fuckwit. Who does he think he is. I felt a gentle hand place itself on my shoulder. I turned, expecting to see Eli or P.G, I was face to, well, chin with André.

"Forget about him," He started, with that same sweet, friendly smile from earlier, "Damien said you may need a ride back to the hotel. I don't recommend you walk back now, too dark out for a young lady such as yourself."

The way his R sounds turned into faint W's and he missed off or faintly implied H's was calming. Almost in the same way that hearing a parents voice would calm a child after a nightmare.

"Oh, uh, it's okay André, I was going to get a taxi."

He nodded in response, somehow both downhearted and curious, as if he knew that I was either lying to him or if I did get a taxi, the immense pain my back would be in the following day. André sauntered off, leaving me, once again by myself.

I don't mind being alone, in fact most of my life I have been alone, always the outcast, it was only when I got into wrestling that it started to change.

I picked up my bag and started walking, buttoning up my shirt up to the top of my chest, my near-neon orange shirt covering down to my mid-forearm, hiding any noticeable tattoos, except the one on my wrist, when I turned eighteen, I got a small, runic 'R' on my right wrist, in remembrance of my uncle Rory, the tallest of my dad's brothers.

It took about an hour to get to the hotel, an hour of walking through a city I'm not familiar with, when I eventually got to the hotel I went straight to my room and locked myself in. All alone, I could practice or train if I wanted, so I did.

I took off my black shirt, shoes and belt and I stood in the middle of the hotel room and practiced punching, then I switched to doing my warmups and working out, push-ups, planks, squats. By the time I finished it must've been around midnight, maybe one or two am. I got some sleep, waking up at six, getting changed into some fresh workout gear and headed straight to the gym.

You meet all sorts of characters at a gym, or so I've been told. Back in England I would go to my parents house and use our home-made gym to work out. Not an option that I have anymore, however, the moment I got into the gym, I felt like I was in a whole new world, as if I was just getting into the business all over again. I scanned for any faces that I knew, Mr Fuji, Tonga Kid, Sgt Slaughter, Don Muraco, Lou Albano, Iron Sheik, Freddie Blassie, Tito Santana, Jimmy Snuka, Bob Backlund, Gene and Pat, David Schultz, and … who is that?

I walked over to David and this mystery guy, nodding at David and heading to the heavy bag next to them.

"Mornin' Gluttony, André's been talkin' about ya."

"Oh really, Mr Schultz?" I tried to keep my breath noises to a minimum as I continued to hit the bag.

The mystery guy snickered, quickly shutting up after Schultz glared at him.

"C'mon girl, you know you can call me David. An' yeah," He stopped punching and instead leaned on the heavy bag in front of him, forcing the other guy to hold it still "Giant's been talking about him havin' a new friend and how much he likes ya."

"He's a good man, it's good to have friends in new places. Who's your pal, David?"

He smiled and slung his arm around the shorter man, "This here, this is Roddy Piper. He's like you."

I tilted my head slightly to try and make him explain further.

"You are Scottish, right?"

"I'm a quarter Scottish. Anyway, Piper, Do you speak Gaelic?"

"Uh, no, I can play the bagpipes however." his eyes lit up slightly, a sort of mad fire behind a haze of brown or maybe dark blue.

"Well, I'll see you around I guess, I've gotta warm up for later though."

I tried to block the two men out and focus on my own workout but Piper seemed to stick around a lot longer than David. He was still there when my workout ended.

"What do you want?"

"You're a quarter Scottish, you're also a giant. How do you fight? Show me." He seemed to get more energetic the more he talked.

"Right now?"

He nodded, "Right now, c'mon."

He led me to a ring that some other wrestlers were using to brush up their skills.

From the looks of the ring, it was actually used for boxing.

Roddy entered the ring the same way as most six-foot-two guys did, through the top and middle ropes. I tested the ropes, and seeing that they had just enough slack, used them to jump over the top rope.

"I've never seen a girl do that before."

"Mistake number one, I'm a woman, not a girl. Mistake number two, you expected a giant to be normal."

He scoffed out a laugh and got ready to lock up.

We locked up and Piper hit me with a knee to the stomach.

I got him back with an Irish whip into the corner, accidentally winding him by being too stiff.

"You're gonna pay for that, lass." He snarled out, already getting pissed off.

I sized him up, trying to see how high I would have to get myself in order to dropkick him to the mat.

Piper tried to hit me with a running high knee strike but I countered with a dropkick, taking us both down to the mat and slamming my face into the mat.

The mat was a lot harder than I was used to, it felt like I had rammed my head straight into a cinderblock, I started breathing heavier than before.

I rolled over and put my arms up, making an 'X' with my forearms. Piper stopped and walked over.

"You alright?"

I shook my head.

He knelt down and pulled me up into a sitting position.

I hesitated, knowing I had to take my mask off to see what was wrong but truly not wanting to. Piper managed to unbuckle the straps of my mask and winced as he saw what was underneath. My mind went slightly mad not knowing if he was wincing at the injury I had caused myself or the fact that, compared to the rest of the D.O.D, I'm truly the worst looking, beauty-wise, that is.

Hitting my mouth so hard on the canvas of the mat below us, I had managed to hit my mask in a way that the bottom edge, which curved under my chin, cut into my flesh and made me bleed.

I put my hand up to the cut and Piper quickly held my arm by the wrist and shook his head, "Don't you dare."

By the time I received medical aid, which consisted of cleaning the cut and putting a band-aid on it, Piper had given me back my mask and asked if he could work out with me sometime. Knowing that he was currently on a different show, I said sure and we had split ways.

END OF ONE'S BEGINNING IS ANOTHER'S END / JANUARY 3RD

[oikawa-tuwu]

Porch (gn!Reader x Kuroo)

Rated G, 1.6k words

Not Home for the Holidays Masterlist

"Have you ever made a snowman?"

It’s ten in the morning, and you are starting to get concerned.

There he is again, that man, lingering in front of the bay window facing the front lawn, gazing wistfully at the falling snow.

How long has he been there? Since breakfast, at least. Was he there last night, too? Watching those first flakes fall, dusting everything with a little bit of soft white powder. Either way, the man doesn’t look like he plans on moving anytime soon.

And, yeah, maybe there isn’t much to do otherwise. Most of the attractions of the local town were more summer-based, so many of your guests this time of year are just looking for an escape from their regular life, an excuse to do nothing and watch the snow fall. Writers on a retreat, hoping for a strike of inspiration for their next project. Business-men, on the search for a cheap escape from city life. People looking to spend the holidays somewhere that wasn’t their cold, empty apartments.

Still, watching that man sit, frozen,  entranced by the snow outside, was definitely starting to get concerning.

 Whatever. You have chores to do.

 And then the man moved.

That  was the last straw. A couple hours later, when you pass through the entryway, from the stairs to the sitting room to take a break, you notice the man is gone. After a glance outside the windows, you spot him on the porch. Outside. In the freezing cold winter weather.

You watch him for a second, as he leans against the porch railing, still staring at the falling snow.

With a resigned sigh, you reach for your jacket and boots, and follow him outside.

“Hi,” you say, as you sidle up next to him. “Kuroo, right?”

“Yeah,” he answers, but he sounds a little surprised to see you there. “And you… work here at the bed and breakfast?”

“I  own the bed and breakfast,” you correct. “The name’s Y/n.”

“Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise.”

It’s quiet for a moment. Peaceful, as you both watch your breath in the chilly air. However, you're thinking, trying desperately to perfectly enunciate the worries on your mind, but there’s no subtle way to inquire if your guest is doing alright, mentally, without sounding abrasive or like you're trying to be an armchair psychologist. Maybe you should just come right out and ask it? Hey, guest of mine, how's it going in that head of yours?

But, before you can, Kuroo murmurs, quietly, “Picture perfect snow. It looks like the opening to a Hallmark movie.”

“Or a horror movie,” you suggest instead, and Kuroo laughs. “A body, murdered in the study, with a blanket undisturbed fresh snow surrounding the isolated bed and breakfast.”

Kuroo, gleefully playing along, gasps, dramatically, “The murderer is one of the guests! Harrowing!”

“A real Agatha Christie.”

Kuroo laughs again. Not a polite laugh to ease the tension or to acknowledge the effort of the joke without condoning it either, but a full-blown, mirthy laugh, uncontained and a little on the side of  cackle-y.

With some of the tension in the air cleared by humor, you find it a little bit easily to ask the question. “Is there a… particular reason you’re out here alone, rather than warming up by the fireplace?”

Kuroo doesn’t answer immediately, just stares out into the white expanse for a couple more seconds. Finally, he asks, “Have you ever made a snowman?”

That definitely wasn't what you expected him to say, but you nod your head anyways. “When I was a kid. Have you not?”

“No,” he says, eyes still on the falling snow. “My sister’s a lot older, so she never wanted to do stuff like that with me, and Kenma… well, Kenma doesn’t like going outside.”

“This Kenma sounds like a smart person.”

“He is,” Kuroo agrees, wholeheartedly. “Smarter than me at least.”

And there it is again, that flash of just a little bit of sadness, a little bit of gloom in the corner of his eye. Kuroo’s frowning, not with his lips, which are still in a polite narrow smile, but with his eyes, and the expression makes you frown.

It’s the holidays! Your guests can’t be sad! What kind of host would you be if you let him mope around about a missed childhood?

“Well,” you say, before you can think otherwise, “Do you want to build a snowman?”

Kuroo laughs, but quickly realizes that you  aren’t  laughing  , and he gapes at you. “Oh, you were serious!”

You shrug. “Why not?”

“Because,” Kuroo starts, but it takes him a second to figure out an actual excuse. “Don’t you have things to do?”

“I just have to cook dinner. That gives us a couple hours to act like children again.”

Kuroo frowns, for real this time, and you can see the gears grinding in his brain, as he thinks, processes, argues between the two options. It’s a painfully long process, and your fingers twitch with anticipation at his response. 

“Let’s do it,” Kuroo finally says, and you see that little frown break out into a full-fledged grin, one so infectious that you feel  yourself starting to grin and then both of you are bounding as quickly as you can down the porch stairs without slipping on the ice, giggling as you start to gather the snow.

It’s been a while since you’ve done this, to say the least, so it takes a few minutes to re-acquaint yourself with the snow. Forming a little ball of snow in your gloved hands, you slowly start to roll it, gathering more and more of the white powder.

Kuroo is a quick learner, apparently, because after only a few minutes of watching you work, he’s started on his own, talking as he works.

It’s a little bit of a struggle to keep a conversation going, as most of your brain is focused on making the best snowman body ever and trying to ignore the cold biting into your nose and cheeks, but the both of you make it work.

Gradually, you learn about him. You learn that he’s a sports promoter that used to play volleyball, and his childhood best friend’s name is Kenma. You learn his favorite food is fish and he wanted to be a doctor until his first year of college when he switched majors, and you learn the reason why he’s spending the holidays alone at a bed and breakfast, hundreds of miles away from Tokyo.

“My family went on vacation abroad,” he says, as he leans against his sizable snowball, taking a much needed rest from your hard work. “I couldn’t go because of work, and Kenma is visiting his friend in Rio.” He shrugs, trying to appear more nonchalant about it than he clearly feels. “I didn’t want to intrude on the holidays of any of my other friends and their families.”

“I’m sure they wouldn’t see it as intruding,” you say, gently. “But, of course, you’re welcome to spend them here instead, if you would like. It’s probably not preferable to family or friends, but…”

“Who says spending the holidays with you isn’t preferable?” Kuroo asks, with a grin that makes your heart skip a beat.

What was that about a Hallmark movie?

Your snowman is done much quicker than you expected. Much quicker than you liked.

Kuroo, before you can even offer, assembles the snowman for you, grunting and heaving as he places his artfully-crafted snowball head on the torso. It’s a little crooked, and, in all honesty, a little pathetic, but you both smile at it.

“Wait,” you say, remembering the bag of carrots in the back of the vegetable drawer. “I’ll be right back.”

You’re certain that you’re tracking snow through the house, but it's fine, you’ll mop later.  This is more important right now. In just a few moments, you have a carrot clutched in your hands, and you skid to a pause in front of the coat closet by the front door. Thankfully, you find a forgotten scarf from two seasons ago, and the hat you keep in there just in case of an emergency bad hair day, and bound down the porch steps towards Kuroo.

“Ta-da!” you announce, raising the accessories (and one carrot) like a hard-won trophy. “Would you like to do the honors?”

With you bracing the back of the head, Kuroo gladly sticks in the makeshift nose, and both of you are full-on giggling as you put on the hat and wrap the scarf around the snowman’s nonexistent neck.

You step back together, simultaneously, admiring your collective handiwork. Kuroo snaps a picture.

“He’s beautiful,” you say.

“Truly a masterpiece,” Kuroo agrees. "Who knew that the two of us could make such a beautiful son?"

You glance over at him, and he glances over to you, and then both of you are laughing again, laughing so hard your stomach hurts and you're wheezing, and just as you have the brief passing thought that you can’t remember the last time a single person has made you laugh this much in a couple hours, Kuroo’s phone rings.

He stops laughing, but still smiles when he reads the caller ID, sending an apologetic glance your way as he answers the phone.

“Hey Kenma,” he says into the phone. “Did you like the snowman? Well, that’s not very nice. We worked hard on him, you know.”

You snicker, which makes him snicker, but the expression fades as he listens to the voice on the other end of the phone.

“Yeah, I’m done with work for now, but I have to be back in Tokyo on the first. No, no, save your money. Okay,  show-off . Truly Kenma, I’m okay here. Have fun with Shoyou.”

Kenma, on the other line, says something, but it's quiet and unintelligible. Kuroo cheeks, already flushed from the cold wind, blush a little more.

“I’m hanging up now,” Kuroo says. “Don't forget to get me a souvenir."

Kuroo laughs at something to quiet for you to hear, and hangs up, tucking his phone back into his pocket.

“You're not going to Rio too?”

“Nah,” Kuroo says, shrugging nonchalantly. You note, with a little satisfaction, that sad look in his eyes is gone, replaced with a bright grin. “I think I’ll be plenty at home here.”

Happy Hanukkah!! Thanks for reading, I hope yall have a great week. See you on 12/15 for Kiyoko's!

[arabrot]

Who Do You Love by John Doran

Who Do You Love?

We drove 5,000 miles of barbed wire.

You’d think that by travelling that distance around a country you could get the measure of it. Especially if the country was only 361 miles from top to bottom and even less from East to West. You’d be thinking reasonably but not accurately.

Despite journeying the equivalent of one fifth of the circumference of the entire Earth in 31 days, all we got to see was the road itself. England endless. What we experienced was just a percentage of a splodge, a smidge of a blotch on the coastal fringe of Europe that deserved neither the sobriquet Great, nor the title United. How did such a small area of land contain such extravagant lengths of major road? In the same way that a human body could house a tapeworm 33 metres long. Probably not comfortably but hopefully not fatally either. Undoubtedly, in May 2015 - general election month - England had beauty to spare: it’s just that none of it was visible from the motorway.

We met on the forecourt of a petrol station near an airport. Heat haze was already starting to rise from the tarmac. The Driver was dressed immaculately in a tight-fitting black suit, shades and wide-brimmed black hat. His concession to non-monochromatic decoration was silver chains carrying cocks and crosses. He looked like Asa Hawkes, the “blind” preacher from Flannery O’Connor’s Wise Blood - but much thinner. He tipped the brim of his hat hello. This was not his stage hat but his everyday hat. His stage hat, the kind of prairie Stetson featured in the opening scene of Holy Mountain was massive and kept in the kind of box that suggested it was an essential part of a drum kit. It had its own carefully allotted slot in the back of the van with the tons of amplifiers, speaker cabinets, guitars, synthesizers, boxes of books, suitcases full of clothes and bags and bags of oranges we were taking with us. There was only one way to fit all of this stuff into the vehicle, and packing it correctly was like 3-D Tetris. All it took was one giant, impractical hat in the wrong place and then everything had to be taken out again and reloaded in the correct position.

He was the colour of milk, which made the angry red scars up either side of his neck all the more vivid. He looked like the missing link between human being and some future race of Lovecraftian eel-men who would be able to breathe via gills under water.

As well as me and the Driver, there was the Passenger. She looked more like she had stepped straight from the set of Bladerunner than a Jodorowsky or John Huston movie. This was to be their last tour as boyfriend and girlfriend as they were headed straight to a deconsecrated church in rural Sweden to get married as soon as the trip ended. I was merely a temporary guest in their world. A road voyeur with a month long pass.

Within minutes of setting off we hit the M25 we became enmeshed in May Day traffic. I realised that most of the month was going to be spent looking at slow moving traffic on motorways.

But just as driving to Brighton was slow and painful, leaving it the next day was a dream. On the motorway, time stretched and contracted simultaneously in temporal doppler effect. The days seemed longer but time blistered, popped and broke apart pleasantly as the brain switched down a few gears into a near pure experiential mode. There was little to worry about. All I could do was count the pylons and pretend I had a flamethrower to aim at UKIP billboards and hoardings; to luxuriate in motorway sign typography and listen to Maggot Brain as loud as it would go. Miles Davis’ Agharta was the soundtrack to us speeding out of the south up the M1 towards the Rainy City. Al Foster’s ringing, open hi-hat was our fuel. And then it was nothing but John Coltrane, Electric Wizard and NOMEANSNO until we reached our destination. It started raining the second we hit Stoke. And then before long we were on the Mancunian Way heading for Piccadilly in torrential rain, parking the van under a tangle of flyovers. When I planned this jaunt it was a thing of beauty. I took an AA road map and unfolded it until it covered half the floor space in my tiny living room. I took a sheet of stickers from my son’s Thomas The Tank Engine magazine and created a spiral of towns and cities, first round the edges near the coast and then spiraling in toward the centre. Our proposed journey looked like an occult temporal and spatial message only discernable from the god perspective. What I planned was a perfect thing. But after you plan your perfect thing what happens is this: promoters start phoning you up or emailing you. ‘We’ve double booked you with a Stereophonics tribute act’; ‘There’s actually a bar mitzvah on that day’; ‘It’s Record Store Day.’ And then the perfect thing falls to pieces. By the time we hit the road the perfect thing looked like that terrifying film of a spider on LSD trying to spin a web. And there was only one thing worse than a spider on LSD trying to spin a web and that was a spider on caffeine trying to spin a web.

We stopped for several coffees en route to Sunderland the next day. The weather was beautiful. Fields of golden rape seed glowed under a blue sky. But I gave up counting the UKIP billboards. There were just too many. The purple pound signs zipped past in a blur. We’d been on the road for five days and I hadn’t seen a single sign for Labour. It was almost a relief when we passed a huge hoarding in an arable field next to a broken tractor which proclaimed: “Prepare to meet your Lord!” We pulled in soon after to stretch our legs in front of a petrol station that shared a forecourt with a sex shop wrapped in a large tarpaulin hoarding, proclaiming: “Under new management!” Next door was a garden centre flying a row of ten confederate flags and two Union Jacks. There was a knackered and rusty jet stream caravan serving up plastic cups of filter coffee.

