#who had the bright idea to name an actual title like the sequel to a bonus game anyways

[beardedhandstoadshark]

In other news, F’s in the chat to the few people who‘re gonna play Four Swords because of the manga/fanon/comics only to find out it was a basically-plotless side mode party game all along. Your bbgirl‘s from FSAdventures and it‘s its own thing as well, I’m sorry you had to find out that way

[problematicfavesareproblematic]

Boys Who Speak With Silver Luck

Joe Liebgott x Reader

Ok, so THIS is more what I was intending to write for you, @itswormtrain​​! Hope you can learn to forgive me!!

This one is a soul sister/unofficial sequel to ‘You’ve Been Sad (Because I’ve Been Lonely)’ bc I’m bad at doing one shots 

Warnings: SMUT, domesticity, fluff, healthy dynamics, poetry being an aphrodisiac, feels(?)

All poetry mentioned is from the anthology No Thanks by ee cummings, and the title is from the song (inspired by 44 by ee cummings) comes from The Boys Are Too Refined by The Hush Sound

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“I still don’t see how you can read those things.”

 You smirk to yourself, nudging his thigh with your foot as he sits at the foot of the bed. 

In retaliation,  Joe lightly traces the tip of his finger up the arch of your right foot and chuckles when you flinch at the tickle of it, the chuckle becoming a laugh when you lower your book and frown at his mirth.

“And here I thought you were actually wanting to do something nice for me,” you tease, letting him pull your foot back into his lap and watching him smirk as he returns to massaging the sore muscles there. “Should’ve known you were gonna betray me eventually….”

 He scoffs at your theatrics, mumbling a soft apology when you hiss in discomfort as his thumb works on a particularly tight knot just above your heel.

 “Why do you wear those things if they hurt your feet so badly?”

 You furrow your brows at him, resting the book on your stomach as you let a smile play on your lips.

 “They’re called heels, and I wear them because they make my legs look amazing.”

 Joe tilts his head to the side as his face takes on a contemplative expression.

  “‘This is true…” he says with a nod. “You look fuckin’ gorgeous in ‘em.”

 You offer a hmph in smug agreement, picking your book back up and continuing where you left off.

 Tonight had been the night of Chuck’s family’s yearly holiday party, the one night where both you and Joe dressed to the nines and got to rub elbows with people Joe and Chuck lovingly referred to as ‘rich snobs with inherent mommy fetishes’. 

Joe never failed to leave you starstruck when he wore his nicest uniform, and even though you didn’t wear yours, Joe always managed to convince you to pin your Purple Heart and as many unit citations you could fit to the breast of whatever dress you picked out. 

 “Fuckin’ love watching those ignorant fuck’s faces when they realize what a badass my wife is,” he had growled in your ear as you had gotten ready that night. “Gets me harder than a goddamn rock, you got no idea…”

 The two of you had danced and drank and laughed over some of the most amazing food you’d ever tasted. It had been perfect.

More and more things were becoming perfect as time went on and the dark horrific shadows of war began to shrink away under the bright California sunshine. 

It was heartbreakingly nice to see Joe happy, truly happy. He deserved it- you all deserved it.

 A groan of frustration is the only warning you get before Joe crawls up your body and plops himself atop you, the suddenness of the action making you release a grunting giggle. Undeterred by the obvious fact that you’re trying to read, he kisses at your chest through your shirt.

 “Pay” kiss “attention” kiss “to meeee” kiss

 You take one hand from the book to scratch lightly at his scalp, smiling at the sound of him humming in annoyance.

 “What’s in that dumb book that’s got you glued to it, huh? What can big words give you that my big—OW.”

 You cut him off by clunking the book gently against the back of his head, giving him a soft smile when he looks up at you with a frown.

 “You’re so needy,” you chastise hollowly. “Never thought you’d get jealous over something as silly as poetry—”

 Joe rolls his eyes. “Poems are for kids and nerds, don’t get what it is about-” he sits up a bit more so he can see the cover of your book. “Whatever an ee cummings is that’s got you so gaga over it…”

 You raise an eyebrow at him. “Believe it or not, Joseph, I think you’d actually like this guy’s poems—”

 Joe snorts before bringing his head back down to rest on your chest. “Yeah, okay—”

 “Hey,” you challenge, scooting up on your pillows so you can sit up, the movement bringing his head to your ribcage. “I’m serious! If you were to like any sort of poetry, you’d need it to be as sexual and swear-y as you are…. Here, listen-”

 Before he can protest, you flip to the one you had in mind: 44.

 “the boys i mean are not refined 

they go with girls who buck and bite 

they do not give a fuck for luck 

they hump them thirteen times a night

 one hangs a hat upon her tit 

one carves a cross on her behind 

they do not give a shit for wit 

the boys i mean are not refined…”

 “Gimme that!”

 Suddenly, the book is ripped from your hand- and before you can protest you are shocked to see Joe turn the book so he can bury his nose in it. Careful not to be smug about it, you bite back a smile as you watch him mouth the words as he reads. 

 The fact that you’re able to hold in a laugh when his eyebrows shoot up in surprise should make you eligible for another Purple Heart.

 When Joe’s eyes flick up to meet yours, he’s looking at you as if you’ve just done some suspicious slide of hand- intrigued but still somewhat cautious.

 “Well?” you ask. “What did you think?”

 Joe flicks his gaze down to the book again, like he thinks it may have changed somehow when he wasn’t looking.

 “Are they….all like this?”

 You do smile now. “Well, I’m not sure- I haven’t read them all yet.”

An idea pops into your mind as he flips through the pages of the book.

 “If you give it back, I can see if I can find another—”

 Joe suddenly smirks, and when he lifts his face so you can see him, he’s looking like the cat that ate the canary.

“Read this one.”

 Now you’re the hesitant one, taking the book back from him as if it could suddenly turn into a snake.

The poem he’s picked  is one you haven’t read yet, but if it’s one that Joe picked out you can only imagine what the subject matter is.

 “Okay then,” you say slowly, clearing your throat as you cast him a brief look of suspicion before beginning.

 “may i feel said he

 (i'll squeal said she 

just once said he) 

it's fun said she”

 (may i touch said he

 how much said she

 a lot said he) 

why not said she….”

 As you read, Joe’s hands come up to hold your sides as he kisses slowly across your chest, your stomach. Every so often, his thumbs smooth upward to rub across your shirt-covered  nipples, and you can feel him smile as he kisses at you.

 Your shirt has bunched up, revealing your hips and the sensitive skin between them. Your cheeks feel hot, and your mouth suddenly becomes dry as his lips drag between your hip bones promisingly.

His hair tickles your skin when he begins mouthing lower, to the waistband of your underpants.

 “Y/N?”

 “Yeah?” you sigh, tongue wetting your bottom lips as you begin to breathe heavier.

 “Keep reading.”

 Oh. You hadn’t realized that you’d stopped.

Clearing your throat, you blink a few times before finding the place you left off.

 “Uh, (let's go said he 

not too far said she 

what's too far said he 

where you are said she)

 may i stay said he 

(which way said she 

like...like this said he 

I-if you kiss said she- shit, Joe….”

 Joe’s warm hands have worked your underwear down your hips and around the swell of your bottom, and the heat of his breath across the thinner skin that he’s exposed has you losing focus again.

Because he’s nothing if not a consummate tease, he doesn’t do anything more than kiss only a sliver of the newly revealed skin.

 “Y/N…” he reminds you, nipping lightly at you when you groan in frustration. “I think there’s still some to go—”

 Your heart is thrumming in your chest, and it takes you a few seconds to find where you left off this time.

 “M-may i move said he

 is it love said she) 

if you're…..uh, if you’re willing said he 

(but….. you're killing said she….”

 The words have started to dance across the page, a whine coming from somewhere deep in your chest at the first touch of his fingers to the slick lips of your sex.

You’ve officially lost your place, now. You just pick the stanza your eye catches first and hope for the best.

 “(tiptop said he 

don't stop said she

 oh no said he) 

go slow said she- fuuuuuck…..

 I-(cccome?said he….goddamn it Joe, please!”

 You throw the book off to the side, sweat beading on your brow from how deliberately cruel Joe is being as he continues massaging at you. When Joe sees that you’ve started to shake, he lunges up the bed to wrap a hand around the back of your neck and kisses you messily- your teeth clacking together briefly as he buries his fingers inside of you and immediately finds the place that never fails to ruin you.

 Clinging to the front of his shirt, you squeeze your thighs together as a delicious tremor rolls up your body from where you’ve trapped his hand. You’re so worked up you almost want to cry, the heat in your lower belly almost bowing your back.

 “Does that feel good, Baby?” he mumbles against your lips. “Who is it that’s making you feel this good, huh?”

 You make an incoherent noise, quickly wrapping am arm around his shoulders to try and bring his mouth back to yours, mewling in frustration when he refuses to do so.

 “Ungh! Joe, I’m begging you!”

 “Say it again,” he says darkly, and if you had the strength to open your eyes you’d see just the power-drunk way he is looking down at you. “Do it—”

 “Joe! Joe Joe Joe Joe Joe….”

 You chant his name like a prayer, your voice dying in your throat as he starts using his palm to stimulate your neglected clit.

 With a silent scream, you come apart, head lolling back as he continues to coax you through your orgasm, dimly aware of the praise being kissed across your chin as he refuses to relent the punishing paste he’s established.

 Your face is throbbing with the strength of your thudding heart when he finally starts to slow down, your body still bowing and writhing as he begins to coo down at you sweetly, capturing your lips with his as your shaking starts to subside and your sweat begins to cool.

 “Good girl,” he sighs into your mouth. “You’re such a good girl for me….”

 You don’t reply- can’t reply.  Joe’s reduced you into a boneless mess of a woman.

 When you do eventually open your eyes, Joe is smiling down at you with an obvious affection that threatens to get your heart racing once more. Not taking his eyes from yours, he gently slides his fingers from your still-fluttering sex and makes a show of licking them clean. 

 With a mischievous wink, he uses his other hand to smooth your hair from your forehead before carefully rolling so he’s laying beside you, his shoulder pressed against your as he chuckles.

 “Huh, whaddaya know,” he says after he releases one of his fingers from between his lips with a lewd pop. “Guess poetry isn't that bad.”

 Using all of your energy, you turn your head to give him the weakest glare you think you’ve ever given.

 “When….when I can breathe witho’ havin’ to think about it so hard, I’m gon’ make you cum til you pass out.”

 Joe gives you a smiling kiss.

“And I’ll let you….once we finish round two.”

 Well, looks like I’ll be going back to the bookstore sooner than I thought.

~ ~ ~ Taglist: @mrseasycompany​ @itswormtrain​ @mrsalwayswrite​ @happyveday​ @sunsetmando​ @teenmagazines​ @liebgotttme​

[crispyjenkins]

dream clouds, ghost ground (real friends, dead hometown)

an accidental jangobi au 

that is now specially for @mandalorianbrainweasel | @ironhoshi | @obikakenobi | @mageofcole | @quitebizarre | @bureau-pinery | @atelier-dayz |  @legendaryjarcollection | @pretzel-log1c | @adiduck | @koyacyi-vode | @satan-incarnate-666 | @theclonewarsbrokeme | because i’ve genuinely loved and revelled in our conversations this past year, and am pretty sure(??) you all ship jangobi

( and also @batsutousai and @the-mandalorian-clone-lover but it won’t let me tag you :(

i uhhhhhh plotted this from my prompt roster without rereading the actual ask, so this is completely out of timeline for the anon’s prompt? and i didn’t realise until i was halfway through?? so here’s this??? i already have ideas for a sequel???? (and it’s 3157 words gl)

some context: there’s no age-out, but obi-wan is still sent to the agricorp and stays there. yarael poof inspects the facility 7 years later, and obi has visions of korda 6/galidraan and finagles themself onto the rescue mission of the true mandalorians. cue chaotic, still-has-the-impulsivity-that-got-them-kicked-out obi-wan. who is also nb just for funsies.

title from start//end by eden

  Obi-Wan Kenobi is not as Yarael had expected, but then, he had never met them while they lived in the Temple.

  The young Jedi breaks away from their group of friends on the other side of Bandomeer’s main greenhouse as soon as they catch sight of Yarael, the other novitiates trying and failing to hold Obi-Wan back from running through the dark green garden beds right up to him. They don’t seem to care that they’ve interrupted Master Fodvam’s tour of the facility, and ignores her to glare at Yarael with a fire in their eyes that he vaguely remembers as being the cause for their failing the initiate program. Stocky and toned with dark freckles on every bit of exposed skin from working the desert Enrichment Zones, Obi-Wan glares up at Yarael with a set to their lips so very like Master Yoda (and Qui-Gon Jinn, for that matter) that Yarael raises a placating hand to the Kubaz master at his side and smiles back down at Obi-Wan. 

  At first flush, he might have thought Obi-Wan approached him to beg to be allowed to return to the Temple and become a knight —it would not be the first time an old initiate had done so, though they usually attempted such an action much sooner after their reassignment— but instead, Obi-Wan wastes no time in demanding, “You have to go Korda 6, the lives of thousands depend on it.”

  “And why is that, young one?” Yarael returns calmly, though Obi-Wan must be pushing seventeen standard; everyone is young to him these days.

  Master Fodvam sighs, reaching out to put a hand on Obi-Wan’s arm, but they shake her off. “Obi-Wan,” she admonishes softly, for all the good that does.

  “There’s going to be a genocide,” Obi-Wan insists over the sound of their friends trying to call them back across the greenhouse, “Death Watch is going to kill the Mand’alor and slaughter the True Mandalorians, and no one here will listen to me.”

  Curious about their absolute certainty, Yarael gently pushes against their mind, but has to jerk away when the Jedi shoves him right back out, Yarael’s second brain fizzling like it had been shocked by a bad power coupling. Perhaps Master Yoda had been too hasty in handing this one over to the Council of Reassignment, when even though Yarael can sense their fear and hurt, their lingering doubt in the Jedi Order, Obi-Wan has not a single crack in their shields. Not a single doubt in themselves.

  Master Fodvam shakes her head, but it appears more out of a helplessness than disappointment. “Master Poof,” she says, “Novitiate Kenobi has spoken of this premonition for the last standard tenday, and I’m afraid none of the masters here are versed in the Unifying Force.”

  “At all,” they stress.

  Interesting indeed, that Master Yoda would nominate Obi-Wan for the Agricorp over the other branches, then, for surely they would have shown precognition as a crècheling. “Novitiate Kenobi, you clearly have complete faith in such a vision.” Yarael doesn’t try to enter their mind again, but does open his senses between them, benignly inviting Obi-Wan into his own instead. “Show me.”

  Obi-Wan is bewildered for all of a moment, eyebrows pinched, but then they blink in understanding and snap their eyes closed. A flurry of images is all but shoved into Yarael’s lower brain, a confusing mash of forests and armor and blasterfire, but, yes, there is Vizsla, and there is Mereel, and there is a Mandalorian in blue armor leaving Mereel to die on the battlefield.

  “How are you sure this is Korda 6?” Yarael asks, opening his eyes to Obi-Wan’s mentally-drained expression, tanned skin sallow under the freckles.

  “I’ve heard some of the mission report,” they say, and let Master Fodvam gently support them where they had pushed her away before; Yarael will certainly have to teach Obi-Wan to strengthen their mental stamina. “Every night for the last tenday I’ve seen this battle, I’ve seen ten different ways it could go, and all of them end with the True Mandalorians’ slaughter, unless we do something.”

  The Quermian looks Obi-Wan up and down once more, reaching as far into the Force as he can manage, and he doesn’t have a lifetime seat on the High Council for nothing.

  “Then we’ve not a moment to lose, do we?”

-

  If Obi-Wan is surprised Yarael insists on taking them to his ship to join him for his update to the Council, they don’t show it, and don’t appear nervous at all as the holocall connects. In fact, they stand off to the side with their arms behind their back and a serene expression on their face, right until Master Rancisis admits a contingent of Jedi had just left to help a planet deal with a violent insurgence of Mandalorian commandos, led by Jango Fett.

  And then Obi-Wan only blinks before turning his gaze up to Yarael. “Then we are too late for Korda 6. We must make for Galidraan.”

  The holo of Master Rancisis flickers as he winds and unwinds his appendages until he finally says, “We did not tell you the planet’s name.”

  On Rancisis’ left, Master Yoda taps his cane against the floor. “Clear it is, that truth in Novitiate Kenobi’s visions there is. To what extent, we do not know, but great pain I sense if act quickly we do not.”

  After meeting each of the other coucilmember’s eyes, Master Rancisis leans forward in his seat and points one undulating finger at Obi-Wan. ”You will go with Master Poof to Galidraan, Novitiate Kenobi; if you leave now, you may make it in time to prevent the Jedi from having a hand in this massacre.”

  Obi-Wan checks with Yarael first, their deference almost endearing as they look up at him for confirmation; Yarael cannot help a small smile, and if the Council has not guessed his intentions by now, then they are as blind as a naked womp-rat.  “Well, Novitiate Kenobi?” he prompts, “Are you prepared to see this through properly?”

  Obi-Wan drops their shoulders to raise their chin instead. “To be truthful, Master Poof, I would have been disappointed to be left behind.”

~

  Obi-Wan is already at the hatch of Master Poof’s cruiser when they finally land as close to the coordinates the Council had given them as they dare, and Obi-Wan sorely wishes they had asked Master Fodvam for a blaster before leaving Bandomeer. Nothing can be done for that now, and there is the more pressing matter that Master Poof had been unable to contact the Jedi already planetside, but perhaps they shouldn’t have expected the Force to make it easy on them.

  As soon as the cruiser is settled, Obi-Wan elbows the control panel for the landing hatch and drops right down into the snow; they’re not quite dressed for this weather, not coming straight from the desert Enrichment Zone, but they can hardly feel the cold over the cloying, suffocating fear that saturates the air until even the trees tremble with it. And they might be stronger in the Unifying Force than anyone else in the Agricorp, but Obi-Wan hasn’t been wrist-deep in soil for seven years to come out of it without feeling the Living Force just as strongly.

  Run, the trees tell them, and they do, pushing themself up onto more compact snow and taking off for the True Mandalorian camp. Master Poof calls after them, but they don’t slow until they reach the top of the nearest ridge, a sheer drop on the other side right into the camp, and Obi-Wan is forced to look out over their worst vision come to life.

    The Mandalorians stand as one facing the opening to the ravine on Obi-Wan’s right, where the Jedi spread out among the tents as Master Dooku reads them a list of false wrongs, and Obi-Wan knows the Mandalorians will not surrender. Mand’alor Mereel’s son stands before Dooku in newly-painted blue and red armor, raising his blaster as Dooku ignites his ’saber, and Master Poof halts abruptly at Obi-Wan’s side and lifts a four-fingered hand, but he won’t be able to Force-suggest anyone in beskar, and—

  And he has a lightsaber hanging from his belt.

  Obi-Wan had not failed their Jedi training, they were bright and talented and wanted absolutely nothing more than to become a Jedi Knight, but their temper had seen Bruck to the Halls of Healing, and their impulsivity had seen them to the Agricorp despite the potential they had shown in their seven years in the crèche.

  Their temper, they have control over that now, Obi-Wan is rarely even angry these days, but their impulsivity has been the, ah... cause for many of the Bandomeer masters’ grey hairs, so to speak.

  So Obi-Wan does not think before grabbing Master Poof’s ’saber, barely able to even lift the hilt almost as long as their arm, and leaps from the crumbling snowbank with as much Force behind their feet as they can muster. Sound snaps to silence in their ears, vision narrowing on the scant yard between Jango Fett and his death, as Obi-Wan yanks the Living Force around themself and hauls it up right from the ground, grabs it by the roots of the nearest tree until it sings.

  By a miracle of the Force, Obi-Wan lands perfectly between the new Mand’alor and the Jedi, igniting Master Poof’s unusually-yellow lightsaber just in time to deflect Jango’s first blaster bolt right into the ground — the ground that shakes and splits, exploding snow into the air to make way for the evergreen roots that surge through the cracks and grab Dooku’s entire arm, sending his ’saber flying. 

  Obi-Wan inhales once, twice, before allowing their other senses to flood back to them, and the Force sees fit to immediately make them aware of Master Poof stumbling down the bank after them with his upper hands raised in surrender. 

  “Peace, Jedi!” he shouts, successfully pulling the gaze of everyone in the ravine away from Dooku’s limb held aloft by mud-slick roots and to himself instead. “We have been misled,” he presses on, almost seeming to glide over the packed snow to stand at Obi-Wan’s back and place a palm between their shoulders, “These Mandalorians know nothing of what you speak, Master Dooku, we are both being played by the Governor of Galidraan.”

  Jango Fett growls over his external comms, close enough to make Obi-Wan shiver. “What the kriffing fuck is going on?” he snaps, not bothering to drop his blaster as Obi-Wan glances at him and can just see the shadow of his eyes behind his visor.

  “Death Watch had the governor call the Jedi here under false pretences, your grace,” Obi-Wan says, and doesn’t know what to make of the way the Mand’alor twitches at their voice. They can feel their shoulder weakening from hefting such a massive hilt, unwieldy even gripped at the balance point, but Obi-Wan refuses to let their arm shake, not with both sides holding them under such scrutiny; Maker, maybe they should have changed into Jedi robes instead of their dark tunics and kama? It gives them a silhouette neither wholly Mandalorian nor wholly Jedi, and certainly only adds to the confusion.

  Nothing to be done about it now.

  “The governor lied to the Mandalorians about their targets, to perfectly set them up for a Jedi arbitration,” Master Poof explains. “And of course knew that the Mandalorians would never surrender to the Jedi.” He looks slowly around at both parties, letting his words sink in until the Jedi are shutting their lightsabers off in disgust.

  The Mandalorians don’t put away their blasters, obviously, but they do lower them enough to be an act of good faith; only when Jango lowers his own does Obi-Wan power down Master Poof’s ’saber, and is all too happy to hand the weighty thing back to him with a shallow bow.

  Master Poof smiles in amusement, clipping the hilt back in its rightful place on his belt, before calmly nodding to Dooku. “Novitiate, you may release Master Dooku now.”

  Startled, Obi-Wan immediately calls on the Living Force to pull the roots away from the man and coax them back into the ground, hoping they hadn’t damaged anything enough for the evergreen just up the ridge to suffer. 

  Dooku massages his red wrist and eyes Obi-Wan carefully, the clouds of breath before his lips casting strange shadows over his face in the dying sunlight. “I was not aware the Agricorp was still teaching Consitor Sato to its novitiates. Nor so... successfully.”

  “... Master Fodvam would appreciate it if you didn’t mention that to the High Council.”

  “I am on the Council, Novitiate Kenobi,” Master Poof chortles, but turns back to the Mandalorians still effusing bewilderment before the new Mand’alor can decide they really are all better off dead. “Mand’alor Fett, I presume?”

  Jango shifts subtly, still close enough for Obi-Wan to watch his eyes dart to the Quermian. “For all of a week, jetii; how you are aware of this already does nothing to convince me to trust you. Any of you.”

  Master Poof just smiles serenely. “There is little one cannot gather from the Force upon first meeting, your grace. However, you are correct, and I would not be aware of Jaster Mereel's death if my companion had not told me of it.”

  Jango doesn't get the chance to ask him to clarify just what that means, the girl padawan at Dooku's side cutting in rudely, 

  “And Master Poof, just who is your companion?” as if she can’t tell from Obi-Wan’s attire that they were a Jedi Knight washout. 

  So maybe Obi-Wan doesn’t have complete mastery of their temper just yet, but they don’t get to snarl back before Master Poof answers cheerfully, "They are my new apprentice!"

  Oh. 

  “Master Poof...?”

