#to the point where his situational desire for the upper hand can get *pitted against* the horror of submitting to that fate

[shinelikethunder]

so for the record i fully blame you for the fact that i'm watching supernatural for the first time in 10 years or so, but ALSO one of the things that is fundamentally crunchy and compelling about sam and dean's relationship, imo, is that it's a constant, unceasing power struggle that they are to varying degrees aware of but mostly won't admit to

(sam, particularly, i think most desperately wants to /win/ the power struggle for good while also being the least likely to admit that it's actually happening. dean's investment feels much more situational - he wants sam to go along with his plans in the moment but isn't necessarily that invested in Being The Boss Of Sam Forever, whereas i think one of sam's deepest and most shameful unrealized desires is for dean to submit to him permanently, and the place where i depart from most wincest shippers is that imo what makes that really juicy is that dean doesn't want to do that.)

anyway! some thoughts on a fandom i haven't really interacted with at all since 2011, just for you lmao

yes! tbh it's one of an entire subgenre of ships that hit real good for this exact reason: an equality that comes, not from both of them being wholesomely egalitarian and refusing to ever seek the upper hand on one another, but from them constantly being in a billion little squabbles and wrestling matches both petty and consequential, even as they're earnestly trying to negotiate conflicting needs. and none of it is ever even going to settle into a single fixed pattern, let alone result in a permanent and definitive "winner." they both have their expected roles in this dynamic, and they both constantly shift between chafing against those roles and embracing them and instrumentally leaning into them to get something else they want.

it's so pleasingly crunchy... yet another reason i cannot vibe with whatever's in the water right now that's driving people to stan either the ship or the characters by picking one brother to be The Woobiest Victim Forever. like. that's not just getting carried away with a temptation i otherwise understand, that is actively sucking the fun out! even when it's my favorite little rat in the Blorbo Studies Lab who's the designated woobie, the static designation is less fun than the sharp-elbowed version where they both get to #Transgress against each other.

(i think dean is subby in the sense of getting a HUGE kick out of situations where he can safely hand someone else the reins, and/or stop agonizing and just get an A in being the goodest boy in the world by finding out what will please someone else and doing it. but oh my god, any attempt to extend that dynamic into situations of genuine conflict or threat? yeah no, the exact constellation of responsibility issues (and free will issues, objectification issues, self-worth issues, etc) that make those kinks so potent also mean that if the fun game turns into a real encroachment... best-case scenario, he snaps into Amalgamated Macho Archetype defensive panic and is probably a blustering shithead to reassert control. if he initially goes along with whatever it is, for sam's sake or because lol what are boundaries, that is Much Worse. because it sets up this ticking time bomb, resentment buried underneath compliance, and that is going to very specifically bring his thermonuclear John Winchester Issues into the fray.)

[queenvhagar]

You wrote a fabulous essay about Ser Criston. Can you do one for Prince Aemond? 👉👈

Aemond grows up a neglected second son to Viserys (who killed his first wife in pursuit of a son only to neglect the three he actually had in favor of his eldest daughter and her sons). He is born dragonless and faces bullying. He risks his life numerous times to get a dragon, frequently sneaking into the dragon pit to try and find an egg (Helaena says he "did it again" after almost being toasted by Dreamfyre).

At Driftmark, he hears Vhagar call to him, and he knows this is his only real chance to claim an adult dragon, as the other ones are on Dragonstone where Rhaenyra and her family live and his parents are against the idea of him risking his life to try to claim one, likely meaning he would not get the chance again for many years and his bullying would persist. So he risks his life, knowing in all likelihood Vhagar would kill him. But she doesn't. She chooses Aemond as her next rider, and Aemond becomes at dragonrider at age 10. Immediately upon returning, though, he's ambushed by four children who start physically attacking him, at one point punching and kicking him as he's curled up on the ground. He defends himself, hitting the kids back away from him and taunting them about their birth. Jacaerys gets angry about Aemond's words and pulls a knife on him. Aemond uses a rock to disarm him and threatens more harm if the boys don't back off. But then Jacaerys throws sand to blind Aemond as Lucerys picks up the knife and slashes him across the face, cutting out his eye and permanently disfiguring him. Instead of any of the four children being chastised for their role in ambushing him, his older sister uses the situation to demand he be tortured for information and weaponizes the situation to her own benefit. His father angrily questions him and his family in front of the entire court and threatens them with disfigurement if they speak the truth again. In this moment Aemond realizes the powerlessness of his family's position when it comes to his eldest sister and her children and their father's favoritism, and he begins to train to be able to defend his family, embracing his new dragonrider identity to become a warrior that could protect his family from future violence.

Years later, his sister and her sons return to beg his father to protect them from the consequences of their actions once again, and he does. At dinner, despite apologies and toasts occurring, nobody mentions how Aemond was disabled and in fact the boy who did it laughs in his face about the whole thing while the other brother dances with Aegon's wife to embarrass him. The two boys feel untouchable now that Viserys has yet again supported their mother over his wife and her children. That's when Aemond makes a toast, provoking them to an attack that reveals Aemond and Aegon have the upper hand physically and the other boys are incompetent when it comes to fighting (and they need their mother's husband to step in to save them). Aemond and his brother work together to face them, as they learned at Driftmark that they are the only ones in this world who have each other's backs.

When Viserys dies, despite believing he is more suited, Aemond helps find Aegon and install him as king, and he goes as an envoy to Storm's End to make a marriage pact with the Baratheons to gather support for his brother. The boy who cut out his eye shows up and demands Lord Baratheon remember his decades old vow to be subservient to Aemond's eldest sister. Now that Lucerys is unprotected, Aemond seeks justice for what was done to him. While he might have forgiven his eye being cut out, he did not forgive that there were no consequences for it. His ensuing reckless actions with Lucerys result in the death of him and his dragon, effectively ensuring war (or it should have, but the show brushes aside this and B+C as the major motivating events for the start of the war to push an agenda of the women desiring peace no matter what and the men wanting war at all costs).

Because of Aemond's killing of Lucerys, Blood and Cheese is set into motion by Daemon for Rhaenyra (and Rhaenyra condones the action). At this point in the story, Aemond should feel responsible for Blood and Cheese and in some part Aegon should blame him for it, even though full blame is recognized as going towards Daemon and Rhaenyra. This is what would realistically drive animosity between the two (not some childish bullying scene, as if that would be enough to get Aemond to kill his own brother and take out one of their side's only dragons, after everything they've all been through together). Aemond would seek redemption for his role in starting the violence, which he would hope to find in Rook's Rest where he would help Aegon take down a dragonrider from Team Black. Except it is not enough, and it does not save Aegon from being burned (this is not an intentional moment of revenge or power grab by Aemond, but rather Meleys or Vhagar's dragonfire manages to injure Aegon before Rhaenys and Meleys are taken down).

In the aftermath, Aemond is Prince Regent. He is not next in line with Maelor alive, and he doesn't seem to claim the throne with Aegon incapacitated. Instead, he seeks to win the war so Aegon can sit the throne undisputed. Alicent supports him, as she supported Aegon, as this was her goal their entire lives (instead of Alicent being sympathetic to people who would kill her sons and have killed her grandson or trying to take power for herself, as her whole role and beliefs in the whole conflict have been ruling with soft power and through the men in her life - the Greens should be a united front, as they have been since at least Driftmark, and united in their goals of seeking power for themselves and protection against Team Black). Aemond from this point up until his involvement with Alys, once King's Landing has fallen and his brother's cause seems next to hopeless, leads him to pursue his own agenda. No longer seeking to win the war, he uses Vhagar to punish those who got in the way of his family's victory and who helped facilitate Rhaenyra taking the throne from Aegon.

Aemond has always been concerned with his family and since he claimed Vhagar and lost an eye he has acted as their protector, training with the sword and reading histories to prepare himself to do just that when the inevitable conflict broke out. There is no reality where he plots to steal power from his brother or make his family suffer for his own whims. The character of Aemond is not some psychopath who delights in sadistic acts and seeks to further his own self-interest at the cost of his family (nor is Aegon, for the record).

The real Aemond has understood that the only people who have is back are his family, and so he will have their backs in return. This should be his driving force and motivation. But the show doesn't want Aemond to seem like able or redeemable in his love for and loyalty to his family, nor do they want the Greens to seem like a competent, united front in the war, so Aemond characterization and motivation bends to the will of the writers and follows whatever plot beats they want him to follow to fill their agenda of creating shock value and shaping the Greens into outright evil, almost-caricature villains to oppose their chosen hero.

[subbing-for-clones]

The Alpha and The Omega Part 3

Alpha Maul x Omega Reader

Word Count: 5k

WARNINGS: Mentions of murder, talk of slavery, mentions of guns and other various bounty hunting shenanigans

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      Maul didn’t know what to expect when he entered your ship; he had tried not to have any expectations. The main entrance opened up to the cargo bay that took up the whole footprint of the ship. He could see the cryo-freezer and storage in one corner and made a mental note to look into getting one for his own ship; he may not mind the smell of the bodies he collected but he preferred the idea of handing in quarries that weren’t decomposing by the time he turned them in. Labeled crates of food supplies and ammunition lined the walls along with a surprisingly high amount of medical equipment. The center was left open, for training purposes he guessed. He had thought that this layout was fairly standard for a high-ranking hunter and despite his best efforts not to assume what he would find on the upper level he was astonished.

    You obviously lived here full time on the ship you had fondly referred to as the Wolf, the hatch opened up into a hallway from where he could see the door to your cabin left open. He fought the urge to look inside out of respect and followed you through the common area toward the cockpit. He did allow himself to stay a few steps behind you so he could glance around.

    The kitchen had been expanded from a small standard kitchenette to a more comfortable cooking space with a large pantry. A quality wooden table sat off to the side with some kind of potted green fern in its center, rather than a flimsy durasteel counter. Plush rugs of different colors had been scattered along the floor and a doorless closet imbedded in the wall showed massive amounts of folded blankets and extra pillows along with other soft looking comfort items. Post cards from countless planets littered the walls surrounding the space. You had even managed to fit a sofa and bookshelf in one of the corners without making it seem over crowded.

    He didn’t say a word as he sat in the co-pilot’s chair beside you, setting his worn bag on the floor next to him. You had even managed to decorate this space; warm blankets hung over the backs of the chairs and photos of you with other hunters hung on the walls that lacked control panels. Some of the photos were located in bars, others looked like more traditional hunting parties; friends with their arms around each other in front of massive beasts that lay slain. In one, he recognized the Mandalorian he had met on Tatooine pissing into a Sarlacc pit with you laughing boisterously in the side of the frame with your head thrown back. Something in his hindbrain whispered to him.

Omega makes it home.

He blinked his attention back to you when he realized you had said something.

“You alright Maul?” you asked him again when the fog left his eyes.

“Yes, my apologies, I have just never seen a ship like this before.”

“Yeah, I move around a lot so over the years I made it more comfortable. Easier than having a home base like some of the others try to keep, cheaper too,” Maul nodded in understanding before turning back to you once you had broken through the atmosphere and started tapping away at the nav computer.

“Where are we going for the first quarry?”

“We’ve got a runaway wife of some rich wannabe crime lord. Need to bring her back alive for the whole sum or dead for only twenty five percent. Last seen on Anaxes, guess she liked tinkering with the ships back home, probably hiding out as a mechanic or something there. I want the whole purse. I know you like bringing them back cold but I’m not settling for a fraction of the price.”

“Runaway wife should be easy,” he folded his arms as he studied the hologram the puck projected.

“Should be, I’m not worried about her. She’s young and pretty, I’d be shocked if she didn’t have at least a few guys keeping an eye on her; but them we can kill,” you pulled back a lever and the stars stretched around the Wolf throwing the two of you through hyperspace. You leaned back in the chair and kicked your feet up.

“Listen, I’m not one to beat around the bush. I picked her to grab first because I doubt we’re going to run into a situation with her where my life will depend on you not fucking me over,” you turned your head to meet his eyes that were already on you, “I know you’re a dark force wielder and I know you can feel that I am a force user too.”

Maul’s top lip pulled up in a snarl and his eyes narrowed, “are you a Jedi then? Have you orchestrated this to trap me?!” the hilt of his saber flew out of his pack and into his hand but he hesitated to ignite it when fear pheromones seeped out of you.

Your scent gave you away but your posture didn’t waver, “I used to be, years ago. I was kicked out of the order when my gene presented,” you chuckled, “my master found me naked and writhing on the floor of my room,” your chuckle had grown to full-fledged laughter, your shoulders shook at the memory all but forgetting the pissed off Alpha at your side.

“I- I still remember the look on his face. Fucking horrified when I had my first heat,” you took a breath and wiped a tear from your eye, “they told me I had to leave before I could even face the trials for my knighthood,” your expression turned slightly solemn, Maul had relaxed in the seat next to you. He didn’t think they would throw out one of their own simply because of a biological mutation.

“I’m not doing this to trap you or anything like that Maul,” you turned again to face him, “Bane helped me out after I lost everything I ever knew. I heard a rumor that you didn’t know you were an Alpha until recently either. I’m just trying to return a favor paid to me.”

Maul turned to watch the stars as they flashed by, dropping his saber back into his pack. He hated the Jedi, he had even hunted a few who had left the order or were kicked out after breaking their precious code; but you were different. Cast out because you didn’t fit into their mold, not unlike him.

“Don’t get me wrong,” you caught his attention again, “I don’t dislike all of them. It’s been years since I’ve seen any of them but I don’t plan on burning the temples to the ground. If you want help with a bounty or need some underworld information I’m your girl; if you wanna fuck with the Jedi you’re on your own. You and Cad are the only ones who know about that past and I plan on keeping it that way.”

“I understand.”

You stood and nodded to the door, “come on I’ll show you where to put your gear.”

    He followed you out of the cockpit and into the common area where you pointed to an empty cabinet, “so, Sith are back huh?”

He went rigid as he put his pack with all its contents still inside on the shelf, “why do you assume I am Sith and not just someone who dabbles in the dark side of the force?”

You leaned against the wall and crossed your arms, “I lived my whole life at the temple. I never saw or heard of you or anyone who looked remotely like you there so I know you’re not a fallen Jedi. You have a light saber so you’re also not some self-taught back water force sensitive individual. That only leaves one option.”

“I’m not a Sith anymore, my master thinks I’m dead and much like your own desire to keep your past private; I’d like to keep it that way as well,” his eyes narrowed again. He was equally annoyed and impressed by your deductions and his hind brain spoke again.

Omega is smart.

He was already tired of this intrusive voice in his head. Perhaps it was a mistake to come with you after all. His scent had turned abrasive in your nose and his signature was wavering.

“Hey, calm down there, Alpha I’m not here to mess up what you’ve got going for yourself. I’m just trying to make sure you’re not going to slice my head off of my shoulders with that pretty red blade of yours.”

“No, I��m not going to kill you. I just want to make a life for myself.”

“Good,” you turned to another cabinet and pulled out a few extra blankets and a pillow and made up the sofa for him, “you can sleep here, it’s more comfortable than it looks, I promise,” with that you turned away from him and made you way to the cabin.

“Oh, ‘freshers the last door down this hall. Won’t be long until we arrive, rest up if you can,” with that the door hissed behind you and locked, leaving him standing alone in front of the sofa with much to ponder. Even out of your immediate presence, your scent permeated the air around him and wafted out of everything in the room. It was difficult to think, surly not all unmated Omegas were so intoxicating. He shook his head and softly walked down the hall and stepped into the fresher.

    He almost smiled, almost. Why had he expected a standard washroom? Of course you had a full sized -sanistream shower and a deep tub instead of a sonic. Another plush carpet lay underfoot with soft towels hanging on a bar. Various perfumy bath oils and soaps sat on the counter top in a decorative array along with a few candles. He was starting to wonder if you really were the renowned bounty hunter, ‘Meg, he had heard about or an imposter living a lie. He would soon find out. He splashed some cold water on his face before wandering back to the sofa you had made up for him.

    He removed his cloak and kicked off his boots, setting them both to the side before laying down and pulling the blanket over himself. It was soft and warm, more so than anything his master had provided for him. It smelled like you too, he tried not to think about the fact that it gave him incredible comfort and eased both his worry and his tensed muscles. Wrapped in your scent he fell asleep faster than he ever had before in his life.

      You did not find sleep on the way to Anaxes. Despite sinking into your soft bed, despite surrounding yourself with all of your favorite pillows and blankets and even trying to meditate, you could not ease your thrumming heart. Why had this Alpha’s scent been so strong? It made your mouth water and your thighs clench. He had released a new wave of soothing pheromones when he fell asleep and yet they did nothing to calm you. You ached to crawl onto the sofa with him and wrap yourself in his arms, to burry your face into his scent gland and bare your throat for him to… Maker what the fuck? You were disgusted with yourself. An ex-Sith and an ex-Jedi? Gods the trouble that would cause, such wonderful, inebriating trouble.. no.

    You wanted to comm someone to ask them about it. You couldn’t call Zeni or Coth, they had been trying to set you up with a mate for years, they would tell you to just get it over with. Couldn’t call Fett, it had been awkward to say the least since you gently turned down his offer for courtship. You looked over at the hat that you had just hung from your bed post. Maybe Bane could tell you what this was all about? He had had a mate before and wouldn’t give you the same answer as Zeni. You sighed heavily, missing Master Plo’s wise words and wished to hear his voice again. Would it be a terrible idea to make a stop on Coruscant and try to visit when you had fulfilled your current obligation?

    Probably. Maybe not? You huffed frustratedly and buried your face into one of the pillows for the tenth time. Bane, you’d comm Bane when you had a chance after picking up your privately commissioned bounty. Just as you attempted to close your eyes again a quiet beeping rang out from the vambrace you had discarded on your side table. You groaned unabashedly and smacked the button to turn it off. You still had some time and your stomach was grumbling so you didn’t bother to change out of the long shirt and baggy pants you wore. Pride be damned.

    Still, you tried to be quiet when you left your room to put the caf on. Your eyes immediately fell on him. Chest rising and falling steadily, wrapped up in the blanket you had given it, he was clutching it to his nose. The crease in his brow and frown on his lips gone; lost in his slumber. He was handsome when he wasn’t irritated, hell he was handsome when he was too. You watched him for a moment a voice in the back of your mind whispering.

Alpha looks warm

Alpha looks safe

Oh fuck no. You grimaced at your Omega brain that rarely reared her head. You turned and started rummaging around the pantry, working by the light that poured out of the door to your room so you wouldn’t wake him.

      When Maul did wake, it was to the smell of hot caf and cooking meat. He sat up slowly and looked around before he saw you leaning forward over the counter, face lit by a data-pad, sipping out of a steaming mug. Your eyes flashed up and met his, “Caf?” you offered.

    He grunted and nodded his response before standing and making his way behind you, looking through cabinets. You smirked down at your data-pad and without turning to him, held out an empty mug you had gotten for him. He took it with a quiet thank you and filled it. His smokey spice filling your nose in this proximity and without your knowledge, your sweet earthy smell filling his.

    He peered over your shoulder at the data-pad you were reading from. With a sigh you pressed a button to it projected the hologram, desperate for a little space you sidestepped slightly. It showed the blue prints for the assembly yard you suspected she had run off to hide in.

“It’s going to be highly populated,” he stated simply.

“We’re not grabbing her from the assembly line. She may have a price on her head but I’m not keen on the idea of explaining that to everyone and their supervisor.”

“Follow her home after her shift then?” he took a long drink of the caf and plated the both of you some of the meat before sitting at the table. At least he has manners.

“Precisely. Boss said she took a bunch of cash with her so I’m guessing she’s got an apartment outside the complex instead of sleeping in the employee housing. I got an idea where she might be working within the facility…”

    For the next hour the two of you ate as you pointed out where they worked on the simpler components. Based off of her limited knowledge she was most likely working with less complicated, smaller parts of the ships. You had pointed out the where those were and when he asked how you learned this you showed him how to find and read the blue prints and get the shift change schedules. All tools of the trade so to speak.

    You had taken a shower and after landing outside the city, started to gear up in the cargo bay. He watched with a confused look in his eye as you strapped dual blasters into your shoulder holsters and a large knife onto your hip. Pulling on your mid-thigh length coat, you filled one of the pockets on your utility belt with a few darts of different colors and a blow gun on the opposite side.

“Why not just bring your saber?” you must have looked at him like that was the dumbest question he could’ve asked, and it was.

“You’re kidding, right? You are not bringing yours,” you held up your hand and started counting each finger as you spoke, “for one, it’s a highly populated area and we are both in hiding. Two, we’re bringing her in alive and as unharmed as possible. Three, even if we were bringing her in dead, in a low pop area there’s always the chance someone could see and word travels fast. If you’re going to thrive in this line of work, you’re going to have to branch out,” you rummaged through the large locking cabinet before handing him a mid-sized blaster. “It’s set to stun for now,” you pointed to show him how he can set it to kill and got him a knife.