It became clear early on that the Travelodge was our friend. Every Travelodge the Driver, the Passenger and I shared was identical. A family room. One double bed, one fold out couch bed, minimal decoration, very interesting mass produced art, scant furniture, tea making facilities and a portable telly, often chained to the wall. The Travelodge may have had less furniture in it than the average bail hostel and may sometimes have smelled like a suburban pet shop from 1984 but it was totally fine as we were low ranking touring musicians and writers, not visiting dignitaries from Saudi Arabia.

After Leeds, our Travelodge was situated in a motorway retail park so the following morning we walked just a few hundred yards to the Toby Carvery for breakfast. Pushing open the double swing doors we were confronted by a man in stained chef’s whites, with hair pushed under a light blue plastic turban crowning a jowly and crimson face. He was methodically and noisily applying a large cleaver to a foot long cylindrical sharpening steel with a schnick-schnick sound.

“Hello!” said the Driver cheerfully. “Are you Toby?”

The chef looked up slowly and a pendulous and translucent bead of sweat swayed under his nose. His eyes were like drill holes in gammon. Bruised udders of flesh were hanging below each of his nicotine-stained ocular orbs. He was possibly the most hungover man I had ever seen. He jawed away silently, his eyes flickering dully with rage as he started straightening up. The BPM of metal on metal increased. The three of us circled round him gingerly and headed rapidly for the breakfast counter past tables rammed full of people who looked like they were about to die. I had never seen so many morbidly obese people in one place at one time. It was like God’s waiting room with unlimited fried egg.

Oh England, you are sick.

It was only £5 per head and you could eat as much as you wanted but the choice was only bacon, sausages, roast potatoes, black pudding, fried egg, fried bread, beans and mushrooms. The thrill of the open road. Unlimited roast potatoes and bacon for breakfast.

(We spent just one night at the supposedly more upmarket Premier Inn, and it was relatively more luxurious but due to its incomprehensible automated reception machine, it took us an hour and a long conversation with two angry Premier Inn employees to gain access to our room. “Getting into this hotel was like the opening scene from a new episode of Black Mirror”, said the Driver, a recent convert to the show. “There’s nothing like waking up in some shitty English town, before eating some shitty English breakfast before driving slowly down some shitty English motorway for 12 hours before loading into some shitty English venue and playing a shitty gig to ten people before going to some shitty Travelodge just to watch a really well made English TV series which explains to you exactly why everything is so fucked”, he told me gleefully.)

Any hotel room was actually very much like home as long as you had a laptop, a handful of Nick Cave CDs, some Right Guard and a copy of Threads on DVD, which happened to be the exact contents of my overnight hotel bag.

Waking up in another identical Travelodge on another identical Motorway retail park the next day I realised finally that this was literally the worst place for a writer to be during general election month. Nowhere had wifi that worked. It was like being in a bubble of ignorance for 31 days. We had to choose these parks to minimise the chances of the splitter van getting stolen with all of our gear inside it. Every Travelodge we stayed in was essentially the same, surrounded by a handful of other outlets - a Toby Carvery or a Harvester or, if you were really unlucky, both of them. Then maybe also a Costa, a Boots and an Esso petrol station as well. They were all accessible from a motorway roundabout that wasn’t really near anything other than either an airport, a prison or an industrial estate. A vague hangover from reading JG Ballard as a schoolboy led me to believe that there would be some kind of mind-expanding nourishment to be had from this aspect of the venture but these motorway retail parks were all identical. They were the most co-opted and least free spaces of all.

After breakfast, outside, sitting on a wall drinking a cup of tea in the sunshine, I looked intently at a semicircle of rooks surrounding a single bird of their own kind. They were slowly advancing in toward it. The bird in the middle was stock still and not moving. It didn’t look like a friendly encounter. The Driver and the Passenger came out and joined me. The parliament were just about to attack the accused in order to peck it to death but just as the corvine jury bore down, they were disturbed by a loud noise from above. The Red Arrows flew over the Travelodge in formation causing them to scatter ��It felt almost as if the Driver existed in a bubble of weird, uncanny, apocalyptic and esoteric events that moved with him wherever he roved. But it was also as if he barely noticed any of them. I stood pointing at the sky.

“Yes, yes” he snapped irritably as if he was sick of seeing this kind of thing. “Let’s get in the van and get off otherwise we won’t get to Digbeth in time.”

That night I dreamt that the solid iron core of the Earth was about to slough us all off until the planet stood raw and bleeding in space, just roiling magma with no skin to contain it. The utter indignity of being born between waves, the scions of a pusillanimous age we were all about to be cast into the void with the filthy scab of a country we called England. A flat and unmagical land. A depressing and tawdry place. When I opened my eyes Toby was stood in the corner of the room, sharpening his cleaver, schnick, schnick, schnick, schnick. Empty eye sockets carved out of rancid, fly-blown gammon.  

“We have to stop eating lunch at the Harvester!” I sprang out of my fold out bed and shouted at the Driver and the Passenger, waking them from their sleep. “The full rack of ribs is fucking killing me!”

Fuck the Harvester. Fuck Toby Carvery. All of the clothes that were hanging off me on May 1 were now snug and it was only May 12. My ears were ringing with the premonition of some future blue cheese dressing related pulmonary event.

It was easy to see how ruinous life on the road could be, even when you didn’t drink or do drugs. I felt sorry for younger bands who felt they had to go out partying every night after shows. After a couple of weeks it must end up hellish.

The road to Hull was paved with UKIP signs. Only Necrosis by Cadaver played at ear disrespecting volumes kept us sane. It was dark as we drove into town and ghosts lined Ferensway waiting to greet me. The cinema where I’d had my first date in town, the pair of us just turned 18 - watching Shirley Valentine no less, saying, “Imagine being that old” about Pauline Collins and Bernard Hill - was now a bingo hall. The war memorial that I regularly drank sherry in front of on a bench. The Welly nightclub where I saw a punter swan dive off a balcony and go headfirst through the corner of a formica table. When they took him out on a stretcher there was a blanket pulled up over his face. And then down past my old house on De Grey Street and into the car park of the Adelphi. And then the ghosts waved us back out of town.

The drive to Great Yarmouth was gruelling and 13-hours long because of traffic - we got stuck behind no less than three serious road accidents. Bodies strewn across baking tarmac. Bloodied travellers weeping in incomprehension at the hard shoulder. Slow moving the traffic might have been but at least we had plenty of long albums to listen to. Just like a mattress in a shared student house or the narrative flow of the Bayeux Tapestry - Kendrick Lamar’s To Pimp A Butterfly sagged in the middle but it was very, very long, making it ideal for the van.

Eight hours later, after the show, we flew down the A47 unimpeded like we were clinging to a rocket, listening to Slayer albums sequentially at full volume, gabbling like a bunch of four-year-olds as we went. By the last day, I felt like I was about to die and constantly on the verge of tears. I didn’t want it to end. It was the best of times. It was the worst of times. It was the worst of times. It was genuinely the worst of all times. And yet I’d crawl over broken glass to be able to do it all again right now.

You know, if you really want to get the measure of a country don’t drive round it. Take a train or walk. Maybe buy a bicycle or a skateboard or something.

We drove 5,000 miles of barbed wire and parked the splitter van by the roadside.

John Doran, Bangkok, Thailand, December 2017

[generalfoolish]

We Go Together

Chapter Six: Answers

Rating: Mature (18+)

Summary: A couple of rained in lonely pilots get after it.

A/N: Here it is babes! Sex! Warnings: oral fem receiving/oral male receiving/smut/nothing too crazy

Chapter 5 | Chapter 7

In a moment, Poe had crossed the distance and pulled her in close. He looked in her eyes, and she tore her eyes away from his lop-sided grin to meet his.

“Remember what I said earlier? Forget it.” Then his mouth was on hers: hot and hungry. She moaned deeply into the kiss, all the frustration from earlier coming out at once. She moved against him, deepening the kiss and meeting his tongue. They stumbled back to the bed, a fit of laughter flying from her lips, which were quickly captured in another kiss. She felt the weight of his hands slipping under her shirt, and she ran her hands through his hair roughly, tugging a bit as she went. He moaned with each pull, and traced hot kisses up and down her neck, lightly grazing with his teeth when he hit her sensitive spots. She unbuttoned his shirt, and let her hands roam up and down his chest and stomach, only barely stopping at the fuzz of hair at his belt. He pulled the shirt off of his shoulders, and all at once tugged hers off. Then his hands were on her again, pulling her bra off, mouth lazily kissing her breasts, tongue swirling her nipples, teeth grazing the sensitive skin. Dary could hardly breath, but managed to whimper his name. She felt him grin around her, and start a quick path down her stomach to her pants.

“I have a better idea,” She told him, confident from the moans she had already caused. “On your back, General.” She commanded him, stifling a giggle. He stopped his downward path and met her eyes with his own, she noticed how dark they were, how hungry. He hesitated, and she pushed him over. She stood up quickly, and pushed her pants down, revealing herself completely. His darkened gaze explored her, and then she was undoing his pants. The activity distracting her from her bold move. She gasped softly at him when she had the pants off. He was well endowed, and she couldn’t wait any longer. She quickly climbed over him and pulled his entirety in her mouth. He moaned loudly at the warmth of her mouth. She lazily pulled him out, a soft pop, and teased his head with her tongue. She rubbed her hand up and down his shaft, working his head, before easing him back down her throat. When his head hit the back of her throat, he let out a groan, and she felt him shudder under her. She pulled him out again, and worked the shaft more with her hand, rolling in easy, slow circles. She savored each moan and stutter and whisper of her name or expletive, and soon had worked him to climax. She felt his balls tighten in her hand, the vein pulse under her tongue and the force of his cum hit her throat. Eagerly, she swallowed him down, and kissed his hip bones before lying down beside him.

“T-that was…” He smiled, exhausted, and turned to her, giving her a lazy kiss.

“Well, I know you were stressed before. Thought this might help.” She said, laughing. He breathed heavily beside her, and then rubbed her thigh. “I can return the favor, you know.” He looked up at her, under thick eyelashes, voice thick with desire, and she simply nodded, feeling the heat in between her legs. He smiled rakishly, and lazed his way down her body, licking and sucking as he went. He rolled her slightly, to be flat on her back, and fitted himself between her legs. He lay there, motionless for a moment, until she raised up and looked at him.

“You’re so fucking sexy.” He told her, his voice loaded. She moaned, and lifted her hips a little. He laughed. “Calm down, I’m coming.” And then he was on her. The sensation exploded behind her eyes, and her breathing quickened immediately. She was already so wet from the show she had put on, and getting him off, but his mouth on her had rushed her to her pleasure. He sucked gently on her clit, before moving further down to lick and suck her up. He worked his way around, up and down, moving his nose against her clit, and gently using his fingers to rub her. Every move was too good. His movements were too methodical, too calculated. Without even putting a finger in her, he had her coming on his mouth. She whimpered his name and clenched her thighs, and he kept on, rubbing and coaxing it out of her.

He pulled away, after a last kiss on her pulsing heat, and dropped beside her on the bed. She curled up beside him, and he wrapped his arms around her. She knew that the storm was inconceivably bad timing for the base, for the resistance, and for Poe; but she was thankful for it. She laid her head on his chest, his fingers in her hair, and she fell right asleep. ~~

In the morning, when Dary awoke, Poe was gone. She felt the bed beside her and it was stone cold; long gone. She stretched, and pulled her clothes on. She wasn’t familiar with the base, and wasn’t technically supposed to be there, so she wasn’t sure what to do. She poked her head out the door, and no one was out. She followed the general path that she remembered from the day before, and found herself back in the hangar. The bay was opened again, the storm had passed in the night she thought, and looked down the row of ships for the one her and Poe had arrived on. That’s when she saw him, talking with Lonno, dressed for flight.

She moved across the hangar quickly, her face flushing. Clearly, she had read too much into what had happened. Clearly, the rumors were true. Nothing romantic about riding back with your one night stand, she thought angrily, blinking back tears. Neither man acknowledged her as she approached, nor when she came to a halt beside them. So she didn’t say anything either. The trade off was quick, and without talking to her, Poe climbed into the ship. She followed suit, and they were taking off.

She was thankful to be riding in front. She was also thankful that she could mute her own headset. She fought the tears as they came. She felt humiliated, and childish. She was into it, and it’s not like there was any promise made. She had just felt like, maybe, there was more to it. He had taken her to that beautiful place, and kissed her so gently. She wiped her face, and bit her lip to distract herself. She would distract herself. She would do anything but think of the man behind her.

“Sorry we had to rush out of there, the intel came in in the middle of the night. I wanted to let you sleep.” Poe’s deep voice told her, filling her ears. She flinched against it. “Lonno was relentless this morning, so I had to leave before you got up.” He explained, smoothing the edges without knowing what they were. “You probably thought the worst. Sorry, really. I’ll make it up to you at base. Y’know after I pass off my intel.” She could hear the smile in his voice, and nodded, before realizing that he couldn’t see her she answered. Then realized she was still muted. She switched her com on.

“What did you have in mind?” She asked, a smile dancing on her own lips. She had assumed the worst. She was kicking herself for getting so bent out of shape without having the full story.