  “I cannot very well leave a novitiate so strong in the Unifying Force untrained, can I?” Master Poof shakes his head. "As the matter stands, our duty to Galidraan is not yet complete: the governor has pulled both the Jedi and the Senate into his personal affairs, and has allied with a known terrorist group. Master Dooku, might I suggest we make to arrest the actual perpetrator of these crimes?”

  “Vizsla will be there,” Jango interrupts. “And he must know his plan has failed by now, you'll be walking right into a trap.”

  Obi-Wan raises a brow. “A trap meant for you, your grace. When we engage Governor Martinet, it would be unwise for the True Mandalorians to still be on planet.”

  “Why do you keep calling us that?" he snaps, the blue-armoured Mandalorian at his side grabbing his shoulder to hold him back from... striking Obi-Wan? From removing his helmet? Obi-Wan isn't sure. 

  They are sure that, if the Jedi succeed in apprehending Vizsla, the New Mandalorians will make themselves known much earlier. “One day, soon, you will need to make the distinction between yourselves, and those that will use ‘Mandalorian’ as a ploy for cultural reform, as claim to an identity that is not theirs,” Obi-Wan says, finding Jango’s eyes behind his visor once more. “The Children of the Watch will choose ‘True’ as that distinction of your people in retrospect, some fifty years from now.”

  The Mandalorian holding Jango’s shoulder tenses. “Are you some sort of prophet, kih’jetii?”

  “Hardly,” they smile, because the Force promises to back off a little after this mess is all said and done, whenever that may be. “But the Force decided I was the most likely candidate to make it here in time to stop a genocide, though I’m not sure if it knew how much information I actually needed. Irregardless, everything from today is now changed from any visions I had seen of it, I’m no more a prophet than you are.”

  Jango twitches again strangely, and his companion tightens their grip on their blaster. 

  “Novitiate Kenobi is right,” Poof interjects gently. “You should take your people to regroup and recover, your grace, you will be of no use to the galaxy dead.”

  “Wait,” Jango grits through clenched teeth. “It would... be unfair for us not to aid you in this, not when this was our disaster, too.”

  “There is no need for that,” Dooku says regally, Force-calling his ’saber back to his hand. “This has become a Senate matter, and to involve yourselves further would be an unnecessary risk.”

  “So you... want us to just leave?”

  Dooku raises a single eyebrow, expression blank otherwise, but Obi-Wan still shudders at the dark anger in the man, the rage that had hit its boiling point upon first meeting Jango and believing he had slaughtered almost two hundred innocent activists. The Force warns Obi-Wan about that darkness, the way Dooku has not yet released it; it also gives them hope, though, that the master can be pulled back into the light, with a little persuasion and lots of tea. 

  The conversation has moved on without them when Obi-Wan tries to focus back on the crisis at hand, Jango’s commandos already starting to pack up the camp while Dooku and Master Poof quietly discuss the Jedi’s next moves. Neither seem to have realised Obi-Wan hadn’t been paying attention, which is just fine by them: Master Fodvam is already at wit’s end trying to keep them focused on anything but plants, somedays. 

  A heavy gaze pulls their own to look up, across the camp to where Jango oversees his people’s retreat, but Obi-Wan knows the Mand’alor’s attention is on them alone. Obi-Wan gazes right back, refusing to the first to look away, and is somehow thrilled rather than disappointed when Jango does just that. 

  He does not say goodbye, but that’s alright, Obi-Wan knows they’ll be meeting again soon. 

~

  Following a stomping Jango up into Jaster’s old ship, Myles won’t stop laughing at him.

  “‘The one who will speak of the truth,’” he quotes gleefully, just as jovial in his punching of Jango’s sides as he attempts to unbuckle his helmet, and he doesn’t back down even when his Mand’alor growls at him. “Kriff, who knew that witch would end up being so literal?”

  “I told you I don’t believe in that osik,” Jango snaps, trying to shove his best friend off of him. “I don't believe in that old hag's ‘prophecy’ any more than I believe in Jedi competence.”

  “Ah ah, Jang’alor, you shouldn’t speak of your ba’buir like that, what would Jaster say?”

  Jango finally gets his helmet off and yanks his hood down so he can get right in Myles’ face to snarl, “That adiik is not the future of Mandalore, kriff whatever the fuck Jaster’s buir says! One dream and one crazy old enby witch spouting oracle nonsense does not make Obi-Wan Kenobi my destiny.”

  Jango doesn’t need to see Myles’ face to know it lights up in victory. “Nobody said their full name, Jang’alor.”

  “Finish that thought and I’ll throw you out the airlock.”

-

Mando’a:

Mand’alor — “Sole ruler”, contended ruler of Mandalore.

jetii — “Jedi” sing, pl. jetiise

kih'jetii — “Little Jedi”, highly offensive

osik — impolite form of “dung”, shit

ba'buir/e —  “grandparent/s”, gender neutral

adiik — a child aged from 3 to 13, used here as an insult

Cansitor Sato — Traditional High Galactic for “Plant Surge”, a Living Force-related technique of controlling plants (usually vines) to ensnare or slow an enemy; in legends, this was taught to Agricorp members as well, headcanoned here to be usually only taught to master/older members. 

Novitiate — personal headcanon for the form of address for non-master members of the Jedi Corps.

[spiderman-homecomeme]

‘cause spider-man comes tonight

🎄The Twelve Days of Promptmas🎄 - Day Four

concepts: holiday smut

dialogue: all I want for Christmas is you.” “You’re Jewish?” “So?” 

The sequel to the dirty talk fic, but make it ~festive~

❆❆❆

i.

“Good moooorning.”

Peter’s voice is gentle, almost singing against her bare skin as his lips trail kisses along her shoulder. 

Michelle shifts, grumbling at the soft, dragging touches. 

Still, he persists, his breath tickling. “Wake up.”

And as annoyed as she is for being woken up, she can’t help but smile as he snuggles against her, his arms wrapping around her waist and pulling her close. “Too early…” She mumbles sleepily into the pillow, nestling further into the blankets. 

Peter huffs out a laugh, his lips pausing momentarily over the strap of her tank top before he keeps going. “Didn’t you wanna go to shopping today? For the party?” He reasons, though MJ knows for a fact that the purpose in all of this isn’t to get the two of them out of bed, per se. 

No, his intentions are perfectly clear. 

“Not at—” She barely cranes her head up, glancing at her phone on the bedside table. “—nine in the morning.” 

“Wow, so early,” he mumbles against her skin. 

Her expression contorts when he finds a particularly ticklish spot on her neck, half-heartedly warning him as she tries to twist away from his mouth. “Hey.”

“What?” He chuckles, cuddling closer, arms locking around her, pressing his cheek into her shoulder blade as he gives her a loving squeeze. “Does that tickle?” 

He knows the answer already, the little shit, and she can’t help but lightly smack his arm in response. 

He laughs again, a sound that makes a comforting warmth bloom in her chest. It’s good that he can’t see her face, that his is burrowing into her shoulder, to see the light smile tugging at her lips, the way her eyes close again as she breathes out a contented sigh. 

Though, his touches soon turn less than innocent, and he’s whispering filthy nothings into her ear as his hands shamelessly roam her body, as he presses his hardness against her. While some of what he says is of the highest quality—he’s actually great at dirty talk when he wants to be—there’s always that one line he has to sneak in there. 

Sure, “I have a big present for you,” as he pokes her in the back of thigh with his morning wood isn’t necessarily groundbreaking, or his worst yet, but it’s still enough to coax a slightly undignified snort out of her. 

Finally, she turns over to face him, eyeing him carefully, a single brow raised. “Oh really?” 

Peter nods, his bottom lip caught between his teeth. “I sure do.” 

“Of course.” Her tongue presses against the inside of her cheek as she fights the urge to roll her eyes and laugh. 

When she doesn’t say anything else he nudges her. “Are you not gonna ask what it is?”

“I think I have a pretty good idea—” She glances down. “—It’s either an actual present… or, if I know you well enough, which unfortunately, I do—” She meets his gaze again. “It’s your dick.”

“Bingo.” He throws in a wink for good measure. 

“I thought I already got that present, though?” MJ asks, trying to stay casual. “Eight nights in a row?”

“That was for me,” Peter insists. “This—” He bites is his lip, pressing himself against her again. “Is for you. You can even have it early. As a treat.”

She can’t help but laugh as he leans in to kiss her, pressing her palm against his chest to keep him away. “Not supposed to open anything till Christmas. Come on, man, you know the rules.” 

“Good thing I’m not wrapping it.”

The double meaning gets another snort out of her, and she playfully dodges him again as his lips press into the corner of her mouth. “Peter—”

“I can put a little bow on it if you want?”

All she can do is shake her head in response and pray that she can suppress her laugh for just a second longer. “I swear… To God.”

“Love you, too,” he grins, leaning in to kiss her fully this time.

But once again, she stops him, scooting away from him. “Wait, no. Morning breath.” 

Peter pauses, his hand lingering on her waist, lip caught in his teeth in thought. She has a point there, at least she sees him thinking it through. He shrugs. “I mean, there’s doggy… reverse cowgirl… deck the halls.”

“Deck the halls?” Michelle’s brow furrows in confusion. 

“I’ll deck your halls with my boughs of holly,” he winks again.

“That’s not even a position, you just wanted to make a joke,” she playfully pushes him.

He shrugs.

Does she hate him?

Who knows?

Is this turning her on still, as stupid as it is?

Maybe.

“Now, come on,” he says, patting his legs, inviting her to climb onto his lap. “Hop on.” 

“So romantic,” she deadpans with a quirk of her brow. 

But does that mean she’s giving in so soon? 

Absolutely not. 

Some restraint and discipline would be good for them both. 

They have things to do today. 

Namely, getting ready for Flash’s big holiday bash tonight. 

“Maybe later, okay?” A knowing, sly grin stretches across her face as she pats him twice on the cheek, climbing up from the bed before he can protest. 

He huffs out a laugh, looking up at her with borderline pleading eyes. So innocent a look for so definitely not-innocent a request. “Please?”

“Nuh uh,” she says as she starts rifling through her dresser. She makes a show of getting dressed, slowly peeling her tank top off. He grins, his eyes instantly taking in the sight of her bare chest, before she’s tossing the shirt at him. He catches it easily, his gaze never leaving hers. 

“We have to go shopping.”

ii.

Why she thought it was ever a good idea to let Peter peruse the holiday section of the local Michael’s with her, she has no idea. 

Especially when he’s in the mood he’s been in all morning—for the entirety of their relationship, really.

One minute, he’s by her side, holding out different festive candles for her to smell as she looks at the different coffee mugs and tea sets, and the next he’s throwing her a wink and a subtle kiss as he points at a sign that says fall on your knees. 

He seems especially thirsty today, for some reason—though she would argue that Peter never really needs a reason to try and seduce her with his own brand of dirty talk, however horrible it may be, however it makes her blink unimpressed at him, however it makes her laugh until her sides hurt. 

While it had all started as something kept strictly to the confines of their bedroom, more and more, it’s started to bleed into their everyday conversation. And every time, it has the same effect on her. She’ll stare at him, slow-blinking, lips twitching as she tries to suppress a smile. 

And, she’d be lying if she said that no matter how cringey some of his lines are… damn it, they kind of work. She’s too attracted to him as a whole for them not to. 

“MJ.”

She hears his voice on the other end of the aisle. Insistent, a self-indulgent chuckle hiding under his tone. 

Her lips press into a thin line as she pointedly ignores him, continuing to browse the different tea towels. 

“MJ,” he says again, louder this time. Childish, even. 

Still, she doesn’t look at him, shaking her head as she purses her lips.

“MJ!”

His voice is suddenly right next to her, and she jumps, turning to see him holding up one of those weird Elf on the Shelf dolls. 

“What?” She hisses. 

There’s that damn, stupid grin on his face as he pokes the felt figurine, his bottom lip caught between his teeth when she narrows her eyes. “When I think about you, I touch my elf.” 

And as usual, it takes everything not to smile. She bites the inside of her cheek. “You’re an idiot.” 

His smile widens to levels of supreme dopiness. “I’m your idiot,” he says with all the affection in the world. 

 “Unfortunately,” she shakes her head, huffing, though she can’t help the way her lips curve into a smile, the way her face warms. And for a moment, she thinks he’s done. He’s had his fun. He’s made her smile. 

“Wanna cradle my dreidel?” He asks under his breath, his hand dangerously low on her back. 

The sudden snort of laughter she lets out startles some poor old lady on the other end of the aisle. 

iii.

If she thinks she’s free the minute she gets back to the apartment, she’s sorely mistaken. Okay, maybe not sorely, per se. But she is very much mistaken. 

It’s again, as they’re deciding what dish to bring to Flash’s holiday get together later in the evening, rifling through their pantry and fridge in search of any usable ingredients. 

“We’ve still got these pie shell things,” Peter says, holding up the box of premade pie crust from the freezer. “Pie’s are always nice. For holidays and what not.” 

Ah, yes. The ones they forgot to bring to May’s for Thanksgiving—making them have to run to the store on a major holiday for something that was pretty much already sold out. Perfect. 

“Great. A pie’s good,” MJ says, feeling a sense of relief that they don’t necessarily have to leave the apartment again. At least until tonight. “What kind do you think?”

Peter looks up, titling his head as his lips twist in though. But then, his gaze flits to her briefly. 

“I’ve always liked creampies.” 

This time she might actually hit him. 

iv.

She’s just pulled her sweater on over her head when Peter walks into the bedroom, his eyes instantly drinking her in, from the top of her head to the bottom of her feet. His appreciative gaze sets a warmth in her stomach and chest, and she bites back her smile as she pushes her hair over her shoulder, tucking an errant curl behind her ear. 

His smile is is bright, and his eyes meet hers in the mirror as he comes to stand behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist as he murmurs into her hair, “God, can’t wait to hurry down your chimney tonight.”

And to think she’d started to lean into him. She scoffs, smacking his arm gently. “Shut up.”

“Seriously,” he says, a laugh under his tone as he steps back. His hand lingers though, falling to play with the hem of her black skirt, gently brushing her thigh through her black tights. “You look really pretty. Easily one of my top favorite outfits.” He pauses, tilting his head in thought. “Besides nothing. You should wear nothing more often.”

“Note taken,” she says, nodding slowly, holding herself together—at least attempting to. 

“And honestly,” He muses. “I think taking this off—” he tugs at the sweater, his voice lowering. “—would really elevate the look. You know what? The skirt too.”

She quirks a brow at him in the mirror, though there’s nothing she can do to prevent her smile from widening. “Oh, so I should just… take my clothes off?”

“Let me be perfectly clear,” he replies, trying to be serious, his hands holding her waist, dropping to her hips and giving a tempting squeeze. “You should always be taking your clothes off.”

It’s amazing how this idiot can make her feel so lightheaded, how he can make her entire body feel that blurry warmth. It’s him, clearly it is, because she’s not sure she’d ever take that kind of shit from any of her other past relationships. 

Peter’s just Peter. 

“Keep it in your pants, Parker,” she teases when he tugs her closer, her back against his chest. She knows what he’s doing; exactly what. 

And again, it’s not going to work. 

Unlike him, she has a sense of self-control. 

No matter how hot her boyfriend is. 

His laugh causes her stomach to flip pleasantly. “But, baby, all I want for Christmas is you.”

“You’re Jewish?”

“So?” 

She turns in his arms, facing him now, her palms pressing into his chest. “Also it’s not Christmas yet?” 

“Christmas eve is pretty much Christmas.”

She blinks.

“Where’s your sense of imagination? Your holiday spirit?” He asks earnestly, squeezing her gently. “Now what do you want? Naughty? Or Nice?” His face lights up. “Oo! Both.”

It’s a wonder her eyes don’t roll out of her head and onto the floor, or that her cheeks fall off from how hard she’s trying not to smile. She ignores the conversation. “We’re gonna be late to Flash’s. Come on.” 

“Eh, I think there’s time.” Peter’s hand falls to hers, locking their fingers together as he pulls her close, his lips finding his favorite spot on her neck easily. 

In spite of the ticking clock in her mind, she closes her eyes, sighing softly at the feeling of his soft kisses pressing into her skin. 

“Flavortown has holiday hours right?”

And it’s the wicked grin on his face when he pulls back to look at her that causes her to snap back to reality. She laughs, her body practically screaming in protest as she steps fully away from him and out of his warmth. 

v.

The whole car ride to Flash’s feels like an eternity, given the lack of time for a pre-party quickie back at the apartment. Peter’s hand stays on her thigh, the other on the wheel, and it’s clear that he’s not paying all that much attention when he stalls at one or two red lights, startling when there’s a chorus of honking from behind them. 

Though it’s a seemingly innocent touch—he never ascends past the hemline of her skirt—it still burns her skin through the thin material of her tights. It still causes her mind to go places where it really shouldn’t go while he’s driving, while they’re on their way to a friend’s holiday party. All day, it’s been a constant game between them, and at first, MJ had assumed that she had the upper hand. 

Now, however, she’s not sure. 

She’s tried her best to ignore his dumb jokes mingled with legitimate propositions, and for the most part, she’s been successful. 

But she just knows he’s going to try something stupid at the party. She doesn’t know what, but she knows him. 

Surprisingly, however, Peter’s able to behave himself for the first hour. He mingles with everyone, never once making a suggestive comment, never once does his hand fall past the appropriate spot on her back. It’s honestly a bit of a shock. 

But of course, all things must come to an end. 

It’s as Flash is overexplaining the different stockings on his fireplace—all for him apparently—when Peter returns with a drink in hand, his voice lowered as he leans in to whisper. “Did we bring any stocking stuffers?”

Michelle’s brow furrows in confusion. “No? Why would we?”

Peter seems puzzled for a moment, lips twisting in thought, before his eyes light up. “Oh! I forgot.” 

“Wha—”

“I brought the most important one.”

She’s ashamed that it takes her more than five seconds to process what he’s said, to get it, but when she does, it’s a slow blink and a heavy sigh. “Is it in your pants—”

“—It’s in my pants.”

+i

Okay, so maybe she doesn’t have as much self control as she’d originally thought. 

But she can’t honestly find it in herself to care, especially with Peter’s mouth hot on hers, pushing her into the dresser in one of the spare bedrooms, his hands greedy as they travel her body, hungrily twisting and pulling at her clothes. 

She’d dragged him in here not two minutes ago, after one “candy cane” joke too far. She’d been pushed right over that edge. 

He tilts his head, deepening the kiss, and she lets out the softest of moans as his tongue slips into her mouth, one of his hands falling to grip her ass. His groan as he presses his hardness against her causes the heat in the pit of her stomach to flare, her hold on him to tighten, clinging desperately. 

When she finally pulls back, her chest is heaving, her breath catching as his lips and tongue drag along the underside of her jaw. How he’s so good at just this, something so seemingly simple, how he can reduce her to a puddle of nerves with a few touches, she has no idea. 

But, God, she needs him now. 

Her hands move to his shoulders, gently pushing him down to where she wants him. 

But he holds still, pushing back against her, stubborn. His gaze meets hers, almost challenging, a sly smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “What do you want?” He asks, knowing perfectly well what.

Her eyes narrow as she smirks. “You know what.”

“I don’t follow,” he says, pressing a kiss to the inside of her palm. “You gotta be more specific.”

On one hand, her body’s screaming at her to just jump his bones, to climb him like a tree, etc. But on the other, it wants her to drop kick him off of a mountain. “Peter…” She groans, her head falling back. 

“Am I gonna be a DJ?” He asks, and she snorts. “Am I gonna spin you all night long like a little dreidel?”

MJ’s brow furrows. “I thought your dick was the dreidel?” 

He playfully pinches her sides, shaking his head with a laugh before looking up at her again. “Am I going somewhere? To eat, maybe?”

“God, just—” she shakes her head, lips pressing together stubbornly. It’s the mischievous glint in his eyes that tells her exactly what he wants her to say. 

And dammit, she’s too horny for this.  

“Go to Flavortown.”

His giggle makes her heart nearly burst out of her chest. 

“I dunno. Is it open right now? It is almost Christmas.”

“Doors are always open for you,” she almost laughs.

“I’m on it.” She’s cut off by Peter spinning her around, his hand splaying on her back and pushing her chest into the top of the dresser as he bends her forward. A heady rush of excitement flares within her, and she shifts on her feet in anticipation. His hands slide under her skirt and up to her waist, thumbs hooking under the waistband of her tights. The brush of his knuckles against her skin leave goosebumps in its wake as he peels them—and her underwear—down to her knees, and she gasps as the cool air hits her center. 

He’s mumbling some song under his breath—one that sounds suspiciously festive. She looks back at him, a confused grin tugging at her lips when he sings aloud, “Spider-Man is coming to Flavortown…”

He bunches her skirt at her waist, and before she can even think to say anything about his song, his mouth is on her. Her knees buckle, glad to be gripping the dresser as tight as she is, when he licks a long stripe up—or down for her—her slit. His tongue is all over, languidly lapping at her, gathering her wetness and spreading it messily over her swollen clit. 

A wet gasp falls from her lips as he brings two fingers up to tease her entrance, circling lazily as he sucks her clit into his mouth, flicking it with his tongue. 

“Fuck, Peter—”

The warmth in her belly grows hot, boiling even, as he fervently and eagerly works her heat, moaning openly into her cunt. His fingers are skilled as they curl into her, sliding in effortlessly and finding her spot. The vibrations of his hums are addictive, intoxicating, but still make her smile when she realizes it’s even more holiday music that he’s humming. 

“You’re such—fuck—such a dork,” she says, breathless, mouth curved into a wavy smile as her cheek presses into the wood of the dresser. 

He laughs against her, though his pace doesn’t falter. It stays relentless, and continues eating her out like it’s the last meal he’ll ever have. 

She comes with a choked, strangled moan, her knuckles tense as she grips the side of the dresser for purchase as his fingers fuck into her, as his tongue swirls around her clit in his mouth. 

The ground feels shaky underneath her, and she doesn’t dare stand. Instead, she only melts further into the furniture, her eyes fluttering closed as she gathers her breath. 

“My compliments to the chef,” he says, dumbly, hearing the lewd sound of him licking his fingers clean.

There’s nothing she can do to hold back her the laugh that bursts out of her

But then, the sound of the metal of his belt clinking reignites that same heat, and she finds herself almost whimpering in anticipation. She nearly jumps at the feeling of his tip sliding through her folds, gently tapping against her clit as he soaks himself in her arousal. The sound of Peter’s breath hitching makes her smile, and she suddenly finds energy in herself to push back against him, to grind herself on his erection. 

He doesn’t wait another moment, a throaty groan spilling past his lips as he pushes into her, inch by inch, up to the hilt. 

His pace starts slow, giving her time to accommodate, but soon, neither of them seem to have patience. In the next second, he’s fucking into her, his rhythm almost desperate as he matches it to their ragged breaths. 

“Fuck, yes. MJ. You feel so fucking good,” he moans, punctuating each word with a hard thrust. “I’ve been wanting to do this all day. Fuck.”

It’s almost impossible to form words, her mouth hanging open, a croaking gasp leaving her lips when he shifts the angle. 

She only nods, too lost in the sound of skin slapping against skin, the feeling of him filling her so well.

“I love you so much, Em,” he breathes, his voice shaky. 

“I love you, too,” she manages somehow, miraculously. 

And she looks up in the mirror, seeing the slight uptick of a smile on his lips. “Hey, Em?” He asks, his eyes meeting hers. 

“Fuck—Yeah?”

His grip on her hips tightens as he picks up his pace, one hand placing a hard, but loving, smack on her ass. 

And as that smile grows, instantly, she understands. 

“Looks like we’re gonna have a white Christmas this year.”