He took them with a growl, “I am quite familiar with other forms of weaponry thank you very much.” You just raised your palms up in mock defeat with a scoff.

      Two days. It took you two days of staking out the assembly facility before you found her. Two days of distracting heavy breathes. Laying so close to him, peering through scopes at entrances during shift changes from rocky terrain had you irritable to say the least. At least he was quiet, kept that damn sultry voice to himself. If he was as affected as you, he had the common sense not to let it show. Little did you know; he was. He kept the sights glued to his face so you couldn’t see how blown his pupils were. You let out and audible sigh of relief when you finally did spot the pretty blonde woman. Her hair tied back and a much too large jumpsuit billowing off of her form. You watched as she mounted a speeder bike and took off away from the complex. You had rented one in town when you first arrived claiming to be in the market for a ship.

    You turned to Maul already at the controls, he simply nodded his head for you to climb on behind him. He didn’t miss how you jumped at the silent command, despite trying to touch him as little as possible. You kept your eyes on her through the electrobinoculars while he navigated from a safe distance behind her. Your free hand was grasping the loose fabric of his tunic at his lower back. Your touch felt electric to him.

    You watched her dismount and silently followed her through the apartment complex, it was run down and had a rusty smell that wafted off the walls. Just before the door could hiss closed behind her your boot caught it, the fail-safe caused it to whoosh open again. As you rushed into the home with Maul on your heels you withdrew your knife and before she could even blink her shock you had spun her around with the blade pressed to her throat.

“Well, you are a pretty little thing, aren’t you? Now why would a woman such as yourself be running from your doting husband?” you taunted her. You weren’t usually so hostile to unaggressive quarries but you were still bristling at the effect that Maul had on you. Some should-be-dead instinct telling you to show him you were strong. She whimpered as Maul smirked and handed you his set of binders before doing a perimeter scan of the apartment.

“P-please don’t take me back to him. I can’t go back. You must understand. I… I know you do!” Your brow creased at her statement before it hit you. Maul was in the back room so his scent wasn’t fogging your mind and with your nose so close to her scent gland there was no mistake. You bound her hands behind her back and pressed your leg to the back of her knees; forcing her down into a kneeling position on the floor.

“Shit,” Maul reentered the room in a hurry at your curse, eyes searching for some kind of trouble. You watched it hit him as hard as it you. Your eyes locked on him as he sniffed the air and pull his top lip back in a snarl. She was another Omega but, she hadn’t been marked. No Alpha’s scent had mixed with her own and you looked at her as confused as Maul did before she turned her attention to him.

“P-please Alpha. Help me, don’t send me back to that- that monster. Please Alpha…” she was trying to shuffle over to where he stood on her knees. Maul had expected her scent to be as strong as yours was to him. Before this woman, you had been the only unmated Omega he had met but she was nowhere near as intoxicating as you had been, as you are. She was annoying, a nuisance, weak. Nothing worth protecting. You reached down and dragged her by her bound hands back to where you had put her and kneeled in front of her.

“What the fuck are you doing married to a beta?” your finger jabbing her sternum in an accusatory manner.

“I’m not his wife! Fucker bought me!” you cringed at the term. Bane had warned you about Omegas being bought and sold but you had yet to run into any of them.

Maul wanted nothing to do with the woman before him, he saw her as a feeble and overly fragile but a fleeting thought of you being taken by slavers and sold to someone else fluttered through his mind.

No one takes Omega

He growled his disgust at the idea. You thought for a moment, weighing your options.

“Where were you taken, before you were sold?” your eyes held her gaze unblinkingly in the dimmed room, Maul had moved to stand closely behind you.

“Trandoshans, they came and took me from a cantina on Tatooine.”

You rolled your eyes at her so hard you risked giving yourself a headache.

“What in the absolute fuck were you doing on Tatooine without an Alpha to protect you?” you stood and paced around the room, “Fucking stupid ‘mega,” you cursed under your breath but loud enough that she could hear you. “You don’t have to be a hunter to know the whole planet is a slaving capital!”

“I know… I know!” she had dissolved to tears and sobbed her lamentations, “please, please don’t take me back to him!”

“Oh shut up!” you returned and slammed your balled fist into her chin, knocking her unconscious. Maul watched with a pleased grin gracing his face, you pointed your finger in his direction still fuming, “don’t you start with me too. Take her on your bike back to the ship. I’ll take her bike. I have to think about this.”

He growled but kept the smirk while he hoisted her up onto his shoulder. He paused just before passing you utterly amused and whispered, “Ah yes, let the anger fuel you,” before he left. You shook your head and pinched the bridge of your nose.

    You didn’t want to admit it but he was right. These years of faring on your own had been on one hand, great, incredibly fun even. Living outside the code was unrestricting but, on the other hand, you had wondered if your soul had darkened along with everything else. Times were not always good. You honestly wished you cared. You wanted to care so badly but, in all honesty, you didn’t. At this point in your life the force power you carried was just another blaster in your arsenal. Another set of binoculars in your pack. You didn’t, couldn’t let it guide you like it once had.

    To your relief, he had followed your instructions; he had left with her. You took her bike and made your way, a little slowly. Enjoying the fact that you could barely smell him from your current position. You had hoped that you would get used to it but you still hadn’t. ‘The Bitch’ you like to refer to your Omega brain as, her voice just continued to pop up with intrusive thoughts. More so than after being around any other Alpha. You wondered if the woman he carried at the moment had a similar experience.

    The hull was open and Maul had loaded the woman and the bike into the cargo bay. She was starting to stir as you brought the bike up next to his. The fear in her eyes returned as her consciousness did and she started to shriek causing both you and Maul to wince. You grabbed a rag and shoved it into her mouth to stifle her sobs. Once again you knelt down next to her, “Maul, tell her to be quiet so that I can explain something to her.”

“Why would she listen to me?” you rolled your eyes.

“Because you’re an Alpha, a particularly… pungent one as well, I’m assuming she lies on the more subservient spectrum as far as Omegas go, she will obey,” you turned your attention back to the woman, tears streaming down her face. As you had guessed she immediately silenced at his command.

“Now then, listen closely. Nod if you understand me,” the woman nodded still wide eyed at you, “good. I have to take you back. If I don’t the bounty will remain open and someone else will come to collect. You can’t just run off again either. Well, you could, but odds are your ‘husband’ would just rehire me to come pick you up and he pays well so I would take it. You have two options. One, return and play the good wife and deal with whatever comes with it. Two,” you reached into your pack and took out two differently colored capped darts, “I slip these into your bra, you let me freeze you like a good little girl and return you home to collect my pay. After he unfreezes you, you stab him with the green one to knock him out; anywhere in his body. Then inject the black one into his neck to kill him. Once he’s dead you can escape and no one will bother to come looking for you because there will be no one to put a bounty on you.”

She weighed your words heavily and you practiced your patience, truly sympathetic to the woman. You were an exception, Omegas were strong yes but, most were incredibly subservient; even without an Alpha. She mumbled something behind the gag and you scoffed before removing the rag and she gasped.

“I want the darts,” her conviction was steadfast and you breathed a sigh of relief, “put me in the freezer with them and I’ll take care of the rest.”

    You reached your hand into her shirt with a slightly apologetic look while you nestled each dart under an individual breast, she nodded her thanks after you reminded her which was which and helped her to her feet. You gave her one last look before taking the binders off. Maul watched you hesitantly as you guided her into the freezing chamber. She gave you a sad yet thankful smile, it was slight but as you pressed the buttons and activated the gasses it froze on her face. Soon, she’d be free. You guided the block into the freezer storage and locked the door behind her before allowing yourself to ungraciously slide down the wall until your rump hit the floor with a soft thud.

    Almost forgetting you weren’t alone you tossed your hat to the side somewhere and ran your fingers through your hair and rubbed one of your eyes, exhausted from her emotional affliction.

    Maul could smell your distress, his instincts told him to comfort you, to hold you and tell you that everything would be alright. That he’d protect you, that he’d never let anyone lay a finger on you. That your fate would never become hers. Instead, he settled for sitting beside you with his legs crossed, without looking at you he spoke, staring down at his feet, “you gave her a way to take her own freedom.”

You hummed, just acknowledging that you heard him and sat next to him in silence for a few minutes. His pheromones were comforting, his presence was soothing and for the first time you didn’t fight the effect they had on you.

Alpha will protect me.

    Once again you shook ‘the bitch’ away and made your way to the cockpit. You flew closer to the shop you rented the bike from and opted to keep the other Omega’s for yourself. While Maul was returning the bike, you pressed a few buttons on your vambrace, calling Bane. Within a few moments the side of his face appeared in the hologram. Blaster fire whizzing by his head.

“You alright ‘Meg?” that raspy voice you loved sounded frustrated with whatever mess he was currently in.

“Yeah I’m fine, listen I got a question for you when you’re not busy.” He took a second to face you head on with a smirk, “What makes you think I’m busy?” as if on que a bolt took the hat right off his head and he cursed. You laughed and shook your head.

“Just contact me soon, don’t die out there old man.” He grunted in response and the hologram dissipated right as Maul was sitting down in the copilot’s chair.

“One down, where to next?” he eyed the comm that Bane had appeared from warily.

“Smuggler fucked over Jabba, a Talz. Last seen heading towards Hoth; no doubt to escape the heat literally and figuratively and hide amongst the Wampa. Can you take us up? I’m starving.” He nodded and took your seat while you headed back to the common area. You doubled over and clutched your stomach, “shit,” the pain all too familiar but coming much too early.

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[goldandlights]

of cherries and dandelions

aka lil virgin!Jas biting off more than he can chew when he propositions Geralt shortly after Posada :(

rating: explicit pairing: geraskier (pre-relationship? it could be read as casual sex) tags: top!Geralt, bottom!Jaskier, first time, sex toys, communication failure, angst and fluff

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

It’s summer in Lyria, a mild and pleasant evening, when Jaskier leans over to Geralt and croons some saucy verse about fucking in his ear. There are no other patrons to entertain in the tavern and the young bard honestly expects nothing but the usual glaring and growling from his sourly companion. Even 2 months into their shared travels, the Witcher seems to barely tolerate his presence. Pity... but hey, Jaskier is working on it.

Geralt is as fine a specimen as he has ever seen; tall, broad and strong , with thick arms and even thicker thighs that make the bardling’s mouth water when he imagines sinking down between them. (And the hair! The eyes! -oh, his eyes… )

Between the power to crush the bones in a human’s body, reflexes so fast he can cut an arrow out of the air and senses so acute they can pick up on a mouse rustling through the underbrush half a mile away, the white-haired Witcher was undoubtedly created to be a finely-tuned killing-machine. But Jaskier can find no trace of fear within himself.

In their time together, Geralt has shown himself to be noble and quietly compassionate above all else, avoiding confrontation and violence to the point where he’d rather leave an inn, meal unfinished and bed paid-for but unused, than defend himself against those who hurl abuse (and sometimes sharp objects) at him.

It’s just not fair and so Jaskier has sworn to do anything in his power to improve the situation.

It also makes the sizzling attraction all the worse.

Not only is Geralt stupidly hot, but he’s also kind and oddly charming and it messes with the poor bard quite terribly. He can’t stop sending winks and overt, suggestive glances Geralt’s way. Can’t stop spewing flirtatious remarks and innuendo. The young man has yet to learn how to be anything other than obvious about his desire but he does already know that confidence is the name of the game.

Still, Geralt is Geralt. Tough and experienced and probably entirely straight .

So even if the mental image of all that juicy bulk pressing him down into the sheets makes Jaskier’s prick twitch and leak, he does not expect his actions to incite a response in the other man at all.

That’s his first misjudgement.

Because when faced with the 5th overt come-on in as many hours, for the 6th week in a row, Geralt huffs, rolls his eyes and- stands up?

“Come on, then,” He says gruffly, already turning towards the stairs and Jaskier’s brain grinds to a sudden, jarring halt.

Wait, what.

He stands frozen, gaping unattractively until Geralt notices his hesitation and turns around with a raised eyebrow.

“Or are you all bark and no bite after all?”

Well.

Barely 18 and still rather fresh out of Oxenfurt, Jaskier has been with a whole lot of three women and sucked cock exactly once . -under the watchful eyes of those that still knew him as Julian there hadn’t been many opportunities to experiment.

Still, the bard had his fingers, fantasies and a lovely little toy pulled from a heap of bits and bobs at a novelty shop in Vizima.

It was maybe 6 inches long with a conveniently flared base and a lovely bulge on the upper half. Add just a bit of oil and it slides in easily, the comfortable stretch setting every nerve alight. Jaskier enjoys having it in, even when he’s not hard or trying to get off, and plays with it whenever he can. It’s just so nice to be full, to clench around it, to dream of his body giving a lover pleasure this way.

Is this the opportunity he’d been waiting for? Possibly. If it is though, it’s fast slipping through his fingers. With a grunt as if to say I knew it , Geralt turns and continues his way up the stairs. Shit.

Gathering all his courage, Jaskier shakes himself out of his stupor and stumbles forwards.

When the door to their room falls shut behind him, the bard is already fully hard, blushing furiously at his own over-eagerness when Geralt takes one look at the tent in his breeches and raises a perfectly shaped brow.

Jaskier knows he mustn’t let the nervous energy twisting in his gut bubble over. The Witcher can smell emotion, at least basic ones like joy or fear, and he’ll notice any uncertainty the bard projects. How would he react? Surely Geralt has no use for an inexperienced bed-partner.

Really, Jaskier feels quite out of his depth. In their tiny room, the burly Witcher is doubly imposing and the bard has no frame of reference for how such things between men are carried out. Deciding it’s best not to lose momentum, he puts his lute down against the wall and steps up to where Geralt is standing next to the bed.

Confidence, Jaskier.

He pushes right into the man’s space and kisses him, forcefully, hands going up to grab at the broad chest he’s been staring at lustily for weeks. Immediately, Geralt is kissing back, huge hands settling on Jaskier’s waist.

Biting and sucking on soft, plush lips, he forces Jaskier back a step, then another, curbing any attempt to crowd the Witcher towards the mattress. The young man, however, is too distracted to worry about the shifting power balance. He has two handfuls of Geralt’s thick, bulging pecs to bind his attention and, oh, they’re tensing deliciously as a growl rumbles from the Witcher’s throat.

“I’m not one of your milk-maids, Jas,” he bites out and the bard finds himself picked up and damn near thrown onto the bed as though he weighs nothing at all.

After two months of yearning and awkward boners, the youthful bardling finally gets his wish of being buried alive under 200 pounds of excitable Witcher, keening and whining as he’s absolutely ravished . Either Geralt also has some sexual frustration to burn through or he’s always that intense -at least it leaves no room for nervousness.

Within minutes, Jaskier’s doublet and undershirt have been shoved off and the Witcher’s face is buried in the hair on his chest, breathing him in, sword-calloused fingers pulling and pinching at the bard’s nipples. Pain transforms into tingling pleasure and Jaskier barely contains a cry.

He had never thought to play with his chest this way; a most grievous oversight. When Geralt’s mouth latches onto one of the stiff little nubs, licking and sucking, eager little mewls start spilling from Jaskier’s mouth. Sweet Melitele . If anything, he seems to be the milk-maid in this scenario.

There’s nothing soft about the body atop of him, nothing that gives to the frenzied clutch of his hands. Geralt has divested himself of his shirt as well and Jaskier runs his hands mindlessly over the skin he can reach, drinking in the unfamiliar sensations of coarse hair and scarring under his fingertips.

The urge to spread his legs like a 3 ducat whore is a bit embarrassing but undeniable. And it’s really not fair when life rewards his shamelessness with a Witcher’s hard belly pushing down onto his prick. Jaskier nearly spills then and there from the friction. He’s so fucking hard and they haven’t even done anything yet.

If Geralt notices the wet spot at the front of his trousers, he doesn’t say anything -which is a rather small mercy overall, considering the thoughtful look the older man levels at Jaskier when he draws back, sitting up between wantonly splayed thighs to examine the young body underneath him.

“Sensitive, are you?” Geralt murmurs, drawing his calloused palms down the length of Jaskier’s quivering body.

They’re warm, so warm as they run along his vulnerable belly and sides. A gentle, soothing pressure which brings momentary respite from the urgent throbbing between Jaskier’s legs. Goosebumps prickle over his skin.

Jaskier moans breathlessly, arching his back as Geralt rubs his thumb over the soft little bump below his navel. It is answer enough.

To distract and discourage further questioning, Jaskier catches one of the Witcher’s thick wrists in one hand and makes grabby motions with the other. Even when not pitted against a Witcher’s heightened senses, Jaskier is a terrible liar. He worries if Geralt starts asking questions, the truth about his previous experience -or lack thereof- will slip out.

He’s in luck though; Geralt looks surprised but simply obliges the wordless demand.

Happily buried under a mountain of Witcher again, Jaskier seeks out his slightly chapped lips for another lovely kiss. It’s addictive. Their mouths meet languidly, and he relishes in the opportunity to card his fingers through the other man’s beautiful white hair.

Geralt, surprisingly, does not protest and does not, for the moment, make any motions towards getting on with the programme. He actually seems quite happy to stay in that position for a bit, simply enjoying the warmth and closeness of their bodies as Jaskier works to calm his racing heart.

--------

“I want to see you suck my cock.”

Spoken softly into the unexpectedly peaceful silence, Geralt’s murmur is carefully undemanding. His hungrily roaming hands, however, give away the desire hidden underneath. Nodding to the unspoken request, Jaskier lets go of the Witcher’s soft tresses to watch him undress.

That’s when Jaskier realises his second misjudgement of the night.

He knows himself to be quite average in length and girth. With his little glass toy being similarly sized, Jaskier had thus felt quite safe in the belief that, whatever his first proper male conquest was packing, he’d be able to handle it just fine.

Except that nothing about Geralt was ever average. Not his appearance, not his strength and not, apparently, his fucking dick.

>>>>> read the rest on ao3

[panharmonium]

For Want of a Woodwright (Part 4)

aaaand we’re back with another slice of AU nonsense! 

(parts 1-3 can be found here; original idea is courtesy of this awesome anon ask)

today’s installment is gift-fic for @ragtag-band-of-murderers, whose generous reading and commenting last week brought me such joy and truly helped me in the midst of a tough moment.  here’s a little ficlet for you, my friend - featuring a bird’s-eye view of the city, more of our fave dudes just being themselves, and a minor reference to something you already read <3

THANK YOU, as always, to everyone who’s having fun playing in this sandbox with me - i hope you enjoy some more of the boys being alive and well in the Good Timeline :D

as before, the same disclaimer applies: this is VERY rough, not meticulously edited, and not even remotely close to a final draft.  it is hardly even a first draft, in fact.  the snippets in this series are not necessarily connected to each other, or in order, or part of any actual coherent plot, and they do not directly adhere to the plan laid out in lovely anon’s original post, either; they are just snapshots of images that refused to remain unillustrated once they’d occurred to me :)

with that said, if you’re looking for more AU fun (thank you again, anon, for this ‘verse!), hit the jump!

4. solid ground

Merlin drummed his boots against the wall beneath him, the stone battlements on either side of him providing some stability for his precarious perch atop the parapet.

From his seated position inside one of the inner curtain wall’s crenels, Merlin could see the entirety of the lower town, and the outer curtain encircling the urban crush, and the Sprawl beyond, a haphazard collection of settlements outside the reach of the city walls, the Crown’s cultivated fields and pastures transforming finally into wilderness, where the land was swallowed by forest.  Directly below, the King’s Works were in full swing, the framing yard at the base of the inner curtain a picture of hustle and bustle, numerous craftsmen unloading heavy timber from a caravan of carts lined up just beside the gate to the upper ward.  A number of other beams were laid out upon the cleared earth in a predetermined pattern, and something vaguely recognizable as a pair of roof supports appeared to have already been joined together at the other end of the yard.  

Merlin had been in the city long enough to know that once the beams for this mystery structure had been measured, cut, and framed, they would be disassembled and carted off to wherever the desired building was to be erected, but he could not have explained in any detail the specific tasks taking place down below.  One worker was marking some of the timbers with chalk symbols just as indecipherable to Merlin as the runes Gaius had recently set him to studying.  Another fellow was chipping away at a beam using something that wasn’t quite pointy enough on either end to be a pickaxe.  Two others appeared to be having some kind of animated argument over a set of timbers that looked all right to Merlin, but mustn’t have been, judging by the amount of arm-waving and indecipherable shouting taking place below.

Will probably could have told Merlin more about it, but Will had not climbed into the crenel.  He stood at Merlin’s back instead, staring determinedly ahead at the distant horizon, as opposed to peering down at the framing yard’s frantic scurry of activity.  