“A few things, actually.” He said, voice low and dangerous. She laughed in response, only imagining the face he was pulling.

~~~

“A ‘congratulations’ is in order!” A familiar booming voice echoed out from behind Dary. She was stretching in the dense vegetation. She had taken an early morning run to clear her mind. She had to steal these moments, as they didn’t come naturally for her. A grin broke across her face as she turned to meet him. She consciously smoothed her messy bun as she took him in. Poe always looked immaculate, and this morning was no different. She blushed a little, thinking about how disheveled she looked. Her running gear was old, and she knew she was sweaty. The rough terrain was perfect for training, not perfect for looking amazing.

“Ah, that was nothing. I haven’t broken Rey’s record or anything.” Dary said with a smile.

“Not the run, kid. You just got promoted.” Poe explained, coming to stop before her with his hip cocked to the side. A perpetual bow leg, she thought. A true pilot’s form. He had been gone for another week, and she hadn’t heard from him. They hadn’t really talked since the intel mission.

“A promotion? I haven’t heard anything about that.” Confusion crept in, and she furrowed her brow. Surely, she would know. Then she remembered his position. It was easy to forget that the man in front of her was basically the head of the resistance these days. Of course, he would know if she had moved ranks.

“Well, it’s official as of an hour ago! Welcome to Gold team, Darial.”

“Gold? That’s...that can’t be right. No one moves from Green to Gold!”

“You did,” He said simply, shrugging off her disbelief.

“You didn’t…” The words died on her tongue. She couldn’t form the accusation, and only partially because she didn’t think he would do that.

“Of course not, Dary,” He scoffed, and she felt embarrassed to have even mentioned it. “You earned this.” He told her with an undertone of fierceness she hadn’t heard before. “Anyway, Gold Six, you’re to report to your new leader.” He muttered, before turning on his heel. She had offended him, and she hated that he was bristling because of her. She hadn’t meant to question his integrity. Not really. She just couldn’t believe she had leapt so far, so quickly, on her own. Dary was a lot of things, but she didn’t think she was that good of a pilot. And it was too big a coincidence that after a week of nothing, not a word one, he would come to her with news this big and not say anything else?

She was confused, mostly, but a little apprehensive. She made her way back to base for answers, any answers.

[dibleopard-writes]

Training Montage

Ao3 (recommended)

Description: Anakin was the Chosen One and therefore the best padawan anyone could ask for, especially Master Obi-Wan. He was so good, in fact, that he had plenty of time for shenanigans or, as he privately referred to them, Shenanakins. Force, he was clever. Several snippets from the training of Anakin Skywalker. Author’s Note: Fanfiction, in 2020? It's more likely than you think. I'm working on several Star Wars projects right now, and here's one that is far less structured with far less need for in depth planning. Original Upload Date: 2020-08-27 Fandom: Star Wars Prequels (post TPM, pre AotC) Characters: Anakin Skywalker, Obi-Wan Kenobi, various side characters Rating: Gen (or T for language) Warnings: Swearing, Canon-typical Violence Word Count: 6490

Chapter 1 of ??

Chapter 1: Moles? In My Mine? It's More Likely Than You Think.

At the age of five, Anakin resolved to never be the kind of moody teenager spacers complained about. At the age of twelve, he decided that not only was that naive of him, but that he would get a head start and be moody right that second.

This change of heart was mostly due to Obi-Wan, who was refusing to take any missions offworld with him even though Anakin got his own lightsaber a whole three weeks ago and was therefore completely qualified.

“Having a lightsaber doesn’t help diplomacy, Padawan,” said Obi-Wan, completely missing the point.

“So don’t choose diplomatic missions! I bet there are hundreds of pirates hanging around… I don’t know, Batuu.”

“Batuu has smugglers, not pirates, Anakin–”

“– And?! We can arrest smugglers–”

“– And anyway, it would be irresponsible of me to take a padawan as young as yourself into a confrontation like that.”

“I’m not nine anymore! I’m not some dumb initiate, I can handle pirates.” If he was the first in his classes to fight pirates, he’d be able to hold it over them for ages. Even Iepa would have to respect him, smug son of a–

“I was still an initiate when I was your age.”

“Well I’m sorry you sucked, but that doesn’t mean I can’t go on missions.”

By this point, Master Obi-Wan had his head in his hands, almost hiding the beard he was trying to grow in order to look more authoritative. Anakin didn’t think he’d respect him any more with a beard than without, but it did make him look less like a clueless teenager so maybe he could fool the senior padawans.

“Look, if I took you offworld, not only could you get hurt or cause a diplomatic incident, but Master Windu would be on my back about it.”

Anakin muttered, “I could take him.”

“What was that?”

“I said you wouldn’t be able to shake him.” Anakin believed both statements emphatically. Sure, Mace Windu was the Master of the Order and invented an entire lightsaber form, but Anakin was the Chosen One, which basically made him the best. That being said, if Master Windu put his mind to it, he could be annoyingly stubborn in his pursuit of wrong-doers.

“My point exactly, and if he decided I was irresponsible – which I would be – we’d both be Temple-bound for months.”

“Oh, so you get to leave and I don’t?”

“Yes, but I’m sure you noticed I haven’t left because I’ve been too busy looking after you.”

“And what an amazing job you’ve been doing.”

“Watch your tone, young one.”

“Tell me, Master, do you remember any of my allergies?”

“Allergies?” Obi-Wan stopped for a second, with a look of genuine concern and guilt working its way over his face as he failed to recall information that Anakin had never given him.

“Yeah, I’m allergic to you and your banthashit!”

“Language, Padawan!” There was something resembling anger in Obi-Wan’s glare, but to acknowledge that would be sacrilege and also a suggestion that Anakin cared, which he didn’t. To prove this, he stormed into his room and used the Force to slam the pneumatic door as pneumatic doors rarely do.

Force, Obi-Wan could be insufferable sometimes.

...

After an hour of staring at the ceiling, Anakin came to the decision that the only real resolution to this conflict was running away and being a Jedi without Obi-Wan to bring him down. 

Fortunately, he had spent the last two years building his very own ship and had already put it through an entire test run without anything breaking. Between his technical expertise and thorough testing, the ship was probably the best in the entire Temple hangar.

First though, putting his stealth skills through their paces in order to get there. One doesn’t survive nine years of slavery without knowing how to move silently. The swoosh of the door may have been a bad start, but his slow navigation of the common room more than made up for it. Sure, Obi-Wan was in his own room, probably, like, crying over getting owned so hard, but if Anakin had made even the slightest mistake, he would have come running and demanded a ridiculous amount of meditation on respecting others. The stakes could not have been higher.

He crept out of their rooms and into the corridor, shushing the mouse droid that seemed to regard him judgmentally despite its lack of eyes. From there, it was a simple matter of carrying himself with unquestionable confidence along a convoluted path to the hangar. He passed a few senior padawans with dead eyes and piles of holopads in their arms without raising suspicion. Man, was he good at this.

The hangar was probably the best place in the Temple. Warm Temple stone met flame retarding durasteel in a way that shouldn’t have worked as well as it did. Several decade-old speeders lined up against one wall next to a small fleet of cargo ships and fighters. All of them were horrendously out of date and well worn in the way that a lot of the Temple’s technology was. When Anakin asked why the Jedi insisted on having such terrible tech, Obi-Wan had said something vague about budget and not being materialistic. It was unconvincing at best and Anakin had really shown the whole Order up with his latest project.

After his no-doubt legendary podracer was left on Tatooine, Anakin had taken all of six months to set his sights on building a starfighter that could take him to every system in the galaxy. Obi-Wan, relieved to find a hobby that would promote focus, had pulled some strings and Anakin had aimed akk-dog eyes at the Temple mechanics that he had been tailing for months until they let him at the skeleton of an old Delta-7. Aethersprites never came with their own hyperspace engines, but he could work with that. Annoyingly, the sublight engines in the hangar were nothing like the ones on a podracer so he had to spend a humiliating few weeks with an old mechanic to get them installed and working. On the positive side, there was an astromech droid fitted directly into the ship that could give him diagnostics and occasionally a mechanically-themed joke. The jokes were hit-or-miss but the droid was good.

Two years of sterling work had made the Delta the best ship in the Temple, and it could far outpace any of the speeders in Coruscant’s skylanes. Now, as he made his way ever-so-innocently towards it, he couldn’t help but admire the way the smooth paint looked among the chipped facades of the rest.

R4-P3 chirped a greeting as he hopped in and prepped the starter engines.

“Hi, P3, fancy going on a trip?”

“THERE WERE TWENTY-SEVEN TRAFFIC CODE VIOLATIONS DURING THE PREVIOUS FLIGHT.”

“Me too, buddy. See if you can find one of those hyperspace rings lying around here.” Ignition was smooth. Vertical repulsors engaged. Landing gear retracted. So far, his plan was flawless. A blip appeared on his screen, indicating the nearest hyperspace ring. Latching onto the ring was not something he had ever practiced before, so he assumed the strange rattling noise was normal.

As he ascended, chatter buzzed into the comm system.

“What’s that P3?”

The chatter cleared into actual sentences as P3 adjusted the frequency.

“-ing is not fitted properly. Repeat, Aethersprite Delta-7 please identify yourself-” Anakin flicked it off. Trust traffic control to kill his flow.

“PLEASE KEEP TO DESIGNATED SKYLANES,” bleated P3, taking up the burden instead. Anakin dodged a passing CorSec speeder.

“Will do,” he lied, “While I find one, you wanna do the hyperspace calculations?”

“DESTINATION?”

“Uh…” He hadn’t thought that far. Tatooine was probably weeks away, Naboo had way too much water just lying about– Where else had he been? Oh, that’s right: nowhere, because Obi-Wan didn’t care about him. “Batuu?” He could probably beat up a few smugglers in the name of justice before the Jedi caught wind of it. Talk about selfless heroism.

He hit the upper flight levels and powered through into the mesosphere. Considering the thin air at this altitude, there was a lot of turbulence. The shaking was beginning to make his arm buzz and it became a disproportionate effort to keep the control-stick level.

“LIGHTSPEED CALCULATIONS COMPLETE,” announced P3.

“Great, just in time,” replied Anakin, flicking some switches, at least three of which were relevant, “I’ll just make the jump now.”

As he pulled the jump ignition, P3 began screaming and the rattling grew louder. The pinprick stars became needle-thin lines became the whirl of blue and white he hadn’t seen since the last journey from Naboo. On that trip, the pilots hadn’t let him in the cockpit during the initial jump, so this would probably have been way better if not for the awful clatter of the hyperdrive and the eventual tear of engines sputtering out of commission. Maybe that was why he had never seen anyone make jumps in-atmosphere. Or perhaps the issue was related to the ring’s latching mechanism. Really, it was anyone’s guess.

P3’s wails had become spluttering, staticky sobs, which was honestly a poor display in a droid with no fear subprogram. The ring flew off the Aethersprite, plunging it back into normal space with a roar.

“Well that sucked,” Anakin said indignantly. His flying had been flawless, too!

P3, between choked bleeps, lit up the speedometer – the hyperspace ring was no longer pushing them beyond the light limit but neither had any reverse-thrusters been engaged, leaving them at a healthy constant speed of only-just-slower-than-light, which was probably fine – and the scanner – there was a planet about thirty light-seconds in front of them, which was probably less fine at their current speed.

“Okay, so it still sucks,” Anakin amended.

He slammed on the brakes and almost blacked out as G-force slammed on him in return. Rude. His old pod-racer never had this issue. He tried easing their deceleration more slowly, which involved less blacking out but also made slowing to pedestrian speeds before hitting the planet somewhat less feasible.

No matter; Anakin was an expert pilot and even more skilled at having incredible luck. This would be easy.

Within twenty seconds, they hit nature’s drag chute: the atmosphere. P3 tried to draw Anakin’s attention to their steep angle and high speed as if these weren’t things that Anakin already knew. They did seem more relevant when the entire ship’s hull flew alight, however, so he attempted to shallow out their descent. 

The control-stick was uncooperative and everything began to shake as he tugged it as far back as he could. How was he supposed to pilot if the ship refused to do what he wanted it to do? 

After five long seconds, the heat died and they plunged into a cloud bank. Everything past the tips of the Aethersprite’s wings was obscured by a white thicker than Obi-Wan’s skull, which was impressive if disorienting. He felt the control-stick hit full lock and a few of the many warning indicators seemed appeased.

Another five seconds, and P3 stopped screaming about their speed and started screaming about their altitude. The clouds remained steadfast.

“I’ve made an executive decision,” declared Anakin, “As captain of this ship, I say we attempt what we in the industry call a ‘terrain-assisted braking maneuver’.”

P3 did not respond particularly coherently, which Anakin chose to interpret as a vote of confidence. It did wonders for his self-esteem.

In a blink, the clouds vanished and a deep green forest appeared. P3 squeaked. Anakin grimaced. His hand was losing all sensation from gripping the control-stick so tightly, still in full lock, but their downwards momentum still overpowered the thrusters even as the Delta’s nose finally rose above the horizon. He gunned the accelerator away from the surface and his body felt heavier than the ship itself.

The ship jolted as it made contact with the treetops. Anakin switched to reverse-thrusters as the nose once again pitched downwards. Slugshot snaps crackled around them as trees snapped against the ship. He scrunched his eyes closed and braced.

Soil and splinters erupted as they collided with the ground. Anakin lurched painfully into his safety straps. P3’s voice cut off. The grinding of earth against hull slowed them to a stop and Anakin fell back against his seat.

Smoldering wiring filled the cockpit with an awful acidic smell so he tugged his straps off and pushed his way out after only a second of shaky breathing. Anakin was nothing if not practical.

“Do you think it’s gonna blow up?” he asked P3 from a safe distance. P3 seemed not to appreciate the thought but ran cursory diagnostics anyway.

As he waited, Anakin looked behind the ship and saw the gaping furrow they had left in the ground. Further away, a clumsy cut ran through the trees and a couple of wisps of smoke trailed lazily into the milk-blue sky.

All in all, an impeccable landing. The forest had looked well dull before anyway, and now it had a sick scar. You’re welcome, forest.

P3 decided that nothing was about to explode, but that the ship was fully inoperational, even if Anakin just wanted to take it on a spin to the nearest mountain range. He acquiesced that the assessment seemed about right, but also loudly proclaimed that P3 was a killjoy and a coward. P3 didn’t seem to care. Anakin kicked a clod of earth in defiance.

The ground was covered in small, stiff leaves from the pointy-looking trees around them. They were waxy little spits that more resembled star stripes than anything useful for photosynthesis.  As he knelt to pick some up, he realised that the entire forest smelt like them – a fresh, emerald sort of smell. They were pretty incredible, for leaves; Anakin had certainly never seen anything like them. He shoved some in a belt pouch.

Now that he was looking at the ground, he noticed wooden, grenade-like things peppered amongst the leaf litter. This forest kept on getting more and more curious. Unfortunately, none of them would fit in his pouches. Jedi really needed some good pockets that could fit any important scientific discoveries in them. It was a severe oversight, in Anakin’s humble opinion.

Something rustled abruptly, snapping Anakin out of his Jedi-like contemplations, seed-pod still in hand. He scanned the surrounding thickets. Plants, plants, leaves, plants, thorny plants…

Claws!

A blur of red flew at his face and he stumbled backwards, tripping over a bush. Batting the wild beast away from his face, he felt himself fall further than anticipated through the undergrowth into empty air. For a suspended moment, all he could see was blue sky and grey rockface. Then his back collided with something that promptly gave way and let him fall onto solid stone.

Perfect.

...

Obi-Wan Kenobi was walking at an unpanicked pace through the halls of the Jedi Temple and casually inspecting child-sized nooks and crannies in a manner completely befitting of a master who knew exactly where his padawan was. He had been doing this for half an hour and wasn’t shaking in the slightest.

He was just doing a routine inspection of the gap between a bronzium statue and a wall when Master Windu walked past, stopped, watched Obi-Wan innocently test the screws on a ventilation covering, and said, “Knight Kenobi.”

Obi-Wan sprang upright. “Master Windu.”

“Have you lost your padawan?” Was he really that obvious? No, that couldn’t be it; Master Windu was just unusually perceptive. Perhaps shatter-points were giving him away – nowhere was it written that they didn’t highlight underperforming masters. Even so, it was probably wise not to confirm anything. The last thing Obi-Wan needed was a council member judging his guardianship skills.

“Oh no, not at all. I know exactly where he is.”

Master Windu’s expression was as flat as Anakin’s heart rate would be once this was over. Shatter-points were dirty snitches.

“Thank you for your concern, Master,” added Obi-Wan, respectfully.

Master Windu looked at him dead in the eye for a solid five seconds. Obi-Wan had seen him level a similar look at Qui-Gon several times in the past, and found it unnerving to now be the target. However, Qui-Gon’s experiences taught him that it was best to ride these looks out like a bad spice trip, i.e. with as little motion as possible. How either of them knew what a bad spice trip felt like was irrelevant.

The five seconds were up, only having been slightly uncomfortably stretched, and Master Windu blinked.

“Well,” he said, dryly, “Good luck with your endeavours, Knight Kenobi, whatever they may be.” With one spare glance to the ventilation covering, he continued down the corridor.

Obi-Wan was not naive enough to think himself completely free of suspicion but he was hopeful that nothing would come of it until he could thrust Anakin by the shoulders into Master Windu’s personal space and say ‘See? I have him right here!’ in a serene and Jedi-like manner as if he had nothing to prove. Of course, he would like to prove his capabilities anyway. Just as soon as Anakin was present…

He closed his eyes and fumbled for the Master-Padawan bond that connected him to Anakin. It wasn’t usually strong enough to get much other than vague impressions from, but now it seemed to be stretched thinner than usual, only telling him that Anakin was alive. That was a relief to know, to an extent, but also concerning since there was so little to point him in the right direction. He poked the bond and felt nothing.

Why had he taken on a padawan? Padawans get into fights and then run off and make you worry and then the Council finds out and then you have to try and justify it all and – 

Obi-Wan sighed. Running a hand over his beard, he peered down the hallway that Master Windu had taken. Empty. He could probably make it to the comms centre without any more councilmembers calling him out.

Probably. He was hopeful.

...

“Hilari? Is that you?” 

Anakin looked up from what appeared to be a now-dismantled porch tarp and saw an old man opening the door to its attached house, carved into rock. A tooka was watching him from behind the man’s legs. It meowed indignantly.

“I’ve told you, the awning isn’t designed for tookas.”

“Myaeeh,” complained Hilari.

Anakin, frazzled from both of his unplanned descents and shocked out of his irritation, opened his mouth to apologise because yes, Obi-Wan he is capable of apologising when a middle-aged twi’lek woman materialised.

“Wohrin, what– Oh! Who’s your young friend?”

“You’ve met Hilari before, Mahj–”

“No, the young man covered in your porch. Blond?” 

The man, Wohrin, gave Mahj’s left lek an exasperated look. His eyes were pale the same way Blind Man Mikah’s had been in the bookmaker’s in Mos Espa.

“Mahj,” he said slowly, “I don’t know what colour your hair is, let alone that of whoever it is you’re referring to.”

Mahj shook her head. “I don’t have hair, Wohrin.”

“What?!”

Another twi’lek, who could have been anywhere between fifteen and thirty years old by Anakin’s poor judgement, appeared in order to chip in:

“Yeah, she lost all of her hair when the sky turned red!”

Anakin squinted at the sky… no, it was definitely still blue. Wohrin looked equally confused, which was somewhat reassuring. Somewhat.

“Keht!” snapped Mahj, “Stop lying to people! And no, Wohrin, you know I’m twi’lek; of course I don’t have hair.”

“Twi’leks don’t… Why am I only just learning this? Was no one going to tell me–”

“I’m sorry, sir.” Anakin effectively drew the growing crowd’s attention back to himself. That felt better. Wohrin blinked, only now registering that the crash hadn’t been his tooka after all. “I was in the woods and something jumped out at me and I fell through your… thing.”

“Oh, well,” huffed Wohrin, “Easily done I suppose.”

Anakin clambered to his feet and hopped away from the mess, feeling only slightly guilty.

“Hey what’s with the weird rat-tail, kid?” came a voice from the crowd.