[missjanjie]

Hold Me Tighter (Even Closer) | (9/9)

Title: Hold Me Tighter (Even Closer) Summary: A sequel to Hold Me Closer, Tiny Dancer. Brooke Lynn and Vanessa are back at NYU, but with new and improved positions. Brooke’s ready to start her career as a professor when, as fate would have it, she realizes her TA, Jackie, might have the hots for a student named Jan. The couple just might see it as a sign to give two new girls the love story they found in the same place. Word Count: ~2.7k (this chapter) / 26,700 (total) Relationship(s): Branjie (Brooke Lynn Hytes/Vanessa Vanjie Mateo), Jankie (Jan Sport/Jackie Cox) Rating: E

read on ao3 | ko-fi

Chapter Summary: We pick back up a few months after Jackie and Jan make their relationship official and Brooke Lynn and Vanessa set their sights on their future daughter. Everything finally falls into place.

-

Three Months Later

It was nearing the middle of January, in the midst of winter break. Katya, Jan, and Jackie were in Brooke Lynn and Vanessa’s apartment, busily decorating and making sure every little thing was in place according to the couple’s specific instructions. This was the day they had been anticipating for quite some time, after all.

The three of them were setting up for a welcome home party, as while they were doing so, Brooke and Vanessa were on their way home with their daughter. The papers were signed, the documents were made official, they were finally going to officially welcome Ana Sofia into their family.

Although it did feel like they already had her – the moms-to-be had talked about her at length, read them every detail of her biography until they could recite it from memory. She was three years old, half-White and half-Puerto Rican – when the two of them read that on her file, they thought it had to be fate. The story of the girl’s parents wasn’t uncommon, but it was a situation they could feel sympathy towards – a nineteen-year-old girl had been in a relationship with a man nearly twice her age, who left once he found out about her pregnancy, only for the young mother to find out the father was leaving the country. With his wife.

Brooke Lynn and Vanessa had been contacted by the woman while they were in the midst of the adoption process. She was kind and soft-spoken and it was clear she had only wanted the best for her biological child. They had agreed to visit the idea of allowing a relationship between her and Ana Sofia when she was old enough.

“God, she looked so young,” Brooke Lynn had said once they had left the meeting. “Like, shit, she was Jan’s age when she had her… that’s how old you were when we met.”

“Can you imagine if I was pregnant when we met?” Vanessa asked, shaking her head.

“With the number of men you’ve threatened to castrate? No, not really.”

But even though they had gone through all of the preparation, had meticulously completed every step, the day of their new daughter’s arrival felt unreal. After the bedroom had been painted and carpeted, after all sorts of toys and stuffed animals had been purchased, after every inch of the apartment was childproofed, wrapping their heads around finally bringing their little girl home felt hard to do.

It wasn’t the first time they had met her, of course. They’d been having supervised visits for nearly two months. They had bonded with Ana Sofia, they loved her. She’d met the people in their lives – Jan, Jackie, Katya, she even got to meet Brooke’s mother when she visited for Christmas and Vanessa’s when they went there for New Year’s Eve.

“You ready to go inside?” Brooke gently asked the little girl, though she was the most nervous out of the three of them.

Ana Sofia looked up with her big, brown eyes and nodded, one hand holding Brooke’s and the other carrying the bright pink teddy bear they had bought for her. “Yeah!”

Vanessa opened the door to a cheerful greeting of ‘welcome home!’ and looked at the way her new daughter’s eyes lit up with enthusiasm. She carried Ana Sofia’s suitcases into her bedroom, letting the young girl run around and greet everyone. “Go on and make yourself comfy, Sofie,” she encouraged.

It didn’t take long for Sofie to get acclimated to the apartment she had already started to get used to, winding up on the couch with their cat on her lap.

“How are you guys feeling?” Katya asked the new mothers. She was calm in a way that would otherwise be unnerving, but without the normal ulterior motives, it was a welcome change.

“I haven’t been this excited since our wedding day,” Brooke replied with a broad grin, her arm looping around Vanessa’s waist. “It feels like this is what everything was leading up to. Like we’re finally whole.”

Vanessa nodded in agreement. “You shoulda seen her when we picked her up and told her she was coming home for good. You’d think we live in Disneyland or something,” she chuckled.

Katya grinned. “I can’t begin to tell you two how proud I am. You’ve come such a long way from two kids struggling to confront how they felt about each other, I don’t think I’d have ever predicted this.”

“We wouldn’t have been able to without your flagrant disregard for our personal boundaries, so thank you for that,” Brooke teased. “Though I guess we did learn from the best as far as that goes,” she added, cocking her head towards Jan and Jackie.

“They were worse than us, you gotta admit,” Vanessa chimed in.

“Yes,” she conceded, “which isn’t an easy task with what a nightmare you guys were. But I think they’re in it for the long haul too.”

Jan and Jackie were sitting with Ana Sofia on the couch, talking animatedly about all of the fun things they would be able to do, how much they were looking forward to babysitting her.

“We have to take her to a show at some point,” Jan mused, “maybe f-r-o-z-e-n,” she spelled it out, knowing better than to say it in front of a child and set her off in excitement.

Jackie chuckled softly in amusement. “Yeah, maybe for her birthday,” she mused, then looked down, clearing her throat. “Baby… can I talk to you privately for a moment?”

Jan’s brows knitted in concern, but she nodded and got up, following her girlfriend into the guest room. “What’s up?”

“I was gonna wait until later, but I can’t wait any longer,” she replied, rocking back and forth on her feet. She was always so careful with her words, especially with Jan. But she’d also learned from Jan that sometimes it was best to be direct. “I want you to move in with me.”

There was a beat of silence, a surprised Jan needed a moment to process what's been said. But then a broad grin spread across her lips and she nodded brightly. “Okay,” she threw her arms around Jackie, “I’d love to.”

Jackie’s entire body relaxed as a wave of relief washed over her. “Great. Amazing. Perfect. We can go back to your parents’ place to pack up your things whenever you’re ready. I mean, I don’t wanna rush you or anything, but I think it’d make sense before the semester–”

Jan cut her off by kissing her deeply. “Baby, I love you, but you talk way too fucking much when you’re overthinking,” she chuckled. “My parents will be thrilled to not have to pay for room and board, they’ll happily cover my share of the rent. We can go tomorrow or over the weekend, whatever,” she assured and kissed her again. “Just relax, we’re doing this. Everything is fine.”

“You’re right,” she exhaled, hugging her tightly. “I love you so much.”

Their tender moment was interrupted by a loud banging on the door. “Y’all better not be behaving inappropriately during my baby’s party!” Vanessa yelled.

Jan giggled and opened the door. “We’re not,” she promised, even though Jackie was blushing. “Actually… Jackie just asked me to move in with her.”

Vanessa’s scowl was instantly replaced by a bright grin. “For real? Congrats!” She turned to yell into the main room, “Brooke Lynn! Jan and Jackie are moving in together!” She then dragged the couple back out, holding each of them by the wrist, not that either of them were putting up any resistance. They both knew better than that.

Brooke looked up, chuckling warmly at the enthusiasm her wife had for the couple. “You guys are moving in together? Congrats. We’d offer to help but, you know, very busy with the new child.”

“Don’t worry, we’ll coerce Gigi and Crystal to help us. They can be bribed with weed and snacks,” Jan replied with a shrug and a light laugh.

“Oh, are we finally getting proof that Crystal exists?” Brooke asked with a light laugh. It had become something of an ongoing joke – Gigi talked about her all the time, often relentlessly, but none of them, other than Jan, had ever met Crystal. And even though Jan had, she liked to play along for the sole purpose of annoying her friend.

Jan laughed and nodded. “I promise we’ll FaceTime you when we have her here in the flesh.”

------

Jackie caught her breath as she came back upstairs after taking a pile of boxes to load up in the back of Jan’s father’s van. “I still can’t get over how nice your parents’ house is,” she remarked as the two of them sat on the floor of Jan’s bedroom, folding her clothes to pack into boxes. “I know you said your family was well off, but damn.”

Jan shrugged and awkwardly rubbed the back of her neck. “It’s not something I try to make a big deal about,” she explained, then looked up when the door opened and let out a soft laugh. “There you are. We were starting to worry you two got lost.”

“In our defense,” Gigi said as she and Crystal walked in, “we’ve never made this commute before. And we warned you neither of us have any sense of direction.”

“The Amtrak and I are enemies now. But at least we got Krispy Kreme while we waited,” Crystal added cheerily.

Jackie chuckled lightly. “And you didn’t bring any? Rude,” she clicked her tongue then looked to Jan. “Don’t forget, we promised Brooke and Vanjie we’d call to let Gigi prove Crystal isn’t a figment of her imagination.”

“Can you really prove I’m not?”

Jan and Jackie giggled while Gigi rolled her eyes and waited for Jan to get her phone out, calling up Brooke Lynn on FaceTime.

“Hey hun,” Brooke greeted. She was sitting with Vanessa and Ana Sofia, the sound of cartoons playing in the background. “How’s the big move going?”

Jan pushed herself to her feet. “Can’t complain, we’re not making ourselves crazy considering it’s not too bad of a commute. For us, anyway,” she pointedly looked at Crystal and Gigi at the last part.

“Show us the imaginary girlfriend!” Vanessa interrupted, leaning further into frame. “Katya thinks it’s gonna be Jackie with a wig on.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Gigi muttered under her breath, taking the phone from Jan and holding it up so she and Crystal were in the frame. “Vanjie, Brooke, tiny child, this is my girlfriend, Crystal. Who does exist.”

Crystal laughed softly. “Wow, this really bothered you,” she observed. “Why didn’t you just FaceTime me sooner?”

“Because we woulda called you a hologram,” Vanessa retorted before Gigi could answer, eliciting laughter from Brooke as well as Jan and Jackie.

Gigi pouted and crossed her arms. “I hate all of you,” she muttered, then added, “except for the kid, she’s cool.” And with that, she hung up and handed the phone back to Jan.

Jan chuckled and put her phone away. “You’re so cranky,” she cooed, getting up and grabbing her purse. “Here, let me smoke you out now. It’s the least I could do,” she offered, placing a joint between Gigi’s pouting lips and lighting it, watching her friend relax and smoke in spite of herself.

Jackie watched in mild amusement before glancing down as her phone went off. “Aw, Jaida just got back from Milwaukee and Nicky was waiting for her at the airport,” she read off her phone, then held it up to show the selfie Jaida had taken of the two of them.

“Wonder whatever happened to Nicky’s ‘no dating until graduation’ rule,” Jan mused with a laugh as she went back to folding shirts and packing them away. “Or are they still ‘not putting a label on it’?”

“The latter,” she confirmed. “But I know Jaida, she’s not gonna put up with that forever. She called me out on my bullshit plenty and she’s not the ‘do as I say, not as I do’ type.”

“I just love that Nicky’s role in your life is essentially the girl that fucks the women closest to you. It feels like a metaphor or something. Frankly, I think you need to have sex with her just to bring it all full circle,” Gigi mused, to which Jackie responded by throwing a pair of jeans at her.

“Fuck off,” Jackie laughed. “I’d much rather her fuck my best friend than my girlfriend any day.”

Jan offered her a reassuring smile and nod. “There’s no plans on that happening again, don’t you worry… unless you want a threesome,” she joked.

“Hey Jan,” Crystal interrupted, “when do you hear back from that thing you auditioned for? What was it again?”

The calm smile on Jan’s lips shifted into a nervous one. She stopped folding, instead fiddling with the fabric in her hands. “It’s an official shadow cast production for The Rocky Horror Picture Show, a solid five week stint. The website is posting callbacks on Thursday morning, then they post who made the final cut I think… four days after that.”

Jackie scoffed playfully. “Right, ‘if’. Baby, you know you have that on lock, just like you got Veronica without breaking a sweat.”

“I broke many sweats, but I appreciate the vote of confidence.”

------

Perhaps unsurprisingly, Jan did receive a callback and, four days later, was incessantly refreshing the company’s website waiting for the cast list to be posted. The list was set to go up at nine in the morning, but she had been checking since a quarter to, just in case. “God, what’s taking so fucking long?”

Jackie watched, trying her hardest not to laugh. “Honey, it’s five after. Take a breath before you pop a blood vess–”

“It’s up!”

She rushed to her girlfriend’s side, hand gripping onto the back of the desk chair tight enough to turn her knuckles white. “Well?”

“I got Janet!”

The two of them jumped up in tandem, hugging and squealing in pure elation. “Oh my god!” Jan beamed, “this is so exciting!”

Jackie pressed kisses over Jan’s face, culminating with a tender kiss to the lips. “I knew you would get it. I’m so happy for you.”

“Thank god I’m living with you now,” she mused out loud, “juggling this with classes, as excited as I am, I just know I’d let myself get way too overwhelmed and no one keeps me grounded like you do.” They had learned about this in the last few weeks before Heathers. Jan had been on the brink of a nervous breakdown and only Jackie had been able to talk her down.

“I’m happy to be that anchor for you,” Jackie smiled. “And if this ends up being like Heathers and you need help rehearsing the ‘sexy’ song…”

Jan giggled, hiding her face against the crook of Jackie’s neck. “Yeah? You’re gonna be my Rocky while I work on ‘Touch-a Touch-a Touch Me’? It’s a very different sexual energy than ‘Dead Girl Walking’.”

She tilted her head. “I don’t think they’re that different, but the end goal of using it as foreplay remains the same.”

“I can’t argue with that,” she conceded, sitting down on the bed. “Did you ever think this would be where we would end up after that night? When we thought we’d broken down a big wall by giving in to our unavoidable lust?”

“Not for a second,” Jackie admitted with a laugh, sitting beside her. “I hoped it was the start of something, but falling in love with you was never in the cards.”

Jan smiled and rested her head on Jackie’s shoulder. “Me neither. But I wouldn’t change a thing. The rollercoaster we were on brought us right to where we needed to be.”

“It did,” Jackie took Jan’s hand in her own and squeezed it. “It really did.” She looked up and out the window. “Do you think history will repeat itself again? That a few years down the line we’ll find our own pair of useless lesbians to play dysfunctional cupid with?”

She chuckled softly and shrugged. “I dunno. I remember Vanjie told me how once you’re in love, it’s easier to see it happen to other people. I guess anything is possible.”

[notalwaysthevillian]

What the Heart Wants

Inspired by the wonderful art done by @stargazing-squid which you can find here!

Warnings: Implied parent death, anxiety attack

Pairings: Romantic Moxiety, endgame LAMP

Word Count: ~2.1k

Check out Julia and Jordan’s writing here!

Sequel to this one!

Virgil

“What happened to his parents?”

Even though they were quiet, Virgil could hear the whispers of the king and the men who had brought him here. He could not stop himself from sniffling, freezing when everyone turned to him.

“I’m sorry, I -”

The king walked over to him, a look on his face that Virgil did not recognize. “There is no need to be sorry, young one. I have a son about your age, did you want to meet him?”

“Okay.”

The king held out his hand, not letting go once Virgil was on his feet. They moved through the castle with ease, the men falling into step behind the two of them. The king nodded at a few people as they passed, but no one stopped them.

After a few minutes, the king knocked on a door. “Patton?”

The door swung open, revealing a boy a little shorter than Virgil. A huge smile graced his face as he saw another boy, but it fell instantly. “How come you were crying?”

Virgil could not help it as the tears began to flow once more. As soon as they started, a set of small arms wrapped around him.

“I have some stories I can read to you, but only if you want to.”

Knowing he would not be able to speak, Virgil merely nodded, being dragged into the room a second later.

As he grew older, he understood what had happened. He was a ward of the king, someone that Thomas had seen and essentially adopted without a second thought. Thomas refused to tell him what had happened to his parents until he was old enough to process everything.

Unable to find a proper way to thank the king, Virgil asked to be trained to become a knight. The men who had brought him to the castle gave him lessons, and he earned the title of page fairly easily.

In the meantime, Virgil shared educational lessons with Patton. The two of them became close after that first night, separating for lessons only when they absolutely had to. When they were ten and Patton called Virgil his best friend, it had shocked him so much that he had burst into tears.

As he grew up, the knights noticed that Virgil had some of the fastest reflexes they had ever seen. On his 15th birthday, he was promoted to squire, and began some more hardcore training with the knights.

He was currently in the practice area with Sir Toby, who had agreed to a sparring match. Sir Theobold and Patton sat in the stands - one in case of an emergency and one to cheer Virgil on.

“Hold on, fix your stance.”

Looking down, Virgil shifted his feet, before flexing his grip on the wooden sword he’d been given.

“Begin.”

Virgil dashed forward, knowing it was to his advantage to be up close to Sir Toby. He was tall and had reach - something Virgil lacked.

Sir Toby attempted to use this reach to block Virgil, but the squire simply ducked out of the way, popping up in Sir Toby’s face.

“Yay, Virge!”

It was a hard fought battle. Virgil used all of his training and knowledge of Toby’s weaknesses, but in the end, Sir Toby’s experience won out. Virgil found himself on his back, the tip of the wooden sword at his throat.

“I yield.”

“Very good, Virgil.” Sir Toby tossed the sword away, helping him up. “A knight must know when the fight is lost, lest he get himself killed.”

“Caution over recklessness.” Virgil answered, earning a smile from the knight.

The door to the practice area opened, and another boy stepped out. He adjusted his glasses as he hurried up to Sir Toby, a scroll in his hand.

“The king wishes to see both you and Sir Theobold.”

“Thank you, Logan.”

The knights headed off, leaving the three boys alone.

“You certainly do not look like a messenger.” Virgil said as he took in Logan’s appearance. “You wear a similar color, yet you wear robes.”

“I am no messenger, but I offered to bring the scroll out regardless.” He said, bowing to both Virgil and Prince Patton. “The robes signify my ability to use magic.”

“Magic?!” Patton squealed, stumbling out of his seat and running up to them. “Can you show us?”

“Anything for the crown prince.”

Patton giggled, practically vibrating where he stood. Virgil felt a surge of jealousy wash over him, but he could not pinpoint why.

Logan said a quick chant, before waving a hand in front of his face. His eyes changed in an instant, glowing a bright silver. The spell faded a moment later.

“Unfortunately, I am still an apprentice, but my master says that I am a quick learner and can make master rank by the time the snow falls.”

Virgil tensed as Logan turned to him. “I had heard that you were the best squire being trained at the moment. Is that true?”

“I would not say the best -”

“Virgil, stop being down about yourself!” Patton cut him off, brows furrowed and hands on his hips. “You are the best squire being trained right now.”

The corner of Logan’s mouth quirked up. “If that is the case, I have a proposal to run by you.”

Virgil could feel himself sliding into a defensive stance as he looked at the mage. “What is this proposal?”

“From my research, knights are trained to fight against other men. To fight in a war, should one occur.” Logan’s eyes brightened as he spoke. “My master says that more wars have been using mages to their advantage, which is something knights are not trained for. I propose that we have the occasional practice duel between us, so that you may learn how to train against magic, and I may learn to defend myself from physical attacks.”

“I accept your proposal.”

Soon enough, Logan had joined Virgil and Patton’s group. Patton had assured him that they were still best friends, but that was not what Virgil was worried about.

He had come to realize that his jealousy of Logan was because he had a crush on Patton.

Virgil’s black cloak swished around him as he paced in his chambers. Should he tell the king? Surely that was a terrible idea, the king would send him somewhere else so that he would not be distracted by his duties.

The very thought of being sent far away from Patton made Virgil dizzy. He sat on the floor, trying to steady his breaths.

He heard his door creak open, but he had to close his eyes as everything became too much. There was some shouting, but Virgil could not pinpoint the voice.

It could have been minutes or it could have been hours before Virgil felt a familiar pressure on his hands and heard a familiar voice.

“Virgil, breathe. I am going to squeeze your hands, and I want you to breathe as I count, alright?”

Once his breathing was steady, Virgil opened his eyes to find Patton in front of him, looking more than a little concerned. “What happened, Vee?”

“I do not know.”

“It must have been a curse.” Sir Toby said from the door. “We were unable to shake you from your stupor.”

“There was no curse here.” Logan knelt at Virgil’s side from where he had been standing, making Virgil jump. He waved a hand, the dark blue magic washing over Virgil. “This was a natural reaction. I have seen it before, but never at this magnitude. Tell me, Virgil, what caused such a reaction? Did something happen?”

Virgil did his best to keep his reddening cheeks hidden. “No, I was - I was thinking about if I was ever sent away from here and - it just happened.”

“You will never be sent away.” Patton’s voice was thick, and there were tears shining in his eyes. “If Father sent you away, I would go with you. I would run away.”

“Perhaps making plans to run away in front of your father’s guards is not the best idea.” There was a small smile on Logan’s face, before he turned to Virgil. “I can make a potion that should calm the effects of your condition, but I cannot guarantee that all the symptoms will disappear.”

“Thank you, Logan.”

After a fortnight, Logan delivered the potion, and continued to do so whenever Virgil was low.

Months later, hours after Patton’s 16th birthday ball, Virgil found himself in the kitchen. Patton was talking to a servant boy, a huge smile on both of their faces. The jealousy washed over Virgil again, and before he could blink he was at Patton’s side.

“Sir Virgil,” he said, holding out a hand. “I do not believe we have been introduced.”

“Oh, my name is Roman.” The servant said, shaking Virgil’s hand before giving a small bow. “It is truly an honor to meet both the prince and the favored squire in one night.”

Blood flowed to Virgil’s cheeks at the unexpected compliment. “Ah - thank you.”

“I had been hoping to come see some of your sparring, but I have been stuck on kitchen duty since we arrived.” Roman used wide gestures as he spoke, nearly hitting Virgil in the shoulder. He pointed to a batch of beignets. “I made those actually.”

“You did?!” Patton practically shrieked. “Those were my favorite!”

“They were, he had around six of them.”

Virgil could not help but laugh as Patton feigned pouting. “It was only five.”

“Well, if you come visit me more often, I promise to have a batch of those ready at all times.”

After that night, three friends became four. It took a little while before Virgil and Logan completely warmed up to Roman, as he was not a fan of his job while they were more than devoted, but eventually the four of them were friendly enough with each other.

Virgil did not see Roman often, given his duties, but when he did he always gave the servant a friendly nod.

It seemed as though time flew by before Virgil was 17, kneeling in front of the king, swearing his oath of knighthood.

He felt the sword tap each shoulder before King Thomas asked him to stand.

“Now, for your assignment.” He said, a glimmer in his eye. “You are to be Prince Patton’s personal guard. Do not leave his side unless he or I command you to do so.”

Virgil struggled to keep his arms at his sides instead of throwing them around the king in a hug. The ceremony continued for only a few minutes more before everyone was excused from the throne room.

As the final servant left, excluding Roman, King Thomas walked up to Virgil and pulled him close.

“I could think of no better knight for the job than you.”

Once the king had let him go, Virgil found himself with an armful of Patton. “Vee, this is perfect! Best friends stick together, forever!”

“Forever.” Virgil agreed, his eyes darting down to Patton’s lips for a moment before he caught himself.

Virgil did his new job diligently, only leaving Patton’s side when necessary.

The first time he left Patton’s side on his own accord was when he saw the poster advertising a contest for Patton’s hand. His vision was very nearly tinted red as he tore the poster off the board.

“Patton, I am afraid we must head back to the castle. I had forgotten that I needed a word with the king.”

“Aw, Vee, we just got here.”

Sir Janus, the extra knight that had been sent with them, raised an eyebrow at Virgil before turning to Patton. “A word with the king is something that cannot wait. However, if it suits the two of you, I would be able to keep the Prince safe in town. Sir Virgil could have his audience, and you, Prince Patton, would be able to continue to shop.”