“High up, this,” Will said.

“Saddlegap’s higher.”

“Saddlegap’s up the side of a mountain, though,” Will muttered, his eyes firmly fixed on absolutely nothing.  “Not straight up, like.”  He drummed his fingers nervously on the sharp cut of the raised battlement.  “Never been up anywhere like this.”

Merlin looked at Will, fighting a sudden, surprised urge to laugh.  “Are you afraid of heights?”

“No!” Will retorted, instantly grouchy.  He redirected his gaze - with discernible difficulty, Merlin couldn’t help but note - down to the framing yard, where a pair of tiny figures in brown and white were rolling a log over to a deep depression in the earth.  Once suspended over the hole, the log could be sliced down the middle using a lengthy pit saw.  

Merlin hid a smile.  “Come and sit with me, then.”

Will looked nauseated, though he wiped his face clean of any such expression quickly.  “I’m not sitting in there.”

“Why not?”

“There’s no room.”

Merlin scooted as far over as he could, leaving a space between himself and the merlon to his right.  “There’s plenty.  Come in.”

“I’m not coming in there.”

“Just admit you’re afeared of the drop - ”

“I am not,” Will declared, and to prove it, he climbed into the crenel alongside Merlin, wedging himself into the space between Merlin’s side and the raised masonry of the merlon to their right, sitting there with his feet dangling in the air, upper body squashed between Merlin on one side and solid stone on the other.

Will’s frame was as stiff and unyielding as the log being hewn down below.  Merlin nudged him with an elbow.  “You see?  It’s not so bad.”

“Not so bad,” Will echoed through gritted teeth.  “Right.  You’re cracked, Merlin.”

“You trust me, don’t you?”

“I wish I didn’t.”

Merlin decided not to pursue the potential truth behind that statement, for all that it made him itch.  

Later.  

They could talk about it later.

Instead, he changed the subject, and pointed at a section of the lower town, where there was a dark gap in the layered patchwork of thatched roofs.  “We had a fire over there, the other week.”

Will was not really looking.  He appeared intently focused on a cloud floating at exactly the level of his eyes.  “Yeah?”

“Yeah.  Little one.  Not so bad.  But now I can’t get pies from that fellow’s shop anymore, and that’s rotten luck, because they’re really tasty.”

“What sort?” Will asked, resolutely inspecting his cloud.  “Meat or fruit?”

“All sorts.  You’ve never seen so many pies in your life.  I’d have got you one if I could.”

Will shrugged in his best ‘life is like that’ way.  “Gods rest the pie man.”

“He’s not dead!” 

“Oh.”  

“Gods forbid, Will.”

Will rolled his eyes.  “Sorry, Merlin.  Didn’t realize you were so attached to the man who made your breakfast - ”

“He’s just closed down for a bit.  We’ll have him up and running again soon enough.”

“‘We’ who?”  

“Everybody loves the pie man, Will.  It’s a neighborhood effort, rebuilding him.”

Will tried valiantly to inspect the spot Merlin had pointed at, though his cheeks paled the moment he registered just how far down the pie man’s plot was situated relative to their own spot on top of the wall.  “Bad timing for it,” he said, averting his eyes after only a brief glance.  “For you.”

“Is it?”

Will pointed at the countryside beyond the Sprawl.  “Apples coming in and all.”

“Oof,” Merlin said, never having considered this fact.  “You’re right.”

Will smiled faintly.  “Apple season and no pie man to make Merlin’s favorites.  What’s a poor sorcerer to do?”

Merlin shrugged, affecting an abjectly mournful weariness.  “Die.”

Will snorted.

“Apple pie is serious business, Will.”

“Deadly serious.”

“Obviously.”  Merlin sighed and stretched out his legs over the drop, letting them fall back against the wall with a thunk.  “I’ll nick a few apples for myself, I suppose.  The Crown’s got orchards aplenty.  I’m no hand in the bakehouse - ”

“Too right - ”

“ - but I’ll trade a favor with Gwen, maybe; I reckon she knows what she’s about.”

“Who?”

“Gwen.  You met Gwen.”

“Which one was she?”

“The one in servant’s garb.  She’s got brown skin, curly hair to about here?” 

Will nodded.  Merlin searched the mottled sea of rooftops for Gwen’s house.  Just down the lane from her cottage, smoke rose over the forge, a cloud of fumes that never truly dissipated, even after nightfall.  The smell hung in the air day in and day out, clinging to the straw in the street and the wooden struts of the surrounding structures.  Even the building itself continued to radiate vestiges of heat long after Tom and his crew had gone home for the evening.  

“I think you’d get on with her,” Merlin ventured.  “Gwen’s lovely.  She’s the nicest person I’ve ever met.”

“Yeah?”  Will’s reply was some mix of absent and unconvinced.

“Yeah.  I mean, she’s nicer than you, anyhow.”

“Mm.”

“Not that that’s a particularly high bar to step over.”

“Thanks, Merlin.”

Merlin hesitated.  “Maybe I could introduce you to each other.”

“We’ve already met.”

“No, you haven’t, not properly.  You didn’t even remember who she was.”

“I remembered her.  I just didn’t know her name, is all.”

“Well, you didn’t talk to her or anything.”

“Why would I talk to her?  I don’t know her.”

Merlin squirmed in his seat, self-conscious.  “I don’t know.  I just think you’d like her.  She’s not...”  He gestured vaguely behind them, past the slope of the wealthier upper wards and back to the citadel proper.  “You know, she’s not silly like that sort.  She’s plain folk, like us.”

Will was staring straight ahead, past the crowded mess of the lower town and out to the country, beyond the Sprawl’s creeping expanse of civilization.  It was a clear enough day that one could see the hazy jut of the mountains looming in the distance, and - in Merlin’s imagination, at least - the border was there, too, and their home just beyond that, hidden in the foothills, nestled in a little valley behind the White Mountains’ far-reaching roots.

“Gwen helped me a lot when I first came here,” Merlin said.  “Taught me loads.”

“I’m sure she’s brilliant, Merlin,” murmured Will, his eyes locked on the horizon.

“I just thought since you’re here - ”  Merlin stopped himself, sitting up a bit straighter.  “I mean, not that you’re here-here, obviously; but - just staying, you know, not that you’re staying-staying, or anything, just - ”  Merlin forced himself to take a deep breath and exhale, unlocking his fingers from where they’d wound themselves into a knot.  “Since you’re here just now, I mean.  I just.  Thought maybe it would be good, you know.  For you to know some people.”

“I don’t think your friend there wants to know me, Merlin.”

“Why not?”

Will raised his eyebrows.  “She thinks I have magic, doesn’t she?”

“That’s - ”  Merlin faltered momentarily.  “It’s just Gwen, I mean, she’s - you’re my friend.  It wouldn’t matter.”

Will gave Merlin a skeptical look.  “Why haven’t you told her your secret, then?”

Merlin opened his mouth, then closed it again.  The breeze curling through the gap of the crenel was chilly, raising goosebumps on his arms.  

Will shook his head and returned his gaze to the mountains.  “Look, Merlin...if it really didn’t matter, she’d already know.  Let’s not court trouble, all right?  We’re in enough of that as it is.”

“You don’t have to be,” Merlin said, after a brief pause.  “You could go.”

Will did not reply, staring at the White Mountain like he was trying to climb it with his eyes.  Merlin wondered what he was thinking, Will with his closed mouth and his set jaw and his inscrutable frowns.  Did he wish he were back there?  Did he wish he hadn’t left in the first place?

Merlin shifted on the cramped crenel, but there was nowhere for him to go.  “I just thought...it might be good, you know.  For you.  To make friends.

“I’ve got enough friends, Merlin.”

“You’ve only got me.”

“That’s what I said.”

The line of Merlin’s body where it pressed against Will was very warm.  

So was Merlin’s face.  

Merlin was glad suddenly that there was no space on either side of them for either of them to scoot away.  He relaxed where he sat, solid stone on one side and solid Will on the other, the two of them squished and snug against each other in their shared seat.

Will’s frame was hard as a rock, though.  Merlin looked down at Will’s hands, one of which was fisted on his knees and the other of which was wrapped, white-knuckled, around the corner of the battlement.  

“You really don’t like it up here, do you?” Merlin asked, a surprised smile spreading over his face. 

“Hate it,” Will burst out immediately, with a vehement gust of relief.  “It’s wretched.  I can’t believe you’ve got me sitting up here, Merlin; of all the daft, foolheaded places for a person to be - ”

“We can get down,” Merlin laughed, climbing back over onto the walkway.  He wrapped a hand in the fabric of Will’s mantle and jostled him lightly.  “Go on, lean forward.  You’ll get to the bottom quick as anything.”

Will gave Merlin a dirty look and scooted himself very painstakingly out of the crenel, back onto the safety of the ramparts.  

Merlin, hands on his hips, evaluated Will with newfound curiosity.  “And here I thought I knew everything there was to know about you.”

“I’m not afraid of heights, Merlin,” Will said, turning to stride along the line of the wall toward one of the towers that would take them back to the ground.  

“Don’t get tetchy,” Merlin said, following him.  “Everyone’s afraid of something.”

“You’d know.”

Merlin did not argue.  Will, for all his formidable powers of perception, hardly knew how true his statement was - Merlin found something new to be afraid of every day, it seemed, now that he was in Camelot.  

“I’d never let you fall off, you know,” Merlin said, tugging open the door to the tower, the creaking hinges echoing down the darkened spiral stair within.

“Oh, aye?”

“Aye, so,” Merlin replied, ushering Will onto the staircase and nodding to a guard headed up in the opposite direction.  “And if you did fall, I’d catch you.”

“You would not,” Will scoffed.  “You’ve never caught anything so big in your life.”

“Not yet.  But I can do all sorts of new things now; I haven’t shown you hardly anything.  Gaius gave me this book - ”

Will groaned.  “Oh, Lugh, Merlin, no.  Not another book.”

“A great big one,” Merlin grinned.  

“Gods alive,” Will muttered.  “This again.”

“You don’t know the half of it.”  Merlin’s grin widened as he tripped his way down the stairs.  “Gaius has all sorts of books, dozens of them; well, you’ve been in his chambers, you already know - and he tosses them all over like it’s nothing; it’s mad; it’s like he doesn’t even care.  Most of them are physician’s texts, I mean, and that’s interesting enough, I suppose, but there’s more, Will, on the lower levels; there’s an entire library; it goes on forever, it’s got everything, it’s - what are you doing?  Where are you going?

Will had turned around and was heading back up the stairs.  He jerked his thumb upwards.  “Back.”

“What for?”

Will did not look round at Merlin, but continued to trudge determinedly up the stairs.  “I’ve decided to take the quick way down after all.”

Merlin snorted and snagged Will’s sleeve in his fingers.  Will, pulling away, put up a valiant show of resistance.  “Just let me jump, Merlin.  I can’t survive another round of this book nonsense.”

“Not on your life.  I’m not spending an evening scraping you off the paving stones.”

Will gave up and allowed himself to be pulled down the stairs, but his face wore the dark, surly look of a man marching to his own execution.  “If you try to read me anything, I’m crawling out your window.”

“Bit high up, that,” Merlin remarked mildly, “for a fellow who’s just discovered he’s afeared of heights.”

“I am not afeared of heights,” Will snapped.  Then, in his most stubborn tone, he added, “The higher the better.  I don’t want to suffer.”

Merlin laughed.  “You might’ve thought on that before you went running off to Camelot, William.”

Will’s face changed slightly.  “Aye, so,” he replied, a touch of something grim in his voice.  “So might you have done, but that’s neither here nor there.”

Merlin bit his tongue on an uncertain reply and shoved Will out the door at the base of the tower, out of the stuffy shadows of the staircase, into an overbright, sunlit afternoon.  

Later, Merlin thought, chivvying Will across what was supposed to be solid ground, though Merlin wasn’t sure, now, if they had really made it to the bottom, after all, for all that there was grass and good earth under their feet.

They could talk about it later.  

[dailyaudiobible]

06/22/2020 DAB Transcript

2 Kings 3:1-4:17, Acts 14:8-28, Psalms 140:1-13, Proverbs 17:22

Today is the 22nd the day of June welcome to the Daily Audio Bible I'm Brian it's great to be here with you today as we move into our time together around the Global Campfire and around the Scriptures. We’re in the book of second Kings. We haven’t been there long but we’re moving into the book of second Kings. And we spent a good…good-ish amount of time in the northern kingdom of Israel and their kings as well as the prophet…prophets Elijah and Elisha and we’ll continue with that. We’ll continue in the north and we’ll continue with the prophetic voice of Elisha today. Second Kings chapter 3 verse 1 through 4 verse 17.

Commentary:

Okay. So, we are on mission with the apostle Paul at this point in the book of Acts and they move through a city called Lystra and they preach and there is a healing. People witness this. They start freaking out and they decide that Paul and his companion Barnabas at this point, that they are gods that have come down in human form and they need to be worshiped. And, so, they're doing everything that they can, and they decide that Barnabas is actually Zeus and Paul is Hermes. And, so, there…there happens to be a temple to Zeus. So, they’re like going to the priest and…and saying “hey. Zeus is in town. Like he’s showed up in town in human form.” And, so, they’re bringing bulls out. They’re gonna do these sacrifices to the…to Paul and Barnabas. And, of course, Paul and Barnabas are like trying to stop everybody and are like, “hang on a second. We’re just humans like you. We’ve come here to tell you about the living God.” And, so, they begin to share the gospel, but the people still are convinced that they’re Zeus and Hermes. And, so, there like still trying to do the sacrifices until…until some Jewish people from nearby cities come in and they know who Paul is. And. so, they start to turn the crowd. And the next thing we know, Paul is stoned and left for dead. That…that’s the story of the early church. Like these are the stories of the early church. This is how things came to be. And, so, Paul went from being a God to being stoned to death and left for dead, as it appears, on the same day, which shows you a bit of the mob mentality at work, like how quickly people can be pulled together in one direction, even with a complete false word, a false story or declaration. People come around the stores. And, so, that's what happened. At first, they are absolutely convinced that the gods are among them, until the seeds of this story from the Jewish people spread through the crowd which turns the crowd murderous. That's not a new concept. Obviously, it’s an old concept because we’re reading it out of the Bible. So, we’re reading a story that’s a couple thousand years old. But this kind of behavior has always been going on. And it's interesting. On the one level it's interesting how compelling a narrative can be, like how concrete some sort of narrative can be when it pulls people together and ushers them to move in the same direction for a period of time. That can be for great good and for great evil. Often, it's for great evil, especially when there’s a mob involved like this. And we’ve seen these kinds of things in our lifetimes, but that…it's not new. Like this has always been happening. We have to admit that this is not unlike the mob mentality that ultimately condemned Jesus to the cross. So, we can see some pretty significantly negative things can happen when people are swept together without the whole story. And we have to look into our own lives at the way that we get swept into things the same way. And at times we get swept into things against our brothers and sisters in the Lord and people's lives get damaged or destroyed in the process.

This is essentially the words coming out of the Psalms today. So, going back even further, way further than the book of Acts. “Those who surround me proudly rear their heads. May the mischief of their lips engulf them. May burning coals fall on the. May they be thrown into the fire into miry pits never to rise. May slanderers not be established in the land. May disaster hunt down the violent. I know that the Lord secures justice for the poor and upholds the cause of the needy. Surely the righteous will praise your name and the upright live in your presence.” It’s like this kind of thing has always been going on, causing at minimum mischief and maximum total destruction to the lives of people in their path. It’s part of the Old Testament story. It’s part of the New Testament story. It’s part of the early church story. It’s still part of the church story. And we have to watch ourselves because it's really, really easy to get swept up into worshiping God for what He's doing through someone and then trying to destroy that someone because it turns out they’re a human being after all and not God. So there are times that we just…we need to keep our eyes on our own lives and the path that we are walking, and not get swept into someone else's story that's getting stirred up. Sometimes we need to ask ourselves, “yeah, that might be tasty to get into, but is that my battle? Is that even something I have anything to do with whatsoever? Am I getting involved to be seen here? Like, what's going on? Am I being invited to be an agent of the good to be Jesus in this situation or is it that I simply want my opinion expressed? What good can come from my involvement? These are good questions for the times that we are in and the times that we are going into. And as we navigate, may we remember the proverb today; “a crushed spirit dries up the bones.” Let's not be agents dispensing crushing blows to people's lives. Instead, let's hear the first part of the proverb; “a cheerful heart is good medicine.” So, we can take that on board in our own lives and say, “okay. Whatever it takes I've got to find a way to maintain a cheerful heart. That’s medicine for me. But I also need to spread, like in every way that I can I need to promote a cheerful heart so that we all might experience this good medicine instead of being swept up into things that will only crush people and eventually crush us.

Prayer:

Father, we come into that and consider that. And it brings up all kinds of different scenarios and situations that we've experienced in our lives, times that we’ve hurt people, times that we've been crushed, times that even with our own brothers and sisters we’ve been at odds and swept into things we had no business being involved in and people got hurt. And this was…this was never Your way for us. So, Holy Spirit come and show us what it looks like to maintain a cheerful heart and made it become good medicine in our souls. And as we are transformed may that spill out into the world so that we aren’t being swept into anything, we aren’t crushing anybody. Rather, we are about the business of restoring things. Come Holy Spirit we pray. In the name of Jesus. we ask. Amen.

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And that's it for today. I’m Brian I love you and I'll be waiting for you here tomorrow.

Community Prayer and Praise:

Good morning everybody. For as high as the heavens are above the earth so is His steadfast love towards those who fear Him. Yesterday was a very upsetting day for us. Some of you will know from the Friend’s page. Our little ginger cat Loki went missing. He’d been __ too so where really concerned as the day and night was ticking on. He’d been gone nearly 20 hours and is very unlike Loki. I cried out to the Lord as we do, and I was listening to worship and they were singing about trust. And I said to the Lord, “I trust you Lord.” I didn’t have an outcome in my mind or in my heart, but I simply said I will trust you. It wasn’t long after that declaration that Peter went out searching again and little Loki appeared very thin, quite unwell. He’s just gone to the vet. But he was home. I’m so thankful to God. What’s precious to us is precious to Him. His love is…it just melts me. His care for us. The little things in life with all that’s going on in the world He was concerned enough about my heartbreaking over the…the gift of a pet he gave to me. And His love abounded towards us. Thank you so much. This is God’s Smile here sending my love and drying my eyes. Bye-bye everybody.

Hello this is Gloria from Uganda here in __. I’m really really very grateful for this Daily Audio Bible app and __ podcast. And I’m really really really very grateful because I had desire to study a Bible plan at the start of the year but I couldn’t go with the flow but I’m very excited and I’m really enjoying hope to review all the previous messages. I’m really really blessed thank you very much Brian. Thank you very much China. We…we love you. We…we ask you to pray for us. The situation and the pandemic with most of the people all around. And the closest family to me and all unemployed right now and it puts me in a state whereby I have to look after my family of 12 people. My mom and my dad are not working, and I really really puts me in a very very very difficult position right now. But I trust God and with your messages I believe my faith is going to rise higher and I’m gonna…I’m gonna…I’m gonna go through this __ first and with your messages I believe I will…I will move forward I will believe and I will grow. Thank you very much. We do really really appreciate it and ask you to pray for us. My job __ business is really slow, and I pray that our business visions and people came back __ because many of our staff were laid off because of the pandemic. And I also pray to get an increase in salary because I got a promotion, but __ an increase in salary. I need to have a family of 12 people behind me. Thank you very much. Thanks a lot.

Hey Daily Audio Bible family this is Pam from Shasta County California and I am calling in for Patricia in New Orleans. And Patricia, I just want to pray for you. Heavenly Father thank You so much for Your goodness and Your mercy and Your love and thank You for how much You love Patricia. Thank You for her heart, thank You for her passion, thank You for her strength. Father I just pray in Jesus name right now that You would ease her pain Father. I pray for relief. I pray for healing in Jesus’ name that You would just pour Your healing out over her and that she would get immediate relief from this pain. Father, thank You for who she is Lord and who You are in her life. Father thank You that You are so close to her. I pray that she has people around her that are loving her and are helping her Father and are praying for her. And help us all to remember pray for her and everyone here and we thank You for Your goodness. We thank You for Your mercy. And thank You for Your healing in Jesus’ name.

[singing starts] Lord bless you and keep you make his face shine upon you be gracious to you. Lord turn his face toward you and give you peace. Amen. Amen. Amen. Amen. May his favor be upon you for a thousand generations your family your children their children their children. May His presence come before you and behind you and beside you all around you and within you he is with you he is with you. In the morning in the evening in the coming and the going in your weeping and rejoicing he is for you he is for you. He’s for you he is for you he is for you he is for you he is for you he is for you he is. [singing ends] Just a sweet reminder DAB family. This is Abba’s Grace and He shines. Amen. Amen!