Anakin fixed the human who had asked with a patronising look. He found such looks were incredibly effective when used by children – especially those younglings he was stuck in aurebesh lessons with three years ago. Kriffing infuriating.

“It’s not a rat-tail, it’s a braid. And it shows that I’m a padawan.”

“A what-a-wan?”

“Oh, I know what they are,” chimed another bystander, “One of them beat up my cousin on Alsakan. They’re like really small Jedi.”

“You mean an apprentice?”

“Yeah, only I don’t think they do carving work.”

“Not all apprentices learn stonemasonry, genius.”

Another crowd member interrupted: “Hey, cadaban, have you come to help with the beast?”

That triggered a fervour in the onlookers, all snapping their attention back to him with loud expectation.

“... The what?” Anakin wasn’t sure he liked the way this conversation was going.

“The beast!” exclaimed the crowd.

“It’s massive–”

“–Taller than me–”

“–Big claws–”

“–In the quarry–”

“–The mine–”

“–Tentacles–”

“–Blue–”

“–Hang on, I thought it was red–”

“–It’s invisible–!”

“–No, it’s not, it’s–”

“–Firebreathing!”

“Hey, hey, hey,” shouted Anakin over the clamour, “Has anyone here actually seen it?” Everyone turned to a tall ovissian, who flinched. “What does it look like?”

“Uh, I didn’t see much of it, just– um, mostly heard crashes and saw– saw rocks falling from the ceiling in the mines. But when I caught a glimpse, it sort of looked all–” He made a vague and thoroughly unhelpful gesture which may have indicated size. Or maybe temperament. “–Y’know?”

Anakin definitely did not know, but he wasn’t about to admit that to the congregation. “Yeah, yeah, of course,” he said instead. The ovissian sighed with relief. “And what exactly do you need me to do about it?”

One exasperated person shouted from the back. “Kill it of course!” 

“Or at least move it out of the mines,” offered Mahj.

“Yeah, we need the mines or our economy will go to chisk!”

“The entire economy?” Anakin couldn’t imagine mines being quite that important when there was a massive forest right… Huh, it was higher up than he remembered. Right up a stone cliff, the one Wohrin’s home was carved out of.

“The entire economy! We’re a mining town, stone-masons and blacksmiths. Why else would build our houses in a quarry?”

This was the first Anakin had heard of ‘quarries’. Really, the whole trip so far had been quite the broadening of his horizons. He didn’t know why Obi-Wan didn’t take him off-world sooner, he was always promoting this kind of thing. Peculiar. 

That being said, this whole beast business was not what he had been anticipating and the idea of facing an invisible, firebreathing, tentacled monster on his own was suddenly way more terrifying than the plan of facing a horde of smugglers had been. What if it was like the krayt dragons of Tatooine, wild with impersonal ferocity and an appetite for small humans? That would be an incredibly anticlimactic end for the Chosen One; he was fully anticipating his death to be in a great ball of flame, Obi-Wan watching heartbroken as his awesome and flawless apprentice fulfils his destiny. That would be cool. Dying alone in a mine in the middle of nowhere would not be.

“Um… You know, beasts aren’t really my department. And… I don’t have my beast-removal equipment with me right now.” Airtight excuse. Foolproof.

“You’re just scared!” exclaimed someone who nobody asked.

“He’s not even a proper Jedi yet,” added someone else, “There’s no way he could take that thing on by himself, I bet he doesn’t even have a laser-sword!”

“Now, hold on–” All thoughts of avoiding the beast flew out of the metaphorical window. “I never said I wouldn’t do it! I have my lightsaber right here:”

The crowd stepped back as it ignited in his hand. Yeah, that’s right, he wasn’t some dumb initiate and this was his chance to prove it.

...

The comms centre had several private rooms for important calls and conferences. It also had better hardware than the commlinks Jedi took into the field.

Obi-Wan had plugged his own commlink into a rarely-used port in the console and tried to call Anakin. As he had expected, there was no answer. With the right tinkering of the console’s receiver, however, the target signal had been traced to a sparsely populated planet barely a minute up the Corellian Run. Kaidestal.

He fought the urge to slam his head against the console. If there was a licence for padawan ownership, his would be revoked any time now. Truly, he was having a fantastic day.

He wondered how Anakin had even got offplanet and then wondered why he was wondering. At this point, it was suffice to say, ‘Shit’s fucked’ and move on.

After a few moments of meditative breathing, he straightened up, unplugged his commlink, and whisked out of the comms centre. Knowing Anakin, there was little time before something disproportionately drastic happened. Force, what did he do to end up in this position?

Master Plo Koon was easy enough to locate, happening to be beside the bronzium statue Obi-Wan had been inspecting earlier. He watched as Obi-Wan covered the awkwardly long stretch of corridor in order to get within civil conversation range.

“Master Koon, I am taking a short trip to Kaidestal. I shall be back by nightfall.” He gave no reasons, the man of mystery that he was, and Plo didn’t seem to mind. Plo was one of the gentlest councilmembers and therefore the best one to inform of unannounced, unauthorised trips to obscure planets. Perhaps that was exploitative of him. Perhaps his padawan shouldn’t run away.

(Plo was one of the first to hear Mace’s gossip regarding Skywalker’s potential disappearance and therefore knew damn well what Obi-Wan was doing. Plo was not, however, a snitch. Besides, he liked Kenobi – the man had an excellent taste in drinks.)

Master Koon nodded slowly, “That seems reasonable. I’ve heard they do good stone carvings there.”

“Quite,” said Obi-Wan, impatiently – no, Jedi weren’t impatient. He was merely preoccupied.

“There’s a G8 light freighter in the hangar that you can use.” Plo shifted as if to move, but it was really more of an invitation to leave.

“Thank you, Master Koon.” Not at all in the headspace to overstay his welcome, Obi-Wan began to head towards the hangar.

“I hope you find what you’re looking for, young one!” Plo called after him.

“Me too,” muttered Obi-Wan under his breath. He wasn’t that young; he was twenty-eight. He was, however, too young to be dealing with feral padawans that made him feel twice his age. Why did he ever pick up Anakin, anyway?

...

The mouth of the mine was carved into the wall at the bottom of the quarry. It was darker than a Tatooinian night and he was being pushed into it by a gaggle of villagers who didn’t seem to notice his apprehension. While this was ideal for the maintenance of his reputation, it also made things move far more quickly than he had wanted.

No matter. He was a Jedi and Jedi faced terrifying monsters head on.

“This beast is gonna wish he never saw me,” he said, bravely, “Coward. Absolute… kriffin’…  clown.”

“What are you doing?”

“Old Jedi trick, it’s called psychological warfare. That beast is no match for Anakin kriffing Skywalker.”

“Is the swearing necessary for psychological warfare?” asked one of the group. “It’s just I brought my daughter along…”

A roar emanated from the mine ahead, echoing terribly. The tall ovissian, now wearing his head miner’s helmet, was shaking more than the nine-year-old behind him. She was delighted by the mine monster and had spent much of the walk loudly exclaiming that she wanted it to eat the entire goddamn quarry. No one else appeared to share her enthusiasm.

“Well,” said the head miner, sounding awfully authoritative, “I think you’ll be able to find your way from here. We need to go. For… health and safety reasons. Yeah, this crowd, in this passageway? Major fire hazard. Need to clear it. I’ll take care of that, you take care of–” Another roar erupted, punctuated by a thud and the sound of rocks falling. “– That.”

Anakin was unimpressed. “Ugh, do you have to have such an aversion to being cool?” He turned to see the group’s response but found the passageway empty. He rolled his eyes. Teenagehood would suit him well, he decided.

Slowly, he took his new lightsaber off his belt. It kind of sucked that his excellent craftsmanship was impossible to see in the gloom. Alone, in the dark, with no eyes on him, he could admit that quite a few things were looking decidedly uncool right now, but Force if he didn’t want to prove Obi-Wan wrong.

He tracked the sporadic tremors to their source, which was conveniently down the single, unbranching passageway in this section of mine. Still, it required a great amount of skill and a lesser man would have walked into five support beams, which was way more than Anakin’s three. He was a credit to the Jedi Order, really, even if they couldn’t see it.

Speaking of, the mine had grown far darker the further he walked until he couldn’t see his own hand in front of his face. The Force was being unhelpful, merely suggesting ‘forward’, which was a no-brainer. His issue was all of the obstacles involved with ‘forwards’. If only he had packed a light.

Hang on.

Oh, Anakin Skywalker was a genius. Lateral thinking and creative problem-solving had always been his strong point, as currently being demonstrated.

His lightsaber ignited with a kzhhh. Its electric-blue glow lit his maniacal grin in harsh clarity. It also revealed the glinting eyes of something big. The grin dropped from his face as he took five steps backwards.

The passageway had opened into a small cavern without him noticing and the beast barely fit into it. Colours were difficult to make out in eerie saber-light, but its fur appeared as black as the mines, matte with dust. Large tentacles stretched out from its nose, blindly groping the walls and ceiling of the cavern as if trying to judge the environment. Massive, shovelling paws held claws almost as long as Anakin was tall. In short, it resembled a mole.

This meant that, theoretically, Anakin was at an advantage since he was decidedly not blind and had only been known to resemble a mole some of the time.

The beast was also more clumsy than Anakin, knocking support beams left and right. Luckily, none had completely shattered but, judging by their splintering fractures, it was only a matter of time. Time limits were very dramatic; this would be a worthy first mission.

Anakin waved his lightsaber in the vague direction of the mole. It was unbothered. He frowned, put out, and then poked one of its claws. Suddenly, the beast was very bothered. Its nose went from snuffling around to being thrust in Anakin’s face. Apparently it had his scent. Obi-Wan would have blamed it on Anakin’s infrequent use of the shower. Anakin would have responded that he grew up in the desert and then accused him of not caring about wasting water on trivial matters. This would put a glint of annoyance in Obi-Wan’s eyes and Anakin would count it as a victory.

The mole exploited his distraction, dishonourable as it was, yanking him off the ground with a thick face-tentacle and shaking him irritably. He tried hitting the disgustingly writhing mass with the hilt of his lightsaber – ineffective. Then he slashed it with the blade and got catapulted into a wall. His vision failed and the back of his head killed, but he was quickly grabbed by the ankle and dragged across the floor. Massive, sharp claws came swinging at him. This was not good.

Quick, what would Obi-Wan do?

“Hey, you suck!” he shouted, voice wobbling as he dove out of the way of another slash, “No one likes you! You should just stop and go away!”

The mole monster may also have been deaf since it only continued its previous level of violence despite the scathing insults. He dodged a claw, jumping into a swinging tentacle which smashed him into a support beam. Splinters pierced his robes, digging into his right arm as it collided with the beam. His lightsaber flew from his hand and he fell to the ground, spinning to narrowly avoid landing on the hurt arm. All light in the cavern vanished as his saber-blade extinguished.

All of a sudden, the lightsaber argument from that morning felt like a moot point. A lot of things were looking very moot now, in the dark. 

He could hear the shuffle of tentacles searching the floor and the scratching of claws against stone. The mole was snuffling loudly around for him. His arm hurt.

Fighting the urge to curl up by the wall, he slowly climbed to his feet and looked the monster dead where he thought its eye could be. Warm air huffed in his face, blowing his braid back. Everything was still for a moment and then a tentacle whipped around his knees and flipped him upside down into the air. He definitely did not yelp.

The sound of a lightsaber igniting came from the tunnel, then pounding footsteps and then Obi-Wan ran in, illuminating the cavern walls around him. Something intangible yanked Anakin out of the mole’s grasp and into Obi-Wan’s arms. 

Anakin struggled to escape the strong left arm that wrapped across his torso, efficiently immobilising him. “Hey, I had it under control, you know.” He gave up, reaching his good hand out and calling his lightsaber back to it. “Still do, actually.”

“Sure,” replied Obi-Wan, not letting go even as a tentacle lunged at him. He jumped backwards, slashing the support beam that Anakin had dented. They dove into the tunnel as the cavern rumbled. The mole roared back. There was a terrible creaking of splintering wood and then the cavern ceiling fell in. Dust and rock made the air thick.

Quiet.

Anakin looked up at Obi-Wan from where he was pressed against his chest and saw a strangled sort of sorrow.

“Poor thing,” croaked Obi-Wan. Then he looked at Anakin with a clenched jaw. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen one of those. I could have studied it.”

It was almost enough to make Anakin apologise.

...

Obi-Wan dragged his padawan by his collar until they reached the mine’s entrance. The villagers who had pointed him inside were crowded around and erupted into cheers as soon as they stepped into the light.

One elbowed the head miner playfully. “Told you he was the madawan’s Jedi.”

“Shut up,” said the ovissian, who then raised his voice above the chattering. “Thank you, Master Jedi, for your assistance. Uh, what exactly is the status of the, uh…”

“It’s dead,” Obi-Wan replied, bluntly, “And I’m afraid you may also need to reinforce the tunnel’s structural integrity. I apologise on behalf of my padawan –”

“Hey!”

“Of course, he will also apologise himself.”

Their eyes met in a match of wills. Anakin sighed, just loud enough for Obi-Wan to hear, and acquiesced.

“My sincere apologies,” he muttered, bowing shallowly. Obi-Wan had definitely taught him better manners than this; the child was just showing him up. Ungrateful womp-rat.

Fortunately, the villagers weren’t versed in bows and didn’t seem invested in apologies. Most were preoccupied by the mine and the new lack of angry mole. Small blessings, perhaps.

...

After manhandling the still-hot wreck of Anakin’s Aethersprite into the freighter Obi-Wan had brought and flying the brief trip back to the Temple, Obi-Wan was reaching the end of his patience. He left the ships with the hangar’s mechanics and dragged Anakin away from any chance of helping them. Their trip to the Halls of Healing were brief – the healers were efficient in removing the splinters and wrapping Anakin’s arm in bacta-soaked bandages. He only complained about half as much as he usually did.

They marched double-time to their rooms and Obi-Wan locked the door behind him; he could not cope with Anakin sneaking out at night.

“Master?” The voice was small. Obi-Wan tried not to let his ire show in his look. Perhaps if Anakin was squinting it would work. He was not. Instead he was holding out a hand full of pine needles and another with several small pinecones. “While I was on that planet, I found these for you to study. I’ve never seen them before; they could be revolutionary.”

Obi-Wan sighed, not having the heart to tell him that pine trees were fairly common throughout the galaxy. Anakin dropped his revolutionary finds into his hands, having to scrape off some of the pine needles that stuck.

“Thank you, Padawan. That was very thoughtful of you.”

“There were some bigger ones of these,” he added, pointing to the pinecones, “but I couldn’t fit them in my belt and some of the wildlife tried to fight me for them.”

“A squirrel?”

“I dunno, I didn’t see it very well. It was kinda fast. Reminded me of you, a bit.”

“How so?”

“Red,” said Anakin, nodding to Obi-Wan’s head, “And it didn’t like me picking up things off the floor.”

Obi-Wan huffed. “As long as you weren’t trying to eat pinecones.”

“Is that what they’re called?”

“Yes. Although I suppose I’d have to… study them. To make sure.”

Anakin’s face lit up. “Wizard.”

Obi-Wan’s annoyance was almost forgotten. Not quite. He was still a responsible Jedi master, no matter what the Council speculated.

There was a knock on the door. Obi-Wan looked at Anakin, who grimaced back. He opened it with very little hesitation.

“Knight Kenobi.” Speak of a Sith…

“Master Windu,” said Obi-Wan, far more brightly than he was feeling.

“Have you located your padawan?”

“Of course; he’s right here, Master.” He pulled Anakin out from behind his legs. Anakin attempted a winning smile, but nerves appeared to crumple it slightly. He had always been intimidated by Master Windu – first impressions were a force to be reckoned with. “I knew exactly where he was.” It was technically true, if you were selective about your timeframe.

Master Windu gave Anakin one of his signature piercing gazes, the kind that seems to expose one’s every weakness and warn against them. Anakin seemed to get the message. Hopefully he would keep it for at least a week before he inevitably threw it out.

“If that’s the case, I won’t need to launch a search party. Good night, Kenobi.”

“May the Force be with you, Master Windu.”

After Master Windu had left and Anakin had gone to bed still shaken from the encounter, Obi-Wan contemplated ditching the Temple and his wayward padawan for Bail Organa’s whiskey collection. Alderaan always made the best whiskey…

...

Art by me, @dib-leo-pard​

[shesawriter39049]

|THE PLUG| M| JIMIN |4

SMUT/ANGST

**For this first time, Jimin’s “lifestyle” clashes with yours...what happens when work makes him miss one of the most monumental moments in your career!? **

-JIMIN’S YOUR PLUG…AND HE’S KIDNA BECOMING YOUR MANS!

1.2 K sneak peek-

Jimin’s whipped and in his feels and so is the OC

Jimin’s still fucking perfect though...and a freak..but we all know this!

Things are starting to get just as much angsty as sexy…and the OC’s lowkey freaking out a little....

SLIGHT daddy kink, mentioned twice

PREVIOUS CHAPTER

Jimin couldn't hide the smile on his face if he wanted too, grinning from ear to ear as he watched you sway in his direction. Suddenly the nervousness he felt flooding through his body the entire drive over here disappeared, all that mattered in this moment was you. “Fuck..” Swept past his lips almost breathless as he pulled his blacked out aviators off hanging them in the neckline of his black V-neck.  The sun and the slight breeze was damn sure working in your favor, giving Jimin his own little runway show so it seemed. In his eyes you always looked good…”cute and fuckable” in his words, but due to your work schedules and obviously your previous arrangement which was essentially a booty call! It was rare he got to see you all dolled up like this, in your heels, hair and makeup done, skin tight midi dress that clung to every curve that Jimin’s committed to memory. Sitting on the hood of his challenger in the parking lot, distressed dark wash jeans that gave you no choice but to stare at those sinfully thick thighs of his! The minute you were in arms length he grabbed you, pulling your body into his which you fit like a glove, spreading his legs just enough to trap you in between them. Nuzzling your nose in the crook of his neck, a sigh of contentment leaving both of your lips at the contact. Giving yourself a moment to take in the scent of his cologne mixed with his natural aroma which you loved a little too much, even for your own liking! Hands slowly soothing up his back only to get tangled in his thick mane of hair, raking your nails down the nape.

“Hi baby…” Rolled off his tongue and into you hair, physically able to hear the smile in his voice, palms soothing up your ass, gently kenading his fingers into your skin through the fabric of your dress “God, I love how you feel…so soft and just...mine...mmm” A low moan fell from your lips at that, instantly feeling almost lightheaded. The things this man could do to you, hands coming up to find their home on your waist, not trusting himself where they currently sat!  Leaving a couple kisses up the side of his neck, pulling back to admire the faint outline from your lipgloss, the sun accentuating the gold reflexes from the glitter. Bringing your forhead up to rest against his, lashes touching in the procces, you look too damn tempting right now, espeically considring the two of you were outside of your work, but fuck. The idea of bending you over the hood of his car sounds painfully appealing, leaning down to let his lips capture yours nothing subtle about it Jimin kissed you with force. His tongue clashing clashing against yours, volleying it against his teasingly as if you’d really fight him for dominance, A growl leaving his lips once he realises too, pulling back to sink his teeth into your bottom lip, hand coming up to make firm contact with our ass until you knead out into his mouth. Soothing his palm over your cheek, which made you ultimately give in,Jimin moaned once given free reign of your mouth. Suddenly switching up the pace, his actions becoming more delicate as he tangled his fingers in your hair.

“Soooo...there's a reason I asked you to meet me for lunch…”

Smiling against his lips before pulling away, a slight hum leaving his lips as he cocked his head to the side, brow quirked in curiously. Rubbing slow soothing circles up your sides “ I found out it was confirmed almost 2 weeks ago….but things  between us were still so new, and up in the air,so I didnt wanna make things weird by brining it up right away...” Palming your hands up his shoulders nervously,unintentionally fluttering your eyes away from him until you felt his index finger flick your chin. Silently demanding your undivided attention, and clearly you weren’t one to deny Jimin of any of his desires!

God your face was so damn hot, why were you so nervous for this!? It’s a GOOD thing Y/N breathe ..”Babbyy…” Slipplied from his lips catiously “Are youuuu like...preg-” Jimin didint even let the word fully slip past his tonuge before you were almost ready to fight!

“NO! GOD NO! That’s the last thing I need right now” Just the thought of it alone had your blood presure rising, eyes almost bucking out of there sockets which only had Jimin cackling. At least he found this humerous....heart damn near thumping out of your chest!