Patton looked to Virgil. “I am not opposed to this plan, but you are my guard. This decision is yours to make.”

“Sir Janus is more than competent, he will keep you safe.” Virgil said, his tone sending a threat to the knight. “I will return as soon as possible.”

The conversation with the king went swimmingly, as did the contest. Virgil was thankful that Patton had chosen him, as well as Logan and Roman. The four of them shared something that no one else had.

Virgil pulled back from the hug he had been pulled into, clearing his throat.

“Patton has confessed his love for you all. I am not in love with you, Logan, or you, Roman, but I am in love with Patton. If he wants the three of us, I can learn to share.”

[cinema-tv-etc]

Why The Godfather Part III has been unfairly demonized

By Caryn James1st December 2020

he mafia trilogy ended with a closing chapter that has long been vilified. But as a new recut is released, 30 years on, Caryn James says it deserves to be re-evaluated. T

The final part of the Godfather trilogy is considered such an artistic disaster that you'd think Francis Ford Coppola had forgotten how to make a film in the 16 years that followed The Godfather Part II (1974). Part III's most famous dialogue – Al Pacino as the aging Mafia don Michael Corleone snarls, "Just when I thought I was out, they pull me back in" – has become an easy laugh line.

But 30 years after its release, it is time to rescue Godfather III from its terrible reputation. Pacino's eloquent, fiery, knowing central performance is supported by several bravura set pieces that are mini-masterpieces in themselves. With deliberate echoes of the earlier Godfather films, there is singing and dancing at a family party, a bold murder during the San Gennaro street festival, a tragedy on the steps of an opera house in Sicily.

In the film’s confusing main plot, Michael gets tangled up in dealing with the Vatican  

Hindsight alone would tell us how seriously the film has been undervalued, even without Coppola's newly restored, re-edited and renamed version. It now has the title Mario Puzo's The Godfather, Coda: The Death of Michael Corleone. Calling it a coda emphasises its connection to the earlier instalments, and even hints at its lesser stature. And the word 'death' signals its dark inevitability, although the meaning of that word is slipperier than it first appears.

Twelve minutes shorter, it rearranges some key episodes, eliminates a few minor scenes and trims a line here or there. But until its altered ending, it is fundamentally the same film, better in parts than as a whole. It is too flawed to come close to the accomplishments of The Godfather (1972) or its sequel, both among the most towering and influential films of the 20th Century. They have penetrated the culture, from their language ("I'm going to make him an offer he can't refuse") to their quintessentially American story of immigration and upward mobility. But the new version clarifies Coppola's epic vision, revealing how much the Corleone story was always Michael's, a deeply moral saga of guilt and redemption. He just happened to be a mob boss.

For me the tragedy of The Godfather, which is the tragedy of America, is about Michael Corleone – Francis Ford Coppola

Coppola was always lucid about the trilogy's vision, even when others were confused. "For me the tragedy of The Godfather, which is the tragedy of America, is about Michael Corleone," he says in the extras on a DVD set of the three films released in 2001. He wanted The Death of Michael Corleone to be the title back in 1990, but Paramount, the studio releasing it, did not. The film's initial reception was measured disappointment, not dismissal or horror as we now assume. Roger Ebert actually loved it. Pauline Kael did not love or hate it, but offered the withering, condescending assessment. "I don't think it's going to be a public humiliation." Expectations were high because of the legacy of the earlier films, yet low because Part III came with a whiff of desperation and of selling out. Coppola had resisted making another Godfather for years, then wrote the screenplay (with Mario Puzo) and edited it in a rush to meet its Christmas Day release. It even got seven Oscar nominations, including best picture and director. It is an odd example of a movie whose reputation has declined over the decades.

Why the film is misunderstood

Then and now, the series has largely been misunderstood. Crime movies like Coppola's and Martin Scorsese's are so seductive that audiences have embraced them for apparently glamorising the love of raw power and the concept of honour among thieves. Beneath the Mafia-friendly surface, though, they are built on ethical themes their more hot-headed characters don't grasp. The Godfather Coda tells us that crime really doesn't pay when you're ready to search your soul. The young Michael struggles with the idea of killing and crime in the first Godfather. The consequences of his decision are central to Part III, which takes place in 1979, 20 years after the events of Godfather II. Michael, a billionaire living in New York, has made his businesses legitimate and is left to grapple with his guilt for so many crimes, especially ordering the murder of his  brother Fredo, who betrayed him.

The film still has problems that no amount of editing can change. In a needlessly confusing main plot, Michael tries to take over a European conglomerate called International Immobiliare. By buying the Vatican's shares, he'll be bailing out the corrupt Vatican bank. The family part of the story revolves around Michael's nephew, Vincent Mancini, the illegitimate son of his brother Sonny. Andy Garcia is as good a Vincent as you could hope for, handsome, swaggering, rough around the edges, dynamic on screen. But his character never makes much sense. Vincent has his father's explosive temper and appetite for violence, but somehow goes from a not-so-bright thug to a shrewd, controlled crime strategist in a matter of months. His change is far from the engrossing, methodical character trajectory that takes the young Michael from idealist to murderer in the first Godfather.

And the film's most severely criticised element is no better than anyone remembers. Winona Ryder, who had been set to play Michael's daughter, Mary, dropped out weeks before filming started and was replaced with unabashed nepotism by Coppola's teenaged daughter, Sofia. Today, we know Sofia Coppola as a brilliant director, but it's easy to see why her amateurish performance made her another target of Godfather III jokes, particularly for the unintentionally awkward and passionless romance between Mary and her cousin Vincent. Coppola actually snipped a couple of Sofia's lines in the new version.

He makes a major change at the start of the re-edited film, eliminating the lovely original beginning. It set an elegiac tone by showing images of the abandoned family house in Lake Tahoe from Part II, and includes a flashback to Fredo's death, while Nino Rota's familiar soundtrack music evokes the past. The new version begins with a duplicitous archbishop soliciting Michael's help for the Vatican, a scene originally placed later in the film. The change highlights the finance plot without making it any clearer.  

The exhilarating start

But the film soon picks up with its true, exhilarating beginning. Several generations of Corleones, along with friends and business associates, gather at a party celebrating Michael. His sister, Connie, sings an Italian song, while shady-looking visitors pay homage to Michael in his office. He now has bristly grey hair and a lined face, and controls his family and business with authoritarian power. The extravagant 30-minute sequence echoes Connie's wedding at the start of The Godfather, and the First Communion party in Lake Tahoe that began Godfather II. Michael's office even has the same light slanting through the blinds that we saw in his father's office in the first Godfather, when Marlon Brando as Vito Corleone received visitors. Throughout, these call backs to the previous films add resonance while trenchantly revealing how things have changed.  Michael is burdened by conscience in a way Vito never was. "I don't apologise," Vito tells Michael near the end of The Godfather, justifying his brutality because he was trying to save his family. Godfather III is all about Michael's need to atone.  

Al Pacino's performance may have become an object of derision, but he knows what he's doing.

The party scene flows easily as it brings every character up to date. Diane Keaton is as deft as ever as Michael's ex-wife Kay, who pleads with him to allow their son, Tony, to pursue a career as an opera singer. Kay can be chilling. "Tony knows that you killed Fredo," she warns Michael. Yet she has never got over him, as we see in a later scene when they have a tearful tête-à-tête in Sicily, a scene Pacino and Keaton make painfully real.

Connie, played with glorious sharpness and wit by Talia Shire, has morphed into Lady Macbeth. Mafia princesses can never run things, but they can pull the strings. It's Connie who ruthlessly tells Vincent, "You're the only one in this family with my father's strength. If anything happens to Michael I want you to strike back." She has asked the right person.

Vincent is central to many of the set pieces. During a meeting of Mafia heads in Atlantic City, when Michael announces he is out of the crime business, a helicopter approaches the window and shoots most of them dead. Vincent rushes Michael, the main target, to safety. The intrigue and rapid-fire violence in the perfectly orchestrated scene might obscure the real point: Michael can't escape his past. That attack causes his cry: "Just when I thought I was out..." Pacino's performance may have become an object of derision, but he knows what he's doing. He is raw and angrily over-the-top in some scenes, but modulates those outbursts with quieter moments. When a stress-induced diabetic attack sends him to the hospital, in his delusional state he calls out Fredo's name. Pacino shows us a conflicted Michael, weakened yet clinging to power.

The power of the re-edited finale

The tone becomes more ominous and the themes more spiritual when the entire family goes to Sicily for Tony's opera debut. (There are spoilers here, but the time limit on spoilers has expired after 30 years.) Michael grapples with the Sicilian Mafia, for reasons linked to the Immobiliare deal, but that is less important than his inner crisis. He makes a confession to a cardinal, breaking down in tears as he says, "I'm beyond redemption." When his protector, Don Tommasino, becomes another victim of Michael's power struggle, he sits by the coffin and says to God, "I swear on the lives of my children, give me a chance to redeem myself and I will sin no more." In this version, Coppola eliminates lines in which Michael asks why he is feared and not loved, removing that plea for the audience's sympathy. Michael gives Vincent control of the family, but does he really have a clear conscience when he knows too well the vengeance Vincent will plan?

The Trump era has been full of Godfather references; Trump himself regularly attacks CNN's Chris Cuomo by calling him Fredo.

That revenge plays out in the elaborate, gripping final sequence at the opera, a counterpart to one of the most famous episodes from The Godfather, when a baptism is intercut with a series of murders. That first sequence was about Michael's rise to power; now he suffers the consequences. While the family watches Tony on stage, Coppola weaves in scenes of Vincent's crew settling scores. One shoots an enemy who plummets off a beautiful spiral staircase. Another murders a rival by stabbing the man's own eyeglasses into his neck. At the opera, hitmen are after Michael, which leads to the shooting on the steps, and a bullet meant for him that kills Mary. For him there is no coming back from that, no possible way to forgive himself.  

As the film ends, Coppola makes a brilliant editing choice. The original ending flashed ahead years to the elderly Michael, sitting alone in a gravelly yard as the camera closes in on a face still full of desolation and sadness. He falls to the ground, obviously dead.  With a tiny cut, Coppola transforms the meaning of the scene. It now ends with the close-up of Michael's face, still alive. Living with his guilt is his true death, a death of the soul and of hope. Coppola adds text at the end, which says: “When the Sicilians wish you ‘Cent'anni’... it means ‘for long life’... and a Sicilian never forgets.” Michael is doomed to a long life of remembering.

Godfather, Coda restores Coppola's original darker vision, but one element creates a jolt even he couldn't have seen coming. The locations listed in the end credits include Trump Castle Casino Resort in Atlantic City, where the exterior of the helicopter attack was shot. The Trump era has been full of Godfather references. Some are from mainsteam media, including a 2018 Atlantic Magazine article with the headline Donald Trump Goes Full Fredo, comparing a Trump tweet saying that he is “like, really smart” to Fredo famously insisting in Godfather II, “I'm smart! Not like everybody says, like dumb, I'm smart!”  Similarly, Twitter trolls routinely mock the president's circle and his grown children as Fredos, portraying them as weak and bumbling like the character,  including pasting Donald Trump Jr’s head on a photo of Fredo's body.  Donald Trump himself regularly attacks CNN's Chris Cuomo by calling him Fredo. Godfather II even turned up in court documents charging Trump's advisor Roger Stone with obstructing justice, citing an email in which Stone asked someone to protect him the way Frankie Pentangeli covered up for the Corleones. Today the location credit lands like a coda to the end of the Trump presidency, and offers a reminder of how influential the Godfather films have been, even when they were embraced for all the wrong reasons.

Mario Puzo's The Godfather, Coda: The Death of Michael Corleone is available on BluRay and streaming from 8 December.

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https://www.bbc.com/culture/article/20201201-why-the-godfather-part-iii-has-been-unfairly-demonised

https://www.bbc.com/culture/article/20201201-david-fincher-hollywoods-most-disturbing-director

[bird-in-a-cage]

Hey, guess what, its a sequel that absolutely no one asked for but I’m forcing upon you anyway because I got really into this idea and one google search led to another and I needed to get this out of my brain!

Part one is here. Probably best to give it a read first so you know what the hell is going on. But, for everyone who has already done that here’s part two of California Dreamin’. Enjoy some spectrophilia!

Lucid

The adults only section of Family Video was always a hive of sleaze. Most of the time though, thankfully, it was empty. Steve could always tell when someone would first walk through the door if that was their intended destination or not. They would stop, check out other titles, pick up a case of two from the shelves and roll it over in their hands, very visibly debating with themselves, all the while slowly but surely making their way to the back corner where it was all hidden behind a thick beaded curtain to give the illusion of privacy. The reality was it was never private. There was a camera in the top corner, blinking red and bright. A deterrent.

That didn’t stop some people though.

Robin was on Twizzler duty again, now doing it everyday to piss Keith off, seeing how far she could push until he snapped but in her own way. A drop of water slowly breaking through a mountain. It was kind of fun really, to watch her loudly eat the red candy but not give any eye contact to him as he walked around the store every now and then, giving all her attention to a copy of The Turning of the Screw. It did mean Steve was on return box duty again though while they had their little silent war. Robin mouthed thank you as he went off to start, then went back to being as unbothered as ever.

Steve took the two cases that were left after he’d done the rest of the store and dipped through the thick beads. Thankfully today the room just smelt like hot plastic rather than suspect body odour. One side of the small room was horror movies deemed too graphic and violent to be put on public display. Video Nasties. Steve had rented a couple a few times, they weren’t all that scary or good, but then he was probably just biased to that situation, having dealt with real life monsters that wanted to eat him and kill everybody and take over the world. On the other side were pornos. 

Why anyone would publicly rent a porno tape he would never understand. Maybe some people just didn’t have an imagination. Watching one was just fine, no problems with that at all, and it was common practice for a dirty magazine or two to be passed around the locker room as a joke, but actually walking into a store with the intention of just renting a tape to jack off too? No, Steve couldn’t understand that. Probably because the shame of having to do it would burn him alive, but that was another matter. He slotted a case into a mid level shelf, a Terminator parody so wittily titled Penetrator, all these tapes had such awful names, when a case lower down started making its way out from the shelf. Steve rubbed over the pendant under his shirt, it was ice cold.

Of course he’d visit now.

With a grin he couldn’t hide even for a second, Steve nudged it back into place with his foot. Another title further up poked out. Mad Max: Beyond Thunderbone. Steve shoved it back home too.

“Cut it out,” he muttered low only so no one could hear him if anyone was close by. He was still grinning though, so much his cheeks started to burn a little. Another case slowly wiggled free and stuck out at eye level. For Your Ass Only. Steve bit his lip so he wouldn’t giggle and give the specter that followed him the satisfaction, pushing it back in place with two fingers. A final case at shoulder height was brought out into the light of day. Risky Jizzness.

“You wanna tell me why this looks like you pretty boy?” The voice floated around Steve’s head, deep and sultry. Billy was in one of those moods. Steve pushed it back into place and kept his almost whisper tone.

“Because my boyfriend is a ghost and I’ve gone completely insane so staring in a porno was the next logical step, obviously.” Steve felt a warmth envelop his chest, leaving his arms free to rearrange tapes and put the final one from the box back in its place. It was instantly comforting and a little tight. Easy to imagine Billy just stood behind him, holding him for real in the middle of his work day, resting his head on Steve’s shoulder and being a distraction from the monotony of stacking video tapes in alphabetical order.

“You should have mentioned that was your end goal, I’d have been more than happy to hold the camera.”

“Uh huh, sure, cause that’s all you would be holding.” He could feel Billy’s dirty grin burn his cheek, heat pressing and creeping up along his jaw like slow kisses.

“You know it baby.”

Steve still wasn’t sure on a lot of things about this, whatever this was. Whether anyone could hear what Billy was saying was a big point. He tended not to come out if there were other people around so it wasn’t as if Steve could test it. Even if he could he would look totally crazy, which he still wasn’t entirely convinced he wasn’t anymore. His mental state was one of those things he didn’t think about too hard. Like the Cold War, or being sucked back into dark, monster filled tunnels. Their presence was always there but it didn’t affect his day to day life so much. If anything, Billy following him around some days made Steve happier. More at peace. Of course it raised a lot of questions like why and how, and why and how again because there would definitely need to be several rounds of why and how before anything even started to make sense. 

Then there was the where. Billy didn’t think he was in hell, was pretty sure he wasn’t in heaven, and wasn’t entirely sold that he was in the middle place either. They spoke about it sometimes when Steve slept and was whisked away to either the quarry or the beach, wherever Billy wanted to be that night. Steve kind of liked the beach more, it was always bright but not hot, calm and tranquil. It felt almost like a little vacation away from Hawkins. They would always lie next to each other on brightly coloured beach towels. Steve had never seen Billy in the lime green board shorts he liked to wear on beach nights, but he certainly wasn’t complaining. Even if Steve was stuck wearing what he wore to sleep and looked ridiculous by comparison. There was never anyone else there to judge.

That was just another thing they hadn’t quite worked out yet. Turns out no one gives you an instruction manual when you die and become a spirit just floating around, stick in limbo. You kind of just have to figure things out yourself. Billy had worked out how to change his clothes and the landscape of where he pulled Steve too. He hadn’t yet worked out how he did that though.

“I just, think, and here we are.”

He’d worked out how to pick things up and put them down, push and pull and throw. Steve would sometimes leave objects on the kitchen counter for Billy to touch and move, getting such a thrill just seeing an empty Pepsi can be flipped onto its side and rolled away with a hollow clatter into the trash can on the other side of the room. Steve had suggested that maybe Billy was stuck until he found his purpose, but neither of them could think what that would be. Max was fine every time she came into the store to just hang around, get a break from the noise of the arcade next door, and let Robin suggest scary movies she should watch even though she wasn’t old enough to rent them yet. There was never a mark on her, which is what Billy was worried about but would never say out loud. He always pretended to be such an asshole and that he didn’t care, when he was blatantly obvious he did.

“Maybe you have to save a baby or something? You know, push a stroller out of the way of oncoming traffic?” Steve suggested while they were on the beach. Billy pushed himself up off his towel printed with lavender stripes onto his hands to look down. The sun was shimmering off his forever perfect body.

“This isn’t the 30s. And I’m pretty sure that only happened in silent movies,” he smiled like Steve was an idiot. An adorable idiot. His adorable idiot. Steve reached up to cup Billy’s jaw. That golden skin still felt numb under his fingers. They would need to work on that.

“Pretty sure that us being here right now means anything is possible.”

They’d both worked out that the pendant turning icy cold instead of just its regular cold meant Billy was close by instead of just in the general vicinity, still invisible sadly but his presence was there. Small steps. They were slowly piecing it together. It wasn’t as if either of them had any time limit on it all. But really, a manual would have been helpful. Even a small information pamphlet written in Chinese was better than the nothing they had.

---

Billy was still in that mood that night. Even as Steve’s clock ticked around to three am and he still couldn’t sleep. He lay on his stomach, staring at the hands move slow around the face. He wanted to sleep so badly, he could feel the gentle pull around his chest come see me, I miss you but no matter how hard he tried it just wasn’t happening. Maybe it was too warm out, the air too soupy to properly relax into sleep and drift away. The sheets were long kicked to his ankles. He could feel Billy getting restless. The pendant felt like it was frozen, trapped between his chest and the sheets. Steve tried one more time, squeezing his eyes shut and hoping to just be hypnotised by the soft monotonous tick tick tick. But five minutes later he was as awake as ever. He kept his eyes shut though. Wishful.  

The warmth left his chest and became more direct, felt like a hand stroking his back over his t-shirt, drifting up, rubbing the back of his neck and through his hair. Steve couldn’t help the small purr that gathered in his throat. He was a sucker for having his hair played with. By anyone. With permission obviously.

“I’m sorry Bill,” he mumbled into his pillow, head still turned towards the clock. “I’m trying...”

Steve didn’t get a response. He wasn’t really expecting one, sometimes Billy didn’t respond, couldn’t respond. It was just another thing they hadn’t worked out yet. In truth he wasn’t sure if his words were more for his spector boyfriend’s sake or his own. The hand pressed firmer. Steve easily imagined those tan fingers rubbing the little spot behind his ear. It definitely felt real enough to fool his brain that the other side of his bed wasn’t completely cold and empty. A gentle pull on his shoulder had Steve laying flat on his back, eyes still closed towards the ceiling.

“You’re making this harder you know…”

He felt heat on his cheek, across his jaw, over his lips. Kisses he couldn’t reciprocate no matter how much he wanted to. One hand became two, felt over his chest like they had done so many times before. Steve knew their pattern. What those blue eyes once liked to see. He chuckled and peeled his shirt off, tossing it to the floor.

“There. Happy now?”

Steve didn’t get a verbal response. Instead the touches became hotter, drifting over his skin with purpose, invisible fingers raking through his coarse chest hair, pressing and circling slow around his nipples. The heat left his face and worked its way down, across his now exposed collarbones one by one, his skin prickling as they crossed his body in two perfect lines. With his eyes closed it was so easy to imagine Billy was there. He kind of was. Steve moaned softly for him. One hand continued its way down, pressing over the waistband of Steve’s briefs. He chuckled again, putting his hand where he felt the pressure, slipping his fingers under the material, plucking them off his hip and circling towards his middle.

“You want these off too?” 

Steve giggled a little, feeling nibbles on his earlobe, the phantom hand rubbing slow and firm over his lower stomach, through his happy trail. The air felt thicker still as his body got excited from all the direct but indirect attention. Steve definitely felt like he was being watched. He kind of liked being watched like this. He kicked his briefs off into the bundle of sheets at the foot of the bed, already half hard. He pictured Billy’s smirk, his tongue poking out from between his teeth in approval and arousal. It made Steve grin in return to the empty room as he flopped his arms up above his head to touch the underside of the headboard, reminding him that this was real, he hadn’t drifted off to sleep quite yet.

That seemed to get Billy’s blessing. The kisses placed to the side of Steve’s neck were searing. It felt so real, felt like sucking and that wicked tongue lapping over his skin to make bright red marks everyone would see, high under Steve’s jaw. They caused his dick to kick. He groaned feeling a hand suddenly around it. Thick and strong, pumping up and down with little abandon. The friction was delicious. Impossibly so. He was soon completely hard, pointing up towards his stomach, the first few drops of pre hitting his skin. Everything felt so real. The kisses moved back to his lips, desperate and pressing and wanting. Steve opened his mouth and felt a tongue slide along his own, dragging out sounds from his throat that sounded alien even to him, as he kept getting stroked and played with like a toy. Hips bucking up into a memory of Billy’s hand, tight and firm, thumb pressing along an underside vein.

Then there was nothing. Steve panted in the dark, left teetering on the edge of almost there but not enough. But then there was pressure on his shoulders, hands hanging on, thumbs rubbing in circles where his collar bones ended. Steve gripped the headboard tighter before his cock was pressing into an ever familiar tightness he could never forget. Even with his eyes shut they still rolled into the back of his head, a groan escaping his lips before the tongue was back, capturing and swallowing his sounds of pleasure. His cock sunk further and further until there was nothing more to push into.

“Jesus…” Steve managed to get out somehow, voice ripped and cracking deep. “You gonna bounce for me baby?”

He could picture that grin, a deep flush high on those freckle covered cheeks, eyes dark with desire and want before the movement happened. Steve felt his brain just about stop. It had certainly stopped trying to make sense of what was happening to him. Billy bouncing on his lap was one of his most favourite things. The way his chest glistened with sweat, the way his stomach pulled tight, pushing his abs further on display, the way his hair would stick to his forehead, the way his athletic thighs would clamp around Steve’s hips. Even though he was taking Billy was still definitely the one in control.