This is Vickie calling from Southern Oregon and I have been listening now for a few months and really enjoying reading Brian and I’m also enjoying the prayer community. Thank you so much. I’ve been struggling trying to call and not having the courage to do that. My son is an adult and having problems. He’s severely mentally ill and he’s also strung out on drugs. And I recently moved him out to Oregon trying to save his life and now I’m feeling overwhelmed and not really knowing how to help and it’s disrupting my life and, you know, risking my career and my home. So, I could use some prayer. His name is Eddie. Thank you.

Hi this is Brooke Right from Omaha Nebraska. I just want to pray for my mom because my grandma who came to take care of everybody, she…I don’t remember how long ago…is leaving tomorrow afternoon and my mom just had a major surgery taking out her…in which she had to take out her womb. A womb is a place with the babies come. So, it was very painful. She has a lot ohwees. She has to go on a walk twice a day which is kinda good for my dog Ella which I would show you but this is a recording not a video. And, well, just want to pray for my mom, my brothers and my dad because he’s in masters. Probably have a lot of more….no… wait…just quite a few maybe five which is…we count it quite a few…more…like five more chores a day because we have a garden that has like snow peas and tons of other things. So, yeah, alright I don’t have much longer on this call so I’m just gonna leave. Bye. Brooke Right.

Hi Daily Audio Bible this is God’s Light out in Portland Oregon, and it’s been some time. I’m responding from Ben in Columbus who called back in…maybe the 12th of June or probably even before that. His message was there on the 12th of June and I…I believe he was speaking to me and I was so taken aback that I needed to allow a couple callers in and hear a couple more prayer request just to confirm that he was speaking to me. I have tried to submit prayer requests and haven’t…and having…and fallen short and felt silly for doing it. I’ve really…I’m in a bad spot right now financially, physically, mentally, spiritually. Everything’s under attack and I have lost everything. I’ve lost my home, my children, my ex-wife. I’m soon to have another child, which I’m ecstatic about. So, the grieving process comes and goes with excitement but…but for the most part this grief and humiliation is following me. And if you could pray for me and I would…I would greatly appreciate it. I’ve been following the Daily Audio Bible since 2011 pretty much every day and I’m just so thankful for this community and thankful for you as my family. I’m very thankful to have you. Please stay strong and I pray for all of you.

[thelostcatpodcast]

THE LOST CAT PODCAST TRANSCRIPTS: SEASON 4: THE HOLLOW CITY: EPISODE 06

SEASON 4: THE HOLLOW CITY: EPISODE 06

Episode released 16th November 2018

http://thelostcat.libsyn.com/season-4-the-hollow-city-episode-6

The last thing she remembered was climbing down a bottomless pit in order to  find a Vampire, and then had been chased by a horde of Vampires. Lisica was not a person naturally given to regret. She said regret was like a rear-view mirror for the soul

She awoke, with no idea where she was.

She awoke, and looked up, and said “oh dear”.

THE LOST CAT PODCAST SEASON 4, BY A P CLARKE: THE HOLLOW CITY: EPISODE 6

Standing over her were a dozen dark ladies, but different somehow from the one she had met on the street.

They were completely without colour, to the point of being monotonal. Their make up cut harsh lines and brutal shapes across their faces, emphasising their bone structure until their cheeks were as sharp as their teeth.

She was in a large chamber of stone and wood, lit by candle light, scented by incense, and with carpets so old the colours had bled.

Lisica gently tested her movement for injury, and her back for her sword. She had neither.

The dark lady at the centre of the crowd leant in.

“Ah sisters, it awakes,” said the lady, and the way the others listened suggested she was in a position of some authority. “And what do we think of our little minnow?”

The style was theatrical. Her behaviours highly mannered. She was performing in some way, for her sister Vampires.

Another sister leant in to Lisica, right in to her face. The Vampire made a show of inspecting every part of her. She sniffed and rose.

“Well, Sister Zubi, it is certainly a lot of make-up, suggestive of a great passion in the application, if not the effect.”

This got a huge laugh from the gathered. Lisica was clearly being used as a play-thing.

She looked around to try and get her bearings.

The head Vampire meanwhile, this sister Zubi, continued. “And what, do you think, my sisters, brings her here?”

“To steal?” said one. “I found her in the gathering rooms.”

“To destroy? She had a weapon,” said another.

“A ha yes. Bless,” said Sister Zubi. She turned to Lisica. “Perhaps you thought you actually might cause us some harm?”

And she rose briefly to accept the laughter, before leaning in again. 

“I am afraid, my dear one, we have plucked your tooth. Now: why are you here?”

“Oh,” said Lisica, trying to be as nonchalant as possible. “I’m sure you wouldn’t understand the reason.” and then she leant up to meet the Hollows Vampire’s face. “You see I just felt it. In my guts.”

“Hah!” She rose up, this Sister Zubi, again in a melodramatic move meant to concentrate all attention on her. “What matter of it why the cow enters the slaughterhouse. So sisters: do we consume her? Deliver her unto the Plunge?”

And the bone-white sisters became very excited at this.

“Oh, throw her in to the plunge!” they said.

“Grind her up alive!” they called.

“Oh yes! Yes!”

“Where is the tall one?” Lisica interjected, interrupted the flow. “The one with red and blue in her eyes.”

And the leader, Sister Zubi, whirled round with a flash of rage on her face, then she caught herself, and controlled herself in front of her sisters, and then she roared with laughter.

“Oh I see! This is it. My sisters, I do believe this little girl is in love! Scampering down drain pipes after her petty fancy. You are nothing but meat to be harvested! Do think you can gain a dark lady’s favour? All you will gain is death.”

“I would die for love, but I have killed for a good deal less.”

The vampire hissed.

Lisica rose to meet her.

And then a great cry rose up in the chamber, “ENOUGH!”

And a new swarm of dark ladies swept in to the chamber then. These women all had the feel of velvet, the look of rubies on silk. The two groups faced off against each other in the chamber.

Lisica realised the power relationship functioning here. 

One group made their make-up from the bloods of Wholes. The others used only the bones. They were The Blood Sisters and The Bone Sisters and there was no love lost there. Trapped together in their perversity, they hissed at each other in the chamber. This explained a great deal about the posturing going on. There was a knife-edge positioning-game playing out here in front of her.

And at the head of the Blood Sister, Ah now SHE was the one: the dark lady that Lisica had met the night previous, and she looked even more regal than before. God, she was luminous.

“What are you doing with this one?”

“Greetings Sister Cyraliene.” 

“Zubi-Sister.”

“This one is an intruder! A defiler.”

“This one? I have seen her. She was helping the Hollows just last night.”

“Then she is a sentimental weakling!”

“I saw her fight well.”

“Oh? So you what were you doing there, Sister Cyra?”

“I take my kills on the battlefield, Zubi-Sister.”

“Like some fetid scavenger!”

They bared their claws at each other. They leapt towards each other. Where their claws clashed against each other was a screech as of metal. They landed, perfectly poised facing each other again.

“Stay your slavering for flesh for one moment,” said Cyraliene. “She is here at all! And this should be enough to keep her alive, at least for the moment. No-one else has ever entered here without permission. I demand to find out why.”

And Sister Zubi straightened up, stifling laughter, feeling the upper hand was hers.

“Fine!” she declared. “Tell us dear little girl,” and she leered at Lisica. “Why are you here?”

And the Bone Sisters all laughed.

Now: it was clear the Vampires’ code was one of extreme self-interest, helping no others but oneself, for none were worth the effort on one’s own desires. And, as with any grouping based on claims of freedom, there was intense positioning to demonstrate the purity of their self-regard to the others.

But Lisica knew. She was sure that this Cyraliene had helped her last night. She had come to their aid. She was sure of this and she was willing to bet a great deal on that suriey.

But Lisica was sure not to say this. She recognised the fragility of a hierarchy when she saw one. She saw this Cyraliene, standing majestic and uncaring, barely even acknowledging her on the floor, but making sure she could see every reaction of every corner of the room. The Vampire was weighing up the situation. And she looked great doing it, too. The situation was tense, and Cyraliene could lose much positioning if it was played wrong.  Lisica had to do something. 

And, dammit, she was sure. 

So Lisica stood, shucked her collar, strutted as hard as she could, and declared to the room at large:

“This one took my kill! and I want it back.”

“No-one is allowed here,” Cyraliene coiled back.

And then Lisica got right up in to Cyraliene’s face, shouting for the whole room.

“I go where I will!”

They locked eyes, and Lisica stared in to the Vampire’s diamond sharp gaze, looking for a clue. Anything. Was there a tightening of the eyes there? A signal? It was almost impossible to see through that perfect and implacable mask of glamour.

Cyraliene hissed, “give this... ruminant her sword.”

And on her face, nothing but rage.

A man walked at that command, wearing a tuxedo and carrying Lisica’s equipment. Lisica was practiced now, and could tell that he was a Whole. A normal human. He gave the equipment to her, turned and left, never taking his eyes from the floor.

Lisica watched him leave, and then raised her sword. She cut her thumb on the blade, and then marked two lines in blood to her eyes, and staring right at Cyraliene she said “I mark myself hunter, and I will have my prey tonight.”

Cyraliene bowed and said, “the butcher honours the butchered” and then bared her claws.

And in that chamber, deep underground, surrounded by ladies both Blood and Bone, they weaved, they parried. Lisica gently prodded at the Vampire’s space, and Cyraliene parried the thrusts with moves so quick Lisica did not even see them, only the sparks that flew up where her claws met the blade.

Lisica stared Cyraliene down, trying to discern anything from her, and getting nothing.

Well, thought Lisica, either way, better make this look good.

So Lisica attacked, and they fought up and down the chamber, surrounding themselves in sparks.

“Is this all you have?” sneered Cyraliene as she spun her claws.

“You have no idea what secrets I hold!” cried Lisica, as she pirouetted away, adding “inside!”, as she went.

“I have watched you since you blew up the warehouse last night. Oh, yes I have seen what you are made of!” the vampire hissed, and then cartwheeled over and ran her claws right up to Lisica’s hilt. “And I have not been impressed!”

The sparks lit up the eyes of the watching vampires in orgies of silvers and reds. And the eyes were wide with rapture at what was a very good show indeed.

The two pushed each other away, and they faced off once more.

Well, here we go, thought Lisica, and she lunged heavily, and the vampire leapt up on top of the blade, balancing perfectly, then up again to stand on the ceiling, looking down.

“Damn.” Said Lisica.

And then Cyraliene launched down towards Lisica and pinned her against the back wall, the sword clattering away.

Lisica struggled but her body was engulfed by the Dark Lady. The Vampire drew in so close the only thing Lisica could see were her eyes.

And Lisica stared in to those perfect eyes. 

And then, so close no-one else could see but her, the mask cracked, just a fraction and the vampire seemed to smile.

And in that space, they shared a look. And everything was perfectly still.

And then Lisica relaxed herself completely, and the Cyraliene’s smile turned in to a snarl, and the Vampire plunged its teeth in to her neck. 

Lisica gasped at the intensity of the pain, and then collapsed, unconscious, on to the floor.

And Sister Cyraliene rose to her full height and addressed the chamber, “she is mine, she is sweet and I will make feed of her slowly. Come sisters, I will not entertain our colleagues any more.”

Sister Zubi scoffed and melodramatically left the chamber, followed by her Bone Sisters. Cyraliene, back-turned, gave a look at her Blood Sisters that could have read as relief.

Lisica woke up in the brick sewers, some distance from the plunge, but close enough for the smell. A note, impaled upon her blade read: ‘Do Not Return’.

It was written in her own blood.

She rubbed at her neck, and covered the wound with a handkerchief.

“Damn,” she said

 And she hurried back to the central concourse where Bowen was waiting for her, casually on a bench.

“You alright there, Lisica?”

“Oh I’m sweet.”

“So: you ready for a mission?” asked Bowen.

And Lisica smiled widely.

“Sure.”

THIS HAS  BEEN THE SIXTH EPISODE OF THE HOLLOW CITY, THE FOURTH SEASON OF THE LOST CAT PODCAST, WRITTEN AND PERFORMED BY A P CLARKE. COPYRIGHT 2018.

THANK YOU FOR LISTENING.

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[magus-of-the-color-pizza]

Tarkir--Broken and Bowed

I think it is past the time for me to answer a very important question. A question that’s hanging from everyone’s lips, here in the mtg fandom. A question so fundamental, so omnipresent in our lives that someone just oughta do it. Someone has to step up and take a shot. And I guess that someone’s gon’ be me, for once.

You already know what I’m talking about, so let’s dive straight in, shall we?

“What will happen next on Tarkir?”

Ahhhh, we’re back again with this wonderful plane. I don’t plan for this to be a very long piece (Narrator: “it ended up, in fact, long as f***”), I’m just going to give a few thoughts of mine. And don’t worry, this post isn’t going to go near the so-called Dragonlord Discourse (because, spoiler, they’re all bad), we’re talking about events here, not morals.

There are a few things to consider. Firstly, let’s talk about the current state of Tarkir: The Dragons rule the 5 clans, having reshaped them to their will and desires. The humanoid condition is worsened overall on the plane in varying degrees across the clans, but humanoid submission to Dragons within their clan is absolute, there is no current, direct struggle in the internal hierarchy, but there are humanoid behaviors that get directly and mercilessly punished by the draconic overlords. So to say that there is no friction between the two “orders” (I can’t really say species since Humanoids are made up of a variety of species) even within the same clans is wildly incorrect.

Given this situation, though, there are reasons to believe that a fight could break out between Dragons and Humanoids, with the correct circumstances and timing. Let us not forget that Sidisi is brewing poison to kill Silumgar, Anafenza’s spirit is aiding humanoid soldiers and perhaps will inspire some to research abzan necromancy (the same way Oret did), Narset has discovered The Truth (Jeskai records about the past and the Khanfall), Surrak openly states that he only respects the dragons because they’re stronger (read: if I could kick their butt I would), Arel, a temur shaman, is rediscovering the clan’s lost magic and desires a world without dragons, and Zurgo... well, he ain’t doin’ much at the moment, but luckily we have a former Mardu member in Sarkhan. So we have some potential for rebellions across the clans. In addition, both Narset and Sarkhan are planeswalkers, so they could potentially call in some help on this one, and last we saw of them they were going to meet Ugin and then head to the lands of the Atarka to find out more of their past (did I mention Arel already?). And, of course, there are many other elements to consider, such as the Silumgar Infallibles and their questionable loyalty, the Rakshasas, the Temur elementals... you get the idea.

Before we talk any further about where this could go, though, we must acknowledge the elephant in the room. Or rather, the Spirit Dragon:

Why talk about Ugin, even though he’s not currently on the plane? Two reasons: 1) he is directly responsible for the Dragon Tempests and 2) with his obsession over balance, the Planeswalker would/will most likely interfere if things weren’t going his way. So, what can we do now?

Firstly, we need to speculate a little bit. Unfortunately, in Unbroken and Unbowed, the story where Sarkhan finally meets Ugin and they try to piece together what has occurred, Ugin does not explicitly state what he thinks of the current state of Tarkir. However, since it seems as though he did not intervene (aside from the Dragon Tempests, I mean) in the Fate Reforged balance (both Orders alive, in conflict with each other + the other clans), we can presume that he found that situation acceptable or even ideal (for whatever reason). In addition, while it is fairly obvious that Ugin wishes for the existence of dragons on the plane (since he creates the Tempests), he also appears to wish for Humanoids to exist, since, to quote Shu-Yun, “He gave us concealment magic, the last time the dragons seemed to be gaining the upper hand.” Therefore, it seems as though both the Khans and the Dragons timeline would not suit his desires for the plane.

So! Let’s take a look at the possible results of the Dragon/Humanoid conflict:

1) Both species exist, locked in an endless conflict (Fate Reforged);

2) Humanoids win and exterminate the dragons (Khans). To be noted, this outcome is only possible if Ugin dies or interrupts the Tempests; and

3) Dragons win and submit the clans and the humanoids (Dragons). Also to be noted, this result was brought about by the sharp uptick in Dragon Tempests (which Yasova states have increased “fourfold”).

With Ugin against options 2 and 3, and his influence over the plane not to be underestimated, what will happen next? Will he try to pit the two Orders against each other again, in order to return to an FrF-like state? My guess is, probably. And with the seeds of rebellion we’ve seen spread across the plane, the conflict is sure to break out. But the real question is, is Wizards going to make Tarkir go back to an FrF state? Or is there another way, a mysterious fourth path?

You’ve probably already guessed it so there’s no need for me to beat around the bush so much: Coexistence. “Wait but what about the conflict you wanna have a world with no c-” The 5 clans can still go at each other’s throats, what I’m talking about it coexistence between humanoids and dragons of the same clan/brood.

Is there still conflict? Check. Brand new relation at the basis of Tarkirian society? Check. Would Ugin support it? ... maybe. We know that he would not refute it simply on the balance he seems to strive for, since both dragons and Humanoids would be alive, kickin’, and not subjugated. Is it possible to achieve? Perhaps. There are a lot of variables to keep in mind. I’m sure Sarkhan could come around to this idea rather quickly, as the dragons would still be treated with much respect among their clans, they just wouldn’t be a part of a racist oligarchy. But Sarkhan is only one man (although a very powerful and, on this plane, potentially influential one), would it possible to get the clans and the dragons to agree on this? As far as the clans go, I’m going to say... I think it’s possible. We have an element that was previously (in FrF) unavailable, and that is that Dragons are now entrenched in the society of the clans. Back when the shift to Khans happened, Dragons had never been anything more than enemy. Now, while they are dictatorial, it is very difficult for Humanoids to envision a clan completely devoid of them. In some cases (particularly in the Dromoka and Ojutai, somewhat rarer in the Atarka and Kolaghan, quite rare in the Silumgar), there are positive interactions between the two orders and there are Humanoids that view their Dragons, or at least some of them, in a very positive light.

So we’ve potentially got Ugin and the clans on board. Now comes the crux of the issue: what about the dragons themselves? After all, didn’t they fight until they all died in Khans?

Well, you make a good point. Do we really think that the Dragons, and, specifically, the Dragonlords, would (eventually, and only if they were on the losing side, of course) agree to such terms or would they keep fighting until the end? Do these five look like they’d come to terms with that?

The answer is, well, no. After a thousand years of being the undisputed rulers of their clans, these gals (and guys) would most likely not accept that. So, uhh... what we do?

But ah, my good friend. The answer often lies in the question itself, and the best answers are the ones that solve multiple problems at once. After all, while the Humanoids may be willing to accept Dragons in general in their new clans, I have a really hard time seeing them become a part of it, even if they wished to. Aside from the massive power imbalance having them be in the clan would create (Who’s the real leader? Some dude that has been khan for a few years or millennia old ex-Dragonlord?), the five can be seen as a personification of draconic rule over the Humanoids (which they basically are), and will therefore be instrumental in the Humanoid rebellion/revolution/whatchamacallit. In what role? Ask question, get answer!

Killing the Dragonlords accomplishes three critically important things:

1) It gets rid of them. It seems obvious, but, as stated above, they would be a problem. So, it’s good to point it out;

2) It gives Humanoids a sense of purpose and a common enemy (before killing them) and it awards them a significant milestone which will/would be instrumental in ending the war without genocide; and

3) the five are not only tyrants of the clans, but they are the leaders of their broods. By eliminating them, the remaining dragons will be in disarray and more likely to accept some sort of compromise rather than to fight without purpose.

So, to summarize my ingenious plan, what has to happen is: Humanoids get some extra leverage against dragons (that’s where Ugin/Sarkhan/Narset come into play), the already present seeds of rebellion are allowed to grow and flourish until conflict breaks out, which ends with the death of the Dragonlords and a deal between the clans and their respective broods, leading to Dragons and humanoids coexisting.

Then it’s every clan for themselves again, as per usual... but now, with dragons!

If you’ve read all the way so far, thank you so much! I’m glad you found my thoughts interesting enough to do so. I apologize if it got kinda messy at some point but it’s nearly 1am here and I’m quite tired from today. Feel free to reblog or comment with any thought you have on the matter, I’d love to hear them and I’d love to get a conversation started! 

See you all next time, planeswalkers, and heed my advice: dragons may act high and mighty, but remember this?

Yeah. Take that, you oversized lizards.