“Well shit, if it’s not that it can’t be that deep, your a big girl...I know you prefer to swallow but spit it out…” Gazing back at you with the cheekiest grin on his lips, reaching up to playfully pinch his nipple, alright maybe it wasn’t so playful. And neather was the hiss that left his throat, so damn sinful! A second away from saying fuck lunch and just dropping to your knees! Since that wasn’t an option you despertly tried to pretend as if you didnt hear the whine that just rolled off his tonuge!

“Oh fuck you! Okay, Okay, well... I have my first official show ...as in it’s booked, sponsered, the full nine” Nose scrunching in tentatively, not quite sure how he’ll react or if he’ll even care but you should no better, this is Jimin were talking about here!

This man's face lit up immediately, those big puppy dog eyes of his gazing down at you with nothing but fondness “Oh my god baby!!!” Squeezing you into his arms, kissing you hard enough to knock the wind out of you before picking you up. Twirling you around in his arms ”I’m so damn proud of you…” Something about hearing Jimin say that you a second away from tears...you didn't have family around to say it so he was the closest thing you’d had in years. The first person in lords knows when to mean enough to you to make that phrase hold weight!

“Thank you..” Exhaled from your body shakingly, the grip you help around his waist tightened. As if he could read your mind Jimin switched gears,  wanting to pull you out of that headspace. Ducking down to kiss up the side of your neck in between words.

“Soo you know this means I’m coming over tonight , and were having realy ,really kinky sex right? All night...high,nasty,sex! I’m talking like, on top of your dining room table next to the carry out..spread wide open on your fucking stairs. However and wherever I want you , I’m having you, daddy’s in full control, I know how much my baby can reallyyy take” Jimin was litterally moaning in your ear, and ya what know, dick sounds more appealing than food right now! “Fuck,and your gonna take it, over and over again until you know how proud I am... god I’m gonna fuck you soo damn good!” Sinking his teeth into the patch of skin behind your ear since he knew your hair would cover the mark he was currently leaving behind “..bescause you deserve it...” 

“Mmm,that a promise?” Brow quirked slightly purposely challenging him, as you nibbled on the side of his ear, words coming out breathier than intended..

“Damn right it is, you already know how long I last when I’m high, I just can’t wait to see how long baby last before she's begging daddy to tap out...” A low whine leaving your throat, reclining your neck to give his tongue more access.

“But wait...”Pulling back suddenly, clearly perplexed, and considering the current conversation so where you “Whyyyy... were you nervous to tell me about that??Baby it’s what you’ve been waiting for” Mhhmm, It’s what you've been working towards since  you got your promotion 8 months ago!

“Umm..well…” There the nerves go again “I also wanted to invite you, as my date....I-I’m not trying to rush things and introduce you as my man but. I just, I don’t know, I really want you there, and not just hiding in the damn corner somewhere…I wanted you by my side...if your comfortable with that”  fidgeting with the rings on your fingers slightly, feeling like complete puddy in his grasp, suddenly questioning if you were 17 again!

Jimin’s damn near melted at that, eyes beaming, the smile that spread across his face instantly eliminated any uncertainty you had prior!  He’s been the one up with you as of late, at all hours of the night, just chillin on the couch. Smoking while your creating,editing, destroying, having mental breakdowns..the full nine!

Pulling your forward lightly by the chain around your neck, leaning in for one more lingering kiss before responding. “That’s why you were nervous?! Are you fucking serious Y/n of course, I’d go!” Tone indicating he was actually somewhat offended that you thought otherwise. “I’d be more pissed if I wasn’t at least invited...when is it?”

“Monnnn-day???” Tone hopefully, maybe too hopeful especially  once you took in the look on Jimin’s face looking like someone just stole his damn bike! “What-what's..wrong?” You are very tentative at this point...almost scared to know the answer.

A deep exhale left his body at that, recling his neck slightly, raking his fingers though his hair “I-fuck...I was going to tell you at lunch, that I gotta leave tomorrow morning...” Pausing to read your body language , your mouth forming an unintentional “O” not sure what else to say! “I’m, not set to be back until...  Tuesday….” Slowly dropping his gaze away from ours, Jimin literally felt naesous right now. Your body tensing under his hold and what made it even worse is he could feel it “Baby I’m so-”

“No, no it’s cool, it was supid anyway, were not even official yet so I can't be offended that you can’t go..you have a job too...I understand” Bullshit, nothing but bullshit, not even sounding remotely convincing as your voice wavered in your throat, like a leaf in the wind. “I-umm..I should probably get inside and prep-” Attempting to pull away but Jimin was always one step ahead of you.

“You still haven’t even eaten lu-”

“It’s fine, I’ll like grab grub hub or something..” Still trying to pull away, is it maybe because your eyes were bruning and even though you weren’t “Official” you felt like you’d just been knocked in the gut and wanted to cry?

“Okay...can I atleast pay for it?” Tone a second away from almost begging, of all the times for Jay to come around..it just fucking HAD to be now!!?

“No, no, Jimin it’s fine you don’t need to do that...I’ll ummm, call you when  I get off okay??” Pulling away without a hug or a kiss, and more importantly you didn't make eye contact with him and that hurt more than anything else.

“Y/n!?”- Silence

“Baby!!?” - You could hear the slight plea within his voice but if you turned around he’d see you cry and you weren’t doing that! You told him you could handle this..you told yourself you could handle this!

“Fuck!” Growled from his chest as he raked his fingers through his scalp almost painfully hard.

Jimin knew he warned you, warned you that this wouldn’t alway’s fun, and you’d have to take the good with the bad! But fuck, did he warn himself!!!? Because he literally felt as though he was a second away from throwing up right now! The look on your face once he told you he wouldn't be here was burning through his mind on instant replay, as you walked away from him.

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

THAT’S ALL SHE WROTE FOR NOW, IF YOUR EXCITED SHOW ME SOME LOVE AND COME LEMME KNOW…

ALSO ….21Q’S PART 2 WILL COME BEFORE THIS..BUT I WROTE THIS RIGHT AFTER PART 3...SOOOO...I WANTED TO GET THIS SNEAK PEEK UP FOR NOW....IT WILL BE A COUPLE WEEKS BEFORE PART 4!

LOVE YOU GUYS AS ALWAYS,

ROCKI

MASTERLIST

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Lars and Aidan Caught

(An Anon requested a chapter from my original WIP that had Aidan/Lars, so here you go! Although it goes... dark places. This is a novel about demons, after all...

CW: Threatened noncon towards the end (doesn’t actually happen), some violence. Takes place in a fantasy universe, in a cult that has very homophobic tendencies and there is some use of in-world homophobic language)

The moon was a sliver of itself, leaving the world bathed in a more complete darkness than usual. Aidan stepped off the path northeast of town and instead walked through the woods, in no hurry, pretending to be taking an idle stroll.

The whole time, he placed each foot carefully to avoid sticks that might crack or leaves that might rustle as he passed, trying to keep one eye over his shoulder. No one was out this late at night, the point where it was nearly early morning. Guards at Petra’s Gate, maybe; maybe a Hunter or two around the perimeter.

They never met near either of those places, and sticking to the north part of town meant you’d see even fewer people, since everyone avoided the caves. Still, the tension in town every day meant it had been nearly three weeks since they’d been able to pass a message along, set up a time. Aidan couldn’t seem to stop second-guessing himself, looking over his shoulder with every step.

Something was going to happen, or… maybe it had happened already. Something he didn’t know about or understand. The air in Morlofte had changed. Aidan had been comfortable in this place, it was his entire life, but he was starting to feel nervous. The rules were changing, rules that had always been etched in stone were slipping away like sand.

The Singer held Gatherings with new fervor, sometimes three times a week, her eyes wide and white-rimmed and wild. She spoke about taking the word of the Mother out into the world itself, but… the message wasn’t the same. She wasn’t promoting peace. This wasn’t the sermons he was used to. He’d once all but rolled his eyes as they droned on and on. Now, he sat in rapt, horrified fascination.

The Singer told them to have faith in the coming storm. She spoke about opening the Gates like Morlofte was an army preparing to invade, rather than a peaceful town mostly made up of farmers. The people cheered, their eyes strangely empty while they applauded. She had started training everyone in town in combat, having the Guards walk them through the basics, claiming it was for ‘defense’.

Yesterday, Aidan and a couple of other Guards had been denied entrance into the caves, where Guards had always been the ones who came and went to take care of those in punishment. Now only the Elders and the Singer and her daughters went in there these days.

No one in punishment had been allowed to come out in weeks. On the other hand, crimes that had once been punished by time in the caves were either being ignored outright, or people were beaten. Sometimes openly, in the street. Aidan had been ordered to strike someone the other day.

Elder Brem said there was a new law, that the Singer had had a message from the Mother that they must become tougher, harder on the people. Prepare them to stay together even in times of great distress.

What distress? What were they planning?

People were frightened.

If the Singer suddenly didn’t want people in the caves, she had to be hiding something in there. It couldn’t be the runaway; Tyler Rykke’s existence was common knowledge by now. They were keeping people out of the caves, and at the same time, talking about opening the Gates. Even the hum of the fence, the gentle permanence that had never left Morlofte and had always sounded like comfort and reassurance to Aidan, had a jagged edge these days.

Something was different. Something was about to happen, and he didn’t want to be here whenever whatever it was occurred.

It was time for Aidan to leave, and he knew exactly who he wanted to take with him.

He went to their usual spot, a secluded clearing, barely the length of three men lying head-to-toe, alongside a small stream. Just enough rushing water sound to drown out their words if anyone came nearby, but not so much that they couldn’t hear the crashing sounds of anyone unused to the woods.

The clearing was empty when he got there, but that wasn’t unusual. Aidan settled himself into the shadow of a tree, trying to shake off his exhaustion. These after-midnight meetings were hard the next day. He’d have to try and sneak off for a nap at some point, if nobody seemed like they’d notice.

Everyone seemed to notice everything these days. Nobody talked about anything but surface things, but you could hear the fear in their voices, the worry. He knew even the younger ones were worried, too. Bram had taken to crawling into Aidan’s bed in the middle of the night, fourteen year old Bram, to ask him if they were about to be overrun by the world outside.

He wasn’t sure how to explain that they might be the ones gearing up to go out there themselves. He wasn’t sure if he should ask him to run away, too.

Aidan heard the sound of someone coming through the brush, and although he was pretty sure he knew who it was, he took another two silent steps back himself, until he was completely shrouded by shadow.

After a few moments, the person he’d been waiting for stepped into the clearing. With his eyes adjusted to the dark, Aidan could see every detail.

“Hello,” He said softly, stepping out of the shadow of the tree. “Missed you.”

“Hello yourself,” Lars Mikkelson replied, a smile playing across his face. He looked somehow leaner in the shadows and dim moonlight, wearing just a thin shirt and pants that could have been blue or gray or any color at all. The thin, silvery light washed everything out. They were all just grays, now.

There was a pause, while they just stared at each other. It occurred to Aidan that he’d never seen anything as beautiful as Lars in the middle in the night. He opened his mouth to tell him, realized how absolutely, atrociously awful it would sound if he tried to find the words, and closed his mouth again.

Finally, Aidan said, “C’mere,” in a voice that seemed caught somewhere in his throat. Lars crossed the length of the clearing in something slightly less than a run and they grabbed onto each other like drowning men, their kiss one that felt more like a need than affection.

When they finally broke apart, both gasped for air. Aidan ran a hand through Lars’s hair, as always a little caught off guard by how delicate he seemed. “You’re late,” He whispered, and kissed him again.

Lars laughed, more exhalations than sound. “I’m not. You were early.”

“It’s been weeks, Lars.”

“There was never a good time. We’ve been busy. Things have been…” Lars trailed off, and finally shook his head. “Healers have been needed more than ever these days. Plus, El has been watching me like a hawk. I had to make sure she was asleep before I could go. Let’s hope no one has a nightmare tonight and wakes up and she has to explain where I am again. She hates how often I go for ‘walks’. Plus, she says with things the way they are now..”

“She hates everything about you,” Aidan shrugged. “She always did.”

“No… she doesn’t hate me. She tried to make it work for a long time. I’m the problem, not her.” Lars looked away, off to the side, crossing his arms in front of him. “She’s hurt, Ade. I’ve been married to her for years and all I’ve ever done is hurt her.”

“You didn’t ask to be assigned to her.”

“She didn’t ask for me, either. Let’s stop talking about this. I don’t want to meet you with her right there behind me, telling me all the ways I’m evil this week. I want being with you to be just being with you.”

“I want that, too.” Aidan frowned, standing awkwardly for a moment before simply folding Lars into his arms. There were times it paid to be the taller man, and the feeling of the top of Lars’s head tucked just under his chin… it was something he thought about all the time, going through the motions of the rest of his life. It was all just biding time until there was this. “We’ve got to get out of here, Lars.”

“I know.”

“I don’t know what, but something is really, really wrong.”

“I know.” Lars pulled back, and Aidan for a moment regretted having said anything at all. Here, these times they met in secret, time sped by. The rest of his life, it stood still. He would have given anything to switch the two. “But where would we even go? You’ve heard what it’s like out there.”

“What we’ve been told it’s like out there. What if it’s better? What if they don’t want us to know because they’re afraid no one would ever stay?”

“Aidan… what if it it’s not better? What if we run, and we hide, and we find our way out there and it’s… worse?”

“I don’t think there are walls out there. If it’s worse, then we just keep going. We just go until we don’t see anyone, and we stop in that place, and we live for each other.”

“You can’t just live for someone else for forever,” Lars said, softly, but there was a smile in his voice that Aidan would have given anything to hear again.

“Watch me,” Aidan whispered, and kissed him again before he could say anything in reply. They folded into each other in away that was utterly natural. Their mouths opened to each other and Aidan thought there had never been anything so soft as Lars, as everything about him. The stream beside them burbled away, a squirrel took off with a crash in the branches above them. Aidan pulled back, just for a moment, just long enough to pull Lars’s shirt over his head, then his own.

“We can’t stay too long,” Lars said, his hands already going to undo the button on Aidan’s pants.

“How long is too long, exactly? I think I can take up exactly that much time.” He laughed, pushing Lars’s back up against a nearby tree, one hand sliding around behind the back of his head, the other finding its way further down.

“Shit-,” Lars gasped, and Aidan cut him off with another kiss. There was quiet, except for their shifting, the occasional gasp, the sound of their mouths together. Aidan pulled back, looking at the shadows sliding around and over the other man’s face. “By the Far God, you’re pretty,” He said. His voice was hoarse with desire.

Lars blinked at him, startled by the casual heresy, but he put his hands up to Aidan’s face. “Oh, Ade. I-”

There was a sudden loud crash in the bushes off the way they had come, the sound of someone cursing. Aidan felt a cold wave of fear wash from head to toe, undoing every ounce of warmth that he’d had a moment earlier. He pushed himself away from Lars, trying to do his pants back up over the very obvious bulge trying to make itself known. “Shit.”

Found us. For nearly three years they’d been meeting like this. Three years, in different places, always after midnight. For three years no one had ever suspected a thing.

“Oh, Mother,” Lars whispered. Even in the darkness, his face had gone a sickly chalky white. “Oh no. Oh no.”

“Lars, get out of here,” Aidan snapped. “Just run. I’ll keep them busy. Maybe it’s just Eldaway. Maybe she followed you.”

“Eldaway already hates you enough, and that cursing was a man’s voice,” Lars said, but the humor didn’t quite land. His eyes flickered, panicked, back and forth between the source of the sound and Aidan’s face. “Ade, they’ll know we-... they’ll hurt you-”

“Not your problem. Go.”

The crashing was louder. It was definitely more than one person, Aidan thought. He tried to calm himself. Lars just stood there, like a deer staring down an arrow headed right for it. “I said go!”

Lars looked back at him once more, nodded, and took off. He ran barefoot through the cold streamwater. Smart; one way to not leave a trail right off the bat. Aidan swept his sword up into his hand and spun around just as three Guards stepped out of the trees into the clearing. That had been close. How much had they seen?

“Who was that? Get him!” One yelled at the others. Ben, Aidan thought. That was Ben. One of those the Singer trusted to leave with Traders, to go out into the world. Aidan hadn’t spent years afraid of this exact moment for nothing. Aidan raised his sword and stepped into the path of the one who had moved to follow Lars, smiling.

“That’s not necessary. I think you’ll have your hands full with me,” He said smoothly. His heart pounded with panic, but none of it showed on his face. At least he hoped it didn’t. Run, Lars. Run fast.

“Looks like you’ve had your hands full enough tonight, flit.” Ben’s lip curled with disgust. “What else you been filling?”

“Oh, do you need me to show you how it works?” Aidan raised an eyebrow. “I give lessons, you know. I’m very talented.” The rage was building in their expressions, rage and disgust. If he made them angry enough they’d forget Lars entirely, focus on him. Aidan knew he should feel ashamed but all he could think about was Lars, racing barefoot through the woods, putting as much distance between them as he could before they realized Aidan was pissing them off on purpose.

“Shut up, slagpile. You’ll be damned for that, you know. For… that.” The man gestured to the spot where Aidan and Lars’s shirts were in a pile together on the ground, near their shoes. “We saw it was a man, Garnes. You’re well and truly fucked, now.”

“No, that’s what I was about to be before you showed up to join the fun, Benny.”

“Shut up and surrender, degenerate,” another guard said, spitting to the side. “Tell us who you were with. It doesn’t have to go down like this.”

“I’m sorry, Eli,” Aidan said sincerely, setting his feet into the dirt with one slightly angled in front of the other, trying to keep his eyes on all of them at once. His body moved into a low, defensive posture fluidly, instinctively. “It doesn’t matter who I was with.”

“Shit,” the third Guard said, nervously. “I don’t want to fight Aidan. I’ve seen him practice.”

“Coward,” Ben spat. “Flits can’t fight.”

“Most of them, maybe,” Eli shrugged. “We know Aidan can. You don’t get to be Elder Brem’s favorite without being able to handle a sword, Ben.”

“This piece of shit handles more than swords,” Ben said, rolling his eyes. There was something off about them, Ben’s gaze seemed wrong somehow, but it was too dark for Aidan to tell exactly what it was. “Take him down. We’ll find out soon enough who he’s been rutting with like an animal out here in the woods.”

“I’ll have you know I rut like a man,” Aidan said smoothly. “With other men.”

The distraction had worked. Ben roared and ran at him. The other two swung out to the side to try and get at his weak spots. Not one of them even looked in the direction Lars had gone.

Ben swung first, and their swords met with an ugly clang. Then Eli from the side, and Aidan just barely met his blow, ducked under the third guard’s first attempt. By then, Ben was already trying again. Aidan couldn’t last. It was three on one.

But he gave it a good fucking try, that was for sure.

It was Eli who got the first good cut in, a few moments later. Aidan spun away as blood dripped down his side, hissing at the hot flash of pain. That’d slow him down, and from the relief that flashed across their faces, they knew it. He tried to back up, dancing lightly away, but they kept pressing him in. A few more cuts, shallow, but they hurt like hell. The circle of trees seemed like bars on a cage, now. He just had to buy Lars some more time.

Just buy him some more time-

Ben stuck his foot out. Aidan, distracted trying to defend against Eli, managed to trip right into it and fell. His head smacked against a tree trunk.

His grip on his sword went suddenly slack, and Eli kicked it away. It skidded across the clearing, too far for him to reach.

Blade to his neck, less than an inch away. “Hold still, flit.” Throbbing skull. Something felt like it had broken in his mind. Breathing hard, Aidan held still.

Ben grinned down at him, sweaty enough that Aidan could see the sheen on his forehead and cheeks even in the night. Too sweaty. Why? The fight hadn’t been that long. It was still cold out here at night, still spring. “You’re bleeding in four places, Garnes. It’s over. Put your hands up. You’re under arrest for the pursuit of unlawful carnal knowledge.”