Steve moved his hands from under the headboard, felt fingers lock between his own almost immediately as the drag on his cock got faster, more desperate, less rhythmic and far less precise. He started muttering things to space that’s it baby, just like that, keep going I’m so close, his head started swimming as the heat low in his gut started to pull tight and impending. Steve wanted to keep going though, keep feeling all of this for as long as possible. The hands heavy on his own. The scorching kisses over his cheek and neck and lips. The impossible warmth and tightness around his cock, dragging and pushing quicker and harder. To just keep picturing Billy’s strong hips working and rolling, his thick cock aching and desperate to be touched but keeping Steve pinned so it couldn’t be, pre pooling into his belly button.

Steve came over his stomach with a cry.

The kisses over his jaw were warm instead of hot as he panted hard, chest heaving and heart rapid, skin shiny with exertion. One hand holding his own was the only feeling that remained as his cock fell lip over his hip. An unmistakable smell of smoke suddenly filled the air after what would most definitely have been two clicks of a zippo with a homemade etching of a skull on the side. Steve couldn’t help but laugh tired and worn out.

“God you’re an asshole.”

Warm arms clamped on around Steve’s chest again, the gentle pull. Come see me, I miss you, I love you. Steve was just about tired enough this time to fall.

[darth-salem-emperor-of-earth]

Not to my surprise, I’m on the late side with my first entry for @naruto-fantasy-week​ but better late than never, as they say (let’s see if I can actually produce my six other planned fanfics for this event. XD). But I was dying to write a soulmate/soul bond AU and this prompt offered the chance to me on a silver platter. I had a lot of fun with this story and had to find a decent place to stop because my brain kept churning with ideas to make this oneshot even longer to the point I should save this concept for later and either explain on it with a sequel or a multi fic. I did a little editing but it was mainly looking out for typos, misspellings, or missing words. Hopefully, I got them all or most of the mistakes. Happy reading! <3

If anyone is curious, the title for this fanfic “Our Two Souls Destined to Be” are lyrics from the song “Until Eternity” by Blackbriar.

Summary: Soulmates, soul bonds, whatever you call them, they were deemed special. But not to Neji. It didn’t matter who he was bonded to, for the main family would never allow him to find his true soulmate. Naruto Fantasy Week, Day 1. Prompt: Soul Bonds. [Neji x Sakura]

Flashback

Thoughts

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

“He is half of my soul, as the poets say.”

― The Song of Achilles,  Madeline Miller

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

Every shinobi village treated soul bonds with care but they all had their own ways to manage how these destined people found each other. In Konoha, soul bonds were celebrated and considered a thing of beauty but the village leaders, even the Hokage himself, left the clans alone in their decision regarding the treatment of soulmates, even if it meant the clan heads would tear the soulmates apart for their own agenda. The Uchiha and Hyuga clans were particularly known for this, especially in the branch Hyuga family.

Neji was no stranger to how little of a chance the branch family would have in being allowed to meet and marry their soulmate. Unless their bond directed them to a civilian or another branch member, they were demanded to ignore such signs and tether themselves to the person of the main family’s choosing. His father had no such choice in the matter and neither would Neji. And he already knew what color eyes his soulmate would have.

Neji's father, Hyuga Hizashi, regarded him curiously when the four-year-old asked him what color the grass and leaves on the tree was. He glanced at the twisted tree decorated with bright green leaves and budding, light pink blossoms. He knew what that meant if his son couldn't see the color green and there was no Hyuga in the entire clan that possessed such an eye color. Neji was bonded to an outsider, as the main family would see it.

"How long haven't you been able to behold the color green?" Hizashi queried gently, sitting down beside him as Neji stared at the blades of grass strewn across his palms.

"Since I turned four and before oji put the Caged Bird Seal on me." Neji tilted his hands to the side, watching several bits of grass immediately fall back down to the ground while a few still stuck to his warm palms. "I don't want anyone but you know about my soul bond. I don't want Hiashi-oji finding out and deciding he needs to uncover and lock up my soulmate."

His father remained silent at this admission, not even wasting his breath to assure Neji, his uncle–Hizashi's older twin brother–would never do something so horrendous to prevent Neji from being happy with someone destined for him. Hiashi rarely permitted the branch Hyugas be with their soulmates, especially when the union threatened the main family. That was one reason why he kept Hizashi's soulmate hidden and out of sight–that and the fact she was in love with Hizashi, even though Hisana was Hiashi's intended when the bond was initially revealed. The two of them tried to elope together but were eventually caught by a squad main Hyuga jonins and then were subsequently dragged back to the main family's manor. Hiashi never forgave his brother for ‘stealing’ his bride and her love, and punished them both by making sure they never saw each other ever again. Hisana's new home became her prison, living in exile in her own estates while Hizashi had to sneak around to smuggle in her gifts and letters to keep their spirits and hope alive.

As if remembering the painful memory, Neji's father gazed forlornly back at the tall, imposing stone walls that barred Hisana from her true freedom. His jaw locked in a tight grimace. "Not this time, Neji."

Neji jerked his head up in surprise. "Chichi?"

His father looked back at him, a grim yet resolute gleam in his light eyes. "You will find your soulmate, Neji. You deserve happiness with your soul bond and I'll fight with every fiber in my being to grant you that opportunity, even if it kills me."

Not too long after that private conversation between, his father was gone. Murdered by the main family, even though the official claim was he died at the hands of an assassin trying to kill Hiashi and abduct Hinata. Neji doubted the genuineness of that story, for that tale was a mere cover-up to shield their sordid crimes from the village. They didn't even announce which enemy village attempted to kidnap their precious clan heir, claiming they didn't want to start a political quagmire.

The main family were always crafty, elegant liars.

Neji's pale lavender eyes blankly stared at the trees of the village, their leaves vibrant to everyone else but him. To him, they were a lightly toned grey hue. And if his uncle had anything to say about it, the color green would remain elusive to him forever.

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

When Sakura received her soul bond mark, she didn’t tell her parents.

The symbol was a family crest, no doubt, one she was not familiar with but it burned itself along her neck, right above her collarbone. She stuffed her mouth with a pillow to muffle her screaming, utterly relieved that her parents were outside, enjoying the warm weather, and couldn’t hear her agonized noises. Then the scalding throbbing stopped and she frantically looked in the mirror to see an upside triangle with a curve up top, encompassing a small, thick swirling cloud. Transfixed, Sakura hesitantly reached out to trace the emblem, the marking smooth like ink instead of an iron hot brand. She had never seen this sigil before but then again, she came from a civilian upbringing and was unaware of the many important shinobi clans Konoha boasted to have among their ranks. She needed to learn more about the other important, non-civilian families in her village, especially since she already joined the Academy to become a kunoichi.

Checking out a record scroll listing all the known shinobi clans, both existing and defunct, was an easy task at the local library. Sakura spent her afternoon reading every name and analyzing their emblems to see if they matched the sketched replica she made earlier of her soul bond mark. The clan names were listed alphabetically and she was rather shocked to see how many ninja houses, both great and lesser, there were in the world. By the time she reached the ‘F’ section, her stomach grumbled and she had to take a break for lunch, the scroll tucked securely underneath her armpit.

About an hour and a half later, Sakura stared in shock at the perfectly inked Hyuga family crest in the scroll’s documentation, the elaborate sigil identical to the soul bond mark on her neck. Instinctively, she reached out to touch the spot, wondering what this could mean for her. There were stories and known instances of people from differing clans, both ninja and civilian, being tethered together through the soul but this was the Hyuga clan, one of Konoha’s greatest and prominent shinobi family since the founding years. How could her, a budding kunoichi-in-training (and a civilian as well), be bonded to a Hyuga?

Setting the scroll aside, Sakura finished the remnants of her lunch in a melancholic mood, frantically debating if she should finally tell her parents about her finally being bonded to another soul or remain mum on the matter. Memories of her parents’ reluctance, almost near protest, to her decision to become a shinobi of the Leaf, crept back in her mind and she cringed. If her parents still hadn’t warmed up to the idea of her being kunoichi one day and kept waiting for her to quit, then how would they come to terms that her soul mate came from one of the most prodigious clans known to shinobi?

No, she was better off not telling them the truth about her soul bond. The less her parents knew, the better.

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

Due to the shifting, tense conflicts with the other villages, the Hokage decided to pass a mandate that allowed certain classes of genin to graduate a year early. Neji and his fellow classmates were already on their way to gradate but the genin who were all year younger had the chance to pass the Academy and be allotted their own genin team and teacher.

Neji barely cared who they assigned as his teammates when he graduated.

All it mattered he was in the top of his class, his success and herald as a prodigy flying straight in the face of his uncle and the claim that branch members could never rise higher than the main family. He wished he was there to witness the look on Hiashi’s visage when he realized his nephew showed far more promise as a ninja than his precious heir.

Pale lavender eyes surveyed his classmates, observing their reactions rather than their eyes. He once searched for the color in their eyes, hoping to find that missing hue. There was one classmate who supposedly possessed such an eye color but nothing happened between them and the hue remained elusive to him. Of course finding his soul bond wouldn’t be so easy.

“Hello, Neji-san!” greeted one of his teammates, Lee, in a far too cheery tone. “I look forward to working with you on the many missions to come!” Neji’s other teammate, Tenten, sighed, shaking her head.

“Lee, don’t bother Neji-san.”

The said man blinked. “I wasn’t! I was simply introducing myself to him! We’re teammates, after all, so shouldn’t we get to know one another?”

I could care less.

Without saying anything, Neji stood from his desk and removed himself from the room, leaving behind a bewildered Lee and Tenten exclaiming, ‘See? I told you so!’

He didn’t know why the sight of Lee or his over-enthusism grated him so. Maybe he didn’t like overly friendly or cheerful people or maybe it was because it was well known his two teammates already found their soulmates and their bonds lead to each other. Regardless, he had to get out of this damned academy.

“Forehead Girl, I can’t believe you ended up on the same team as Sasuke-kun! I don’t know why you aren’t as excited as me about this!”

“Ino, please! Keep your voice down! I don’t think the entire village learned about who my new teammate is.” scolded a second voice. Soon enough, two girls rounded around the corner, one blonde, the other sporting brilliant pink hair. The second voice belonged to the pinkette.

Neji stopped, his eyebrows furrowing. He had heard about some other shinobi-in-trainees from other classes (like Uchiha Sasuke and other clan members) before but nothing as odd as a kunoichi with pink hair. She must be decent enough to be paired with Sasuke in their three man squad.

The blonde–Ino–shook her head, throwing her arms up in exasperation. “Well, Sakura, if you’re not going to take advantage of being teammates with Sasuke and cozying up to him, then maybe I should come around and visit you guys while you train.”

Sakura snickered. “Sure, but I can’t guarantee he’ll notice you, Ino Pig.” She looked away from her friend and in that instant, her gaze crossed with Neji’s.

And the color green, so brilliant and lustrous, exploded in his vision.

He gasped unwontedly, reeling from the shock of such a vivid arrival, and couldn’t take his eyes off the girl who the universe bonded himself too. She was staring at him too, one hand clutching her neck and shoulder. Their eye contact never broke, even if her face was locked in pain, like she was burning upside. Their bodies remained frozen, partially out of fear that this was all just a dream and the other would disappear the moment they moved. The other reason, Neji, suspected, as he adjusted to seeing green for the first time while his soulmate controlled her ragged breathing, was they didn’t know how to proceed next. Despite the common occurrences of soul bonds, there really wasn’t a textbook example in how to meet your intended soulmate. At least, one that wasn’t a mere marketing ploy to garner a quick yen or two.

Neji opened his mouth, but the girl–Sakura was her name, he recalled–beat him to it.

“It’s you,” she breathed out in wonder. She took a small step forward, those beautiful, dazzling jade eyes wide and curious. He couldn’t recall the last time someone looked at him that way–or at least, not with utter loathing or total indifference.

“I am Hyuga Neji,” he found himself replying, unsure what else to say to her. There was no need to confirm they were each other’s soulmates, the intense exchange between them upon their first encounter was enough proof.

He was still processing how he should now approach this matter when Sakura let out a victorious squeal and launched herself at him, catching him off guard long enough to trap him in a tight but warm, welcoming hug. He stiffened. Soulmate or no, she was a kunoichi and shouldn't resort to such childish behaviors—

“I found you. I finally found you.” Her face was pressed up against his chest, almost nuzzling his neck so he felt her breath tickle his skin. The sensation felt pleasing, much to his surprise. “After all these years of searching and waiting...you’re here. Just like that.” And then Sakura just had to tilt her head up and peer up at him with those beguiling eyes, their green depths pulling him in. Bonded adults who found their other soul always talked about the strength of that instant connection you experienced when you first meet your soulmate yet Neji never esteemed the soul bond would be this powerful, this intoxicating. Maybe that was why Sakura felt compelled to run up and embrace him full-heartedly.

Into those green irises he gazed on, finding his voice at last when she released him from the enfoldment. “Here I am. We are soulmates, Sakura.” He tested the words out. New as they were on his tongue they still seemed right. “And as my soulmate, I will protect you.”

His father once stormed and braved all the shinobi of the main family to set his soulmate, his beloved Hisana, free from her gilded cage and allow her to seize her own life by the reins. Even though their love story turned into a tragedy, Neji wanted to honor them and at least take the chance at life with his soulmate. It was what his father would have wanted.

Sakura blushed, no doubt thinking he was referring to enemy villages but in truth, his uncle was the main foe on his mind. Neji would have said more if it wasn’t for Sakura’s friend, the one nicknamed ‘Ino Pig’, had to barge and interrupt their precious moment quite boisterously to remind them of her presence.

“SAKURA, WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL ME YOUR SOULMATE WAS A HYUGA?!”  

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

The minute people started poking their heads outside of classrooms or followed the sound of her friend’s voice, Sakura seized the opportunity to grab Neji by the hand and get them both out of the Academy and to one of the training grounds for more privacy. She felt bad for not giving him any warning as she tugged him along, her feet picking up a quick sprint to avoid their classmates’ prying eyes and nosy attention. For the first day with her soulmate, Sakura didn’t want anyone else butting in and spoiling their moment. Judging how willingly Neji allowed her to drag him away from the building without warning, he harbored similar sentiments. He didn’t complain once about her sudden actions and kept up with her pace with ease. Sakura had a sneaky suspicion Neji was faster than she was and like most Hyugas, excelled in taijutsu.

Maybe we could train together some time and he could teach me how to improve my taijutsu? Iruka-sensei keeps saying I’m doing fine but never tells me exactly which areas I can improve in.

“Finally, some peace and quiet, and more importantly, privacy!” she declared out loud, even though she glanced around them one more time to make sure Ino didn’t try to follow them. Then again, she probably was telling anyone who’d listened about the soulmate meeting she just witnessed between her best friend and Hyuga Neji. And knowing Ino, she’d probably over embellish certain parts for dramatic or romantic value. Sakura’s cheeks flushed at the mere thought of how...descriptive her childhood companion could be.

“For how long? Sooner or later, our teammates are going to catch wind of our disappearance and scour the Academy in search of us.” Neji pointed out, crossing his arms, his back against a tree trunk.

Sakura resisted the urge to chew her bottom lip, knowing while Sasuke wouldn’t care where she had gone but Naruto would heatedly clamor for her whereabouts and butt into her and Neji’s personal conversation, demanding to know what was going on. While Naruto wasn’t nosy like Ino, he definitely lacked tact and perception, especially in the more delicate or sensitive matters.

“Maybe ten minutes or so, if we’re lucky,” she estimated, silently praying to Kami that her teammates were far away and wouldn’t come along to muck up her very first meeting with her soulmate. “Not a lot of time to talk but we can still try to get to know each other a little bit before we have to go back to our teams.”

Neji nodded. That seemed reasonable enough. “What do you want to know? My skills as a shinobi?”

Heat flared up on Sakura’s cheeks and she wished that practical matter was her first thought. “Well, that too. I was thinking about asking questions more on the line on what we like or dislike, favorite foods, what’s your favorite color--you know, fun little facts to learn about each other.”

Neji couldn’t remember someone asking him such mundane queries or expressing an interest in him outside of the Academy or shinobi lifestyle. He wasn’t sure if he should find the whole point such discussions pointless or refreshing. Albeit he had to admit, he was curious to learn more about Sakura. Despite his grim resignation of the main family preventing him from ever discovering the end of his soul bond, he had often wondered late in the night before going to sleep what his soulmate would be like. Would they be a shinobi like him or a civilian? Were they from a clan or have no distinct, esteemed connections of their own? And would his soulmate even be a denizen of Konoha? At least now he will finally have some answers to the questions his younger self frequently contemplated about.

“Why do you go first, Sakura?” he offered politely. She seemed to know what questions she wanted to ask him anyway.

She nearly bounced in her feet. “Okay! Let’s start with your favorite food and color. Oh, and your least favorite food!”

That was straightforward enough. “Herring soba. I hate the flavor of pumpkin and any spicy foods. As for my favorite color…” He paused, realizing he never truly thought about it until now. Sakura’s brilliant verdant eyes snare his focus again, subtly offering him an option. Her eyes were a pretty shade after all. Perhaps fate had an answer for him after all. “Let’s go with green. Now that I can see it, I don’t think I can get enough of it.”

Sakura’s jaw dropped open. “You couldn’t see the color green for years?!” She had heard that each soul bond was different, that soulmates weren’t necessarily marked the same way but to never behold the color belonging to your soulmate’s eyes until you two finally met (if the union ever betided) seemed like such a huge sacrifice to endure and wait for its end.

Neji shrugged with indifference, knowing Sakura meant well but until today, he was used to not gleaning the color green and all its various shades. Now, he couldn’t unsee the hue and that was perfectly fine with him. “It doesn’t matter now. I fathomed if I had the chance to meet my soulmate, they’d be worth the wait.” His lavender pearl eyes leveled with her jade ones. “And I was right.”

Sakura sucked her breath in, trying her utmost best to remain calm and collected while inside, she was squealing with glee. While she had always been excited at the prospect of one day finding the match to her soul bond, deep down she was nervous, frightened even, that she would be rejected because she  wasn’t good enough, that she didn’t come from a noble or prestigious ninja clan or carried a formidable bloodline in her veins. She was a simple civilian girl who aspired to be a strong kuniochi one day, regardless of all the taunts and abuse the younger girls heaped on her in the early days of the Academy. And Hyuga Neji, her soul bond, seemed to have no issue with her civilian-like background. It was enough to have her heart fluttering all over again.

“T-Thank you,” she managed to say without blushing as crimson as her cheongsam but was unable to stop a grin from overtaking her lips. Neji’s smirk at her reaction was hardly inscrutable now, even as she quickly changed the subject back to her earlier inquiries. “My favorite color is red, as you might have guessed, and I have several favorite foods: anko dumplings, umeboshi, and, oh, anmitsu! But I can’t stand spicy food either. I just don’t understand how people can enjoy burning their tastes buds.” Sakura made a contemptuous face, remembering the last time she tried an overly spicy and seasoned dish. She had to gulp down an entire glass of milk to stop the fire from spreading along her tongue. That was when she learned water didn’t alleviate the fiery discomfort at all. 

“I don’t understand it either,” Neji agreed, granting her a sympathetic look. He had to admit, learning such trivial pieces of information about his soulmate was rather fun. These small talks helped him understand Sakura a little bit better, especially if they seemed to be so unalike in various ways. He was about to propose a question of his own when he sensed very faint but approaching chakra signatures heading towards his and Sakura’s covert location. Instinctively, he activated his Byakugan. He did not fail to notice the way Sakura’s eyes widened with surprise or the expression of awe and wonder flashing across her features as she witnessed his kekkei genkai in action for the very first time.

“What is it? Who’s trying to locate us?” She kept her tone hushed, preventing her voice from echoing over the tall, shrouded trees they used as refuge from curious onlookers.

“Two senseis,” Neji groused, thoroughly displeased with this interruption. If the intruders were fellow classmates, they could have easily been shooed away. “Looks like we’re found out.” His gaze returned to normal.

Sakura sighed exasperatedly, dejected by these turn of events and crossed her arms irately. She had hoped her and Neji would have more time together and no one would notice their absence until much later. “We already have graduated and yet, they still want to lecture us on something we won’t remember or care about now that we’re genin and can finally go on missions.”

“Just ignored them,” Neji advised, a shadow of a smirk gracing his lips. “It’s only for today. And after that, the Academy will be a thing of the past.”

Sakura brightened at his words, standing up tall. “That’s right! And we can have more time to see each other! Do you think you’ll be free tomorrow?”

“I should be, if my new sensei doesn’t keep us training for the whole day. I’ll come find you after practice. What’s the number they assigned your team?”

“Seven. What about you?”

“Thirteen.”

“There you two are!”

In a sudden swirl of smoke, stood two Academy teachers, both eyeing their respective student from their classroom. One of them was Neji’s teacher, who merely cut him a disapproved frown while the other teacher, who was tan and supported a long scar across his nose, smiled worriedly at Sakura.

“Iruka-sensei, you shouldn’t pop in on us like that! Neji and I were having a private conversation!” Sakura protested indignantly.

Iruka almost appeared apologetic the way he shot her an empathetic glance, his smile unwavering, before addressing them both. “I’m sorry to cut this moment short, but you two need to go with your genin team and meet your new sensei. I’m sure the two of you have plenty of time later talk to each other.” He then winked knowingly, now wearing an absurdly goofy grin while ushering both a stoic Neji and an irked Sakura out of the canopy of trees and back to the Academy. Before they parted to be formally introduced to their shinobi squad, Sakura gave him an eager wave, her eyes alight with the promise of them meeting up tomorrow. Even though he only knew her company for such a brief time, he did enjoy the way she beamed at him like that, rife with hope and supreme joy, as if they were the only two people in the world and nothing else mattered. Neji was beginning to understand the inexplicable bliss of having a soul bond much better now. And he had Sakura to thank for that.  

Feeling lighthearted for the first time in years, Neji glanced hopefully at the doors to the Academy and the cherry blossoms trees that framed the grounds around the building. He wondered if Sakura liked cherry blossoms or she preferred other flora in Konoha.

Next time they talked, he’ll have to ask her what her favorite flowers were.

[blightarts]

Blades of Order & Chaos

Chapter Title: 8 - Rival

Previous Chapter: Lion VS Bear

Word Count: 5239

Disclaimer: All rights belong to Pixelberry. This is my version for the upcoming sequel of Blades of Light & Shadow. I am not claiming this to be the canon story of the book. This is only written to increase the hype for the actual sequel.

MC/Pairing: Kite (Blue Elf Male MC) / Kite x Nia

Taglist: @princessstellaris​ @mechaspirit​ @brightningstar​ @cal-north​ @lxdy-starfury​ @tyrils-star​ @imturaxamara​ @kelseaaa​

In the middle of the Vishanti Kingdom market square, Kade comes face to face with the former prince of Morella, Aerin Valleros. While Threep glares along with Kade, Kite and Bella are left confused.

Kite: Kade, is this person a danger to us?

Aerin scoffs.

Aerin: I’m hurt, Kite. After a year of not seeing each other, you’ve forgotten all about me?

Kade: Kite lost his memories.

The prince raises his eyebrow.

Aerin: Oh? That’s quite unfortunate.

Bella steps up.

Bella: Hold on. Is there some romantic tension that I’m not gettin’ here?

Threep: This young man is Aerin Valleros, prince of Morella, who betrayed his people and aided the Shadow Court in their return.

Bella tenses up upon hearing the words, “Shadow Court”, but composes herself before walking up to Aerin and grabbing his collar.

Bella: So, this li’l fella is a problem to you guys then? Should we throw him off the mountain?

Aerin chuckles and sarcastically raises his hands in defeat.

Aerin: Easy, easy. I’m not even showing any hostility towards any of you… yet.