[amaetheon]

More Information Below

The biggest models are the current days king and queen, while the smaller colour palettes are the original Solgaleo and Lunala that came to Alola, and the children of the king and queen that star in the story. I imagine Solgaleo and Lunala are a common type of Ultra Beast, and that they have a clan mentality there where queens and kings look after the offspring of other Ultra Beasts. The two originals managed to get to Alola from an accidental wormhole that their friend Necrozma made, but decided to stay and live in the new region because they loved it so much! Now one thing to note, the current day Solgaleo and Lunala are not the children of the two originals , they are two random Cosmog chosen by Arceus to continue the royal family's line after Necrozma betrays his two friends. Hopefully that will be a story I can explore more later.

ALSO ANNOUNCEMENT FOR THOSE ENTERED IN MY CONTEST. A few individuals have asked for more time because of family-related issues, so I'm prolonging it for the end of the month. If you still have an outstanding entry, please get it in. :]

Now for the information dump, oh boy.

   Original Lunala

   Height : 13'01"

   Weight : 264.6 lbs.

   Ability : Shadow Shield

   Personality : The original Lunala loved life and everything in it. She was also very trusting, a trait which would lead to her death. Despite not knowing the language or abilities of the world she came to live in, she loved learning and adapting to her surroundings. She was fascinated by every little thing, because she saw the beauty in even the heart of darkness. She also had the unique personality that let her be friends with legends like Necrozma and Kyogre, both who are perceived as stuck up and bitter.

   Battle Effectiveness : The original Lunala preys on her opponent's weakness by using Hypnosis. She believes an incapacitated opponent is the easiest one to defeat, so she'll abuse Dream Eater as her main method of attack. She sees Moongeist Beam as a sacred move and refuses to use it except when absolutely necessary. She'll never lead an attack, but she will act as support on the sidelines.

   Special Abilities : As an Ultra Beast that had grown up in Ultra Space, Lunala is able to do a lot of things that would be seen as magic to the outside world. She can regenerate lost limbs and wounds with ease, can teleport with the flap of her wings instantly, and can take and give energy to the world around her. She also has full control over the moon and sea.

   Backstory : After accidentally stepping into a wormhole that transported her, her husband, a Cosmog herd, and Necrozma into the mortal plane, Lunala was forced to live out her days as a mock Legendary Pokemon. She befriended the grudged island guardians and worked to make Alola a place that was desirable to live in. Soon the native Pokemon began to welcome her into their fold, and she was praised as the queen of the moon. She didn't actually find out there were other legends alive until Kyogre happened to swim by the island one day. She and her family were taken to Arceus, who allowed them to stay so long as they checked in with the council every year. Kyogre and her ended up becoming best friends despite their amazing differences. She never expected she'd be betrayed, but after Necrozma was able to link a portal back home her former friend wished to lay destruction on the land he called a prison. The three fought, but the hoard of Ultra Beasts proved too much. She was slain at the scene, along with her children, and left as a sign of what would happen to those who tried to leave Necrozma.

   Moveset : Moongeist Beam, Hypnosis, Dream Eater, Moonlight

   Lunala (Natsuki)

   Height : 13'01"

   Weight : 264.6 lbs.

   Ability : Shadow Shield

   Personality/Backstory : Natsuki (named after Johto's moon) started off as a youngster, happy as could be, though life soon gave her a bad hand of cards. She was thrust into a leadership position at a young age because she was the strongest female Cosmog alive at the time and was taken from her nest in Alola to grow up with her mentor. As soon as she was old enough to learn Moongeist Beam she was taken from said mentor, Lugia, and asked to rule alone on a desolate island. Loneliness ate at her conscious and she tried hard to make friends. However, because she was an Ultra Beast, no one would talk to her except Ho-Oh and Lugia. Both were taken from her when the Brass Tower burned down, and her isolation made her paranoid and cryptic. It got worse when her first litter died stillbirth deaths, leading her to believe that Arceus and the Undertaker were mocking her. All of these negative feelings fed on her paranoia and when Xerneas mocked at the next legendary council’s meeting, she lashed out, declaring all outsiders to be against her. The battle between her and Xerneas left her eye and body scarred, and Arceus ordered her to leave she did so bitterly. From that point forward she refused to attend meetings and isolated all Alolan legends on the island. She’s a worrier to the extreme, and extremely protective of her children. The only legends she trusts are her husband and Lugia (and temporarily Cresselia).

   Battle Effectiveness : Her battle technique is remain out of sight and out of mind, only coming out to attack when her opponents are distracted. This helps her get the upper hand in many situations, and she'll often rely more on Phantom Force than Moongeist Beam. Her darker coat also allows her to blend in with the shadows, a trait her daughter lacks. She abuses this power in nearly every fight, since her crippling defences mean she can be taken out in a few good hits.

   Special Abilities : She has the same abilities as the previous queen, but her Ultra Beast abilities are severely weakened because she chooses not to use them. She can teleport but not instantly, she can only take life and not give, and she can only partially heal wounds. Her connection to the moon is stronger though.

   Moveset : Moongeist Beam, Moonlight, Phantom Force, Moonblast

   Baby Lunala (Mahina)

   Height : 13'01"

   Weight : 264.6 lbs.

   Ability : Shadow Shield

   Personality : Mahina is nothing like her mother. She trusts strangers and loves meeting new people. She also loves proving herself and trying to out do her brother so she comes off as the strongest of the duo. She's very loud and makes a lot of squealing noises to draw attention to herself, something she thrives on. Mahina believes there's a bit of good in everyone. She's also a natural caretaker, as she's been looking after her mother since she evolved into a Lunala.

   Battle Effectiveness : She is much tinier in comparison to her mother, but also more bulky. She prefers to ram into opponents with her speed and get as many hits in before fleeing. Her defence is her main concern, so she relies heavily on Moonlight to restore health before firing off many related Moonblasts as possible.

   Special Abilities : She has the same abilities as her mother, but has basically lost all of her Ultra Beast powers. She later, however, recovers the ability to use her third eye after digging deeper into the roots of what it means to be a Lunala.

   Moveset : Moongeist Beam, Moonblast, Moonlight, Cosmic Power

   Original Solgaleo

   Height : 11'02"

   Weight : 507.1 lbs.

   Ability : Full Metal Body

   Personality : Though definitely more reserved than his wife, the original Solgaleo was a happy soul. He and his wife would love to go out and explore as a team, and he had a lot of love in him for his family. Even the Cosmog herds, all of which he was not related to, were given a share of his love, and he took his role as a guardian protecter very seriously. He did take more caution when it came to friends, but never faulted in trying to make everyone feel as though they were welcome. There was some xenophobia present in legends like Groudon when he first arrived, but he soon proved him and many others wrong, eventually befriending them. The love he had for his wife knew no bounds, and he died covering her body to stop Necrozma from desecrating her corpse.

   Battle Effectiveness : Solgaleo is not frail, but has to keep his defences strong. Sunny Day gives him more of an advantage, but also opens up his weakness to fire. He relies a lot on Morning Sun to keep him healthy and strong, and rarely uses Sunsteel Strike unless it's an emergency.

   Special Abilities : Like his wife he can heal wounds with ease, teleport, and take and give life to the world. He's also in control of the sun and monitoring how much sun is given to the plants. He can accidentally open portals if he releases enough energy at sunhigh. His coat is so light it glows even in pitch black darkness.

   Moveset : Sunsteel Strike, Morning Sun, Sunny Day, Solarbeam

   Solgaleo (Haru)

   Height : 11'02"

   Weight : 507.1 lbs.

   Ability : Full Metal Body

   Personality : Haru (named after Johto's sun) is much more laid back compared to his wife, but he too is tired of the constant fighting and bickering between them and others. His ragged coat reflects his mind, tired and seeking peace in a life that's granted him none. He's not a slacker, but he is reluctant to do much of anything. He's much more submissive compared to his wife, and won't stand up for his ideals because it creates noise. He tries to be a good father because of his wife's crippling mental illness, but even as their sole role model he can fall into pits of depression now and again. He wasn't close to his mentor like Natsuki was, so Ho-Oh's "death" didn't have much of an impact on him, those it did train him to fear humans.

   Battle Effectiveness : He's not as attack oriented as the original king, but has trained himself to use Flare Blitz to combat stronger foes. Because he hates fighting, he'll often try to use Noble Roar to scare opponents into leaving him alone, and if that doesn't work, he'll fire off Sunsteel Strikes.

   Special Abilities : He has full control over the sun and has some of his Ultra Beasts abilities like being able to heal and give life back into the earth, but has lost the ability to transport. He also cannot make portals of his own will, but can enter and live in the Ultra Space without any trouble.

   Moveset : Sunsteel Strike, Morning Sun, Noble Roar, Flare Blitz

   Baby Solgaleo (Kala)

   Height : 11'02"

   Weight : 507.1 lbs.

   Ability : Full Metal Body

   Personality : Kala is easily excitable and loves the thrill that comes from hunting. He can't stand being indoors and prefers associating with nature at all times. He's also a legend that loves fighting, when unavoidable. As a Solgaleo wearing scars is seen as a badge of honour, and he takes a great deal of pride in his chest scar. He's sweet with his sister Mahina, and the two share a friendly rivalry. He wishes he had more time with her, but funnels this enthusiasm and want into his fighting. He'll stop at nothing to protect her and their family, and always tries to impress his sickly parents to make them smile.

   Battle Effectiveness : Kala is more steel-type focused, and loves to have his opponent at a disadvantage. This is present in Metal Burst and Flash Cannon, both which have the chance of lowering the opponent's stats. He's offensive, often getting up close and trying to soak up hits while dealing the most amount of damage as possible. He's got a lot of spirit, and doesn't give up until the bitter end.

   Special Abilities : He has the same abilities as his father, but has basically lost all of his Ultra Beast powers.

   Moveset : Sunsteel Strike, Morning Sun, Flash Cannon, Metal Burst

[dunmerofskyrim]

12

There are places in Old Ebonheart where the dead walk. At the time I didn’t know why. Nor did I question it.

In Bodram I’d seen weeds and stunted shrubs and loose masonry, and a disarrayed abandon of bones, and the bloodied bodies of the new-made dead, all made to move by ghosts. I’d seen corpses pull and claw and beat at the living til they were corpses too. I’d seen a starveling tree grow roots through a mer from below and crush the life from them with its branches. And I didn’t question it. Not out loud.

To find Old Ebonheart plagued with undead seemed no great surprise after that.

But first came the city’s outskirts. Lumberyards gone to worm-feasts, dank breeding fields for bruise-coloured fungi, banquets for foraging scribs. Saltrice terraces swallowed by silt. The lodges and huts of fishermer, collapsed now, their foundations gnawed through by rot.

Walking once, my half-ruined boots uncovered a glinting rigid something in the sucking mud. It was a Velothi windchime, hollowed from polished bone and preserved in the bog. I picked it up, blacking my already dirt-blacked hands. A long tether of braided twine spooled up from the ground dragging chime after chime from where they’d been hid. But decay and the sudden violence of my curiosity snapped the line. I gathered three of the chimes in a net bag, reckoning to wash them and polish them again.

“It wasn’t just Nords came to trade here, then,” I said to Tammunei as we carried on. “Velothi too, from off the plains. Leatherwares and bonecrafts. Nix and shalk shells..? Wasn’t aware the Vereansu were known for their crafts.”

Tammunei gestured for my attention. I followed their hand as they pointed to one of the Vereansu among us. A warrior, head shaved but for a long grey braid that hung from the back of his scalp. They led a saddle-guar, slow and careful by the reins through these fenlands, too cautious to ride.

“Herds?” I asked. “Guar and horses?”

Tammunei nodded.

But I looked at the warrior’s bow, unstrung and wrapped in resined soft-leather, against the damage of the damp.  The long-hafted axe at their belt, headed like a dagger on one side, like a hammer on the other. “Mercenaries too?”

Tammunei tilted their head, gave a small uncertain shift with their mouth, then nodded. A ‘sometimes yes.’ A ‘maybe yes.’

With time the land rose. As we dragged ourselves from the marsh, so did the lay of things, and the city-ruin itself.

We passed through a sunken mess of slums. Sagging once-huts of mud-brick with roofs long gone, opening their insides to the elements, like Nordic barrow-pits. There in the gutter-faced remains of the city’s poorest parts, something lingered on the air. Not a scent, nor quite a sound, but the sense that something was speaking, but couldn’t quite be heard. I wondered if this was how it began for Tammunei, hearing the voices of the dead? But it faded and didn’t come back. And in terraces shored up with stone, tier by tier, we clambered in switchback progress up into the long ridge of headland that crowned Old Ebonheart’s mainland half.

That was the best part of a day and the beginning, after, of its evening. Cold shade in the morning, as the east-rising steps of this east-rising city hid us from the sun, and the sun from us. Cold sunshine the colour of tin at noon, tricking our brows into beading with sweat.

Often the old paths were blocked. The upsloping streets were choked with refuse and rubble. We found unorthodox ways over wreckage and terrace-walls, and made our progress something more like the climbing of a mountainside than the navigation of a city. Our path began to wind through alleyways, up the tumbledown flanks of fallen homes, and then through the rooms of homes themselves, preserved somehow like grotto-caves, all but buried in all this destruction.

Tammunei was first to see the dead. Of course, of course, it was Tammunei. Stealing through a half-collapsed badger-set of rooms where families once had slept, we saw one that still remained.

A mother and child they’d been once, but death and time had diminished them. In the lightless one-room pit of what had been her home, she paced a figure-eight, holding a bundle of rags in her arms, and the creak and grind of her bones and tendons was all she sang as a lullaby. A faded age-thinned yellow dress hung from her. What flesh she’d worn had turned to leather, parched like the skin of a last-year’s apple, kept since in the dark and the dry. I might have expected skeletons – clattering bones and bleached hard lines – but this was worse. A person whose soul was too shocked or too stubborn to leave their body or quite let it rot.

We waited, watching, horrified-silent. But it seemed that we were as dead to her as she was dead to us. Trapped in our separate worlds, though we shared a space. She only carried on pacing, rocking her bundle of rags.

Tammunei urged us onward with gestures of their hands.

“And you?” I mouthed and motioned, silent by instinct, so as not to disturb this room.

“I’ll stay,” Tammunei’s lips shaped back. “If there’s something I can do…”

“Then I’ll stay with you.”

But Tammunei shook their head, firm, hair fretting free and into their face. “Alone. Please.”

I frowned, face shifting uneasy, then nodded. “You won’t be long?”

A shrug. “Perhaps.”

I never knew how much or how little they needed me, then. My protection or help. Mine was the violence that shielded them from violence. Perhaps I was little else besides. This wasn’t a situation to be solved with violence, or well-placed words, but that didn’t mean it was safe. Still I turned away, dour as pulling teeth, and led our long line onward.

That night we camped in the upper-city, in the dusty tile-strewn square of a tier-roofed townhouse. The shattered shell of a dome lay in the wide weed-choked boulevard outside — scraps of painted bronze and shards of painted purple. I huddled under a colonnade that leant now like a drunkard against an outer wall.

It was there that Tammunei found us again, and their presence came over us like a broken curse. Purpose and guidance in sight again.

There was a sweet scent in the air. The splintered pillars of the fallen veranda were of fragrant mauve-brown wood. Slow down the decades they had been bleeding all the while, like cracked bottles of perfume. A dark and oozing aroma, amber-coloured in my mind, and heady to breathe for too long.

A chill came down with the sunset, and deepened as night drew on. The walls around us blocked the worst of the wind and saved us from its keen cold teeth. Still we heard it, moaning round the severed trunks of fallen towers, adding salt sea to the courtyard’s scent.

We cooked what was left of our hunters’ meat over stones I called fire to heat. Kagouti is stew meat, unfit to roast save for two exceptions: when roasted a whole day and basted constantly, or when only the cheeks are eaten, for where those hard tusks grow the tenderest meat’s to be found. We had it roasted all the same. We had weathered worse things than chewing tough meat. Or meat burnt almost black…

I asked Tammunei what they had done below. Had they been able to help?

“I listened to her sing,” they mouthed to me. “Heard her. Said her child was sleeping. And she slept sound after that.”

Strange. Tammunei always spoke of the uncanny as if it were the most natural thing. As if anyone could do the same, and anyone in their right heart would.

After, we huddled round the stones, starving and greedy for what remained of their warmth. In bedrolls and bundles of clothing and rags, and in heapings of travel-tired limbs, we stockpiled the heat of our bodies.

This had all turned to habit by then. Every night, and every night, as the nights themselves grew colder. And every night that passed that way, I spent trying not to breathe, thinking of nothing but sleep. Useless — like praying so hard for a thing that you never get up off your knees to go out and get it.

That night, Tammunei’s shape furled over me. Some bone-rigid part nestled into me. Chin to chest, jaw to shoulder; a tangle of knees and elbows. Warmth worked between us, trapped in the folds of our clothes. I thought about breathing. Counted every conscious twitch of  my lungs.

Touch had never come easy to me. Ever a kind of invasion at worst, and at best it stuck like a burr in my mind so I could think of nothing else — like I’m bound up too tight in the skin that’s doing the feeling. And there was always guilt in that too.

With Tammunei it had stopped feeling like an affront, an assault. Hard to say when the change had come, or if it had always been there. But with them I suffered touch without suffering. And at the time that felt so precious it scared me. So sweet that to sleep through it would be a waste, some part of me almost felt. So it had felt for weeks maybe, and I’d gone the whole while without rest.

Our bodies were tangled. I felt their shivers through me, as if they were my own.

“You’re shivering,” I said, soft and stupid, unheard in the dark. But I was used to telling Tammunei what they felt. Telling the truths their nerves wouldn’t report. By now, that too was habit.

How could they be cold, I wondered? How, while my skin prickled so hot? While my breath and my blood both came so fevered?

The coarse grind of clothes on clothes. A sound like knots tied in rope, made fast, making mooring, tightening round me. Everything came world-resounding loud when the cold and the city-ruin had made everything else so silent. The closeness of it all trapped me, bound up in all this sharing. The terror of it and hunger of it, febrid-hot in my hungry hands, and tugging tight in my coward heart.

In my belly I felt the moment uncurl. A blossoming brute desire. I laid a hand on Tammunei’s hip. A question, but they had no voice to answer. In the silence, I hated that I’d asked at all.

The cold of the morning made that night feel distant as a dream. That was a mercy, but not a reprieve.

[kpopfanfictrash]

Control

Author: kpopfanfictrash

Pairing: You / Mark

Rating: PG-13 

Word Count: 4,448

Summary: On a night out with your friends, you accidentally text the wrong number for advice. The guy on the other end of the phone is abrupt, harsh and kind of an ass - but he also happens to be right. Which explains why you keep texting him. Right?

“537. 555. 2469.”

Finishing typing the digits into your phone, you look up. “Got it. Still can’t believe you dropped your phone in the toilet.”

“Yeah, well.” Jen frowns, leaning into the mirror. “Don’t keep your phone in your back pocket.”

“Life lessons from Jen,” you deadpan, sliding your straightener over your hair. Bumping your roommate in the hip, you grin. “But really. That burner phone looks terrible.”

“What, this red Envy from my high school days? Top line technology, Y/N.”

“Obviously.”

“I can type AND flip it open. How many phones do you know that can do that?”

“Zero. Actually zero.”

Jennifer gives her hair a final fluff before facing you. “Just two more days until my new phone ships.”

“Thank god. So how do I look?”

Jen eyes you up and down. “Stunning. Ravishing. The boys will be eating out of your hand.”

You laugh as you straighten your top. “Too much, even for you,” you scold, leaving the bathroom as Jen’s laughter follows you down the hall.

You and Jen have been friends since college, ever since you spilled your drink at a bar and Jen was there to pull you aside, insisting some random guy pushed you. After that you were inseparable, even after college it was the same – except now you’re roommates, living out your struggles while simultaneously navigating the waters of early twenties-dom.

Today is Friday and after a long work week you’re finally ready to let loose. Or at least, Jen is. You’re the one being dragged along, despite your ardent desire to stay in and watch West World with a bottle of wine.

This, however was deemed by Jen as ‘anti-social.’

So here you are, dressed in your heels and a tight skirt. Ready to take the town by storm. Or at least Blackbird – the club you’ve settled on for the night. As you enter you scan the crowd, shoving your nervous butterflies into the pit of your stomach. 

Jake is supposed to be here tonight. Jake - the incredibly attractive and incredibly elusive boy you’ve been seeing.

Well, seeing is a strong word.

You two went on one date and it’s been days since you’ve heard from him. As you reach the bar you pull out his last message, hoping to decipher something between the vaguely worded texts you’ve yet to see.

Y/N: Hey! I had fun last night. Let me know if you want to do it again sometime. [11:50 AM]

Jake: Hey, me too. Would love to see you again, let’s talk later this week about details? [12:10 PM]

You: Great :) [12:12 PM]

Two days later.

You: Hey :) [2:01 PM]

Re-reading your text, you cringe at the double smiley. Just like you did Tuesday, moments after sending it. The next text is a little more heart-lifting.