Aidan turned his palms out, hands up, sitting slowly up with the sword to his neck the whole time. He was sweating, too, or bleeding from his head where he’d hit it. Something wet was running down his face, in any case. “Fine. Take me back to town, then.”

“Not just yet.” The other two looked, confused at Ben, who just smiled down at Aidan. The smile stretched too wide, was held for too long. Aidan shuddered. “Who knew Aidan Garnes was degenerate, this whole damn time? Who’d have guessed it?”

“Well, I knew,” Aidan said helpfully, but his voice was weaker than it had been before. The air felt heavy and Aidan, for once, was afraid.

“Shut up.” Ben looked back at the other two, that smile still lingering in his expression. There was an empty hate in his eyes, something else roiling underneath. The faces of the congregation at the end of the Singer’s sermons, when she talked about the evils of the world outside, how the Mother would cleanse them all. “You were spotted leaving town, when we’re all on curfew these days. Now we know why. The Singer’s going to be so angry,” Ben said, with something like delight in his voice at the thought. Something perverse. “They’re going to kill you.”

Something had changed, in the air. Something was making people worse. Ben was being worse. He could see the surprise and uncertainty in Eli’s face, the unhappy looks he exchanged with the third guard, their confusion.

“So who were you with, Garnes? Tell us the truth, and we’ll go easy on you. Maybe you get to live. Turn him in. Let us know what other flit’s been seducing you. Maybe it wasn’t your fault, eh? Maybe someone else made you do it?”

“No one seduced me,” Aidan snorted. He blinked as red filtered into his vision in his left eye. Definitely bleeding from the head, then. “It doesn’t work like that.”

“Doesn’t it? Guess I wouldn’t know. I waited for my wife, like the Singer said.”

Even Eli couldn’t pretend to believe that one, he and the other guard exchanged a baffled look. Aidan laughed out loud. “Oh, please. You went to the hayloft with Aisha when we were fourteen.”

Ben frowned, eyes narrowing. It’s in his eyes. What is wrong with his eyes? “At least I went with a girl.”

By now, Aidan knew Lars had to be far enough away that he’d stopped running. Maybe take a second to catch his breath. Walk back into town a different way, explain to Eldaway if she was up that he’d gone swimming or something-

“You’re really not going to tell us who you were with?”

Aidan spat on the ground, right at Ben’s feet. “I’d rather die.”

That slow, sick smile spread across Ben’s face again. Something is making people worse in Morlofte. What is it? What changed? I’ve never seen this face on him before. From the look on Eli’s face, neither had he. Something had changed in Morlofte.

Why isn’t it changing everyone?

“Let’s get him back to the Singer, Ben,” Eli said, in nearly a whisper, his own eyes suddenly wide, ringed with white. That was when it occurred to Aidan what was wrong with Ben. The thing that he hadn’t been able to figure out.

Ben’s were totally black. He had no whites in his eyes.

“You like men so much, Garnes?” Ben laughed. It was a low, throaty laugh. Lars laughed that way, sometimes, when they were out here in the woods. From Ben, it was the worst sound Aidan had ever heard. “Let’s find out just how much.”

“What?” Aidan’s lips were numb. “No.”

The sword moved away from Aidan’s neck, just a little. “You don’t get to say no. Get up on your knees.” One of Ben’s hands dropped, starting to undo his own pants.

“Ben, what the hell?” Eli sounded frightened, suddenly. “Stop.”

“I said on your knees, flit,” Ben said, flatly, ignoring him. There was another voice behind his. Something darker, an echo. Something almost liquid.

Survive, Aidan. No matter what you have to do.

Aidan felt his heart pound as he nodded, silently, and slowly pushed himself up onto his knees. He couldn’t think of any witty retort. He couldn’t think of any words at all.

“Ben.” That was Eli, but he sounded far away, and weak. Aidan could barely hear him. “You can’t do this. This isn’t right.”

His hands hung like dead weights at his sides. He tried to lift them, to push Ben away, but nothing happened. The air felt like it was pressing in, he could barely breathe. It was like having some massive stone laid atop his chest, only it was everywhere, all around him. The pendant at his neck burned and burned and burned.

“You’re going to do what I tell you,” Ben said. The other voice, syrupy black, twisted and writhed around his. “Or we’ll tell the Singer we found a corpse.”

“Ben, listen-” Ben turned his black stare on Eli and the other man closed his mouth, almost with a snap.

“Did you hear me, slag?” Ben turned back to Aidan. The point of the knife pricked the side of his throat, and he felt a trickle of blood run down. “You’ll do what I say. You don’t get to say no.”

“I heard you, Ben.” He had to run. To stand up. To get away. But the weight pressed in every side and Aidan, who spent hours every day practicing combat, who had been first through the fence after Tyler Rykke, was frozen with fear. “I heard you.”

“Good.” That awful laugh again.

“What’s wrong with him?” Eli asked the other guard, the one Aidan didn’t know. The other guard just shook his head. Both of them looked like any second they would step forward and end this, but they just didn’t. They just stood there. Like they couldn’t look away.

“Help me,” Aidan whispered. “Help me, Eli, please-”

“Shut up,” Ben growled. There was a shadow behind Ben, the shape of someone else, something darker than all the other shadows in the woods. There was no moon, no sliver of light found its way inside that darkness. There is someone making him do this. This is magic. Aidan, staring upwards as Ben moved towards him, thought he could hear a woman’s laughter, a sound like something rotten bursting open to let all the awful inside out.

Ben grinned, a sickly smile. Behind his face Aidan could see another one, wide black eyes that watched him, a shifting of skin. He could nearly see its expression, some horrible joy slipping in and out of the hateful desire in Ben’s. “Do this right and I won’t make you do it again with no teeth.”

Aidan, frozen, only nodded again. Ben put a hand on top of Aidan’s head and began to force it forward.

“Wait.” The pressure around them began to lift. Eli moved, finally breaking from his paralysis, reaching out and grabbing Ben by one arm. “Ben, stop it! Just stop!”

Ben jumped and looked over at him, and it was like a spell had broken. The face behind his was gone. The shadow seemed to slither downward and then disappear, a sense of anger in the air in its wake. “What?”

“Ben, what the fuck are you doing?”

Suddenly, he was Ben. The Ben Aidan had worked next to for years, the one who chased after girls but never meant any harm by it, the one who had spoken dreamily about becoming a father one day.

Ben blinked rapidly, his eyes their perfectly normal mix of white and brown, and shook himself like a dog after rain. “What did I-... Oh, shit, what did I do-” He growled, stumbling backwards. His face burned bright red as he redid his pants and then kicked Aidan in the stomach with a force that sent him onto his back onto the ground, coughing. “Ugh. What the fuck just happened to me? It’s… it’s his fault somehow.” Ben kicked Aidan one more time for good measure, and something snapped in his ribs. “Let’s take him to the Singer and tell her what happened. She’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again. She’ll… tell us what to do.” Ben’s voice shook, a little. Behind all his bluster and anger he looked terrified. “She’ll tell us what happens next.”

Eli and the third guard nodded, still staring at Ben as though they’d seen a ghost. They slowly moved forward, Eli unhooking the irons from his belt. It was the third guard who dragged Aidan’s hands behind his back and he didn’t even fight, staring still up at Ben, wondering what the fuck he had just seen.

Why had he frozen? He’d never frozen when threatened before. But no one had ever threatened him like that...

Something is wrong in Morlofte. Something is making people change.

The irons clicked onto his wrists, locked tight with the turn-click sound of the key. Ben held his hand out for it and Eli hesitated, then finally nodded and handed it over. “Let’s get him back to her fast,” Eli said, softly, and Aidan found himself nodding, quickly.

“Yes, absolutely, get me back to her fast.”

“Shut up,” Ben snapped. “Don’t make me do that again.” Aidan legitimately couldn’t tell if it was a threat or a plea.

His stomach ached, his cuts burned, and as they pushed him forwards through the woods he realized he must have twisted something in his leg when he’d tripped, as it began to throb as well. Eli and the other guard held him by the arms, thank the Mother, while Ben walked several feet ahead.

They’d been walking for a few seconds, Ben so far ahead they almost didn’t see him through the trees, when the third guard whispered. “What happened back there?”

“I don’t know,” Eli said, frightened. “I don’t know. Ben doesn’t… Ben isn’t a degenerate. He’s never been… he asked the Singer for a marriage assignment last week!”

There was a pause. “Maybe the flit did it,” The third guard said.

Aidan didn’t dare look at either of them. He kept his eyes on the ground, trying to look beaten. It wasn’t exactly hard, since he was bleeding in more places than he could count on one finger at this point.

“I don’t think the flit did it,” Eli replied finally. “He was too frightened. I saw… something else. I’ve seen a lot of something else lately.”

“Yeah. Me too. May the Mother keep us safe. We should tell the Singer about the shadow. About all the shadows.”

“Agreed. Even if Ben doesn’t, we have to tell her. And we don’t let Ben alone with him again. Just… just in case. It happens again. Whatever it was. I just don’t think the flit did it.”

“I didn’t, for the record.” The third guard smacked the back of his head. Aidan thought of the sheer volume of times he had hit someone to shut them up and honestly, the simple irony of it was kind of funny. He had to bite back a smile. Luckily, neither of them was looking.

“Let’s take him straight to her, don’t stop at the caves. Singer first.”

“Definitely agreed.”

If it was a choice between whatever had been in Ben’s eyes, trapped alone in a prison cell with the shadow that had turned Ben into someone else, and going to see the Singer, Aidan would pick the Singer any day. At least she’d just order his head cut off.

He tried not to think about the woods, as they came out of the forest and were back on the path heading towards town. It was late at night, nobody was awake but the usual patrols.

This was his second-worst fucking nightmare. But it wasn’t the worst.

Get home safe, Lars.

Goodbye.

I love you.

[nolimitsongrace]

Worry Is Sin

Defeat Worry Forever With This Simple StrategySeptember 26, 2019

Do you think worrying is just a normal part of life? You can defeat worry for good and live a life most people only dream of!

Sunday morning at 6:30 a.m. in the middle of pouring monsoon rains, 91,000 people crowd into Faith Tabernacle Church in Canaan Land, Nigeria. It’s an awesome sight—and that is just the first service.

What opened the door for all this to happen out in the middle of a Nigerian jungle?

One man made a decision to put worry behind him for good, and to simply trust God to do what He said He would do.

That man is Bishop David Oyedepo. Not only did his decision to stop worry for good build one of the largest churches in the world, but it also paved the way for God to build more than $500 million worth of facilities, including a church and a major university, right in the middle of one of the poorest places on earth.

Kenneth E. Hagin made the same decision and experienced supernatural healing, miracle after miracle in his life and ministry, and a life filled with unspeakable peace. Of this decision, he said, “Oh, I’ve had some marvelous opportunities since then to worry. Worry was the most difficult sin for me to give up. And worry is the greatest temptation you, too, will ever face. But you can resist it—and you must.”

Kenneth E. Hagin and Bishop Oyedepo discovered the same secret to success—the ticket to a life well-lived and prospering in all things. They both discovered that worry had been stealing the abundant life that belonged to them in Christ Jesus, and made the decision to never worry again. More importantly, they never turned back on the decision–no matter how tempted they were.

The results speak for themselves.

You can have the same whole-life prosperity, peace and joy these men of God walked in by following their example (and the Bible’s command!). You can learn how to defeat worry forever and put the devil under your feet where he belongs with this simple strategy.

1. Pray in the Spirit to Defeat Worry“A person who speaks in tongues is strengthened personally.” –1 Corinthians 14:4

Like a sneak attack, worried thoughts can drop into your head out of nowhere. You started the day fine, but after an email, phone call or random thought out of nowhere, suddenly you’re worried, upset, stressed and just not sure how your life is going to turn out.

Acceptable? Nope. Coincidence? Hardly.

Worry is just another form of fear (the opposite of faith), and it’s a handy-dandy way the devil likes to keep you from obtaining—well—anything. You may be in the habit of biting the bait, allowing the hook to drag you into doubt and torment. If you don’t bite right away, he’ll appeal to your “sensible” side and convince you that worrying is the responsible thing to do.

If you were raised in an atmosphere of constant fear—fear of financial trouble, fear of disease, fear of losing relationships—this may be so ingrained in you, you’ll need to bulldoze the habit of worry right out of your life! As much as you think you’re helping your life by worrying, you’re actually blocking the blessings of God from flowing to you.

If you’re a bit of a “worrywart,” it’s time to break the habit, become obedient to God’s Word, and defeat worry forever. Here’s how.

When worried thoughts come knocking on your door, don’t stop and have a conversation; don’t invite them in for tea. This is no time to play nice. You need to do one thing—Shut. Them. Down.

One way to do this? Pray in the spirit.

Praying in the spirit packs a powerful punch in any situation, and it’s a powerful way to “take every thought captive” (2 Corinthians 10:5, ESV). When the magnitude of a situation feels very real—and very troubling—it can be difficult to know how to shift gears.

That’s where praying in the spirit comes in. Every time you feel yourself starting to worry, switch over into tongues immediately. It’s your safeguard from worry, and the devil can’t compete with the power of the Holy Ghost.  

You’ll find it very difficult to continue worrying when you’re praying in the spirit, and you’ll be encouraged, too!

As you continue to do this, you’ll douse the fuel for the fire before it even has a chance to start. As you continue practicing this spiritual strategy, you’ll find yourself worrying less and less until it just disappears for good!

2. Lose Your Pride to Defeat Worry“So humble yourselves under the mighty power of God…. Give all your worries and cares to God, for he cares about you.” –1 Peter 5:6-7

While praying in the spirit will shut down worry—and fast—there’s a heart issue behind worry you must deal with, as well. (Warning: Conviction coming.)

Did you know when you worry you are being prideful? That might be a tough pill to swallow, but it’s a sin the Bible warns us to avoid.

When you worry, you’re meditating on the devil’s lies instead of the Word of God. As a result, every time you turn around, you’ll find you’re thinking of new problems to worry about.

It’s a cruel and dangerous cycle. But praise God, the Bible tells us how to break out of it. It says, “Humble yourselves…. casting all your care upon him” (1 Peter 5:6-7, KJV).

Why do we have to humble ourselves to get free of worry? Because in God’s eyes, continuing to worry and carry care is pride! Worrying is ignoring the Word. Worry ignores the fact that God laid every care, sin, sickness, money problem and anything else that’s under the curse on Jesus, and worry tries to carry those things and fix them with natural human strength.

Whatever you’re worrying about, if you had the ability, you would have already fixed it. So, stop running around in mental circles fretting about it, and just humble yourself before God. Acknowledge that without Him, you don’t have the spiritual power to overcome the things that are troubling you. Then cast on Him “the whole of your care [all your anxieties, all your worries, all your concerns, once and for all]” (verse 7, AMPC).

Don’t just give Him half of your cares and try to carry the rest yourself. Don’t give them to Him one minute and then take them back the next. That’s not what that scripture says. It says we’re to cast the whole of our care on Him “once and for all” to defeat worry forever.

That means we should never have a care. Ever! The benefit? When you aren’t worrying, you’re in position for promotion, increase and blessing because you’re staying out of sin and making room for God to work at the same time.

Pray A Prayer to Stop Worry for Good HERE.

3. Take God at His Word to Defeat Worry“The word of God is alive and active. Sharper than any doubled-edged sword….” –Hebrews 4:12 (NIV)

Part of losing pride is taking God at His Word. If you believe God, you won’t believe the devil’s evil report. That means you can make a decision to believe God’s promises to you and never worry again.

Maybe you’re thinking, But you don’t understand; they’re going to repossess my car!

What does that have to do with anything?

Well, I need a car to get to work.

Don’t you think Jesus knows that?

Yeah, but…

There’s the problem, right there! It’s not your need of a car. It’s your compromising, “yeah, but” attitude toward God’s Word and His covenant promise of provision.

When Brother Kenneth E. Hagin was a young boy, lying paralyzed in his bed and dying of an incurable blood disease, he got a revelation of the fact that worry is a sin. God revealed it to him while he was searching the Word, hoping to find out how to get healed.

He realized that by worrying he was disobeying God’s command. Determined not to give place to that sin anymore, he prayed and said, “God, if You’ll forgive me for this worry fit and pity party, if You’ll forgive me for crying all day long about my sorry lot in life, I commit to You I will never worry again the longest day I live on this earth.”

That was in 1933, and from then on he testified, “I haven’t worried a day since!”

Later in his life, after he started Rhema Bible School, he told about a time when some ministers came to tour the campus. As he was showing them around, they were looking at all the construction that was going on. Thinking about the cost involved, one of them said, “Brother Hagin, I just can’t imagine the load you’re carrying with this ministry.”

“I’m not carrying any load!” he laughed. “I turned all this over to Jesus. This Bible School was His idea, not mine. I figure if He can’t make it go it will just have to flop, because I’m not taking the care.”

It’s no wonder Brother Hagin enjoyed such outstanding success in his life and ministry! He obeyed 1 Peter 5:5-11. He humbled himself under God’s mighty hand and cast all his cares once and for all on God. So, God did for Him just what He said He’d do. God exalted him over all the cares of this world. He lifted him up over the curse and into THE BLESSING.

Find 5 Practical Ways to Cast Your Cares on Jesus HERE.

You can have the same spiritual, physical and financial success that Brother Hagin did. Get into God’s Word—that’s where you’ll find the power to defeat worry forever!

Find scriptures that cover the cares you’ve been carrying. Make a list of them. Keep them in front of your eyes and in your mouth until they’re rooted in your heart. The Word is the “sword of the Spirit” (Ephesians 6:17). If you grab hold of it and hang on to it, the Word will fight its own fight.

Watch Kenneth and Gloria Copeland teach you why worry is sin.

4. Praise the Lord to Defeat Worry“You will keep in perfect peace…all whose thoughts are fixed on you.” –Isaiah 26:3

This really should come as no surprise: Worship is the antidote to worry.

Think about it—if you’re worshipping the Lord, you’re giving Him glory, you’re focusing on His goodness, His power, His mercy and His provision. You’re focusing on the solution, not the problem.

Just like praying in the spirit, praising the Lord will stop worry in its tracks. It’s a great way to teach the devil a lesson, too.

Try it.

Every time he comes at you with fear-filled thoughts, start worshipping and praising the Lord. Loudly. Thank Him for His goodness, His mercy and His grace. Thank Him for your home, your family, your job, your car. Thank Him for every good thing in your life. Thank Him for the guidance and comfort of His Word.

Sing to Him.

He inhabits the praises of His people, and when He shows up, Satan runs.

This is how you defeat worry forever. You rejoice always—it’s impossible to rejoice and worry at the same time. If a worry starts to arise, you say, “No, that’s not a good report. I’m not going to think on it. I take authority over it, and I’m not going to touch it with my mind anymore.”

Then, move back into praise, and say goodbye to worry for good.

5. Watch Your Confessions to Defeat Worry“But the words you speak come from the heart—that’s what defiles you.” –Matthew 15:18

Last, but not least—if you really want to defeat worry forever, in addition to those things we’ve already discussed, you’ve got to watch your confessions.

When you speak worried thoughts, you’re ministering fear to yourself. You’re thinking about bad things and picturing them coming to pass in your life. You’re envisioning yourself losing your job, for instance, and running short of money. You’re talking about it and making fear confessions: “I’m just worried to death about all these dumb decisions the government’s making. They’re messing up the economy so bad, I’m afraid my company is going to go under, and I’m going to end up unemployed.”

No matter what the government is doing, you, as a believer, don’t have any business saying such things! It’s counterproductive. It doesn’t proceed from faith, and, as we’ve already seen, whatever doesn’t proceed from faith is sin.

Instead, if you are struggling with the temptation to speak worried thoughts, stay silent! Then, say this: “I don’t have a care in this world because I’ve cast every one of them onto my Lord.”

Call things that be not as though they were, and stop that worry in your life for good!

When you put these actions into practice—even if you have to do it every 30 seconds for a while—you will defeat worry forever. In fact, you’ll be shocked at how quickly your faith rises. You can take command, crush the worry habit and live a supernaturally carefree life!