Kade: What are you doing here? How’d you even survive the Empire’s attack on Whitetower, let alone escaped your prison cell? Did they let you out and got you a spot in their ranks?

Aerin: What’s in it for me if I tell you?

Bella: We don’t let gravity decide your fate.

Aerin rolls his eyes and shrugs.

Aerin: Alright, fair enough.

Bella lets go of Aerin as he dusts himself off.

Aerin: A year ago, after you lot had your first encounter with that coward, Laundsellyn, he took me from my cell and dragged me into the Shadow Realm.

The prince then turns around for a stroll, signaling the party to follow him.

Aerin: After that, I thought I was done serving jail time, but no, they threw me into another cell for my failures in defeating you.

Kade: Well, it serves you right for joining the wrong side.

Aerin ignores Kade’s rude comment.

Aerin: I stayed in that cell for about three months and during that time, I’ve heard from one of the Shadow Guards that once served under me, mocking me and laughing about the news that Laundsellyn killed my father.

Kite notices Aerin clenching his fists in anger.

Aerin: Upon hearing my father’s name, visions began to clutter my mind, visions of the past that I cannot even recall, visions of me… and my brother, Baldur… actually getting along during our childhood…

Threep: I thought you two were at odds with each other until you plunged the Blade of Shadows unto him.

Aerin: That’s what I thought as well. For years, I believed that my brother had always been a condescending jerk who treats people who are beneath him as insects. But no, my memories proved that to be wrong as when we were young, he offered me to be his right-hand man, his closest advisor once he becomes king.

Kade: So, what you’re saying is that the Dreadlord somehow manipulated your memories, as well as Baldur’s in order to tear yourselves apart and use one of you as a puppet?

As the party nears the kingdom’s gates, Aerin stops walking.

Aerin: I don’t know. That’s what I intend to find out.

The prince moves forward once more.

Aerin: I spent my three months in solitary, recalling my memories and struggling from countless headaches, but I could not make any progress whatsoever. And then… he came along, Ignis…

Shivers run up everyone’s spines while Aerin clutches his chest.

Aerin: He visited my cell and “offered” me to join his ranks in exchange for my freedom.

Kade: Well, seeing you here right now means that you’ve obviously said yes.

Aerin turns to Kade with rage.

Aerin: I was not even able to give an answer!

Kade flinches as Kite gets between him and Aerin. Citizens begin to stare at the party.

Aerin: I was dragged out of my cell before that accursed devil casted a spell…

Aerin then tears open his shirt, revealing a Nerada Stone still etched onto its chest while small purple sparks surge through it.

Aerin: …on this damned thing, making sure that I get in line and follow the orders of the elf that killed my father, else I get electrocuted to death!

The prince then grips his hair as he starts to lose it.

Aerin: After that I was worked to the bone, slaughtering innocent people who refused to bend to the Empire and conquering peaceful lands across Morella, all while suffering from the headaches caused by those visions and the shocking pain that this stupid stone keeps bringing unto me!

Aerin then grabs Kite by the collar. Bella grabs onto one of Aerin’s arms.

Bella: Hey! No bright ideas, royal boy!

Aerin: How do you even live while you’re suffering like this, Kite?! After everything you’ve been through, being betrayed, being separated from those you love, being beaten to a pulp, and having your memories lost! How are you still moving forward?!

Kite is speechless while Aerin keeps rambling in tears.

Aerin: I’ve thrown it all away… I’ve surrendered myself to darkness… I’ve betrayed the people who once saw me as their friend… I’ve let my own father die under the hands of the elf I now work for… I’ve killed my own brother all because a dark entity severed our bonds and manipulated our memories…

Threep leans in on Kite’s ears and whispers.

Threep: We should leave quickly. Everyone has their eyes on us.

Aerin: The nesper is right.

Aerin sniffs and wipes his tears before letting Kite go.

Aerin: This should not be settled by just words.

He turns away.

Aerin: Meet me outside of town.

Aerin then walks off while buttoning up his shirt. The crowd avert their eyes from the group as the tension dies down.

Bella: Jeez, that was one helluva ride.

Kade: We can’t let him get away.

Threep: I believe that he wants to settle things with Kite through combat.

Kite watches as Aerin disappears into the crowd.

Kite: I’ll do it.

The party look at Kite with surprise.

Kade: What?! You do know it’s a trap!

Bella: Yeah, he’s with the bad guys, whether he likes it or not.

Kite: I don’t care. I can tell from how Aerin looked at me earlier. It’s like… he’s asking someone to save him.

Kite runs ahead to chase after Aerin while the party hesitates for a second before following suit. Threep gets on Kite’s shoulder.

Threep: I hope you know what you’re doing.

Kite: I am. You guys have to trust me.

Minutes later, in the outskirts of the Vishanti Kingdom, Aerin sits on the snow, gazing at the sky. His head begins to pain as a vision flashes in his eyes.

Aerin: Tch! Not again!

In his vision, he sees his young self being bullied by three kids in the town square of Whitetower.

Bully 1: Go back to your lush life in the castle, Valleros!

Bully 2: Yeah, no one wants you here!

Bully 3: Weakling!

Suddenly, Baldur appears, pushing the bullies away, and gets in between them and Aerin while holding a stick.

Baldur: Hey! Get away from my brother! He may be not as strong as any of us here, but he is sure as heck smarter than the three of you combined!

The bullies approach Baldur, cracking their knuckles.

Bully 1: Now, you’re asking for it, Baldur.

Baldur turns to Aerin.

Past Baldur: Stand up, Aerin. We can take them on together.

Past Aerin: O-Okay…

Aerin stands up and shyly raises his hands in self-defense.

The vision fast-forwards, minutes after the two brothers faced off against the bullies. They have a few bruises scattered around them, but they were victorious in the fight. Baldur is giving Aerin a piggyback ride.

Past Baldur: Good job handling yourself out there.

Past Aerin: You did most of the work…

Past Baldur: Nonsense. It was smart of you to poke their eyes, giving me time to whoop their butts. I’m proud of you.

Baldur grins while Aerin becomes flustered.

Past Aerin: T-Thank you…

The vision ends as Aerin is snapped back to reality and his headache fades away.

Aerin: How…? Where did it all go wrong…?

The prince turns around to see Kite and his friends standing behind him.

Aerin: You’re here.

He stands up and cracks his knuckles.

Kite: I’m guessing you wanna settle this in a fight?

Aerin: Yeah. Once I defeat you, the Hero chosen to defeat the Empire, right here, I will go back to Shadow Realm and claim vengeance!

Aerin puts his hand forward, materializing a polearm surging with Shadow magic. Kade grits his teeth.

Kade: A new weapon from Ignis, I presume?

Aerin: More or less. It’s called the Blackcliff Polearm.

Kade, Bella and Threep steps back.

Kade: Is it really okay for us to let this fight happen while not worrying about an avalanche?

Bella: It’s alright. The Vishanti placed wards around the mountain to prevent avalanches from occurring, guaranteeing the safety of their kingdom.

Threep: That’s a relief.

Kite unsheathes the Mirror Claymore, piquing the interest of Aerin.

Aerin: So, that’s the Mirror Claymore of the Vishanti. Quite the Sacred Treasure.

Aerin begins the fight by charging towards Kite and performs a few swings and thrusts with the Blackcliff Polearm, but the latter uses his elven senses to avoid all of them.

Aerin: Tch! Alright, how about this?!

Aerin leaps up and attempts to plunge the polearm on Kite, but again, the latter hops back, evading the attack.

Aerin: Got you now!

Aerin lets go of the polearm while it is planted on the ground before kicking it.

The polearm spins vertically towards Kite who blocks it with the Mirror Claymore.

Kite: Damn!

As the polearm begins to slow down in spinning, Aerin suddenly lunges forward and grabs it, surprising Kite.

Kite: What the—

Aerin then uses Shadow magic, transforming himself into a purple bolt of lightning, before traveling upwards. Kite and the party look up in awe.

Kade: What the hell is that?!

Threep: He has become stronger since we last saw him!

Three duplicates of the Blackcliff polearm rain down from the sky and plant themselves around Kite. Sparks then begin to appear on their tips. Kite attempts to block the incoming attack with the Mirror Claymore, but Aerin proves to be quicker as his lightning form comes crashing down onto the duplicate polearms acting as lightning rods. Kite gets electrocuted and hurled from the point of the attack, where Aerin is seen crouching down and holding his weapon, plunged onto the ground.

Bella: Sheesh, remind me not to mess with him when he’s this worked up.

Kite gets up while still recovering from Aerin’s attack. The prince stands up and pulls out his weapon from the ground, boasting about his successful attack.

Aerin: How was that?!

Kite: Tch! Not bad.

Kite gets up and dusts off his shoulder.

Kade: Wait, why was the Mirror Claymore not able to absorb the magic attack?

Threep: I believe that Kite was expecting Aerin to strike from above, even though there were duplicates of the polearm around him. However, when Aerin dropped and struck Kite’s guard, it wasn’t a magical attack, it was instead a physical attack. So, it didn’t count to the magic absorption power of the Claymore.

Bella: Then what caused the electric surge?

Threep: Electricity ran from the tip of Aerin’s weapon towards its duplicates while avoiding the Mirror Claymore, overloading them with magical energy to the point where they would explode.

Kade: That was… actually clever.

Bella: He managed to bypass the insane power of the Mirror Claymore.

Aerin rushes towards Kite once more, but the latter stays composed.

Kite: Aerin, you’re not the only one that has grown.

Kite raises the Mirror Claymore and slams it on the ground in front of him, scattering the snow and obscuring himself from Aerin’s sights. The elf then quickly casts a spell.

Kite: Chaos Magic: Moonlight Circle – Mirror Mirage.

Aerin: You can’t hide from me!

Aerin slashes the thin snow wall between him and Kite in half. As the snow parts, the prince comes face to face with multiple duplicates of his opponent, each holding the Bow of Gal’dariel in hand.

Aerin: Wha—

Kade: He used Mirror Mirage!

Threep: An excellent strategy. This should buy the real Kite some time to strike back.

Aerin stops in his tracks.

Aerin: So, this is the spell you used to escape the clutches of the Empire.

Kite and his duplicates draw their bows and arrows while aiming at Aerin.

Aerin: I know that most of those arrows are not real, but one of them can still pierce my body.

The arrows are let loose as they fly towards their target.

Aerin: So, as long as I find the real you…

Aerin does a forward flip, avoiding all the arrows, before slamming his polearm on the ground, unleashing arcs of lightning towards Kite and his duplicates. The arcs pierce through each duplicate as, one by one, they fade from existence, however, as the last duplicate fades away, the real Kite is nowhere to be seen.

Aerin: What?! Then… where is he?!

Aerin looks around, searching for the real Kite, when suddenly, the snow beneath him begins to move. He looks down.

Aerin: Can it be…?

Kite leaps up from under the snow, equipping the Gauntlet of Pain, and sucker punches Aerin, launching him far away.

Bella: Oof, that’s gotta hurt!

Aerin gets on his feet and wipes off the blood, dripping from his lips.

Aerin: But still not enough to make me concede.

He rushes to Kite, who unsheathes the Mirror Claymore.

Aerin: I will...!

Kite swings the Claymore like a baseball bat, but Aerin leaps to avoid it, ready to plunge his polearm.

Kite: Damn!

Aerin: …surpass you!!

Kite swiftly grabs the sharp end of the polearm using the Gauntlet of Pain, stopping Aerin’s attack, before hurling it behind him. Aerin ends up plunging his weapon on the snow.

Aerin: Tch!

He flips away, giving himself some distance from Kite. The two stare down at each other, waiting to strike.

Aerin: Why don’t we both bring out everything we’ve got?

Kite deeply inhales before casting Lion’s Pride, raising his physical attributes. Meanwhile, Aerin channels his Shadow magic, causing purple electricity to surge throughout his body, increasing his speed and agility. Bella steps in front of Kade and Threep.

Bella: We gotta stay back. When their attacks clash, it could be dangerous for us.

The party steps back a few feet and as soon as they did, Kite and Aerin charge at each other. They both swing their weapons, causing a strong shockwave upon collision. The two keep clashing, trading minimal blows and parrying each other’s attacks. While Aerin has the speed to strike before Kite could defend himself, the latter has enough endurance to not flinch from the attack and strike back.

Aerin leaps up, transforming into a bolt of purple lightning once more. This time, more than three duplicates of his polearm drop from the sky and surround Kite.

Kite: Tch!

Kite hops back, trying to get out of the field of polearms, but Aerin quickly descends from the sky, releasing magical energy to the polearms, causing them to burst with electricity before Kite could escape the area of effect.

Aerin: I’m impressed that you were able to survive that.

The light from the electrical surge fades, revealing Kite shielding himself with the Mirror Claymore as it is filled with magical energy that came from Aerin’s attack. However, the elf is left with burns across his body.

Kade: Kite!

Unconcerned with his own well-being, Kite swings his weapon, unleashing a magical projectile, shaped like a crescent and filled with Shadow Magic, towards Aerin.

Bella: Again, with that recklessness. Has he always been like this?

Threep: Sadly, yes, but it’s what got him this far.

Aerin imbues his polearm with Shadow Magic and uses it to cut the crescent in half, avoiding the attack, but as the crescent parts, Kite comes up right in front of Aerin, catching him by surprise.

Aerin: When did you…?!

Aerin then notices Kite conjuring a ball of Cleansing Fire from his hand. Kite swings his hand down, attempting to slam the fireball onto Aerin’s head, but the latter leaps back, evading the attack.

Aerin: It takes a lot more than a ball of fire to knock me down, Kite.

Kite looks at Aerin with a smirk.

Kite; What makes you think that it was going for you?

Aerin: Huh?

Kite slams the fireball onto the Mirror Claymore as it absorbs the magical energy, imbuing it with flames. He then charges forward while Aerin is still in mid-air, in the midst of avoiding the fireball.

Aerin’s Thoughts: Shit! I can’t dodge it! I have to block it!

Aerin holds his polearm up to block the incoming attack, but…

CLANG!!

…Kite disarms Aerin and sends the Blackcliff Polearm flying through the air, startling the latter.

Aerin: No!

The party starts cheering.

Kade: He did it!

Threep: Kite has the advantage now!

Bella: Nice!

As Aerin lands on the snow, Kite kicks his leg, forcing him to kneel in pain.

Aerin: Aah!!

Kite: Aerin… if you let only your emotions fuel your false resolve…

The elf then pulls his weapon back, ready to swing it.

Kite: …then you do not deserve to win this fight.

Aerin stares in disbelief before slowly lowering his head in defeat, accepting his demise.

Kade: Wait… is he gonna…?

Kite grips the hilt of the Mirror Claymore tight before swinging rapidly, aiming for Aerin’s neck, as if he’s trying to behead him.

Threep: Kite!

Fortunately, Kite stops short, with the blade of the Mirror Claymore almost touching Aerin’s neck. The prince’s heart momentarily pauses as he just looks at Kite, with an expression of pity on his face.

Aerin: W… Why’d you stop…?

Kite sheathes the Mirror Claymore before turning away and rejoining his friends. Aerin grits his teeth and stands in anger.

Aerin: Hey! Don’t walk away from me, Kite! Why didn’t you kill me?!

Kite stops in his tracks.

Kite: Because I cannot kill a man who is just asking for a death wish.

Aerin: What do you mean…?

Kite turns to Aerin, who was speechless.

Kite: Defeating me or the Empire? Can you even do that? Or are you just looking for an excuse to get yourself killed to end your suffering, even though it doesn’t work that way? You weren’t even giving your all during our fight.

Aerin: I…

Aerin trembles, slowly realizing how correct Kite is.

Kite: The fact that you can’t even take it upon yourself to end your own life and instead relying on others to do it, means that there’s still a part of you that wants to live on.

Kite turns back to his friends.

Kite: Once you’ve found your real self, the Aerin before the Empire of Ash, before the Shadow Court, before all of this, then come find me.

Kite continues to walk towards his friends.

Kite: I’ll be sure to fight you again… to settle this properly.

The party gathers around Kite, making sure he’s okay, while they all walk away from Aerin.

Kade: Are you hurt?

Kite: I’m fine.

Threep: Did you really intend to kill him?

Kite: I wasn’t trying to.

Bella: Are you sure you wanna face him again?

Kite: As much as I need to until he’s saved.

As the party disappears from Aerin’s sights, he grabs his weapon, before walking the other direction and wandering to himself.

Aerin: My… real self…

As the party and Aerin part ways, Laundsellyn watches from the sky, laying down on a hovering Blade of Shadows.

Sir Laundsellyn: Hehe, that was fun.

He squints and smirks at the party.

Sir Laundsellyn: Now… where could that Priestess be?

————— END OF CHAPTER —————

[myaekingheart]

You’ve Got Kudos

Written for Day 1 of the Kakashi Lounge Discord Server's September Event. Prompts: Fanfic Writer!Kakashi | Social Disaster | Modern AU | Roommates/Neighbors 

[Read on AO3] Pairing: Kakashi x Rei (OC)  Rating: Teen and Up @the-kakashi-lounge-blog

Kakashi has a dirty little secret and it's in the form of an AO3 account. No one is allowed to know that he writes Icha Icha fanfiction--especially not his library tech neighbor Rei. (Standalone companion piece to The Scarecrow and the Bell, Modern/College AU)

               Kakashi kicked off his shoes at the front door and slumped into his favorite chair. Tutoring wasn’t necessarily his favorite thing in the world but it looked good on resumes and put a little extra cash in his pockets, so he supposed he could tolerate it for a little while longer. If only his students hadn’t been quite so insufferable, that is.

               If anything, tutoring reminded Kakashi how much he hated underclassmen. His three protegees were all naïve freshman whose energy stores had yet to drain. Naruto was enthusiastic but slow on the uptake and it was hard to get him to properly focus. Sakura had potential but she was far too engrossed in her Instagram rivalry with fellow student Ino Yamanaka to make any real progress. And Sasuke was constantly brooding, there not by choice but rather because his professor threatened to flunk him if he didn’t seek outside help.

               Perhaps it would’ve been smarter to book them each separate appointments but with the way everyone’s schedules worked out, it was easier to just create one big study group. It was more efficient that way, anyway. Kakashi much preferred to kill three birds with one stone than chip away at his sanity little by little. And so every Tuesday and Thursday afternoon, Kakashi trudged to the library to pore over used textbooks and incomprehensible scribbles in an attempt to explain simple concepts to brains that could not understand. This was fine. He didn’t need a social life anyway.

               Kakashi rubbed his tired eyes and checked the time. It was 5:30pm. He had no idea what he was going to do for dinner, nor did he really care. Sighing, he reached for his laptop and went straight to his email. At the very top of his inbox was a notification from Archive of Our Own: Comment on Icha Icha Bloodline. Kakashi’s heart jolted. In the solace of his apartment, this was his one saving grace: fanfiction.

               He admittedly felt a little ridiculous about the whole thing. What college guy not only wrote fanfiction, but for romance novels at that? He knew exactly how his taste in literature appeared. So few people truly understood the nuance and artistry of the Icha Icha books, writing it off as just cheap porn. Those books, however, gave Kakashi exactly the reprieve he needed. Within their pages, he could disappear from the stress of everyday life to instead revel in the throes of a dramatic fictional romance. His love for this series knew no bounds. His heart ached to share it with someone but if college had taught Kakahsi anything, it was that people never really change and are more than willing to judge you the minute you express any personal interests. High School: The Sequel, if you will. And so Kakashi had come to learn that there were only ever two places where he was safe to unapologetically indulge in his favorite series: within the comfort of his own home and on the internet.

               Fanfiction was never his original intention. Rather, it was the end result of a long string of unfortunate circumstances. The latest book had ended with the heroine caught between two very tempting suitors, a cliffhanger of epic proportions which left Kakashi itching for a resolution. A few months after publication, the author, Jiraiya, passed away, taking his secrets for the series’ finale with him.

               Kakashi had tried so hard not to think about it but the lack of closure ate away at him. He needed a valuable outlet through which to ramble, a way to confide in someone as invested in the series as he was. For a moment, he had considered joining a book club but all of his attempts failed. The only clubs that ever focused on books like these were run by sexually frustrated middle-aged women who sneered at the mere thought of letting a man into their circle. On recommendation from a friend, he turned to the campus library community for help but was met with nothing short of disaster, which thus introduced the second point of contention: Rei.

               The library check-in desk was notoriously run by volunteers, most of which were majoring in library science themselves. One such volunteer was Rei Natsuki, a junior with fiery hair and a chronic resting bitch face. It wasn’t that Kakashi didn’t like her, necessarily. Actually, every time he saw her he got this horrifying fuzzy feeling in the pit of his stomach that insisted he was about to throw up. He felt as if her eyes were on him constantly, studying his every move. This fact only furthered his gratitude for lumping together all of his tutoring appointments. The less time he spent in the library, the less often he would have to see her.

               Not that she was necessarily easy to avoid. Just his luck, she lived three doors down from him in the same off-campus apartment complex. At least if he timed things just right, he could avoid running into her in the hallway. Their mutual existence was like a very carefully choreographed dance on perilous terrain. They were constantly at risk of colliding with one another, a harrowing and horrifying fate.

               Their first encounter was in the fall of his freshman year when he snuck into the erotic fiction section searching for the Icha Icha books. As he skimmed the titles, he felt a pair of mossy eyes burning holes into his back like a cryptid whose domain has been intruded upon. When Kakashi turned around, he caught her peering around the edge of the bookshelf. Her expression was one of harsh focus and concern. “Looking for something?” she asked. For someone so small—she was roughly a foot shorter than he was—she was certainly terrifying.

               Kakashi’s face turned beet red, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. “No, not particularly!” he exclaimed. “Just looking around!”

               “Hrmph” Rei huffed, unconvinced. “Well, if you need anything, I’ll be right over there” she pointed to the help desk at the front of the library. An older woman, one of the librarians, winked at her across the room and Rei’s face turned bright red. Without another word, she scurried off back to her station, grumbling under her breath. Once gone, Kakashi sighed and leaned back against the shelf. All of the books directly behind him tumbled to the ground with a loud thud. Rei immediately whipped around to glare at him but by then, he had already dove into the nearest study room. Frustrated, Rei stomped over to assess the damage and begin reorganizing the shelves. Kakashi apologized to the group he interrupted before booking it out of the building. It was in that moment that he officially decided: from that point onward, Icha Icha would remain his dirty little secret. Literally.  

               And thus came along the internet. At least there, hiding behind his computer screen, he could retain some sense of anonymity. He could disguise himself with a pen name much like wearing a mask. No one needed to know who he was. He pored over various forums, reading but never interacting. As refreshing as it was to find a sense of community amid other Icha Icha fans, his joy quickly faded when he realized one fatal flaw: no one knew what they were talking about. They all misinterpreted the characters, the relationships, the actions the heroine took to get to this point. Perhaps Jiraiya’s novels were too nuanced. Perhaps there was no hope for him after all. It was then, deep into a Reddit thread, that it dawned on him: the horrifying promise of writing fanfiction.

               At first, Kakashi refused. He would not stoop so low. The harder he resisted, however, the more appealing the idea slowly became. At least in this way, he could help people to better understand these stories in a way that he was familiar with. Not that he was an avid writer himself but he hoped he was familiar enough with the conventions of fiction to understand how it was done. As if running on autopilot, he ventured to Archive of Our Own and created an account under the pseud “CopyNin.”

               His fanfiction, Icha Icha Bloodline, introduced dramatic new themes and conflicts to the story he loved, expanding on the love triangle with a depth and sincerity that he hoped would make Jiraiya proud. It hadn’t gotten many hits yet, but that just made every kudos and comment feel that much heavier. As his cursor hovered over his inbox now, he almost questioned whether he even wanted to know. Every shared thought had the capacity to make or break his motivation. But if he didn’t look, he wouldn’t be able to contain himself. He needed to know. He pulled up the latest comment and his heart leapt into his throat. It was from LittleBell.