Jake: Hey [2:29 PM]

You: So there’s an art exhibit this weekend I think you’d enjoy. Want to come with me? [2:31 PM]

Jake: I already have plans this weekend. But rain check? [2:55 PM]

No response from you after that. Even with a guy as cute as Jake, you can take the hint. But then he texted earlier, wanting to know what your plans were for tonight.

Jake: Hey, Y/N. I told friends I’d meet them later but was hoping to see you too. Any chance you’ll be at Blackbird tonight? [4:05 PM]

You: I think I could be persuaded. See you there [4:08 PM]

So now you hold your phone in one hand, scanning the bar for his familiar face. Dark brown hair, killer green eyes. A combination designed to scramble thoughts. Smart, too. Jake owns his own consulting business while somehow managing to keep up charity work on the weekends. That’s right, charity work - mostly at the local children’s hospital.

And there he is now.

Your heart flutters, only to stutter when you realize he’s not alone. The girl’s back is towards you, so you can’t see what she looks like but if her legs are anything to go off of, she’s gorgeous. Jake leans in close - too close to be just friends.

All of a sudden the space inside this club seems very small. The room is too hot and you don’t know where to look. You end up slipping your hand in Jen’s, pleased when she tugs you towards the bar.

“Come on,” Jen sniffs, having seen the whole exchange as she glares in Jake’s direction. “Let’s go get you a shot.”

Five tequila shots later, the room spins in a peachy fuzz of alcohol. Better than focusing on Jake, at least and you head onto the dance floor, swaying your hips and trying to pretend that you’ve forgotten all about what’s-his-face.

A hand taps you on the shoulder.

“Yeah?” You turn, freezing when you come face to face with tousled hair and a mega-watt smile.

Jake stands right before you. “I’ve been searching for you.”

“Not very hard, it seems.” Frowning, you turn to leave as his hand closes around your upper wrist. “Hey!” you gasp, yanking your arm free.

Jake lets you go, holding up both hands. “I’m sorry,” he apologizes, gaze roaming your face. “I wish I could be at that art exhibit tomorrow.”

“It doesn’t matter,” you say, even though it does.

Jake touches your hand, fingers soft against your skin and you suddenly are having a hard time staying mad. 

“It does matter,” he says solemnly. “I really am sorry – I just have to be at the hospital first thing in the morning.”

You turn towards him. Maybe if you were less drunk, you’d realize that this doesn’t make a lot of sense. If Jake has to be at the hospital first thing in the morning, why is he at a club in Midtown past midnight? But you’re not thinking too clearly right now, and his excuse is just enough to appease your anger. 

“Oh,” you say, the word coming out small.

Jake steps closer. “I feel I should stay longer,” he muses. “It’s been awhile since I’ve seen these friends. But I was wondering… Nah, never mind.”

“What?” you ask, leaning in.

Jake shakes his head. “I was just wondering if you wanted to get a cup of coffee tonight? I know it’s late and a bit crazy, but…” He trails off, unsure.

Blinking up at him, you nod. “I’d like that.”

“Great.” He smiles down at you. “Well, I’m going to go back to my friends. But I’ll come over in a bit, yeah?”

“Yeah.” Slightly dazed from the conversation, you watch him go. Sliding in and out of dancers until he disappears from view. 

Your head spins from both the conversation and your alcohol and once Jake is out of sight, the music seems to surge around you. The bodies of dancers swallowing you until suddenly you’re overwhelmed. Closing both eyes, you push towards the edge of the dance floor.

You need Jen. She’ll be able to tell you what to do because right now, the whole club is spinning and it’s probably not a good idea to go home with anyone. 

But Jake isn’t just anyone.

You scan the floor. No Jen. Fingers fumbling, you pull out your phone, scrolling through contacts for her burner number.

“Pick up, pick up, pick up,” you grumble, facing away from the noise. Jen doesn’t answer though – unable to hear over the sound of the club. Defeated, you pull back your phone and type instead.

Y/N: So Jake found me. [12:03 AM]

You pause, thinking about what to say..

Y/N: He said he’s sorry for msising the art thing but wants to get coffee. I’m kind of drunk so idk?? I knw he blew me off but it was bc of that thing at the children’s hospital : / and he seems like he actualy wants to see me … idk what do I do HELP [12:05 AM]

You press send.

A response doesn’t come right away so you wait. Continuing to search the dance floor for Jen’s signature curly hair. Until your phone chimes in your hand.

555-8924: I think you have the wrong number. [12:07 AM]

Fuck. Scowling down at the still-blinking ellipses, your face heats up. Jen must have put in the wrong number  – now how are you going to find her? Also - how wildly embarrassing. You just rambled on like a drunken moron to a total stranger.

Your phone chimes again.

555-8924: But seeing as I’m awake and feeling particularly generous – one hundred percent no, you should not get coffee with him. Are you insane? [12:08 AM]

You stare back at the response, black and white, and a tiny bubble of anger appears in your stomach. You type, fingers flying over the keyboard since you’re too drunk to care how you come across. 

Y/N: Oh, really? What makes you – a cmplete stranger – think u know me? [12:10 AM]

555-8924: Lol. I know you. [12:11 AM]

You bristle when his or her ellipses continue to pulse. Ding. 

555-8924: But more importantly I know him. I’m a guy. And I can recognize a tragic situation when I see one. [12:12 AM]

You gasp, past caring if anyone hears. 

Y/N: Tragic? Well, fuck you. [12:13 AM]

He doesn’t respond. You collapse into the closest booth, staring down at your screen until your anger fades and eventually, your curiosity gets the best of you.

Y/N: But … say I did value your opinion. Why shouldn’t I get coffee with him? [12:14 AM]

When the ellipses re-appear, you let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding. 

555-8924: Well. First off – a children’s hospital? Sounds too good to be true. Second. Coffee after midnight? There’s only one thing that guy wants and it’s not coffee. [12:16 AM]

You blush, almost missing his next text. 

555-8924: And three – you said so yourself, this guy blew you off. Why would you give him the opportunity to do it again? [12:16 AM]

You stare at your phone. He’s right. Whomever he is, he’s right. Jake is just trying to hook up. And… as much as you want that, you also want more. Which doesn’t seem to be the case for him.

Y/N: I hate to admit, seing as you’re a dick and all but you have a point. [12:17 AM]

555-8924: Hahaha [12:18 AM]

The guy texts back laughter, typing each ha. It makes you grin, chuckling when your phone dings again.

555-8924: Okay, maybe I was being harsh. [12:19 AM]

Y/N: Harsh is the Sahara. Harsh is the Amazon rain forest. Calling a girl tragic on a Friday night is nothing short of savage. [12:20 AM]

555-8924: You’re right, who am I to judge? You’re probably not tragic. Just hopelessly naïve [12:21 AM]

Y/N: Well, you’re too cynical! [12:21 AM]

Oh, crap. What are you doing? Wincing, you set your phone in your lap. This guy isn’t going to respond. He definitely won’t respond. He – ding. 

555-8924: How did you know what my friends call me? Birth name Mark, ‘Cynical’ for those in the know. [12:23 AM]

Your thumbs hover over the keyboard. 

Y/N: Hi, Mark. I’m Y/N. Thanks for talking to me. [12:25 AM]

There’s a long pause before your phone dings again.

555-8924: Pleasure’s all mine. [12:27 AM]

“Y/N!”

Your gaze shoots up, happy to see Jen pushing through the crowd of people. When she reaches your side she sits, smelling of sweat and perfume.

“Are you ready to go?” she asks. “This place is one spilled drink away from Hot Mess central, destination: Not Good.”

Laughing, you push yourself to stand. “I’m ready.” You slip your purse over your shoulder, wobbling just a little bit. “I’ll call an Uber?”

Jen nods, looping her hand in yours. “Did I see you talking to Jake earlier?”

“Ugh,” you groan, rolling your eyes. “He wanted to get coffee later tonight.”

“Oh, really?” Jen laughs. “Translation: BOOTY CALL.”

You flush, remembering Mark’s similar assessment. “Yeah, that’s what I figured. I’m not going.”

“Of course not.” Jen squeezes your arm. “You’re worth so much more, sweetie. He’ll realize that soon.”

“Yeah. Maybe.”

As you leave, you glance over your shoulder. Without really meaning to, you find Jake’s gaze. His face lights up, mouth opening until he notices your purse on your shoulder. His gaze darkens, falling when you slowly shake your head.

And then you leave, disappearing out the door. Feeling oddly lighter than when you entered.

The next morning you wake to a banner headache. Groaning, you clutch your comforter tighter and squint at the clock on your nightstand.

9:04 am.

You can sleep for a while longer. Rolling over, you nestle into your blankets and … remember last night. Your eyes shoot open. All the memories of the club come crashing down as you groan.

You almost went home with Jake. The memory of that stupid pick-up line hits you like a ton of bricks.

“If you wanted to get a cup of coffee? I know it’s late and a little crazy, but…”

Thank god you didn’t go.

You sit up, hastily grabbing your phone to scroll through your texts. Your heart hammers when you see them - when you remember your virtual love doctor. Wincing at all the spelling errors, you groan out loud. Falling back and clsoing your eyes when you read the part about telling Mark to go fuck himself.

That’s his name – Mark.

After simmering in embarrassment for several minutes, you decide to send him an apology. He seems nice and you were being drunk and incoherent. The least you can do is apologize.

After several minutes of typing, you have the following:

Y/N: Hi, Mark. This is Y/N from last night. I woke up to these texts and wanted to say sorry. I’m normally not that drunk. Or rude. The naïveté still stands though, so thanks for calling me out on that. Anyways, you don’t have to respond to this but I wanted to apologize now that I’m sober. [9:10 AM]

You press send, setting your phone back on your table and flopping onto your pillows. Mark probably won’t respond. Why would he, after last night? 

Ding.

Mark: Hi, Y/N from last night. Don’t worry about it – you were the most entertainment I’ve had in a while. [9:13 AM]  

You sit up, slowly typing back your response.

Y/N: Glad to hear my dating woes amuse you. Got any advice for a continually tragic case such as myself? [9:15 AM]

Mark: Well first off, don’t tell him that.[9:16 AM]

Y/N: Noted. [9:16 AM]

Mark: Second, play hard to get. Did you talk to him before leaving last night? [9:17 AM]

You remember looking at Jake - but you left without a word. 

Y/N: No. We made eye contact but I didn’t say anything – I just left. [9:18 AM]

Mark: Haha good. He’ll probably text today, wondering why you didn’t go home with him. [9:19 AM]

You almost laugh – like it’s that easy.

Y/N: Riiight. [9:20 AM]

Y/N: I’ll be sure to let you know when that happens. Don’t hold your breath. [9:21 AM]

Mark: I’m just saying. Guys can be dicks but we’re predictable dicks. We want what we can’t have. [9:22 AM]

Y/N: How pessimistic of you. Who died and made you love doctor? [9:23 AM]

Mark: You did, when you asked me for advice.[9:24 AM]

Snorting, you tap your fingers against your legs. He’s right.

Y/N: Fine. I’ll let you know when Jake comes banging on my door. [9:25 AM]

Mark: Good. I actually have to go – work – but keep me updated, Y/N. Cynical might be my middle name, but I’m a sucker for a happy ending. [9:27 AM]

You throw your phone back on your comforter and sigh, stretching your arms overhead. For some reason there’s a smile on your face when you get up out of bed.

Around 6:00 your phone dings.

Jake.

Your eyes move to the previous thread – re-reading Mark’s smug assurance that Jake would text before the day was up. How the hell did he know? You open Jake’s text, eyebrows rising when you see a photo of him crouched beside a girl in a hospital bed. Jake is holding a picture book and smiling ear to ear.

Jake: Hey, Y/N! Sorry if I came on too strong last night. I realized this morning that I was out of line and wanted apologize. This is Melissa, we’re reading Clifford the Big Red Dog (see? I really did have charity work). Anyways. All of this is a rather long way of asking if we could set a time for that second date of ours? [6:03 PM]

You stare at his words. Without really knowing why, you find yourself texting Mark.

Y/N: You’re not going to believe who just texted me. [6:05 PM]

The phone dings almost immediately.

Mark: Let me guess. Coffee jackass? [6:06 PM]

Laughing, you bite your lip to keep from grinning.

You screenshot Jake’s message and picture, sending both to Mark. 

Y/N: Bingo. What should I say? [6:07 PM]

There’s a long pause, and you’re about to message him again when your phone dings.

Mark: Do you like this guy, Y/N? [6:09 PM]

His question gives you pause. Jake is kind, nice and smart. Maybe not the easiest to read and he doesn’t always get your sense of humor – but then, who’s perfect? 

Y/N: Yes. [6:10 PM]

Mark: Okay. Then respond, but keep it casual. Let him know you’re interested but don’t be the one to set the time and place. Make sure you stay in control. [6:13 PM]

You nod. Stay in control. You can do that. 

Y/N: A date? What did you have in mind? [6:14 PM]

Jake: Dinner. The two of us. Next Friday night. [6:15 PM]

Your eyebrows shoot up.

You: It’s a date. [6:17 PM]

Hardly able to believe your luck, you fingers fly to Mark.

Y/N: We’re going to dinner next Friday. Can you believe? Thank you!! [6:18 PM]

Mark’s response is slower this time.

Mark: You’re welcome. Have a good time, Y/N [6:20 PM]

You set down your phone, glancing at your kitchen as you rub your eyes. Looking around, you realize that Jake has never been inside your apartment. When you two went out last time, he picked you up outside. Texted he was here and waited in the driveway.

He didn’t even come to the door, now that you think of it. Had the situation been reversed, you would have wanted to see his house. You would have wanted to know about his life.

Before you can talk yourself out of it, you’re typing another message.

Y/N: So Mark. Just out of curiosity, let’s say you were going on a date. Let’s say you picked her up at her house. How would you let her know you were there? [6:25 PM]

Mark: Huh? [6:27 PM]

Y/N: Like, would you honk the horn? Give her a call? Throw a rock at her window? [6:28 PM]

Mark: Haha I would go to her door. Maybe I’m nosy, but I think a person’s house says a lot about them. [6:29 PM] 

A tingle trails the base of your spine.

Y/N: Really? How so? [6:30 PM]

It’s a long minute before your phone dings again.

Mark: I don’t know, a lot of ways. Take me, okay? My home is spotless but that’s only because I work a lot. I spend most of my nights here at the fire station, sleeping in bunk beds. [6:32 PM]

Your eyebrows rise. That wasn’t the profession you would have guessed.

Y/N: So that explains why you were up at one in the morning, answering my drunk texts. [6:34 PM]

Mark: Exactly. I’m a firefighter with a hero complex. Show me a basket case about to go home with a jerk and I’ll send you sassy texts, filled with vaguely disparaging remarks about how you’re better than that. [6:36 PM]

You laugh out loud, just as Jen enters the kitchen. Her gaze flickers to the phone in your hand.

“Oo, did Jake finally text back?”

A flush stains your cheeks. “Uh, yeah. He did.”

Jumping up, Jen claps her hands together. “That’s so exciting! Are you two going out?” She starts to open up kitchen cabinets, pulling down a can of soup and a bowl.

“Yeah, next Friday night.”

Jen turns, fixing you with an oddly critical stare. “You don’t seem that excited about it.”

“I am!” you protest, smiling to hide your confusion. “I just – I’m hungover still.”

Jen makes a whoops face. “Oh, shit. I guess for future reference – five tequila shots are too many for you.”

As you slide your cell phone into your pocket, you laugh. “Five tequila shots are too many for any human, not just me, Jen.” 

You’re not sure why you don’t tell Jen about Mark.

That night you’re lying in bed, trying to decide what to wear on Friday when - ding.

Mark: So you never told me what you do for a living. [10:11 PM]

Your stomach flutters. Mark. 

Y/N: Marketing. Product testing for a local company. Nothing quite as gallant as fire-fighting. [10:12 PM]

Mark: Ah, yes. I often feel so gallant putting on canvas colored overalls. The sexiest though, is when sweat just pours down my face and pools in my jacket. That’s the pinnacle. [10:14 PM]

Y/N: Hot. [10:14 PM]

Mark: *Groans* I hope you didn’t mean that as a pun. [10:15 PM]

You laugh, surprised he understood.

Y/N:… shh, you don’t know me [10:16 PM]

Mark: Apparently I do. But actually I’ve always found marketing interesting. The concept is very psychological. [10:17 PM]

Y/N: Ding, ding, ding! I was, indeed a Psych major in college. [10:18 PM]

Mark: Let’s play a game, then. [10:19 PM]

Y/N: What kind of game? [10:20 PM]

Mark: I want to guess what your apartment looks like based on your profession. [10:21 PM]

You laugh, quieting as your gaze moves to the hall. You don’t want to wake up Jen up. Texting back, you grin.

Y/N: Go on. [10:22 PM] 

Mark: You have plants. [10:22 PM]

Y/N: Well, that’s not hard. Most people have plants. [10:23 PM]

Mark: I don’t. [10:24 PM]

Y/N: Most people with hearts have plants. [10:24 PM]

Mark: Ouch. You wound me. Y/N. You also have Christmas lights wrapped someplace they shouldn’t be even though Christmas is long gone. [10:25 PM]

You blush remembering the plant you and Jen have strung with twinkling white lights. It’s left in your kitchen year-round as a sort of night light.

Y/N: Okay, I’ll give you that one. [10:26 PM]

Mark: You have too many pillows and blankets. Enough that were we so inclined, we could make a blanket fort. [10:27 PM]

For some reason, Mark’s use of the word we makes your heart pound. This is silly, you think. Setting your phone down to rub at your temples. You don’t know Mark. You don’t know what he looks like. He could be old or balding or have a giant, hook nose.

Before you can stop yourself, you’re typing again.

Y/N: How old are you? [10:29 PM]

Mark’s ellipses blink. Pause. Blink again.

Mark: Is this because of the blanket fort thing? I’m twenty five. You? [10:30 PM]

Y/N: Twenty four. [10:31 PM]

Mark: Okay, so now that we’ve established we’re both in our mid-twenties, will you please confirm or deny the blankets thing. [10:32 PM]

You laugh out loud, realizing that this is the most you’ve laughed in a while. Especially over a guy. 

Y/N: You’re right. Screw the fort, I have enough blankets to make a whole house. [10:33 PM]

As your phone chimes, you settle down into your sheets. Somehow between one comment and the next, you don’t end up falling asleep until much, much later that night.

“So you and this guy have just been … texting?” Jen sounds skeptical.

Fighting back your blush, you take a long sip of your drink. “Yeah. I mean, it’s no big deal.”

Her eyebrows shoot higher. “If it’s not a big deal, why haven’t you told Jake?”

She has a point. It’s been three weeks since your second date with Jake and now you’re ‘officially dating.’ His words, not yours. You still haven’t quite forgotten Mark’s original advice:

Make sure you stay in control.

Still, you shift beneath Jen’s gaze. “It’s just … the timing has never been great.”

“In three weeks?” Jen laughs. “I don’t know, Y/N. When is the right time to say, hey you only started dating me because this guy told me what to do. Oh, and we still talk every day. Every night. Literally all the time. But hey! No big deal.”

Your cheeks are crimson. “It’s not every day,” you grumble.

Jen grabs your phone, swiping right to punch in your code before you can protest. “Aha!”

“I never should have told you my password,” you sigh, sinking into your seat.

“One new message from Mark!” Jen exclaims, clearing her throat. “Jackson brought home a blanket and I blame you. Why? Because I told him you had enough for a fort and now he’s concerned our apartment isn’t inviting enough. He’s now trying to make our place ‘livable.’ Please send help.”

Jen arches her eyebrows over the top of your phone.

“Give me that,” you say, snatching your phone from her hand.

“He sounds cute.” Jen’s mouth curves upwards. “Is he cute?”

“I don’t know,” you say stiffly, shoving you phone in your pocket.

“Oh, please.” Jen pushes her hair back. “You’re telling me you’ve been texting this guy for weeks and have yet to find out what he looks like?”

Sinking even further into your chair, you mumble, “I decided I don’t want to know.”

Jen stares at you like you’re crazy. “Why not?”

“I don’t want to get too involved”

“Too involved?” Her eyes widen. “I got news, honey. This is the definition of involved. You talk to Mark more than you do to your boyfriend, Jake. Oh – did you forget about him?”

“Jake and I just started dating,” you explain, not quite able to meet her gaze. “It’s not like we’re married or something.”

“Right.” Jen’s expression softens. “I get it – Mark is sweet and funny and interesting. But he’s a phantom, babe. Someone who only exists on paper. If you met in real life, it would be just as awkward and unsure as any other guy. Like Jake.”

“What?” Your gaze shoots to hers. “I like Jake!”

“You do. But not enough to stop texting Mark.”