Watch Kenneth and Gloria Copeland teach you how to destroy the worry habit.

Related Articles:

A Prayer to Stop Worry for Good

Scriptures for Dealing With Uncertainty

© 1997 - 2019 Eagle Mountain International Church Inc. Aka Kenneth Copeland Ministries. All Rights Reserved.

[xb-squaredx]

Super Smash Bros. Ultimate DLC Speculation

With Super Smash Bros. Ultimate right around the corner, it’s natural to look towards the future, rather than just be satisfied with what we already have. With that in mind, since I already completely botched ALL of my choices for potential newcomers in the base game, so let’s try it again with the DLC characters we’ll be getting! Surely I’ll get at least ONE right!

So, to preface this, I do have to acknowledge a bit of a wrench in the works when it comes to speculation: the Piranha Plant. A part of me feels like making a Piranha Plant playable is a message to us: nothing is off the table. That we should expect the unexpected. That Sakurai is a beast that cannot be tamed and does whatever he wants! However…it’s also possible this is just a flex of Sakurai’s creative muscle, and just something he wanted to do. With the news that Nintendo chose the DLC characters for Ultimate, I’m assuming this was Sakurai’s one chance to rock the boat and we’ll likely get some more “safe” or “expected” choices for DLC. That said, with SO many potential characters apparently off the table as either Assist Trophies or Spirits, there is this general question of “Just WHO could they possibly add now?” Well, I have some ideas…

Smash Bros. and Fire Emblem have a strange relationship, and we’ve had characters added to the former to promote the latter before, so for me one of the few no-brainer picks is a character from Fire Emblem: Three Houses, slated for 2019. As of now, we really don’t know all that much about the game, and while there seem to be three main protagonists, I think it’d be a toss-up as to which one we’d get. But with Fire Emblem being treated as a major franchise for Nintendo now, it just makes sense. Fans might get upset, but maybe if we’re lucky they won’t use a sword!

I think in general most choices are going to be geared towards promoting UPCOMING games, but at the same time, the Xenoblade Chronicles series might see another rep. Why? Well, because Sakurai clearly likes the games, Xenoblade Chronicles 2 sold well and he’s already placed a TON of Spirits and Mii Costumes from that game in Ultimate already. Now sure, Rex getting a costume seems like it’s a nail in the coffin, but I look at it more as Sakurai whetting fan’s appetites for the eventual DLC addition. Now, if it’d be Pyra instead, or having Rex and Pyra as a weird duo character, I’m not sure, but I’d honestly be kinda surprised if they don’t get in as DLC. The Torna: The Golden Country DLC campaign is also fresh in people’s minds, so I’d still say there’s a good chance. That said…

I’m still holding onto some hope that Elma could make it in as a rep for Xenoblade Chronicles X as a bit of a curve-ball. There are rumors that X could see a port to Switch and putting Elma into Smash is totally possible as a way to give that port some good press. Now, Monolith Soft itself hasn’t exactly spoken like a port is a sure-thing, and really it’s probably better to go with the more relevant reps with Rex and Pyra, but I can dream!

As far as promotional characters go, I feel that Nintendo might be looking to pimp their mobile games, and we just got Dragalia Lost not too long ago. The first original IP on mobile (albeit in conjunction with CyGames), it seems like a real missed opportunity to not use Ultimate to promote the game. Granted, there COULD be Spirits or something instead, but a playable character isn’t off the table at all. I also hear rumors that a Granblue Fantasy character might be in the cards, which is also done by CyGames, but rather than go with a franchise that…well…isn’t well known outside of Japan and lacks ties to Nintendo, why not go with their new mobile IP? A mobile IP that’s been making more than either Super Mario Run or Animal Crossing: Pocket Camp. Just something to think about.

So that’s three spots, roughly, all from Nintendo. But I think it’s fair to expect at least one more third party rep. I wouldn’t expect more than two honestly, and that’s even pushing it I think. But with third party, the sky is the limit with possible inclusions. Pick a company, any company and there’s totally at least one possible choice from each; Square Enix, Bethesda, Ubisoft, even Microsoft! So who can we expect? Doom Slayer? Banjo and Kazooie? A Slime from Dragon Quest? Honestly, the more I think of it…I’m not really sure who I could trim it down to.

You could argue that Doom Slayer being put in would be a great way to promote Doom Eternal I guess, and I guess Bethesda has been in talks with Nintendo regarding Smash…but would that really fit? Would that be something Nintendo would have chosen? Hard to say. The same goes for characters from the Fallout or Elder Scrolls series; they don’t strike me as franchises Nintendo feels all that bothered to help promote. We’ve seen that Square Enix is pretty hard to work with; such as limiting Cloud’s Midgar stage to two songs and rumors that he was the hardest character to get back. I kinda feel like Nintendo wouldn’t want to keep playing with them. They have tons of possible choices to go with if Nintendo IS willing to play ball with them, but I’m not super confident in any one choice. Dragon Quest is arguably their biggest franchise, so that would make total sense to put in someone from those games…but there’s always a possibility they’d go with something else. Maybe Geno fans would get thrown a bone…but I’m not holding my breath. Regarding Ubisoft, I wouldn’t say that Rayman is out of the question, really, and he seems like the most likely pick. Maybe that random trophy he got in Smash 4 can be topped with a playable appearance. But then there’s the curious case of Banjo and Kazooie. While once Nintendo characters and allegedly considered for inclusion in at least one of the games, they’re owned by Microsoft now, and it’s pretty unlikely that a direct competitor with Nintendo would be willing to lend a character out.  Microsoft is on better terms with Nintendo than one would expect, nowadays though. With Minecraft on Nintendo platforms (with Super Mario skins, on top of Banjo skins), Microsoft’s Phil Spenser stating multiple times that he’d love to see the pair in Smash and the fact that he’s likely a pretty big fan request…it IS possible. But we come back again to the question of if this is on Nintendo’s radar. While there are plenty of thirty-somethings that would love Banjo and Kazooie to make it in, I’d argue someone like Steve from Minecraft is a far more logical choice, even if he isn’t my ideal pick.  

Honestly, I think one of the more likely candidates is Tekken’s Heihachi. Arguably the face of the fighting games series, he had a Mii costume in Smash 4 and despite Namco co-developing this game, so far only Pac-Man is repping from them, so why not add another? Seems odd that Capcom, Sega and Konami get two reps (or more with echoes) while Namco still has one. So really, if I have to pick two that seem most likely…I’d go with Rayman and Heihachi. Not my ideal picks if I’m being honest, but they make the most sense.

Overall, I think that’s it. I’m prepared to be mostly wrong here, but it sure is fun to speculate! It’d be actually kind of cool to be completely wrong here and get five total surprises. Regardless of who we get, we already have SO much and I’m sure to love anyone they add anyway. I have faith in Sakurai and his team, and with just about a week to go until Ultimate launches, we’ll have plenty to occupy our free time before any of these characters get confirmed anyway I’m sure.

Until next time,

-B

[buildridernews]

[Review] Kamen Rider Build - Episodes 38-41

It's time for an actually timely review for once! I seem to be bucking the whole "I'm consistently halfway into the month when I decide to catch up on last month" trend.

Episode 38: "Mad World" (マッドな世界)

So we ended last month on two big cliffhangers. For starters, Evol now has what he has declared is his final form, which is kinda neat - typically you only see the "final form" term applied to the main Rider, and its origins are with the final boss of a video game, so here it's 100% on point. 

But we also discover that having Sento be possessed by Evolt resulted in his brain being kind of jumbled back together, meaning he remembers being Katsuragi Takumi. It seems like this would be an obvious thing to have come up at some point, in retrospect, but of all the times for it to happen...

As everyone makes a hasty retreat from an overpowered Evol, he decides to take a moment to do some kind of ssspace magic, turning some Fullbottles into these black and gold variants - thanks to magazine reveals, we know these are called Lost Fullbottles...

Anyway, Katsuragi proves to be an unsettling one for everybody to be around since he doesn't entirely trust Ryuga, he makes half-hearted apologies to Misora for using her, and he has a real emotional argument with Gentoku which I'm sure will be elaborated upon in the Rogue spinoff. This scene was interesting since they do some cool editing to alternate between showing Sento's actor and Katsuragi's actor in the same outfit.

When it comes to the whole presentation of Katsuragi being "brought back", there's ways this could go that could be a little bit... clunky, and I don't know if I can properly put into words why. I guess the best explanation I can think of is, it'd be real weird to me if this involved his face turning back to normal as well, because then you'd have to figure out a reason for why he'd want his face changed back that isn't insulting to Katsuragi (since the point of this subplot is to redeem him). Basically I'm glad we just got Sento's actor with a different personality.

So what the hell is Evolt doing right now? Well, to keep that actor involved, Evolt just decided to take on Soichi's appearance because I guess he can do what he wants. That's probably gonna be used to trick us at some point. He's decided that Namba has an ultimatum to answer to: Let him rule the world as a whole while Namba is just a prime minister of Japan, ooor he dies. At the same time, he gives Utsumi an offer to join him since he's a very useful scientist... which both seem like things that wouldn't meet in the middle, but just you wait.

Things get interesting as Utsumi tries begging for help from Gentoku, everyone else (minus a bitter Kazumi) is getting involved, and Katsuragi is staying in the lab working on the block item Sento pieced together before. When it comes time for Utsumi to approach Evolt in Pandora Tower about the ultimatum, Utsumi instead unleashes some Hard Guardians, the gear bros, and suddenly even the other Riders show up! I gotta imagine this was in reference to the talk he had with Gentoku since Kazumi is indeed nowhere to be found. I would have liked to see the moment where Katsuragi agreed to all this but it was interesting to see him try fighting. Especially since he specifically had trouble with a form SENTO invented. Cute.

Then something unexpected happens: Evol takes out the gear bros! They got powered up earlier in the episode with the implication they would die from any further nebula gas dosage, but I figured this was a seed planted for several episodes from now. Nope, one falls, the other switches into Hell Bro mode, then takes a hit from Evol to protect Great Cross-Z. He dies realizing that fighting for the sake of others actually feels pretty good, after seeing how Cross-Z seemed to be stronger for a previously unknown reason.

So, I feel like the gear bros are characters I can completely see others getting attached to, and I HAVE seen that, but they ultimately didn't do much aside from look cool. And if I'm being critical, I'd say they have 3 things that make for a weakly written character: If you make them too cool then they're flawless and boring, if you make them too stoic then there's not much room for personality, and if you focus too much on them being a duo then they have no idividuality - they're just the gear bros, which I've always called them since I can never remember their actual names. They had their moments, as few as they were, but I kinda leave these two deaths with a shrug and "Huh, didn't see that coming."

Then shortly thereafter, Evol kills Namba! And it's so beautiful becaue not only does Utsumi watch it unfold in terror on a tablet, where he can't do a thing besides watch from the camera Namba was recording from, but Evol also fakes him out with a laugh and a hug then turns him to fucking dust. It's so brutal, enough to make a man crack.

And I think he might've, considering Utsumi's memories of being a brainwashed Namba boy flash before him as he laughs maniacally and gladly joins Evol. With a duplicate Evol Driver, he uses a clever pair of Fullbottles to transform into Kamen Rider Mad Rogue, which we will see in more detail next episode! But it's a real cool suit. It's basically all of Night Rogue's suit with color changes, which makes for an interesting Rider suit. Plus, y'know, bringing us aaall the way back to when people found the BatEngine sound on the belt and wondered if Night Rogue would become a Rider.

Episode 39: “The Genius Can’t Be Stopped” (ジーニアスは止まらない)

And so, Mad Rogue takes on everyone with pretty great ease, which isn't surprising since he's a new Rider. Despite not wanting to take part, Grease shows up to help them escape, and once we're back at the cafe/lab we see that Katsuragi still isn't trusting of Ryuga. He's pretty much decided that Ryuga is part of Evolt, and even though Ryuga keeps telling him he's now fully human... he has these strange visions that appear to be from Evolt's memory of destroying Mars. Which is weird since one of them is from the perspective of someone seeing Evol. But maybe that's intentional.

Katsuragi has created what he believes is the ultimate bottle, combining the ingredients of all 60 Fullbottles to form the Genius Fullbottle. Misora isn't impressed, however, because Katsuragi lacks a certain heart that Sento had, which bothers him. He's left with even more to think about as a weakened Gentoku tries desperately to move so he can go fight and redeem himself for his sins.

Katsuragi goes out to fight Mad Rogue, but as he tries using the Genius Fullbottle, it won't activate - something is stopping him. As he takes a quick beating, Great Cross-Z jumps in, giving a wonderful speech about Sento was A DAMN HERO OF JUSTICE and making Katsuragi really come to terms with what Sento had that he doesn't. It's something that will use the Rider system for good, and put a stop to Evolt, so he has no choice. With Katsuragi literally standing face-to-face with Sento in his head, he puts his trust in this person to do what's right. Sento's back, baby.

With his new gadget, Sento transforms into Build's final form: Genius Form. A suit covered in 60 Fullbottles, which happen to be uniform enough to make one red side and one blue side. Super fun transformation.

So, Genius Form has grown on me, and it's certainly had time to. The form got leaked like 6 months ago, and... man, I dunno how that happened since we didn't get proper confirmation that it was legit until more toy catalog stuff came out. That was a leak that made me go "Oh I hope no one got FIRED for that".

Anyway, next episode.

Episode 40: “Ending Revolution” (終末のレボリューション)

Once Mad Rogue tries to fire away at Build, he finds that he's severely outmatched. Build is damn near bulletproof and can move at speeds he can't keep up with. Not only that, but we learn that Build's new bottle can actually get rid of the effects of the nebula gas, which I assume is what he does here to weaken Mad Rogue - otherwise I dunno why they showed it. He unleashes a finisher, then is rescued by Evol. But not before Evol randomly hits Kazumi just to take the Fullbottles his former comrades used to transform into Hard Smash.

So this is a thing we got mention of in episode summaries a while back. These episodes deal with "Lost Bottles", which is a term also brought up in the show by Evolt. I THINK what's going on here is some miscommunication between the show writers and toy developers, because the black and gold bottles are officially called Lost Fullbottles in promotional material for the summer movie and are being called Lost Bottles here. The reason why I think it's miscommunication is simple: Katsuragi referred to the Genius Fullbottle as the Genius Bottle. I'm decidedly going with what sounds like the proper designations.

Back at the cafe, everyone is still processing the fact that Sento is Sento again. He seems to remember all of Katsuragi's memories up until the Skywall incident, so there's that. Gentoku is going through some identity crisis of his own as he has decided to become a gag character - he's dressing informally for once and-- I kinda like him better this way. And I'm glad the sound mixing department knew that the scream from his transformation item was made for comedy.

After a whiplash change in tone, Sento is thinking about the Lost Fullbottles that Evol referenced, when suddenly the voice of Katsuragi pops up in his head with some answers - Katsuragi never made these bottles, but they were made by his father. Sento decides to go to Hokuto, and it just so happens Kazumi also wants to go there to sneak into Faust and retrieve his comrade's bottles. Ryuga, for once in his entire life, recognizes these are all stupidly risky ideas and just gives Kazumi his (apparently now repaired) Dragon Sclashjelly in case he needs it.

While at his mother's old house, Sento finds an odd photo in his father's belongings: A woman by the pier with a boat. I thought this woman was familiar, and it's because she's one of the victims from one of the first episodes who smuggled them to another location by boat! I remember how nice it was to see a victim used that way. However, Sento finds it odd that his father had a photo of this woman in his belongings since he SHOULD be dead, and a Guardian - which would not have been around at the time he was alive - is seen in the background.

Meanwhile, Kazumi does something stupid and sneaks into Faust in disguise, only to be caught and be given more nebula gas - enough that he might die if he loses a fight. He manages to escape, but is cornered by the Hokuto prime minister, who's become Evolt's latest experiment: A Lost Smash. This is a combination of a Hard Smash and some Clone Smash, and he considers it to be this monsters' final form - so it's cool we get that kind of lore for these monsters! She uses Kiba's old Fukurou Fullbottle to transform and beat the crap out of him, only for Build then Mad Rogue to enter the mix.

As Grease feels like he's on the ropes, he thinks about the idealistic speeches Build always gives and about how he's letting it get into his head - using the Dragon Sclashjelly in his own belt, he suddenly gains TWO Twin Breaker weapons, along with a significant power boost!

So, this is another talking point, because if there's anyone that fans wanna see with a new form, it's Grease. He is truly the Necrom of this show, except Necrom's eventual power-up was a whole new weapon, whereas Grease just gets two of the same weapon he had before. So that's a little disappointing. But hey, Necrom did get a new form in some post-finale material - here's hoping they keep the V-cinema thing going and you get a Grease movie!

So, Grease overpowers Mad Rogue, sending him running, and Build uses the power of his bottle to deliver a Rider Kick to our new Lost Smash to safely defeat her and undo the effects of the nebula gas. After she wakes up, it seems like she's come to her senses and the effects of the initial Skywall incident have worn off, so she's become a decent person again. Evolt shows up, however, to proclaim that he's going to use the Lost Fullbottles to create a new world!

And then we get a most unexpected twist if you didn't think too much about the previous photo of the boat woman. She talks with Ryuga and Sawa and she remarks that she did indeed know Katsuragi's father, because he was just there the other day... which means he is very much still alive.

Episode 41: “The Best Match Truth” (ベストマッチの真実)

Picking up where the show left off, Evol tries taking on Build in his new form, and Build manages to catch him before he can switch to his strongest form, which gives him an edge. He does some kind of change to Evolt's body genes, but we don't know why just yet - all we know is he's excited about it.

Hot off the heels of the realization that Papa Katsuragi is alive, the boat lady passes on a USB device to give to Sento, which contains several documents on his inventions, but for now we're getting details on the Lost Fullbottles. I did a post about it, so I'll just say the key parts here: Gathering 10 of the black Lost Fullbottles causes something that defies the laws physics, which certainly raises the stakes. Also later we learn about the origin of Best Matches which is beautiful and tragic, but I also talked about that in a post. Good stuff.

This episode also provides us with a proper recap of the show so far, with the meta commentary I love from the cold openings, and it kinda tosses out a fact I hadn't even caught onto: Every Smash has been a person connected to the group in some way, be it a loved one, a possible witness to an event, or even one of them, like Sawa. But that brings into question who the guy from episode 1 was.

We don't have to wonder for long, as Sawa manages to get enough info on him to know that he was connected to Katsuragi's dad. Sawa arranges a meeting between him and Sento, which he hopes will get him closer to his father.

Meanwhile, we've learned just what effect Build's new form had on Evolt, as he tells all to his masked ally in Faust's lab. It seems that up to this point, Evolt has just mimicked human emotions, but Build's attack has basically caused him to gain actual emotions. Now he's feeling high on life and it seems like he's just being quirky... but there's some implications to that.

Sento meets with the man, but he reveals that he was sent to attack Sento as another Lost Smash, proclaiming that he'll be killed if he doesn't follow orders. Build finishes him off safely, and he starts to learn the truth, until Evol shows up and kills him instantly, then explains that Build's attack gave him emotions. Then Evol attempts to turn Build into a Smash using a bottle he has, but Build's form neutralizes it, allowing him an upper hand. As he successfully starts overpowering our main villain, Evol's rage begins to build up, then he disappears.

That's when Build makes a sudden realization, which the show pretty quickly passes by despite how alarming it is: If Evol has emotions now, that means he can gain a higher Hazard Level and become stronger and stronger.