               LittleBell was, for lack of a better word, iconic amid the Icha Icha fandom. They were one of the first writers Kakashi had encountered when he first considered fanfiction as a possibility. Their name appeared in dozens of forum posts, attached to both praise and criticism alike. By the time Kakashi looked into them himself, they had already written 100,000 words worth of fic with the longest piece nearing 100 chapters. It was clear why they were so popular. The cadence of their sentences, their detailed characterization, and their dynamic plot points all made Kakashi’s heart sing. He could only hope to one day be as great a writer as they were.

               Kakashi had lurked through fifteen chapters before, in a fit of sleep-drunken gumption, he had decided to leave LittleBell a comment. It was short and sweet and afterward, Kakashi groaned into his pillow second-guessing every sentence, but he awoke to an encouraging response that firmly cemented the allure of writing a fic himself. And now here he was, faced with a comment from them on his own work. How could he ever prepare himself for something so huge? He instinctually expected scathing criticism. Your characterization sucks. You’re writing them all too flat. Her suitors would never say XYZ or do ABC. Have you even read the books? This is trash. Kakashi’s hands shook as he tried to shove those negative thoughts out of his mind. LittleBell had been so kind before so, realistically, why would their response be any different? Kakashi scratched the back of his head, knowing that the longer he waited, the more maddening this was going to become. Without another moment’s hesitation, he forced himself to view the comment.

               This was so great! I love the way you write these characters—I can tell you have a really deep understanding of the heroine, especially. It’s so refreshing to read a fic that not only retains the romance of the originals but also emphasizes it in a way that’s super meaningful rather than cheesy. My favorite part was the scene where she’s fixing his watch. “It’s really an exquisite watch. Such a shame that it’s stopped working.” “I guess that just means that we’ll have to stay in this moment forever” “What will everyone else say? They’ll get tired of waiting.” “Let them wait. I’m always late to everything anyway. What’s another eternity?” My heart! You can really tell just how much he loves her, and it makes that love triangle all the more tense and heartbreaking! You’re really just doing an incredible job with this and I can’t wait to read more!”

               Kakashi’s cheeks burned as he buried his face in his hands. It was all he could do to hide the grin on his face. Not that anyone was there to tease him for it. Pakkun was fast asleep on the couch and likely wouldn’t have cared anyway. Alone in his apartment, Kakashi was exploding. To think that someone so talented and renowned within the fandom not only noticed his work but enjoyed it was mind-blowing. This was a high he would surely be riding for the rest of the week, if not the rest of the semester. Nothing could be better than this.

               Once the debilitating excitement wore down a bit, Kakashi was then stuck with the battle of writing a response. He knew there were some in the community who considered responding a controversial topic—something about trying to increase your comment count—but Kakashi enjoyed replying to every single person who took the time to say something nice. And this was certainly something very nice. How could he possibly put into words his overwhelming gratitude? He had no clue. Kakashi stewed over the prospect for a solid ten minutes before his growling stomach urged him to hurry up. He had completely forgotten he was hungry but now his body was not going to let him forget. He considered stepping away and replying later, after he had time to chew it over, but then quickly shoved away the thought. He couldn’t afford to put this on the backburner at the risk of forgetting about it entirely. No, he needed to do this now.

               Kakashi typed, paused, considered, then backspaced and typed again. When he was finally at least mildly pleased with his response, he sucked in a deep breath and pressed Comment.

               Huffing in relief, Kakashi stretched out and leaned his head back against his chair. All that was left to do now was wait. Would they even respond back? He didn’t know. Sometimes a comment began a whole conversation, other times it was a singular instance like a comet in the night sky.

               But for now, he was going to try not to dwell on it. He received LittleBell’s praise, and if they were to respond back then so be it. It was all up to fate now. Kakashi slipped on his shoes, shoved his phone, wallet, and keys into his pocket, and headed out. As he locked his apartment, he heard without listening as a door down the hall creaked open. The sound reached his ears but his brain did not register what it was until it was too late. Turning around, he abruptly bumped into her.

               A gasp fell from Rei’s lips as she collided with Kakashi’s chest. Her half-open backpack swung on her shoulder, spilling its contents onto the floor. “S-sorry about that!” he croaked, clearing his throat. Kakashi’s hands shook as he leaned down to help gather her belongings, all the while fearing her wrath. Among the used textbooks and stuffed notebooks was a green paperback with a big prohibition sign on the cover. The little bell charm attached to Rei’s keychain jingled and automatically Kakashi was punched in the gut with a realization of Pavlovian proportions. Little Bell.

               “I-I’m sorry…what was that…?” Rei stammered and suddenly Kakashi realized he had, in fact, spoken aloud. Her voice, in response, was so much quieter than he had ever thought she was capable of—filled with the striking fear of being vulnerably and intrinsically known. Unmasked.

               Kakashi’s eyes widened as he shuffled to gather as many of her books as he could manage. “I-I didn’t know you liked the Icha Icha books” he murmured. He could hardly make eye contact as he handed her back her things.

               “Yeah…” she said, slowly accepting them, “They’re, uh…they’re my favorite.”

               Rubbing the back of his neck, Kakashi chuckled nervously and replied, “Mine, too.”

               She wasn’t sure what it was about him but in that moment, a sickening feeling filled her chest, a nauseating suspicion that she couldn’t shake. There was really only way to confirm whether or not those suspicions were correct. At the risk of looking like an idiot, she cleared her throat then and said, “You know, that’s a really exquisite watch.” Kakashi froze, his eyes gently skating down to his wrist. He wasn’t wearing a watch. His heart pounded in his chest. Rei bit her lip, dropped her eyes to the floor. “It’s, uh, it’s a shame it’s stopped working.”

               Kakashi’s mind was reeling. None of this felt real. Suddenly Rei was a completely different person to him now. He saw her not as the terrifying, impatient, and indirect girl from the library but the extremely talented, encouraging, yet perhaps unfortunately shy writer that he had spent so much time idolizing. If only he had known of the bond they secretly shared over the past few months. He could hardly fight the grin on his face as he murmured back, “Then I guess we’ll just have to stay in this moment forever.”

               Rei’s cheeks burned as she hugged her books to her chest. She could feel the laughter rising up in the back of her throat—this was so ridiculous, and yet at the same time this was everything she had ever wanted. If only Kakashi had truly known how much she had suppressed over the years, since they first met in the library. The way the old librarian encouraged her to speak to him when she caught him perusing her favorite books. The way she’d hide out in her apartment whenever he left for class, watching from the window too scared to approach. The way she channeled all of her unrequited love and inner turmoil into the very story she now knew he idolized. She felt so strange and vulnerable but also for the first time truly seen. It was the most bizarre and lovely sensation.

               She had no idea how long they actually stood there in the hallway like that, reveling in this newfound connection, but all too soon reality suddenly hit her. “D-do you have somewhere you’re supposed to be? I don’t want you to be late!” she exclaimed.

               Kakashi, however, still entranced, shook his head and replied, “Let them wait. I’m always late to everything anyway.” Rei brushed the long bangs back out of her face, completely incapable of stifling her laughter. Kakashi joined her—the breadth of his smile, the bravado of his voice, the way his eyes squinted when he laughed, all were enough to make her weak in the knees. “Are you hungry?” he then asked. “I was just about to get something to eat. You should come with me.”

               Sliding her books back into her backpack, Rei smiled and replied, “I would love that.” Swinging her bag back over her shoulder, she walked alongside him down the hallway. Their fingers itched to interlock, their hearts pounding out of their chests. He opened the door for her and together they stepped out into the autumn air. Nothing else mattered. In that moment, all that existed was them: CopyNin and LittleBell.

[musicollage]

Dominic Miller. Absinthe, 2019. ECM 2614. (  Manu Katché )    ~  [ Album Review |     1) ECM Reviews  +  2) All About Jazz  +   3) London Jazz News ]

1) The title of Absinthe, Dominic Miller’s follow-up to his 2017 ECM debut, Silent Light, harks to the early French Impressionists, whose all-in dedication to art is a philosophical touchpoint for the guitarist. To carry on that spirit, he could hardly have asked for a more eclectic yet integrated band. Bandoneon player Santiago Arias brings a sense of cross-continental shift that makes the world just a little smaller; keyboardist Mike Lindup adds a sometimes-surreal vibe that’s equal parts cry from the past and message from the future; bassist Nicolas Fiszman is the soil to Miller’s sunlight; and drummer Manu Katché, a remarkable impressionist in his own right, is time incarnate.

With such a massive scale to be reckoned with in theory, one might expect the results to be overpowering, when in practice the melodic, harmonic, and rhythmic content is so evenly distributed between pans that by the end of each tune we’re left on an even keel from where we began. This is nowhere so true as on the opening title track, which spins a steady downtempo groove from the filaments of Miller’s solo introduction. The way his bandmates shuttle through the greater loom of the album’s concept is as intuitive as the compositions yearning for consummation. A certain feeling of inward travel continues in all that follows.

The quiet locomotion of “Mixed Blessing” and is as progressive as the tender “Christiana” is regressive, the geometrically inflected “Étude” as inviting as the open-ended charm of “Ombu,” the melancholy “Ténèbres” as dark as the transparent “Saint Vincent” is bright. The latter bears dedication to the late Cameroonian guitarist Vincent Nguini, a longtime collaborator with Paul Simon and something of a mentor for Miller. Even without such biographical details, these stories write themselves, unhidden, in real time. Binding their pages are shorter pieces, including the piano-rich “Verveine” and the haunting “La Petite Reine.” Into these we are afforded only fleeting glimpses, personal tesseracts whose potential for transfiguration can only be expressed in song. 

All of which makes “Bicyle” quintessential in the present milieu. Its pedaling motion is more than a metaphor; it’s an actualization of life’s unstoppable flow. For there, woven between each spoke like a playing card, memories fade into new experiences, squinting into the glare of a setting sun as the world curls into slumber.

2) Guitarist Dominic Miller's 2017 ECM debut Silent Light was a low key affair that focused on his solo classical guitar (plus a bit of light percussion). The sequel features a full quintet with a rhythm section. A bigger sound, but with a similar impressionistic flavor. Miller's liner notes make that visual art reference explicit: as a resident of the south of France he has become fascinated with the French Impressionist painters, admiring their artistic daring.

The album opens with the title tune: Miller's acoustic guitar and drummer Manu Katche's swirling cymbals set the scene for the entry of Santiago Arias' bandoneon, the primary melodic instrument in the music. It is a significant new timbral color in the ensemble, as well as a nod to the avowed Argentinian influence in Miller's music. "Mixed Blessing" includes a synthesizer solo from keyboardist Mike Lindup, a contrasting sound that is favored throughout the set; although on "Étude" his piano playing is a foundational element.

The spare, low rumbling drums and guitar of "La Petite Reine" recall the sound of Silent Light. "Étude" and "Ombu" step up the tempo a bit, and the latter gives the drums a highlighted role as active rhythmic accompaniment for the whole band: no doubt very satisfying for Katché fans who have been waiting to hear him cut loose. Closer "Saint Vincent" is an upbeat tune that features the whole band, with solos from Miller and Lindup (on piano).

Miller has an expanded musical concept to go with the larger band. The tunes are still compact statements, but make use of the instrumental forces for greater timbral contrast. And he is a generous band leader as well: while his guitar is at the center of the arrangements, all of the players are given a chance to shine. It will be interesting to see where he goes next.

3) Absinthe is Argentinian-born guitarist Dominic Miller’s second release for ECM and his fourteenth solo album. The list of recordings with other people, however, is immense. Even if his name is unfamiliar you have probably already heard him. He has played with Sting since The Soul Cages in 1991 and masses of other musicians along the way, from The Chieftains to Youssou N’Dour, via Tina Turner, Lesley Garrett, Sarah Jane Morris and Manu Dibango. Some of the musicians with whom he has recorded make up the new quintet for this album.

Absinthe is an airy, atmospheric set of compositions inspired by Miller’s love of the works of the Impressionist artists, many of whom painted in the South of France where he now lives. The title came to him first, apparently – many of the impressionists drank absinthe, that potent anise-based spirit favoured by bohemians known as “la fée verte”. In a recent interview with German news site DW.com, Miller expands on the title:

“For me it’s about being out of it. And over the last few years I’ve really been into French paintings and thinking about this history of the early 19th century and how Lautrec and Van Gogh and a lot of these guys were tripping on absinthe but still coming up with amazing work. And because they were such highly skilled artists they could come up with these really outrageous trippy concepts with colour.”

Miller put together a quintet sympathetic to his ideas and wrote the music with the “sonic palettes” of his chosen musicians in mind. First up is young Argentinian Santiago Arias who studied under Dino Saluzzi at the Conservatoire in Buenos Aires. He plays the bandoneon, that concertina-like instrument associated with Argentinian tango. His sound is pure and extremely melodic. The combination of Miller’s lyrical guitar with Arias’ lovely lines is delightful – they are the perfect foil for each other. The other three musicians have all played with Miller for years.

On keyboards is Englishman Mike Lindup, best known for his work with Level 42, but a regular performer with Miller, who played with Level 42 himself back in the 80s. Lindup’s is a third melodic voice with the guitar and bandoneon – he also adds delicate ethereal tones, almost theremin-like in places.

On bass is Belgian Nicolas Fiszman. He studied guitar with Philip Catherine, then changed to bass. He’s played with Miller since 2005, but has accompanied Johnny Halliday, Angelique Kidjo, and Charles Aznavour in his time. Miller describes his playing and intonation as having “the nobility of a great whale”, which is a lovely description and also, I think, fair enough. His subtle and discreet bass underpins the whole endeavour.

Miller describes French percussionist Manu Katché as “an artist on the drums, especially with his cymbal work where he is like a great painter”. His presence is everywhere on this recording, and his contribution adds colour, as well as texture to the pieces. Katché is well-known as a session musician – having played with almost everybody. He’s also an ECM veteran. Miller has recorded with Katché as part of his band, and he’s another long-serving member of Sting’s band, so they know each other musically very well.

It’s an unconventional combo, but it works well – the range of timbres and harmonies is extremely agreeable. There’s an Argentinian tinge to much of the music, though think Gotan Project, rather than Astor Piazzolla, as there is a groove through many of the tunes, not just from Katché’s inventive percussion but the rhythmic qualities of the ensemble playing. On an initial hearing the CD appeared light and easy, bar some disjunct improv in the track Ombu, but this is misleading. I think that the limpid clarity of the production (by Manfred Eicher himself), the pleasant atmosphere, the sweetness of tone and the downright prettiness of the guitar and bandoneon sound just gives that impression. As is often the case with music which can be perceived as light or suave, like bossa nova, for example, on a closer listen, the complexity of the composition and the beauty of the ensemble playing comes through.

From the first track Absinthe, where the bandoneon, after a precise harmonious intro, starts sliding about into little patches of dissonance, and the spectral notes from the synthesiser twist around against a backdrop of precise strings and strangely colourful cymbal sounds, the listener is entranced. By the final track, Saint Vincent (presumably a reference to Van Gogh rather than the countless catholic saints, or indeed the American singer/songwriter of the same name) the sonic palette has been fully explored. Miller’s guitar playing is wonderful throughout, lyrical, deft and harmonious. Saint Vincent builds in layers of colour and light to a Pat Metheny-esque crescendo and then disappears as if blown away by the mistral.

This record will appeal to Miller fans, to Sting fans, to existing fans of any of the other members of the band, and to new listeners who are already aficionados of ECM’s fine output of chamber music. As usual, I now want to hear this live, and indeed a grand promotional tour for Absinthe of Central and South America, and Northern Europe was planned. Sadly it has had to be cancelled for health reasons. Wishing Dominic Miller a speedy recovery.

[yellowsugarwords]

Walking Dead Game FanFiction - “Missing More”

Title: Missing More Characters: Ericson Kids Summary: When Clementine and the Ericson crew drive to Clementine’s childhood home, they get to relive her last few moments with Lee again from a found video recording. Takes place after episode 1. Author's Note: Okay so the premise of this is going to be a little wonky to give this plot an opportunity to happen so let’s pretend that the Stranger wasn’t killed and continued to stalk Clementine after she left with Lee okay bye enjoy. Sequel to this fic Requested By: Anonymous support me with ko-fi ♡ ---------♥️♥️♥️----------

For years, every time her birthday rolled around, Clementine asked for the same thing: “Just once, I want to go back to my childhood home and get some closure.”

Little did she know that, since she first started making that wish, the crew had been working on exactly that.

In one of the back garages, Marlon had found a busted old van. It only had a sliver of gas in it, and was in rough shape, and the following years were spent scavenging for gas, and attempting to get the van working again.

As Clementine’s 19th birthday lingered on the horizon, they’d done it: Mitch had replaced the final busted part of the van, and the crew had managed to fill and find a total of 8 gasoline tanks.

“How many do you think we’d need for a road trip?” Violet had asked.

Marlon had only shrugged. “We might as well be safe and take all 8.” They had no idea how cars worked — hell, only a few of them even knew how to drive — but they were going to try their best regardless. For Clementine.

The first half of the drive was filled with excited chatter and blissful conversation. To keep watch over the school, Omar, Aasim, Brody, and Ruby decided to stay back at the school. Marlon, Louis, Violet, Clementine, AJ, Mitch, Willy, and Tenn were the group that hit up the van.

“We’ll be back in a few days.” Marlon said, already having worked out himself how long the drive would be. “Keep hold of the fort until then.”

Everyone nodded, hugging and wishing each other well, before venturing off.

Then, the fun began.

“Pass me the crackers.”

“You’ve already eaten like half the bag.”

Willy scoffed, snagging the bag out of Mitch’s hands and shoving another scoop into his mouth. “How long until we get there?”

Marlon adjusted the rear-view window, casting a harsh glare the child’s way. “Still a few more hours.”

“Ugh. We’ve been driving all day.”

“That’s why it’s called a roadtrip, Willy.” Louis said, smirking into the back. “We need to travel a distance to get there.”

“What Louis means,” Violet said through a sigh, “is shut up, Willy.” Her head leaned against the back of her seat, eyes closed, body tense.

Clementine, sitting in the passenger seat, smirked into the open, empty highway. It was familiar to her in the strangest way. She’s never driven the highway before today, but it felt warm somehow. Familiar. As though it was a shadow of the life that used to dwell there; along the sides of the road and off into the distance.

By the time they actually hit the city, the feeling of warm nostalgia took a dark, quick turn. The abandoned homes, eerie streets, and haunting a sense of life made Clementine’s skin crawl.

“Left here,” she whispered, voice haunted and scared. Still, despite the heartache she felt seeing her old hometown in ruin, she still knew her way home. Her parents had taught her to memorize the ‘important streets’ so she always knew how to get home if she ever became lost. If there was ever an emergency.

She gave direction the entire drive home, her code wavering and her hands forced into her lap, wound tightly together. She had braced herself for the worst — for her home being unrecognizable — but this somehow she hadn’t prepared for.

She hadn’t been prepared for the extent of how different everything would look.

By the time the car rolled to a stop, everyone bouncing with the weight of the breaks, Clementine was hesitant to lift her gaze from her lap.

“Clem? Is this the place?” Marlon asked. Realizing she didn’t have a choice, she gulped and looked up.

Her eyes immediately grew teary, studying the cracked windows and worn wooden panels. “Yep.” Was all she could muster, cracking her door open and stepping outside. The grass was dead, the building tattered and beaten by the elements, and the door was cracked and splintered. Apparently, someone had once jimmies a knife into the lock to get inside the house, clearly unaware that the back door had been left unlocked.

But, what brought Clementine the biggest moment of pause was the full mailbox.

She frowned, drawing closer to the door, running her fingers over the tattered and tarnished wood. Inside, she found a package, wrapped and labelled, her name scrawled on the front in messy black ink. Her heart leapt into her throat, freezing there.

“Clementine?” Louis asked. Clementine said nothing, only tore open the end of the package and slipped out a flash drive with a slip of paper taped to it. Louis, peeking in over the girl’s shoulder, held his breath. “Oh my God.”

Suddenly, all the Ericson kids turned, brows raised, drawing closer to the duo. The note was short, and simple, but haunting.

‘Something I think you’d like to see. - your friend’

Clementine closed her eyes, took a deep breath, then pushed open her front door. She slipped through her house, ignoring the overturned and tattered furniture, the haunting, dried pool of blood in the kitchen, and the dead body of her babysitter, abandoned by the back door.

She ignored it all and made her way toward the computer tucked into the back corner. All she could do was pray, that somehow, it still worked. She opened the laptop, her fingers crossed and strained, then hit the power button. Luckily for her, it came to life, thanks to being plugged in until the last moment electricity was active in the world.

By the time that nostalgic glow smacked her in the face, she realized the battery was at a dwindling 10%. Urgently, she slapped in her father’s password and jammed in the flash drive.

“What are you doing?” Marlon asked, arms crossed in horror. “You can’t just check to see what’s on it.”

“Why not?” Violet challenged. “Are you not curious about what’s on it?”

Clementine huffed, as though frustrated at how long it was taking the old laptop to register the flash drive. “I haven’t lived in this house in years, and yet, somehow, someone sent a package here addressed to me.” She turned, flashing Marlon a harsh glare. “I’m watching it.”

When she turned back to the screen, after silencing the room with her statement, she noticed there was only one file on the drive. It was fairly small, a single video file titled ‘the end’. With a deep breath, and with a shaking hand on the track pad, she moved towards it and clicked.

A security camera video popped to life, hauntingly similar. Clementine squinted, adjusting the brightness on the computer, aware it was going to drain the battery even further. Then, as two figures fumbled into the frame, Clementine’s breath caught in her throat. “No.” Was all she could muster.

It was her and Lee, entering the jewellery store, Lee’s lower arm missing, Clementine shaking and sobbing from spotting her dead parents roaming the streets.

“What’s going on?”

“Clem?”

Clementine stumbled away, ignoring Louis and Marlon’s panicked questions. She turned away, studying the corpse of her babysitter on the floor, decayed and unrecognizable.

It had been the Stranger. She knew it. She could feel her gut twisting at the mere thought.

After Lee had rushed her out of there after beating the man senseless, he’d come to and hadn’t stopped. He’d followed them to the jewellery store, watching as Clem was forced to kill Lee, and then stole a copy of the security tape, hoping and praying to prove to Clementine that... what? She had someone ‘watching out for her’?

“Clementine, what is this?” Violet asked, refusing to take her gaze off of the haunting image before her. AJ, creeping forward to get a better glimpse, felt his heart race at the sight of the child and older man.

“That’s me and Lee.” The room went dead-silent, as much also that everyone could hear a pin drop. “And I’m about to kill him.”

The group grew silent. Mitch, Louis, and AJ were the only ones who could look away, glancing nervously at the girl rather than studying the clip. Inevitably, all except Louis turned back to watch. Louis couldn’t stomach the sight.

There was muffled speaking — so quiet that the mics couldn’t quite pick it up — and shuffling around the room. The group watched as Clementine secured Lee to the radiator, as she lifted the gun to his head, as they made their teary goodbyes.

Then, the gun shot.

The room was silent and still, watching as the battery continued to drain from the small device before them. Clementine said nothing. She didn’t react, she didn’t flinch, she just stared dead-ahead at the bloody puddle in the kitchen, longing to be anywhere else but there.

Her eyes glossed over, feeling closer to Lee than she had felt in a long time in her home, before flicking away a single ear and starting for the door. “I think I’m ready to go home now.” She whispered.