This shuts you up and you lean back, considering. Groaning, when you bury your face in your arms. “Oh, god,” you moan. “You’re right. What’s wrong with me? Jake is gorgeous and I’ve wanted him since forever. Why can’t I just be happy?”

“Beats me.” 

When you swat at Jen, she laughs. 

“Okay,” you say, sitting up straight. “I’ll stop texting Mark. Focus on Jake.”

“Good.” A small, but evil grin spreads across Jen’s face. “And I’ll just … find out what Mark looks like because it’s literally killing me.”

“Jen!” You protest, grabbing for her hand but she’s too fast. Jen is already typing, searching through Google.

“He has our area code,” she muses. “So he must be a local fire fighter.” Your best friend squints at her phone, smacking your hand when you reach across the table.

“Jen.” Giving up, you sink down into your arms again. “I don’t want to know.”

Until she utters a soft swear. “Holy shit.”

“What?” you say, concerned as you peep through your fingertips. “What is it?”

Wordlessly, Jen turns her phone around. “Why are you the fucking luckiest girl on earth?”

Your mouth drops.

[Master List]

Author’s Note: 500 notes! Thank you so, so much for reading. Please enjoy parts II and III at the Master List above.

[baekyeolife]

Beating Heart Part 2 (Baekyeol)

Quick Author’s Note: 

There will be a part 3! I apologize to the anon who requested this for the long length x.x 

WARNING: CONTAINS SEXUAL CONTENT

if you are uncomfortable reading the graphic parts then please do skip over it^^

______________________         

Moist lips skim off of one another slowly, as if savoring the taste and all that comes with it. Chanyeol is looking down at him with drunken eyes, intoxicated with all of these feelings coursing through his veins. Baekhyun’s eyes are still sealed as he continues to give him small pecks, the ability to get enough of him going foreign in his body.

“Why don’t we get out of here?” He finally says, holding onto the fabric of Chanyeol’s jacket and sending him a small smirk.

The taller man nods without a thought as Baekhyun grabs his wrist and leads him out of the bathroom. They get to the parking lot to take Baekhyun’s old car, and Chanyeol is actually glad that he had walked to the bar or else his car would have probably been towed.

The drive is filled with sneaky glances and an air of moderate stiffness, though it is mostly because of their unfulfilled desires. It is like a race against their own selves as the car races down the grimy asphalt in high speed; all the while a bitter feeling settles down in the pit of Chanyeol’s stomach.

They get to a small apartment in no time, and their hands get caught up in each other in what seems like a nanosecond. Chanyeol has Baekhyun against the wall as he sloppily attacks his lips, sucking on them and sticking their bodies together desperately. They wiggle over to one of the rooms, and when Chanyeol realizes that it’s a bedroom, he lets Baekhyun fall onto the bed and allows himself to collapse right on top of him.

Baekhyun jerks his pelvis up and rubs his clothed erection against Chanyeol’s own hard-on, jolting both of them into a moaning catastrophe. Chanyeol interrupts their plethora of kisses as he starts to pull at Baekhyun’s shirt to take it completely off of him. They are ravenous and before they know it, the articles of their clothing have been thrown aimlessly all around the room.

Chanyeol bites down on his neck and works his way to his chin, then swallows his mouth in another dizzying kiss. When they break for air, Chanyeol stops all of his movements to simply stare at the man below him. A voice in the back of his head feeds him a heaping of guilt and plants a seed of disgust within his chest. He shouldn’t be doing this, it is wrong and repulsive. How could he betray someone who has done him no harm? Someone whose intentions have been to give him the best he could ever have?

A hand touches his cheek and cuts through the indulging thoughts, and he blinks, actually looking at Baekhyun. “Is it your first time?” He asks softly, caressing his skin with tenderness and warmth. He must have noticed his hesitation.

“I just…” Chanyeol begins, but then fades away with the glimmering of Baekhyun’s gorgeous coffee eyes. And his radiating touch isn’t helping him at all. Succumbing, he ends up bringing Baekhyun’s hand to his lips and places a kiss onto his palm, “I just don’t want to hurt you.”

Baekhyun smiles and lifts himself up so that he can turn Chanyeol over onto his back and switch their positions. “Don’t worry,” He says as feathery lips re-attach themselves onto Chanyeol’s rotund ones, his fingers gliding up and down his milky white chest. The touches are light like the strokes of a paint brush, sensational and relieving.

Baekhyun slides down his neck to suck on his pink nipple, flicking it with his tongue and using his hand to gingerly play with the other one. Chanyeol is writhing beneath him as a string of moans flow out of him, and Baekhyun smirks at the noise. He moves his way down to Chanyeol’s thighs, where he places butterfly kisses on both sides while fondling his sculpted sides.

Pushing himself up on his elbows, Chanyeol takes Baekhyun by the chin to slowly bring him closer, then tastes him in another blinding lip lock. He pushes him down and leans over him as their position once was, and looks at him with a speck of uncertainty before inserting a finger into his opening. A moan doesn’t shy away from Baekhyun’s mouth as Chanyeol starts to pull his finger in and out of him, eventually putting in two digits, then three, then four.

“O-Oh my g-god,” The man whimpers below him, his walls stretching to the point where it almost feels numb.

Chanyeol removes his hand and allows the man to give out a breathy sigh. Situating himself right in the middle of his legs, he slowly thrusts into him, whole and raw. Baekhyun gasps as pale eyelids cover his sight, bliss and something splitting overtaking him. For a moment, Chanyeol is still as he allows him to adjust to his size, and then he begins to move.

“Ohh. Ahhh.” Baekhyun purrs, eyes still closed and sealed tighter than before. His fingers curl around the white sheets and he jerks his head to the right, his body shuddering and shaking as he rocks his hips back and forth, in sync with Chanyeol’s paces.

A kiss lands on his forehead and brings Chanyeol back to view, and suddenly, he goes faster and harder, leading Baekhyun into a moaning and whining mess. Shallow breaths and the sound of skin slapping skin echoes throughout the room, their heart rates picking up quickly and the adrenaline pumping through their veins.

Laying his head against Baekhyun’s temple, Chanyeol reaches out to intangle their fingers together as they reach their climax, squeezing hard as the tightness is returned. When he is about to come, Chanyeol pulls out and sprays his web of strings all over Baekhyun’s hole and stomach as he arrives to his own release.

Collapsing beside Baekhyun, Chanyeol stares up at the beige ceiling. His chest heaves up and down exhaustingly, and even though he is tired as heck right now, his mental frustration is what tires him out the most.

_____________________

A flash of light shines into Chanyeol’s eyes as he comes to, his lashes fluttering and shielding him from the blinding effect. Turning away from the spark, his orbs land on Baekhyun’s peaceful face, probably dreaming about something nice and calming. He takes a second to just stare at him and look over his grown out features.

He notices that his jawline has become much more chiseled and defined, which brings attention to his long, slender neck. His hair has also changed from long auburn curls to short ebony strands. He remembers how he used to just watch him with utter fascination, and right now, it seems that the habit is catching up to him.

Six years ago this would be as good as a dream to him, and the feeling swirling around his chest represents it. He wants to move in closer and kiss that adorable button nose of his, as it was the only place that he left unkissed last night, but he stops right in front of him as he begins to ruffle awake.

Large honey orbs shift up at him and smacks a grin onto his face, “Good morning,” Chanyeol says as Baekhyun rubs his eyes with his finger, a small yawn lingering.

“Morning,” he returns raspily, “Why are you so close?”

“Oh… um,” Chanyeol hesitates, growing shy all of a sudden. “I wanted to…” Baekhyun’s relaxed expression mixed with that adorable smile of his is thrown at Chanyeol like magic, and he can’t handle it so he comes in to peck his milky white nose as he had intended to. “Do that.”

Blinking, Baekhyun’s smile broadens as a light pink tinge flourishes across his cheeks. “I’m glad I asked.”

They both chuckle and Chanyeol has to stop himself from continuing only to hear more of Baekhyun’s laugh. It is like music to his ears, the liberation and light feeling that overcomes him is incredible. People usually have favorite songs, but he has just found his favorite sound, as cheesy as that may sound.

“Breakfast?” He proposes, but Baekhyun shakes his head.

“Not really hungry, can we just lay here for a bit? I like being besides you,” he admits sheepishly, and Chanyeol feels his heart beat faster.

“I like that idea better,” he eventually says, placing his hand gently on his cheek and jawline to lightly graze his messy strands, eyes oozing with warmth. They stay this way for quite some time, just staring at each other in wonder and tranquility. It’s been a long time since he’s had anything tranquil in his life, so this feels unbelievably pleasing to Chanyeol.

“So, what do you do?” Baekhyun asks, breaking the silence.

Chanyeol blinks, head slightly tilting to readjust. “As in for a living?”

Baekhyun nods and brings Chanyeol back to the cold reality, the one where it’s not just them two in a separate bedroom, away from life and it’s inconveniences. “I run Park Enterprises.”

The answer brings Baekhyun to a period of incredulity, “Wow, that’s amazing. But you're into acting too?”

“Originally I had my mind set on acting only, but my dad became sick and I’m his only son, so naturally, I had to take over the company.”

Baekhyun frowns at this, dimples fading away. “That sucks… but at least you’re finally doing what you want.”

Chanyeol releases a sigh, “We’ll see about that. But enough of me, what about you? Have you been auditioning while working at the bar?”

“Yeah, there’s not much to me besides that, though. I haven’t gotten a gig besides a few commercials yet, but I’m still trying to better my acting through that class.”

Chanyeol hums and continues to stroke Baekhyun’s hair, not into the whole real life talk, though he never really was anyway. Baekhyun moves away, though, and tries to sit up. That’s when the pain of last night’s activities strikes back to attack him, and he must let out a gasp mixed with a groan at the suddenness. Chanyeol also sits up, but in alarm, and places on hand on Baekhyun’s upper arm and the other around the small of his back.

“You okay?” He asks, concerned.

Baekhyun sighs heavily and brings the sheet up to his chest, “Yeah, but I’m hungry.”

Chanyeol laughs breathily at that and kisses his temple before speaking, “Alright, what do you feel like eating?”

______________________

Chanyeol often ponders: is it possible to feel like you’ve known someone all of your life even though it’s only been a couple of days (regardless of the years of observations?) Learning more and more about Baekhyun and his simple ways of living seems to have answered that speculation. It’s fascinating to him no matter what the hidden detail is, whether it be something surprising like how he prefers his coffee with a dash of sea salt and maple syrup, or something simple like his love and admiration for Ed Sheeran.

It has been amazing to get to know him, Chanyeol must admit, but recently all he’s been doing is researching for photographers and a band for the wedding under the command of his mother. Needless to say, it has made his depression come back ten times harder than before.

“Chanyeol, focus! There’s only two more weeks until the wedding and we don’t even have a photographer yet. Can you stop dozing off?” Minju’s sharp voice snaps him awake for the twelfth time that day, but can you blame him? He’s been up all night with not only Minju’s complaints, but his sister’s whines of how poor the photography business is doing. It was an annoying way to drift off to sleep.

“I’m sorry, but all this wedding stuff is tiring me out. Haven’t you had enough of this?”

Throwing her long caramel hair behind her shoulder, Minju continues to type away on the laptop, speaking to him without so much as a glance. “If I had the choice to take a ten hour power nap, then trust me, I would. But there’s so much to get done!”

She is certainly feeling that wedding stress Chanyeol has heard about, and he feels guilty for not sharing the same concern as her. On the table, his phone begins to vibrate and tears through his thoughts. A smirk reaches his lips as he reads the caller ID and he excuses himself to hear the voice that he’s missed hearing for over the past week. He accepts the call upon stepping out on the front porch.

“Hel–” Chanyeol tries to say, but the panic-stricken voice of Baekhyun ushers in before he can even finish the short word.

“C-Chanyeol! H-Help me, p-please!” His ragged tone makes it through and blows into his ears like wildfire, starting up his pulse to maximum speed.

“Baekhyun, what’s going on? Where are you?” His hand squeezes the metal bars of the baluster, hard and tight.

“I-I don’t know. Ch-Chanyeol, please! I-I d-don’t know what to do!” He is crying hysterically as the depthness of his uneven breathing increases, and Chanyeol is a mess as his limbs start to shake, fear and anxiety eating him up.

“L-Look around for road signs, anything that can tell me where you are!” He is the one now stuttering, eyes bloodshot and palm bleeding as he practically bends the iron bar with his hand.

“U-Uh...T-Two f-four three Hudson–” A speedy shuffling noise is heard combined with a strangled scream, and as Chanyeol shouts into the phone to ask if Baekhyun is okay, the line cuts off into a beeping horror.

“Baekhyun! Damn it!” Moving quickly, Chanyeol darts for his car in the driveway and zooms out and onto the street like lightening. He types in whatever he can into the GPS of 243 Hudson and if it’s even possible, he accelerates more when he receives the coordinates to the closest result– 243 Hudson Baker Avenue.

He breaks all of the trafficking laws in the book out of his haste and arrives at a dark alleyway in a total of seven minutes, hands shaking and legs even more so. When he get’s out of the car, his neck is on the brink of dislocating at how much he twists and turns for any signs of Baekhyun, and eventually, he spots an open door with bright lights shooting out of it.

Taking whatever he’s got, he hurries in and finds a series of rooms on each side of the wall, and then stairs at the end of the long hallway. Opening each door that comes his way, he finds people all over each other, kissing and stripping themselves of their clothes. As if he wasn’t alarmed enough, he dashes up the stairs and repeats the procedure until he finally finds the right room. However, that doesn’t mean he’s relieved at what he’s seeing.  

A man is pinning Baekhyun down against the ground as he squirms and tries to fight him off, hot tears racing down his petrified face. Eyes widening, Chanyeol acts fast and runs over to throw the man off of him. When he crashes into the closet cabinet behind him, Chanyeol recognizes him as that jerk from the bar a few weeks ago. Teeth gritting, he doesn’t miss a beat and delivers a round of punches and kicks until the weasel is knocked out cold.

He kneels down by Baekhyun’s shivering body and holds him in his arms, looking over every inch of his body frantically. He is crying like no tomorrow, but Chanyeol is there to grant him safety as he wipes the droplets away.

“It’s okay, I’ve got you,” he says comfortingly, pulling the weeping man into his embrace. He allows him to let it out, but not to the extent of burning his throat. After a few moments of basically cradling him, he tenderly takes him out to look him in the face and caresses his cheeks, all concern and worry.

“Let’s get out of here, hmm?” Coming in to place a warm kiss onto his forehead, he lingers and feels the tightening of Baekhyun’s fingers loosen as he calms down. “Can you get up?”

Baekhyun nods subtly and tries to stand up, but he almost falls back down from the trembling of his legs. Chanyeol grasps onto his arm to help him stay upright, though, and guides him out of this spine-chilling place.

They make it to his car without any disturbances, thankfully, and swiftly depart. Chanyeol decides to go back to Baekhyun’s apartment, since his house is certainly not an option.

When they get there, Chanyeol helps him unwind and relax to the best of his abilities, regardless of the despondency that Baekhyun gives him. He helps him change out his clothes as he is still terribly shaken up, and runs a warm bath for him.

He starts with his ripped up dress shirt and muddy jeans, then slips off his boxers and white, sleeveless undershirt. Baekhyun holds onto the side of his jacket before anything else, and their eyes connect.

“Can... you go in with me?” He asks frightfully, almost childlike. And it truly breaks Chanyeol’s heart, immensely.

Placing his hands onto his shoulders lightly, he rubs the flesh and bones with his thumbs, giving him some type of reassurance that he is there. “Of course, I thought that was a given?” He offers him a smile and begins to remove his own clothes before getting into the tub with him.

Baekhyun mostly stays still as Chanyeol washes his hair and gives his body a good scrub. Each movement that he imposes is done with utmost care and affection, taking his time as he runs the sponge across the smooth surface of his skin.

Baekhyun gradually becomes less stiff, and it relieves Chanyeol to some extent. Seeing him so frozen and locked is saddening, and although it is too soon, he would like to be a part of what brings him back to life.

When they are finished, Chanyeol rubs Baekhyun with a towel and makes sure to get him really dry before wrapping it around his frail shoulders. He grabs one for himself and quickly wipes himself, not as meticulously as he did with Baekhyun, and then proceeds to dress him.

Chanyeol just shrugs into his jeans and t-shirt then lays on the bed with Baekhyun, who is slack in his pajamas. He has his arms wrapped all around him, keeping him close inside his chest.

Bending his head over to his ear, Chanyeol speaks hushly, “You feeling better?”

The man nods and snuggles deeper into his scent of fresh cologne, which he inhales and savers as it cleanses his system. “Yeah, thanks to you,” Baekhyun says sincerely, tilting his head up to glance at him.

Chanyeol meets him there and plants a sweet, delicate kiss on his feathery lips. “Anything for you, baby boy.” He presses another peck onto his damp locks and sinks further into the bed. “Now get some sleep, alright?” Chanyeol slides his hand up and down his back soothingly, driving Baekhyun into a hollow of greenery and celestial tunes.

They wake up at the same time when morning comes and lay there with their eyes glued onto each other, just soaking one another in. Chanyeol has his fingers buried into the sprawl of Baekhyun’s inky hair. He runs the digits through the silkiness in a slow, fond manner and slides in to kiss the tip of his squishy nose.

“Have I ever told you how beautiful you are?” Chanyeol’s guttural voice emits, truthful and lighthearted.

“Only everyday,” Baekhyun replies, grinning. “But have I ever told you how amazing you are?”

Chanyeol would like to tell him all of the reasons as to why he’s the complete and utter opposite of amazing, but Baekhyun is smiling and taking that away is not, and will never be, something he would ever intend to do.

This time, it is Baekhyun who comes in to steal a kiss, but rather than a peck, it is long and lasting; merry and blissful; passionate and loving. Chanyeol draws his body even closer and envelopes him whole, ligaments touching and rubbing like static electricity.

They stay in this proximity as they slide their lips away, moving their heads up and down so their noses are sliding off of each other, eyes closed in bliss. Leave it to Baekhyun’s stomach to splatter the moment, though, as it growls for some much needed breakfast.

He presses his lips together, but doesn’t shy away from breaking into a smile while Chanyeol lets out a hearty laugh. “Let’s get you something to eat before your stomach comes to life.”

Baekhyun returns the laugh with just as much glee and kisses him one last time before getting up. He is already in a better state than yesterday, and Chanyeol declares it the best way to start off his morning.

Both of them are too lazy to bother with preparing anything today, so they opt for the nearest eatery in town. Chanyeol drives them in his altima and they get there in record time, much to Baekhyun’s satisfaction. They enter hand-in-hand with irremovable gleam and twinkle, shining the nearly empty eatery.

The restaurant is small yet snug, the size giving off a homey atmosphere. There are a total of twelve tables set in a row of velvet and gold, organized to symmetrical perfection and a mixture of sweet smells hanging in the air, ranging from freshly made banana bread to hot gooey oatmeal cookies, which intensifies their appetites even more so.

Baekhyun is about to take a seat so Chanyeol can go order for them, but before they can as so much pick a table, a woman with long, dwindling, mocha hair click-clacks her heels over to them, her marmalade shift dress reaching only to her upper thigh as her white sling bag wiggles with her steps. Her brows are closed in together as her eyes pierce, perplexed as she gives the two men a once-over.

Baekhyun feels Chanyeol’s hand falter inside his own and he shoots him a side glance, wondering who this woman exactly is.

“Well, it really is you. I thought I was seeing things,” the words sound forced as she says them, like she is holding something back.

Chanyeol remains still, pupils dilating and jaw slacking. He tries to formulate something cohesive, but he comes out with nothing, the blow overpowering anything that he can possibly say.

Baekhyun looks at him and gives his hand a squeeze, “Who is this, Chanyeol?” He asks, but receives no answer as Chanyeol looks back and forth between them, the color escaping his face.

“Yeah, why don’t you tell him who I am?” She grits her teeth and ties her hands over her chest, her hard expression telling Baekhyun that something is very wrong here, and he hates not knowing what it is.

“I… Baekhyun…” a frown overtakes Chanyeol’s face inevitably. He should have seen this coming, it had to happen at some point. He only wishes that it wasn’t now, not here, not when they are so happy.

“Looks like Chanyeol forgot how to speak, why don’t I make it easier for him?” Menacingly, she glares at Baekhyun, but not as despicably as she does at Chanyeol. “I’m Lee Minju, Chanyeol’s fiance.”

A gush of wind, that is all Baekhyun feels as the revelation smacks him right across the heart. He tilts his head up at Chanyeol and exposes him with his trembling eyes, which are pooling with salty liquid.

“Are you happy with what you’ve done you man whore? You’ve ruined a marriage!” Minju shouts at Baekhyun, and causes a tear to fall as his shoulders jump, powerless against everything that is going on around him.