Finally, Evolt returns to Faust's lab with two more Lost Fullbottles taken from Build during their fight, which means he's up to 6 - only 4 left to go before something unfathomable happens. Then we end on the proper face reveal for Evolt's lab buddy: Katsuragi's father... who I will probably have to start calling by his first name eventually. BUT NOT TODAY.

So that was one hell of a month of episodes! And this latest one tells all, what with the Lost Fullbottles and the motifs of the Best Matches explained. It's actually kinda sad the show's almost over... only a couple more months now.

Next review, however, will be something different.

Yeah. See you Next Build.

[yslbyhesfanfics]

Chapter One - The Come Backs.

It was few months since they parted their ways, he was off to well deserved vacation somewhere in the world with some of his influential friends, she on the other hand was headed back to called London, with a broken heart and her mind trying to find the peace and rationally telling her it was the only good decision they both had. It was few months since they said that last goodbyes and didn't really talk much, while her heart still ached for him, waking in middle of the night whispering his name.

She missed Harry more than she missed anything in the world, and she could make a list of what she missed. Like that mean mexican restaurant they visited during few days stop in Mexico City. He kind of introduced her to the restaurant, as he visited few times before. She missed the cocktails they had while being in Italy, the air infused with salt from the sea. Somehow, he was in addition to everything she missed.

It was late at night and her mind was boozed with cheap wine from grocery store down the street. She was watching some tutorials on photography, not really paying attention as her mind traveled miles to wherever he was. She wondered what he was doing, until her phone buzzing interrupted her.

Jeffrey Azoff

Nina could probably call Jeffrey her friend now, after all he third wheeled most of the time they went out and she hoped he wouldn't. It was his manager, but in fact also her boss, kind of.

„Heyy, Jeff. What's up?“ she tried to sound sober, but failed miserably.

„Hi. Uhm, so. I need you in New York City tomorrow, all geared up, I sent you email with your boarding passes and instruction for hotel and also a schedule. If that's alright. You still in London, right?“ this defintiely helped her sober up. She didn't really expect to be called up for work for few months, maybe a year. After all, Harry would have to make new album, plan tour, and then tour for her to actually go and take pictures of him and the band. She still wasn't over him, over the wonderful eighteen months they spent together, from the very scratch of basically auditioning and trying to prove them, that her photography career was legit and worth their time.

"Yeah, same old, still London." she said quietly, her voice shaking a bit. "So, what is this about?"

"Ahh, new single, Harry hurried up with the album actually. Told him too many times to slow down a bit." my heart skipped few beats when I heard his name. None of my friends actually talked about it, I didn't really talk relationships with them, or maybe because under a non disclosure contract. But hearing his name from someone else's mouth, it felt weird.

"That man never stops, right?" Nina tried to sound casual, she didn't know how much did Harry tell Jeff, if anything. Probably something.

"Well you know him, a workaholic he is." she silently agreed.

"Okay, I'll get to packing then, how long am I staying in New York?"

"That's the thing. It's a bit of a promo tour. Eight cities across the USA, then UK. Approximately a month of promoting. Garry from videography department is just landing." She missed Garry to be honest. One of the people who worked for Harry since the start of his solo career, and one of the people who became friends for her. So she was happy to know she would have one familiar friendly face to talk to.

"Okay, I'll get myself ready and check the email. See you tomorrow, Jeff." She said quietly, before he said goodbye and hung up. Nina checked the email to see my flight was at five am, so it meant she had literally three hours to get ready before she should call an Uber and head to airport. She was pretty sure they tried to contact others for photography and she was the last person to call. She had a knot around her stomach when she thought about being in his presence and was sure that Harry wasn't the happiest person about this as well.

As much as it seemed like parting in peace, there were emotions that were building up past few weeks, they just stopped working as a couple and that was it. The moment he said the sentence she felt in the air couple of days before, her heart broke, but couldn't say she wasn't expecting it. He was much rather with his friends out somewhere partying and boozing himself to the point he woke her in middle of the night, pushing the night stand to side accidentally. Falling to bed next to her and immediately falling asleep. Sometimes she wondered if it was her, who made him drought away. Was it anything she said? Or anything she has done?

Her hands where shaky as she was preparing all her cameras and memory cards into the camera bag, picking all the lenses she would possibly need. Then picking some basic clothes, she didn't need to impress anyone, she used to love dress up a bit for him. Knowing she would be in the public eye judged by millions of fans. But sometimes it felt like black tee and black skinny jeans wouldn't do much harm.

She was running out of time to get ready, so she took a quick shower, let her shoulder length brown hair air dry as she quickly did her skin care routine and packing all things she used into a cosmetics bag, including her make up to another one, brushing her teeth while throwing everything into a big luggage and a her laptop to her carry on. She cursed at Jeff too many times, when she nearly tripped over the coffee table in her living room, trying to get dressed, but also to not forget all chargers and mainly her phone. As she was ready to leave, she knocked on her friend who lived two floors under her, giving her keys so someone would water her orchidees. Amy gave her sympathic look, as she knew where exactly was she headed, and how is her heart going to ache.

Amy was a blonde haired girl who knew Harry thanks to her boyfriend and his friends, so when the word of him looking for a new photographer got out, she immediately thought of Nina Shaw. Amy still could remember the day she moved into the same building, dropping her favorite vase in front of the house, cursing and sitting on the first step. She looked lost and angry, but there was something about her, so Amy did her good deed of the day and helped her to get things out of her car to her new apartment, and later that day, to even unpack all stuff and find its place. They immediately bonded and became close friends, having wine Fridays and brunch Sundays. Amy worked as a mediocre model, her career hitting of basically through connections and Instagram. So having a good photographer as one of her closest friends was definitely useful.

"Please try not to get hurt by him again." she said as they broke off the tight hug.

"You are saying that as if he is evil." Nina tried to laugh it off, always acting tough.

"I know him longer than you, don't forget." she just nodded, leaving her and hurrying to her Uber driver then helping her with her luggages.

* * *

The landings weren't her favorite, she managed to get a bit of sleep and had to deal with terrible hungover now. She waited a bit for her luggage, planning to get a coffee before heading to her hotel, she rushed out of the arrivals room before the biggest wave of travelers hit and it would be impossible to get a cab rightaway, all she was planning was to get a bit of sleep before she had to face her stupidly rich and famous ex boyfriend.

Her calculations and plans ruined by a simple paper with her last name on it, as if she wouldn't recognize his face anywhere in the world. He tried to look casual, having big sunglasses on his face, wearing simple black oversized hoodie and black skinnies. It was long time since she last saw him wear those, he switched pretty quickly to bit high waisted paper bag trousers when he tried them on.

"Nina." he waved at her, she still could pretend she didn't hear him. But as few people in front of her turned to him and his voice, she had no other choice. She waved at him lightly, cuddling more into her warm sweatshirt and then going to his direction. She is going to kill Jeff for this.

"Hey." she said quietly, letting him to take her luggage and carry on, leaving her only the camera bag and her purse. He was looking at her, as he was bit shocked her once long hair were gone.

"You cut your hair." he said, without any emotion in his voice.

"I cut my hair, yeah." she repeated, Nina wasn't quite sure as how to behave now, he was pretty much her boss, but also her ex boyfriend she still was head over heels for.

"Why?" he stopped at his car and opened the truck.

"Felt like I need a change it up a bit." She said, avoiding his eye contact at all costs, getting to the back seat of the car. He didn't really make a comment about why she didn't take the passenger seat next to him, after he close the trunk and got to his seat, it was dead silent.

Nina zoomed out while watching the way pass by, the buildings being tall and eventually her eyes closed and she took a short nap before he parked in the garages of a penthouse he rented for this summer. Jeff didn't know anything about him picking her up, it just felt stupid for him to let her stay at some cheap hotels because Jeffery wouldn't spend more than needed on staff's acommodation. Three stars were enough, as he said.

Harry sat in the car in silence for about twenty more minutes, before Nina started waking up, looking around confused and then meeting his eyes in the mirror of the car. His eyes were dull, with no expression. She used to love the color of his eyes, the dimples on his cheeks and his damn beautiful smile, now she felt like choking as she was looking at him without any word said for couple of moments.

"Where are we?" she said quietly, stretching her arms a bit.

"My penthouse." he said firmly, his voice monotone. She couldn't really read him at all.

"Why?"

"The hotel wasn't nice." he said simply and got ouf the car.

[elane-in-the-shadows]

Red Queen Fan Fiction - Blood Curse Chapter 20

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chapter 1

chapter 2

chapter 3

chapter 4

chapter 5

chapter 6

chapter 7

chapter 8

chapter 9

chapter 10

chapter 11

chapter 12

chapter 13

chapter 14

chapter 15

chapter 16

chapter 17

chapter 18

chapter 19

chapter 20

chapter 21

chapter 22

chapter 23

chapter 24

chapter 25

chapter 26

chapter 27

chapter 28

chapter 29

Final chapter

Mare POV

Evangeline laughs. It’s a shrill, pretentious sound, and its overstatement calls such attention from those around her that for a moment, I feel like it blots out the noises of the unrest in the shelter.

Tiberias winces. Yet his eyes fall on me, lock on me, and I stare back. I like to unsettle him. Evangeline’s switched to snickering when Farley dashes to us behind Tiberias. She slows as she arrives, searching for Clara in Bree’s arms. There’s a change in her demeanour that tells of her urge to go to her child and comfort her after the stress of the evacuation. That vanishes quickly. She stops mid-step, falling back into the general’s role as she scans us with hard eyes.

There isn’t much to see, as we’re still left stunned and frozen by Tiberias’s arrival, apart from Evangeline’s faux amusement. It makes me angry, he shouldn’t be able to unhinge us like that. I step forward with a clank, a sound that makes time move again, breaking the spell over us. “Is the town safe now?” I ask with all haughtiness I’ve learned from Bess Blonos and the princess next to me.

Tiberias nods, Farley speaks. “Calore heroically fought against the bombs he could find. And even located some culprits. Commoner Silvers, this time.”

“They are most of the times,” Tiberias says. They’re his first words and I expect them to sound rough, husky, as if he was silent during the weeks I didn’t hear his voice. How stupid of me.

“I assume you’re experienced with the situation, then?” Farley asks him. “It’s good to know that burners are helpful in this kind of thing.”

“Lady Ventos could assist me the next time,” he says, nodding to the Silver woman behind me. “I fear this will happen again.”

“I’m no lady,” Ventos snaps. “There’re no ladies or lords among us.”

Evangeline rolls her eyes but doesn’t start her chuckling again. She tries to hide her insecurity but doesn’t dare to meet my eyes, or those of her betrothed.

Tiberias disregards her likewise. “It’d be nice if that was true,” he says to Ventos. “Unfortunately, there’re many lords and ladies vying for control of Harbor Bay.”

“And you’re here to tame them?” I inquire. “I want to see that.” It’s not a rhetorical question. I move closer to him, noticing Kilorn’s worried gaze from the corners of my eyes – and Tiberias’s shock. That rather contents me. Just like Evangeline whose smugness is suddenly a lot more real.

His earring blinks red in the only ray of sunlight I see this day. He still wears it, the earring he gave me and which I returned by piercing him myself. He looks behind himself, to me, certainly noticing how I watch him although I try to hide its intensity. The corners of his mouth twitch and I think if I see his grin again, I’ll run away. But it hardly evolves into amusement. These days – weeks – have hardened him. Is he the same man who tried everything to free me from my imprisonment? The one who sat with me in the Bowl of Bones’ cell? The commander prince –

He strides like one for certain. But he’s less regal now, a little slouching, dragged, as if some part of the depression laying over the city sunk into him. And we aren’t even in the worst sectors yet. The streets are still empty, as people are reluctant to leave their houses apart from those coming back from the bunkers. But those are from other quarters, and Farley and Kilorn finding shelters for those left homeless with comrades from Harbor Bay.

“You know very well where the explosions where,” I state.

Tiberias is startled, causing a break in his stride. He glances at me for a second before focusing ahead once again.

A few people look at us, the two from the rumours. The crown prince and the Red rebel enwrapped in an illicit love affair. If they think we’re back at that, I find myself not caring. Six months as a prisoner and actress for propaganda did that to me.

“Farley told you I tried to deactivate the bombs,” he says.

“And, did you? Are you an expert at bomb deactivation?”

“Only in stopping the explosions and decreasing their radii.” He cackles and turns to me. “That would be an actually good idea, Mare. I don’t have to fear failure while training.”

The words – my name – are a bait I don’t fall for. “But I hope you found the culprits as well,” I say.

“A group of Silver commoners. I could only arrest two of them, the rest got away.”

“Can’t you find them again?”

“Probably. They’re known in Harbor Bay’s underworld and been up to no good for weeks.”

Oddly, this wakes memories of the last time we were in this city, when Crance brought us in and Maven branded me. I resist the urge to touch the scar, to even think of it. “So, you have your sources here? A royal lowering himself into the ugly shadow business?”

He fastens his gait. “The commoner Silvers did it before. There’s always been business between them and the gangs, but only about some forbidden goods. Then the governor here was murdered and a scapegoat was found. A Red, claimed of being a gang member who was executed afterwards. Only he wasn’t a criminal. And the unrest here started for real. Control had lessened everywhere after … you were freed and the Rift declared their independence.

“In Harbor Bay, the rest of the city council fled or went into hiding. Now the Silver commoners try to take hold of both the underworld and the city proper. There’ve been fights between new and old gangs. That is a minor issue, though,” Tiberias claims and I snort. I wonder what’s so proper about the Silver parts of the city.

“The real problem are the weapons showing up currently,” he continues. “Those are military gear, from Harbor Bay’s own arsenal.”

“Meaning the Silvers holding them are taking a side,” I conclude. “Or staging their own coup.”

“Exactly.” The buildings around us are becoming more and more destroyed, the farther we go. It’s not a living quarter, but the administrative sector, and its air is still filled with dust and smells burned. I check my lightning, preparing for further attacks. They don’t come though the sight of Harbor Bay’s royal palace, Ocean Hill, at the center of the sector doesn’t lift my dread. Yet it’s Tiberias’s goal and I follow. Once he told me it was built for his mother but it has nothing of a queen’s holiday residence anymore. Unlike the buildings around it, it hardly shows damage, only a few marks in its steel and concrete façade. Again, I have to think of Coriane Jacos, a woman who lost herself under the burdens of Norta’s crown. Did her heart become as heavy as her palace? Or is it the heart of her son, the soldier king-to-be who locks away his feelings?

“I’ve heard nothing of Harbor Bay,” I say. “Neither in Piedmont nor in Archeon.”

He opens the gates. “Strange, given how vital Harbor Bay is. But every town, every region, fends for itself now.”

It disturbs me that he says the same as Farley – although it shouldn’t. He’s doing his job. His bleeding, awful job. I stop in the front of the stairs under the doors that he’s already climbing.

“Why have you vanished, Tiberias?” I say. “Archeon, Whitefire and the throne were yours for the taking.”

He turns and stares. I’m tempted to say more, voice all the things I’ve pondered on in the last weeks, but I stay quiet. I won’t give him possible excuses and explanations, he has to think for himself. He does so visibly. His lips quiver, his eyes burn, finding mine with a begging intensity. I’ve asked a question, but he’s asking me something as well. For trust, maybe. Not only for mine, which he won’t get, but, as I realize when a shadow of doubt falls over his face, his own in me too.

“I didn’t want to marry Evangeline,” he says finally, thus stomping out the tiny flame I felt kindling a moment ago. “She wouldn’t ever have wanted me but couldn’t deny her family about it,” he adds.

I laugh. Louder and harsher than Evangeline did, so it fills the dull gray sky above us. I believe he means it. Yet it’s a blatant omission of his true reasons and the following scowl on his face is proof, and a pleasing sight. It’s like a cold coffee, distasteful, hardly enough, but still serving its purpose. “How considerate of you, Tiberias. Truly, I’m impressed how much Evangeline’s feelings concern you. Unlike mine.”

It’s even better to see this arrow hit its mark, and the devastation and shame in his eyes. Although it cools my heart even more.

“I care about you, Mare Barrow,” he claims, not too proud to contradict me. A part of me is glad he thinks it’s necessary to insist on it.

“You should rather show me,” I say. “You say the Red and Silver gangs fight. What do you do about that? Do you work with the Red Watch?”

For a second, relief washes over him because I’ve switched the topic. However, he turns sombre quickly. “The Red Watch’s house was the one attacked today.”

I hmph. I jump up the stairs and open the doors in his place. Where’s all the security gone? The palace seems positively evicted. “Now I really hope you find the culprits.”

“I – I’m working on it. There’re the two arrests today, and the contacts in the gangs. However, the Silvers … I can’t trust their reports.”

“What an observation. You want the Merandus’ back?” The foyer is still lush and luxurious. Tiberias, finally catching up with me, points down a corridor. “Maybe you need better interrogators,” I say.

“Maybe I need to give the Silvers something,” he replies.

“Maybe your lot has had enough already.” I stop to face him. “Maybe all you should promise them are their lives and freedom in exchange for their cooperation.”

He doesn’t object again. He nods. “You realize you admit I have power here,” he says.

“And you should use it for good. Promote the Red Watch. Declare the alliance with the Scarlet Guard, again. Give Farley command – “

“You think I haven’t considered that myself? It won’t work, Mare. I can’t hand over rule, the Silvers won’t have it. They only accept rule taken by power and strength – “

“Don’t interrupt me ever again, Tiberias Calore,” I say with all calmness I can find when a storm forms in my guts. I don’t care where he wants to take me any longer. Every second in his presence only raises old issues. His fake understanding paired with utter conservativeness and resignation. He unravels me and I can’t stand it. I can’t stand this place.

I take off. I walk down corridors where I might’ve murdered people and ran for my life. Portraits of Calores and their ancestors and allies look down on me and I wonder of Tiberias feels cosy here, if he re-hung his mother’s image as well. Does he like it here, does he like to feel royal, powerful, and probably welcome again? I, for sure, know I’m not welcome here. These walls want to exile me, and if not that, chain and incarcerate me. With its red and gold colours, the palace is nothing like Whitefire, I tell myself. There’s no Maven. No Arvens, no manacles. My lightning is proof of it, as is the flickering of the lightbulbs I pass. Yet my breathing fastens and my sight fails, red paint turning into bloodstains.

Tiberias runs to me, calling my name in dimmed sounds I can barely hear. All I want is to get out before I really faint. Stumbling, I take step after step with my blackening sight until I can taste the sticky city air again. I sit down, crouching and hugging myself. What has happened?

Slowly, I try to calm my breathing, let my eyes rest. I know Tiberias is near. His hand is on my back, warm and steadying. I would’ve pulled away in another situation but I remain still, too exhausted to move at all.

His palm is gone the second I straighten. I still don’t dare to rise. Perhaps I’d fall down on weak legs. “You see, I could never be your queen,” I murmur, and my confession already feels like a concession, a weakness.

“So, are you going to declare yourself king in your mother’s palace if you don’t dare to in Archeon? Even though Evangeline is here, there’s no Anabel to make you marry now.”

Cruelty is my only crutch. His grief, for his mother and grandmother, is tangible. Yet he doesn’t leave me. I could tell him to sod off but what I want is to prompt him to finally say he won’t become king.

He doesn’t do that either.

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