Her hand comes swerving around to slap him, but Chanyeol grabs her wrist and pushes it down hardly. “That’s enough!” He shouts back, seething with fury. Minju stomps her foot down and slaps Chanyeol instead, expression hard and tight.

“I’ll tell you when it’s enough!” That is her last bawl, penetrating into not only the ears of Baekhyun and Chanyeol, but the restaurant owner and the few customers there. She stomps away with enraged fuel in her steps, after casting the attention all over them.

Chanyeol turns to Baekhyun and tries to hold his shoulders and explain himself, but Baekhyun shakes at his touch and immediately backs away, salt staining his pale complexion. He gives him a look of agony and anguish, the heart wrenching feeling that is jabbing him all around his stomach and chest ready to take his life.

Shaking his head, Baekhyun pushes past him and makes for the door. He would run, but he can’t even feel his legs. Heartbreak, it is a poison without the work of consumption. Though Baekhyun would beg to differ, because he drank this love like Brandy and only saw spectacular motions, but the poison was there the whole time, ready to release venom into his veins.

[this-is-not-a]

What it means to have privilege

(Or, I once read a post on Scott Alexander’s blog about the social media response to MIT’s Professor Aaronson, a white male, lamenting about his romantic problems)

I.

Peggy McIntosh once made herself a White Privilege Checklist. Even if you’re not white, go through the list together with me and see which of these still apply to you:

1. I can if I wish arrange to be in the company of people of my race most of the time. 2. If I should need to move, I can be pretty sure of renting or purchasing housing in an area which I can afford and in which I would want to live. 3. I can be pretty sure that my neighbors in such a location will be neutral or pleasant to me. 4. I can go shopping alone most of the time, pretty well assured that I will not be followed or harassed. 5. I can turn on the television or open to the front page of the paper and see people of my race widely represented. 6. When I am told about our national heritage or about “civilization,” I am shown that people of my color made it what it is. 7. I can be sure that my children will be given curricular materials that testify to the existence of their race. 8. If I want to, I can be pretty sure of finding a publisher for this piece on white privilege. 9. I can go into a music shop and count on finding the music of my race represented, into a supermarket and find the staple foods that fit with my cultural traditions, into a hairdresser’s shop and find someone who can cut my hair. 10. Whether I use checks, credit cards or cash, I can count on my skin color not to work against the appearance of financial reliability. 11. I can arrange to protect my children most of the time from people who might not like them. 12. I can swear, or dress in second-hand clothes, or not answer letters, without having people attribute these choices to the bad morals, the poverty, or the illiteracy of my race. 13. I can speak in public to a powerful male group without putting my race on trial. 14. I can do well in a challenging situation without being called a credit to my race. 15. I am never asked to speak for all the people of my racial group. 16. I can remain oblivious of the language and customs of persons of color who constitute the world’s majority without feeling in my culture any penalty for such oblivion. 17. I can criticize our government and talk about how much I fear its policies and behavior without being seen as a cultural outsider. 18. I can be pretty sure that if I ask to talk to “the person in charge,” I will be facing a person of my race. 19. If a traffic cop pulls me over or if the IRS audits my tax return, I can be sure I haven’t been singled out because of my race. 20. I can easily buy posters, postcards, picture books, greeting cards, dolls, toys, and children’s magazines featuring people of my race. 21. I can go home from most meetings of organizations I belong to feeling somewhat tied in, rather than isolated, out-of-place, outnumbered, unheard, held at a distance, or feared. 22. I can take a job with an affirmative action employer without having co-workers on the job suspect that I got it because of race. 23. I can choose public accommodations without fearing that people of my race cannot get in or will be mistreated in the places I have chosen. 24. I can be sure that if I need legal or medical help, my race will not work against me. 25. If my day, week, or year is going badly, I need not ask of each negative episode or situation whether it has racial overtones. 26. I can choose blemish cover or bandages in “flesh” color and have them more less match my skin.

I scored 11/26 (How did you do?), which roughly reflects my experience as a Chinese American male; most of the stereotypes based around my ethnic group lean positive or neutral, at least in the sense that I am not prejudged to be threatening, stupid, or lazy; I think most other ethnic minorities in the US would score much lower on this checklist. By many metrics I am Basically White ™. If I wanted to add a few of my own specific ethnic privileges to the bottom I might include:

27. Other students don’t assume I am stupid or slow at work or in school because of my race 28. I don’t worry that police officers will be made uneasy when they notice my race 29. I can scan my social media feed without reading articles that antagonize my race in order to make a larger point about justice

And if I wanted to include some privileges my gender affords me:

30. My personality flaws are not generally attributed to being part of a larger truth about my gender 31. I don’t worry about attending social events with my coworkers 32. I can reliably expect the leadership at my company to be comfortable interacting with people of my gender

I think this is a useful exercise because it projects a unilateral concept into a more detailed multi-dimensional space. Part of my privilege means that I will be welcomed with open arms into the Math club, but some of my friends joke about not trusting me to drive them around. The same is true if you’re white; you are afforded a whole bunch of racial advantages, but even if your family grew up poor your upper-middle-class friends tell you you’re “playing life on easy mode.”

II.

I had amazing friends in college who could make me laugh so hard that I couldn’t breathe, inspire me to think on hard problems and sit and think alongside me, and make me believe that I could be great and change the world. A positive attitude towards learning that was instilled in me from high school meant that I didn’t fall down the trap of trying to be the smart-but-lazy guy who doesn’t care about anything. I would challenge those friends and assert my passionate view that caring about things is what’s cool. And this attitude meant that I did quite well in school and found a good balance of truly pursuing my interests and pencil pushing enough to build a resume without descending to the view of some of my other friends who insisted “the only point of college is to get a degree so you can get a job.” What I cared about was learning.

Oh and finding a girlfriend.

(Yes, I hoped maybe I could skim around that part and paint an otherwise lofty and pedantic portrait of my teen years. But the truth is, like most other teenage boys, I was absolutely obsessed with girls since basically high school for almost every moment I wasn’t actively engaged in an activity.)

You could break this down into equal parts cultivating my self-image and dealing with my fear of loneliness. I wanted to be the main character in the movie who “gets the girl,” and I wanted companionship and partnership. This type of objectification (that’s what it was; not all objectification is sexual) wasn’t necessarily healthy, but I think it’s something that a lot of teens go through and therefore something worth being honest about. There is a tendency to put people who you romantically desire up on a pedestal so that they become perfect-in-every-way symbols, and eventually cease to be real people in your mind. I wanted a girl - any girl - to show romantic interest in me largely as a way of validating my own personality. (I have grown since then but not enough that admitting this doesn’t still make me a little uncomfortable. It’s still mostly true.) I wanted an imaginary goddess who could only speak truths to appear to me and say “you are a good person and those eyebrows are perfect.”

Here’s one more bullet point I would want to put on the list, but crossed out because I don’t find it to be true:

33. I don’t worry about finding people who are willing to be in romantic relationships with people of my race and gender

In high school I first heard the phrase “Asian fetish” and knew instinctually that it didn’t apply to me. I knew that nobody out there found Asian boys like me attractive or sexy. I knew that my only hope was to be funny and creative, and maybe one day a blind person with no concept of physical attractiveness might fall in love with me (I’m being glib not offensive, just FYI if you’re blind). And the reason I knew it is expressed in another two bullet points that I need to cross out:

34. I see popular movies where someone of my race and gender ends up in a romantic relationship 35. I can easily find popular media where someone of my race and gender is portrayed as romantically desirable instead of comic relief

And to teenage me, who cared so much about finding a girl who might like me, this was a big deal, and it sucked. Why weren’t there ever whispers of girls with supposed fetishes for Asian men? Why were there dozens of TV shows and movies every year in which white guys and Asian girls fell in love but none where an Asian guy, who by all accounts might even be smart, funny, and attractive, ends up with any girl at all? I didn’t know what it meant but what it felt like was the world’s way of telling me “that kind of thing isn’t for people like you,” and even now I still have trouble outgrowing these things that I knew.

III.

Let’s take a step back. I know what you must be thinking. I’m thinking it too. How easy does my life have to be that my one complaint is that girls don’t find me attractive? How little agency do I have that I’m unwilling to admit that maybe I’m not such a catch and it has nothing to do with my race? Do I think being sexualized is so great that it’s worth the resulting increased rates of sexual violence? There are tons of articles out there written by actual women who have actually experienced this thing that they never asked for, to be sexualized and objectified by the media, and the verdict is in - it’s not worth it. And if I really can’t see that then maybe I should take another look at my privilege list. (Knew that thing would come in handy!) These articles are positive contributions to an important discussion. I just don’t think they exactly address what I’m talking about here, and if you’re not paying attention you might accidentally fall into that pit.

Sexual violence and sexual representation are not two sides of the same coin. I don’t think there’s any amount of sexualization from the media where the perks of being seen as desirable necessarily morph into a societal expectation that you exist solely as an object of desire. Instead I think that there are empowering forms of representation and reductive forms, and though the line between them is sometimes blurry that doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist, and it definitely doesn’t mean that all forms of representation are equally helpful or detrimental. I also don’t think that when someone complains about not having representation a valid response is to say “well look what representation gets you.” In fact, in general when someone is expressing their own pain, I don’t think explaining why their pain is not as big as other people’s pain is a real response so much as a method of derailment. In this case, I think of this topic as a long walk I need to take with my two legs moving individually. One leg is the unhealthy part of me that habitually aggrandizes the people I find attractive, and then finds that aggrandizing is surprisingly close to diminishing despite the metaphorically clean hope that they would be opposites; because to treat someone as being above-human means I am no longer treating them as even-human-at-all. The other leg is the part of me that just wants to be loved and wants to matter to someone. And if I bind them together then I will find myself needing to hop everywhere and growing tired (and falling into a pit).

It’s with the second leg that I want to express to you that I do not have the privilege of being proud of how my race is seen romantically, and I wonder if you do. I wonder what kinds of men and women out there get to be reasonably sure that their race isn’t standing between them and attracting a romantic partner. And I wonder if those people are even aware of it. Because like I said before, I’m not really that different from my teenage self. Things like writing and music are more important to me than ever, but an embarrassingly large part of me can only think about finding a life-partner, and to that part of me this single bullet point is one of the most important of the list. I know it’s not charismatic to admit that this kind of thing matters to me. I know this just makes me come off as a cry-baby. (And since I’ve just said it you can’t score any points by making fun of me for that.)

But if you think you understand privilege and your immediate reaction to, for example, the idea of a nerdy white guy expressing his pain about romance is that he needs to think about his privilege, even before I give you any details about what he wrote, if your nagging suspicion is that he must have said something in a somewhat misogynistic way or that he perhaps has a pent-up hatred of women that he can’t see himself and maybe Jordan can’t see either, maybe you don’t understand privilege as well as you think you do.

[dailyaudiobible]

05/14/2021 DAB Transcript

1 Samuel 15:1-16:23, John 8:1-20, Psalm 110: 1-7, Proverbs 15:8-10

Today is the 14th day of May welcome to the Daily Audio Bible I am Brian it is great to be here with you today, truly, truly great. How are you? How is everybody? I love that we can come around this Global Campfire together and just let the fire light just kind of shine on our faces and let the fire of the Holy Spirit come within us and lead us into all truths through His word. It is a beautiful thing that we can do this and so I’m glad to be here for the next step. And that next step leads us back into 1 Samuel where we’re getting to know King Saul, Israel’s 1st king. Today, we’re gonna meet somebody, somebody that we’ve been getting to know through their work in the book of Psalms. We’re actually gonna meet this person in the narrative story today and his name is David. And once David and Saul meet, their lives will be intertwined in some profound ways that will…that change them both. So, let’s dive in. We’re reading from the Voice Translation this week. 1 Samuel chapters 15 and 16.

Commentary:

Okay. So, we kind of saw the last straw in Saul’s reign. He disobeyed God. He was sent by God to…to attack the Amalekites who had given the Israelites problems on their way through the desert. They were being sent to bring judgement upon the Amalekites not to enrich themselves. So, they weren’t supposed to take anything. Nothing was to be taken as like pillage or booty or whatever. So, basically this is the same kind of commands that…that Joshua was given when they were settling in the land. This was what they were commanded to do. And we remember Jericho and we remember Akin, who he couldn’t keep his hands off some of the stuff that he took, and it caused a bunch of problems including Akin losing his life. So, Saul is sent with the same kind of command and he essentially disobeys in the same kind of way. And then when he’s confronted by Samuel, he does a bunch of back-peddling “well I didn’t really take all of the sheep and stuff the people did, they did that, they did it to sacrifice, it was all for sacrifice. I just kept King Agag alive, etc. etc.” like he’s doing all this side stepping and back-peddling and diverting blame, all the kind of stuff that we probably are all too familiar with in our own lives and in…in…in our own culture like surrounding us. plausible deniability. But Samuel see’s right through it and he’s having none of it and he informs Saul that the kingdom has been taken from him. That’s gonna take some time. That’s not gonna…like Saul doesn’t just go “okay, okay, I’ve sinned against the Lord, I resign, where do I sign? Here’s my crown, give it to whoever you please.” Like, that’s not how it’s gonna go. It’s gonna take some time. But God has spoken, and Samuel’s gonna leave and Saul’s gonna be humiliated again in front of everybody because Samuel won’t go worship God with him. And, so, Saul’s like, “would you just…would you just go worship with me? Like, don’t leave me here in front of all these people. Would you come and make it look better?” And…and we just see so much of how Saul is committed to the imaging of a thing than a reality of a thing and how weak of a leader that makes him. But we also met David today. And now David is an armor bearer for the king and a musician for the king to calm him down. And, so, their stories are intertwined, and they will remain intertwined, like I said at the beginning, in some really interesting and dramatic ways.

Prayer:

Father, once again we thank You for Your word and we thank You for navigating us through another week. And as we move through this territory this week in the life of the 1st king Saul, we have plenty that we’ve been challenged with. It’s like we can see these behaviors in the narrative of Saul, we can see these kinds of behaviors in other people, but it takes time to slow down and by Your Spirit so that they can be revealed in us. Sometimes we are the least self-aware. As selfish as we can be, we can also be very much not self-aware not in any way understanding the impact that we have on others. Saul’s story gives us kind of a…almost a 360-degree view of the situation. And, so, come Holy Spirit and we invite You. It is our desire; it is our deep desire to walk with You. There is no one more important. There is nothing more important. So, come Holy Spirit and lead us into all truth transforming us into the image of our Savior, Jesus, we ask in His name. Amen.

Announcements:

dailyaudiobible.com that is home base. Of course, home also lives within the Daily Audio Bible app.

So, check that out, either way…either place, especially in the Community section. This is where the Prayer Wall lives. And I say that a lot. I want to continue to remind us that it’s there, always happening, always being used, always…always an opportunity to pray for someone, always a place to go and ask for prayer. And, so, be aware of that it’s…it’s in the Community section either in the app or on the web. And, so, check that out.

If you want to partner with the Daily Audio Bible, if…if this Global Campfire that we sit around each day and enjoy fellowship and company and comradery and the scriptures and life, if that makes a difference in your life, then thank you for your partnership. Thank you deeply and humbly. There’s a link on the homepage. If you’re using the app, you can press the Give button in the upper right-hand corner. Or the mailing address is P.O. Box 1996, Spring Hill, Tennessee 37174.

And, as always, if you have a prayer request or encouragement you can hit the Hotline button in the app, the little red button up at the top or you can dial 877-942-4253.

And that’s it for today. I’m Brian I love you, and I’ll be waiting for you here, tomorrow.

Community Prayer and Praise:

Hi, it’s Big Hearted Ben and Radiant Rachel and we are going to be praying for Angel Heart. My mom isn’t by I am. I’m praying to, with you. Yeah, see. __ Dear Jesus, please help Angel Heart to not…to not…not know what’s going on and for her…he to speak when she wants to and not for when she doesn’t have to take a breath she stops speaking. Please help her to have all the things that go…go bad to go away to cast those demons away into the pit of fire and…and never come back, never come back ever again, in this world. In the name of Jesus, Amen. Amen. Bye.

Hi V from Illinois this is Bonnie from Virginia. I heard your prayer request. It reminded me about my own life, my husband leaving me when I was 4 months pregnant for my son and I already had a 4-year-old daughter. My husband returned after 5 months almost when I was…the time to give delivery to my son. But he returned because his gall bladder was swollen, and it was almost going to burst, and he did not have money to…to treat himself. So, I helped him to receive the treatment. And I did not have anyone to support me. I was legally blind, but my husband was able to see, and I was totally an orphan with no family support besides my own income at teaching or a teacher in elementary school. But I trusted in God and leaned on Him every day. And we started living together after his return. We came to America and again he started showing his attitude. So, we got separated again in America. I had my 11-year-old daughter and 7-year-old son. New country, no family support, but just trusting in God I was able to make it. My son is 23-years-old now and my daughter is almost 27 and she is…

Peggy in Texas and I do need community, I need support. I turned to the DAB family asking for prayer for my 15-year-old grandson. He is so rebellious, so angry, confrontational, he’s hurting, and his God…God-fearing parents don’t know what to do and where to turn at this point. He’s…he’s lying. School is difficult. He’s been diagnosed with ADD, he’s on Riddelliine the drug. His behavior seems to be at the point where his parents are…are wondering what to do and where to turn and…and should he be sent to a school to a place where he could be disciplined. I don’t know. And they’ve asked, you know, would that cause more rejection in his life. As a grandmother or the grandmother, I’m asking…I’m asking the DAB family to pray with me. I feel alone in this. I…easy to turn to the Lord but I need support at this point. And, so, if you will pray with me, I would deeply appreciate it. If you’ll pray that the hold of the enemy will be broken as we pray for wisdom for his parents and…and for this child. And I’m open for whatever advice you have for this grandmother. I thank you for being there. Thank you. May the Lord bless each one. May have His will in our lives. Thank you.

This is Cindy from Minnesota and I’m calling to…specifically about Sam who had called in about her residency coming up and just feeling resentful that she has to leave her child. And I just wanted to encourage you first of all that I’ve been praying for you and asking God to give you wisdom. And also, just to share that my daughter through no choice of her own has had to become a single mom and she has had to…her heart’s desire also was to be a stay-at-home-mom and she’s not able to do that either. And she…she…just I’ve seen God really work in wonderful ways. I am her…her nanny so I help take care of my granddaughter and then we make it so that I’m there so that, you know, her daughter can come and eat lunch with her or there’s just little things that she does during the day to connect with her daughter to make it better. And I…I just really wanted to encourage you cause I think your hearts really in the right place wanting to be home with your child and that’s…that’s good and sometimes circumstances come along that don’t allow us do that. But I’m…I’m just praying for you and praying that God gives you the wisdom to know what to do next.

Good Morning Daily Audio Bible family. I’d like to call myself The Prodigal Son because I’ve fallen away from the gospel’s countless times and yet I’m still drawn by…by the love which is shared every single day on this platform at Daily Audio Bible. And today, the 11th of…of May I think the reading that Brian put forth actually made me to go down deep in my heart. You know I am someone who is filled with a lot of grief from loss of my parents and then sometimes my…my savings, which each time I want to do something for food it…I just find myself at the starting point. And sometimes due to these unresolved conflicts in my heart, when I get into, you know, an argument or sometimes when someone, you know, wants to talk to you, you know, the way I respond is somewhat different. And this is what I’ve been growing through for quite some time now. And the lesson today just…just took me to a moment of, you know, going through my thoughts in the past and in as much as I need help, I really needed to hear it. I…I really needed to…to understand that sometimes these unresolved conflicts in me actually puts enough anger and sometimes I fix the relationship that I have with people who are close to me, people who can put forth good ideas and that changed my life. So, Brian, I thank you for today. And I also want to reach out to every single person going through a difficult moment in your life be it emotional struggles, I just want you to know there is a place for you in this family.

Dear Tamika from Pennsylvania, it’s Susan from Canada, God’s Yellow Flower calling, and I hear your brokenness. It sounds to me like you are at rock bottom and you don’t know where to go or even how to look up. The mountain before you is so steep and so high it seems insurmountable. But I’m praying that God will lift you up out of that pit and help you to sore as eagle’s wings with Him. Knowing He is God, and He loves you so dearly. I pray dear Lord for You to provide for Tamika. Provide her with a job, provide her with a home and bring her children back to her. Dear Lord, I don’t know how You’re going to do it, but I pray dear God that You would, that You would take her into Your arms and just heal her brokenness and fill her with Your Spirit of love, peace, goodness and all the other fruits of the Spirit. Lord God, let Your presences be felt by her at this very moment wherever she’s at, Your presence that brings peace. In Jesus’ name I pray. Amen.