“Home?” Willy hushed. Mitch set a hand on the child's shoulder, hoping to pause him from asking further questions.

“Real home.” Clementine clarified, refusing to look their way. She didn’t want to sneak an accidental glance at the computer scene. “Not here.”

Louis stepped forward, his heart heavy and weary, throwing his arm over her shoulders and guiding her toward the exit. “We can do that.” He cast a glance back at everyone else — daring and challenging — before exiting the room and starting for the van.

The group stood silent, heart weary and heavy, stomachs fragile and depressed. Without a word, all of them retreated to the van, silently getting in, remaining silent for the first chunk of the drive home.

Then, when Clementine grew teary-eyed in the passenger seat, Louis began loudly screaming ‘Take Me Home, Country Roads’.

Then, Clementine knew she was home.

Then, Clementine knew what home actually felt like. It wasn’t a place. It was a group of people, a tiny, busted van, and throwback songs from a better life. ---------♥️♥️♥️----------

[redbelles]

@anthropologicalhands​ here you go! thanks for the ask ✨

hilariously, i p. much can’t write unless i have a title in mind? it seems to shape the story as i go, so i typically end up stealing song lyrics as soon as i have an idea, if only to put myself out of my misery. anyway! atla, twd, rdr2, ac: origins, dc, and pitch under the cut!

in our bedroom, after the war

post-series atla zutara au wherein i geek about politics and reconstruction and consequences, and also break zuko into tiny sad pieces before katara gets to smooch him. also there is a dragon.

and wept for break of day

twd au: post-coda, (loosely) inspired by the short story “bullet in the brain”; eventual bethyl

Mass hallucinations, one broadcaster said. String theory. The collective unconscious. Just a whole buncha scared fools, grasping at straws while the world reels, trying to understand something too big and too ugly to ever understand. 

She sits there in the dirt, numb and shaking, hands clenched so tight that her nails bite deep into her palms. She presses harder, carving sharp little crescents into skin that’s not nearly as callused as it should be. 

The world feels like it’s falling away beneath her, spinning out wildly, carrying her someplace foreign and strange. Her skull throbs and aches. There’s no scar on her wrist. Beneath the dirt, her nails are painted cornflower blue, bright and vivid as a summer sky. The dead don’t walk. 

But they did, didn’t they?

I lived it. I remember.

it ain’t no sin

twd au: beth wakes up during her abduction and it gives daryl time to reach the car, and then daryl and beth bang about it

She doesn’t hear the familiar twang of the bow, but when the word chokes off into a gurgle of blood and the graceless thump of a body hitting the ground, she knows.

Daryl comes sprinting out of the darkness, quiet as a hunting cat. The driver’s side door swings open, the cop’s buddy stepping out to try and salvage the situation. Daryl fires, reloads, and fires again, so fast her eyes can’t follow it. She’s so dizzy that it seems like one smooth motion. One breath, just long enough to aim, and then the arrows are gone and Beth and Daryl are alone in the night. The men are dead. 

Good, she thinks fiercely, angry and shaken and still unable to stand. Good. 

He goes straight to the bodies as she finally hauls herself onto the grass, listening as he yanks the bolts free. Three awful squelches; visceral, obscene. She gags again, and then Daryl is there, dropping to his knees beside her. 

“Y’alright?”

late for the sky

rdr2 au: arthur/sadie, set immediately after the massacre at hanging dog ranch

“You didn’t have to stay,” she calls. There’s an ache in her voice he doesn’t know how to parse. 

“Sure.” He leaves it at that, no fuss about letting Freyja rest, about needing to catch his breath, though neither would be a lie. There’s no room for chatter; the air between them is full up with grief.

“Sure?”

No meat on that bone, but he can see her chewing it over all the same, worrying at it. Sadie Adler, shaken. If he held a mirror up to her face, he’s half-afraid he’d see fire. Smoke, ash, the orange blaze of a cabin as it burns to cinders. 

The memory sends a chill skittering down his spine, a cold knife that lodges somewhere near his heart. 

He ain’t the only one held hostage by that particular cruelty. Still knee-deep in the river, Sadie shivers. The water keeps running red around her, blood flaking off her hair and skin, melting into the current, soft as snow.

this loneliness won’t last

rdr2 au: arthur/john/abigail post-game fix it fic

There was heat pouring off John. A droplet of sweat trailing down his cheek. He smelled like salt and sunbaked earth. The thought skimmed through his mind like a water on a pane of glass, crystal clear and out of reach all the same. Then John’s mouth crashed over his, and Arthur had no thought left. 

He couldn’t help himself. He bent into John like a windswept tree, looking for shelter. Looking for relief. John pulled him in, held him close, hands fisted in the worn fabric of Arthur’s shirt. Need kindled in his blood, bright and sharp and burning, and he stiffened. Pulled away. John wouldn’t have it. He pulled him back in, nipped at his mouth, trailed fire over his skin, kissed him like Arthur was his to keep.

He wanted to run and hide. He wanted to stay right where he was and live in this moment forever. But then it was over: John stepped away, breathing hard. His fingers were still wound in Arthur’s shirt. He let go like it hurt. 

“Don’t leave,” he said, staring at Arthur like he could sear the words into him. Make him stay through force of will alone. 

And then he was gone, just like always, just like before.

pieces rendered

ac: origins post-game, post-dlc bayek/aya fix it fic

Amunet, he reminds himself, wincing at the cool bite of aloe against raw skin. It is hard to remember in moments like these, alone in the twilight dimness of the cave mouth, safe from the eyes and ears of those who have only ever known her as a Hidden One. 

She is Aya in his thoughts, sometimes, no matter how well he guards his tongue. When the world slips and the ache of all he’s lost will not subside, that is the name that rises in his heart. Wife, lover, friend. Mother of his child, the woman he once thought would walk beside him in this life and the next. Aya. 

Amunet is the shadow of a wild wind, always blowing away from him. “North,” she told him once, “to set the sea aflame.”

She did. She does. 

Perhaps someday he will come to terms with that.

stolen car

sprawling fic series that explores the batfam universe through the lens of jacy petra todd, the second robin. the bad robin.

She holds a gun to a rapist’s head and presses the muzzle into skin hard enough to leave a mark, hard enough to make the piece of shit kneeling in front of her whimper. 

They’re in a warehouse out by the docks, in the corner of a shadowy park, in some shitty back alley, trash piled up in careless heaps and the rats ignoring them. It’s nothing they haven’t seen before. There’s blood on the ground. There is always blood on the ground. 

“Please,” they say, “please, don’t do this.”

“Come on,” she says, laughing. They hate it when she laughs. The helmet distorts her voice, turning it harsh and metallic, until the sound of it is like a knife under their skin. It is a weapon like any other; she is not afraid to use it. “Beg some more. See where it gets you.”

They cry, or retch, or shake, big tough men learning what it feels like to be powerless. Sometimes they piss themselves, the sharp odor of urine burning against the stink of blood and gunpowder. 

The Bat may rule Gotham, but Crime Alley is the Red Hood’s haunt, and her lines are hard and fast. Everyone in the city knows what happens when you cross them.

“Please,” they say, staring up at her, searching flat red metal for an ounce of mercy. They never meet her eyes. Instead, they look where a mouth should be, and beg, just like she tells them to. “Please, please, I won’t do it again, I’ll never do it again, please!”

The gun doesn’t waver. Gotham beat the softness out of her wayward daughter years before Batman ever found her, before Robin ever fluttered into the Joker’s path, before she seared and burned and screamed her way back to consciousness in the Lazarus Pit. 

“No,” she tells them, voice like a knife, gun steady in her hands—

stone by stone

sequel to no burden that will not float away featuring shitty coffee, former robins being bad at feelings, and the current robin judging them for it

[fire from fire]

[redacted] au where [redacted] dies and [redacted] snaps

She walks through the streets like a reckoning. She does not sing.

with a hawk above you crying

wonder woman fic inspired by emmylou harris’s michelangelo

last night i dreamed about you / i dreamed you lay dying / in a field of thorn and roses / with a hawk above you crying / for the warrior slain in battle / from an arrow driven deep inside you long ago—

Diana finds Antiope, and loses her, and finds her again.

you know the time is now

pitch, mike/ginny, mid-season onward au where they actually have to deal with their feelings

after all the bullshit surrounding the all-star game, mike decides he needs to take a step back, distance himself a bit from the ginny baker madness. so of course the first thing he does after the all-star game is get into a brawl. he can’t even blame it on some sort of convenient rage blackout. he makes a calm, rational decision to follow the fucker up the first base path, and calmly, rationally punches him in the face while ginny watches, stunned, from the mound.

varitek a-rod brawl whomst???

ask me about my wips!

[fly-pow-bye]

DuckTales 2017 - “Double-O-Duck in You Only Crash Twice!”

Story by: Francisco Angones, Madison Bateman, Colleen Evanson, Christian Magalhaes, Bob Snow

Written by: Christian Magalhaes

Storyboard by: Sam King, Kathryn Marusik, Rachel Paek, Stephan Park

Directed by: Jason Zurek

"My name is Pad. Launchpad. McQuack. My name is Launchpad McQuack."

The episode seemingly begins in medias res, as Launchpad is infiltrating a casino. He has on some spy glasses, as he has become Double-O-Duck, super spy. He gets a call from Dew-ble-O-Duck, because Dewey Duck cannot even function if he doesn't choose an alias without the word "dew" in it, letting him know the secret code he needs to tell Enemy Agent Red Feather.

Dew-ble-O-Duck: Pastrami on rye, hold the mustard!

Double-O-Duck: Mmmm, yummy!

We can tell already that Launchpad is more Maxwell Smart than James Bond. Would anyone be surprised if he wasn’t?

As Dew-ble-O-Duck, also wearing cool glasses, distracts everyone in the room with a song fitting for this James Bond parody, Launchpad, even with his lack of any kind of intellect, manages to spot Agent Red Feather. She literally has red feathers. Unfortunately, he didn't exactly remember what tasty item he was supposed to use as a secret code.

Red Feather: Can I help you?

Launchpad: Ham and cheese!

Alas, Enemy Agent Red Feather is not exactly a fan of that smart refrigerator scene from Duncanville. She gasses Double-O-Duck before Launchpad could suggest chocolate pudding or french fries, giving a one-liner about how the kitchen is closed. It's like one of those Sierra adventure games, though they end up referencing something more modern.

YOU DIED

Yes, like Dark Souls, though they use a generic retro game losing a life sound. Even when shows involve video games with cutting edge technology, parents might not get that it's a video game if it isn't bleep bloop bleep bloop.

The entire last scene was just a new and sophisticated augmented reality game at Funso's Fun Zone: Double-O-Duck, a reference to a DuckTales '87 episode where Launchpad had to impersonate a super spy that happened to look just like him. It's a neat reference; the game even features OddDuck, the villain of the week of that episode, as an enemy.

Webby and Scrooge are at Funso's as well, though Scrooge does not appear to be interested in anything around him, never mind a room with a fake adventure in it. In an attempt to borrow money from Scrooge, Dewey tries to convince him that the game is cool, because one could use the power of virtual reality to go on an amazing adventure.

Scrooge's expression says it all; he doesn't even need to say anything to that.

Needless to say, Dewey only has one more chance to beat that Casino Royale, as that chance will be the last his allowance could afford. He also knows that he can only play this with Launchpad, because "they're a team"! Launchpad reluctantly agrees, using the famous last words of anyone before something goes terribly wrong: "what could possibly go wrong?" We then zoom into the ball pit, where we find a hidden base owned by F.O.W.L.

Yes, this is the beginning of this season's F.O.W.L. plotline that was teased at the end of Season 2. DuckTales 2017's version of Darkwing Duck's rogues' gallery is led by Bradford Buzzard, originally of Scrooge's Board of Directors before he decided to call it quits after Louie used their funding to bring back his favorite TV show. It's a long and, to be honest, kind of eh story. Now, he leads many of the villains that appeared in previous episodes, and he has made a new base.

Alongside the also named after her feather color Black Heron is Steelbeak, who comments that he wanted the base built on a sattel-lighthouse to nobody's approval. This continues the trend of James Bond references, as he is the Jaws parody from Darkwing Duck. Steelbeak is not exactly the brightest bulb at F.O.W.L., but he is completely confident and gets really offended at the accusation that he is stupid. From what I've heard, he wasn't meant to be any denser than the other villains in the original Darkwing Duck, but for the sake of giving Launchpad an evil counterpart, it works well with this plot.

Black Heron is taking the Gyro Gearloose role here, as she is working on the Intelliray, powered by a diamond from the F.O.W.L. archives. With a little more work, this ray can be used to make Scrooge dumber than the dummies! Honestly one doesn't even need any kind of ray for that to happen; seems like all you need to do is steal a couple coins from him for that.

How would she know this ray even works? Simple, she used it on a lab rat.

Not just any lab rat, either, but they turn this ordinary rat into this rather intelligent rodent that is more anthropomorphic. In fact, one may recognize this rodent from a different show from the Disney Afternoon. There's a funny story about this, actually.

Of course, this is the opposite effect of what Black Heron wanted, and she needs to work on the ray some more to make the Intelliray that makes dumb rats smart make smart ducks dumb. Steelbeak doesn't seem to get any of this, and is way more focused on how that rat managed to make clothing for herself. That's actually not a bad question, though not one relevant to the situation. There's a lot of interactions with the bright heron and the not-too-bright rooster, and it builds throughout the episode.

In order for any of those evil plans to happen, they need to get Scrooge and his family out of Funso's. It doesn't seem like it really matters, as nobody, not even the adventurer of adventurers, suspects that this place they're under is suspicious, but that was the Buzzard's orders. Bradford Buzzard may not be a bright bulb either; in the very first episode, he wanted to turn off the magical barrier that kept the Bombie from continuing his unending journey to kill his boss...actually, that makes a lot of sense now. Black Heron orders Steelbeak to get the Scrooge family out without Scrooge getting suspicious about this new conspiracy against him.

That won't be too difficult, as Scrooge has different plans than trying to figure out if there's a conspiracy against him. There's a B plot about Scrooge getting convinced to go into the arcade section and getting addicted to Skee-Ball. Webby even calls it Skee-Ball, which is a trademarked term for the rolling ball game, even though the game itself calls it "Prospector Pete's Goldrush Bonanza!" They could have avoided any trademark issues, but they went with the brand name anyway. Well, if Disney could pay for DJ Khaled, anything is possible.

Again, this is a B-plot where there isn't that much to it, though I can't say I wasn't entertained by Scrooge taking this Gold Rush as an adventure and treating the tickets it spits out as actual gold. There is also a point to this: he becomes so addicted, that, say, if a kid and a bumbling idiot get kidnapped by a group with a vast conspiracy against Clan McDuck, he wouldn't know because his quest for tickets is the only thing on his mind.

Totally not speaking of which, Dewey and Launchpad play their last game of Double-O-Duck, and they do manage to get past the "secret code" part by the way of Dewey taking over for him. They get to the "win the card game" part, except the usual opponent has been replaced by some special boss. At least, that's what they assume. He's also wearing the glasses, but neither of them take that as a clue that this person may be a not-so-fellow player.

They have to play a game of baccarat chemin de fer, and Launchpad pretends to know what any of those words mean. The good news for him is that it was gibberish to Steelbeak, too. as both of them end up just saying random card terms while slamming the cards down, convincing each other that they got the upper hand. This all ends up leading to Steelbeak changing the game to 52 Teeth Pickup. That, of course, means a fight scene.

During this fight scene, we get a shot of what is happening in the real world, where we see the carnage this unscripted fight scene is causing. Why are there little kids in the middle of the AR room, clearly not playing the game judging by their lack of glasses? We see a little bit of this earlier, too, where Dewey takes off his glasses to reveal that one of the characters was just the Funso's mascot standing in the middle of the room. There is at least one enemy to fight in the game even if it was played as intended; I can imagine someone accidentally walloping a real person while fighting the fake one. Maybe I shouldn't think about this too hard.

If I were to nitpick some more, one of the hits randomly has a hit flash, even though there's none in the other punches. There was nothing different about that hit; I could understand using a hit flash if Steelbeak actually hit someone with his namesake, but it was just another punch. Was the censors just not happy with that particular one, but the other punches were okay?

The fight does go outside the AR room, leading them to the restaurant area where confused onlookers are looking at these weird glasses-wearing people fight as if they were special agents. I do like this shot where we see Steelbeak punch Dew-ble-O-Duck and Double-O-Duck out of a window in the AR world, and then it cuts to the real world, where the pool this lead to was actually the ball pit. The same ball pit they zoomed into to reveal the new F.O.W.L. Lair, in fact!

When Double-O-Duck and Dew...alright, I'm getting tired of calling them that already even if that's the roles they were given. When Launchpad and Dewey wake up, they're locked in a glass cell. That could mean only one thing: they finally beat the casino level! This leads to an interesting dynamic: they think they're still in a video game, despite being in the very real F.O.W.L. lair. This is good for the plot, as we'll soon see.

Meanwhile, we see that Black Heron managed to get the ray to work as it should, making the minions so dumb, they think a generic puzzle cube, they didn't want to tread on Mr. Rubik's toes even if Bay Tek was fine, is food. I mention this because it's a running gag.

Back to the cells, we see that all the other smartened up lab animals, including that rat from before, another much larger rat, a housefly, and two chipmunks, decide to help this large duck out of this situation. Alright, I'll drop the act: these are the Rescue Rangers. They're not named, but they're the Rescue Rangers; they're even constantly followed by an instrumental of their theme song.

There is an interesting behind-the-scenes story here: alongside the mascot of the biggest entertainment corporation in the world, the Rescue Rangers were supposed to be off-limits to DuckTales 2017 for various reasons. They were originally just going to have the small Gadget reference, referring to her only as "the intelligent rodent", but they kept building and building it to the point where the rest of the Rescue Rangers made it in, too. Once the executives caught on to the scheme, they decided to just allow it.

What possibly helps this is that we never focus on them. For starters, we never get to hear them talk. The audience always sees their scenes from the duck's point of view, and, in the rules of the Rescue Rangers, humans, or ducks in this case, can't communicate with rodents even if they are smart. This is not to say they never do anything major in the plot; it's thanks to them that that all important "cell release" button was pushed, freeing Launchpad and Dewey and getting them to "the next level". Dewey does seem to think that Launchpad came up with the solution to teach a mouse to fly a plane, and Launchpad just goes with it. It may not be out of malice, it's probably just because he's Launchpad.

That next level? Find the secret weapon!

Those wielders of the secret weapon are not exactly in good terms with each other at this point. Black Heron isn't too happy that Steelbeak interpreted getting rid of Scrooge's family is to get two of his family members and lock them up right in F.O.W.L.'s headquarters. This is because Black Heron knows that this is a perfect way to lead Scrooge McDuck right to them, as Scrooge would eventually figure out they're missing and figure out exactly where they went. She is that genre savvy.

Not savvy to anything is Steelbeak, and after Black Heron decides to insult him again and again for his mistake, he finally has enough and snatches the Intelliray right out of her hands, and shoots her with it. That takes out Black Heron out of the whole episode, actually, as the most that happens with her after this is that, when Dewey and Launchpad get to the room she's in, Dewey rightfully assumes the bad guy who is trying to figure out how her robot arm works is way too easy for the mission right after the moon logic puzzle of teaching rats to fly planes. How unbalanced!

Enter Steelbeak and his army of generic puzzle cube-gnawers, armed with the Intelliray and a bunch of one-liners that Dewey wants him to skip. I debated with myself on whether or not him not saying "where's the 'skip dialogue' button" was a missed opportunity or not. Another small fight happens, this time with no random hit flashes. With one hit, Steelbeak drops the Intelliray to the ground.

He then picks it up and attempts to shoot Dewey with it, Launchpad getting in the way with the classic "take the bullet for him" trope. Dewey does the "big no" trope, only to tell him that this must have been his last life. Wait, there were no lives before, the video game seemed to be "you died, game over" in the first scene. Dewey can't be consistent with what video game he was playing!

But wait, if all hope is lost, why is the ray blue? Well, it appears that Steelbeak forgot to check if that gun was set to "make smart rat dumb", or "make dumb rat braindead" in this case. Instead, we get a James Bond reference I actually recognize.

(special thanks to martosi231234 for this GIF)

Okay, maybe I should have made this a GIF; they totally do the James Bond intro parody here, complete with a maybe too obvious parody of the "dah dah" part of the James Bond theme. No shooting the screen, though; TV-Y7 does have its limits.

Inner Double-O-Duck: I'll take it from here, chum.

This inner Double-O-Duck shows up a couple times, mostly acting as his new intelligent guardian angel. Dressing up as one of the minions, thanks to knocking one out earlier, he sneaks into a large computer room and deals with the minions by telling them to go to Sector 13. They don't know what that means, but with his newfound intellect, Launchpad persuades them to go there anyway.

It's here where Launchpad finds out everything about the newly revived Fiendish Organization for World Larceny's conspiracy against Mr. McD. It's also here that he finds out that Steelbeak kidnapped poor Dewford, trapping him with rope and boating him across town. Since Dewey isn't a superhero, there's no way he can just get out of the rope. Well, maybe not every superhero can get out of the rope. Oh, and yes, Intelligent Launchpad always calls Dewey Dewford, but Scrooge is still Mr. McD. That nickname is that ingrained in him.

Most importantly, he finds out he's no longer in a video game...actually, I am not sure when that was supposed to happen. We know it does happen because it comes up later in the episode. A little before this point, I was almost expecting a rather disappointing ending where it was revealed this whole episode was just the video game, but this scene proves that can't happen because the game wouldn't known about the F.O.W.L. plan.

The boat chase is on. While the new far-more-intelligent Double-O-Duck chases the bad guy, he also tries to call Mr. McD and tell him all about what he learned, potentially progressing the plot arc much too early.

Unfortunately for Launchpad and indirectly himself, Scrooge is busy counting the tickets. I can imagine not wanting to trust the ticket counters. He also questions why he can't just keep the tickets and presumably have a giant ticket bin to swim in, and Webby convinces him that the tickets expire at the end of the day. The cashier attempts to explain that isn't the case, and Webby holds up a pizza tray and shushes him. There's some really good expressions in this episode.

After Launchpad tries to let Dewey know this isn't a game, to no avail due to the loud boats, and a pretty action packed chase scene where, fitting for Launchpad, he crashes his boat and, not so fitting for the usual Launchpad, makes a makeshift water skii out of two of the boat's boards and a grappling hook, unfortunately failing to get to him, Steelbeak makes it to his destination: the sattel-lighthouse. See, everything is connected; he even got to go to his dream lair!

This reveals his ultimate plan: turning the sattel-lighthouse into a giant Intelliray, and this time, he did know to check the dial to make all of the rats and other animals in Duckberg as dumb as he is. Launchpad tries to convince Steelbeak to reconsider this plan, as this would make Duckburg so dumb that they would forget to breathe, but...

Steelbeak: That fancy speak won't work on me, Dummie-O-Duck! Hah, classic.

He makes his own fistbump jokes, he's a villain I'd love to hate. How does he get out of this situation? Well, I'll give a giant hint on that: after Launchpad gets saved, he says this.

Launchpad: Thanks for the...

(3 seconds later)

...rescue.

They might as well have put it in giant text, put fireworks around it, and have a choir sing the word "rescue". Good thing this isn't a Cartoon Network reboot. As forced as that scene was, it's still an amazing scene.

I will spoil this, though: before that previous scene happened, he did manage to activate the Intellisatellite, and it's almost about to fire. Anyone could guess that Launchpad's newfound intellect is not going to survive past this episode, and him getting in the way of a giant endumbening laser is the way to do it. And yes, I know endumbening is not a word, but I bet Steelbeak didn't know that. As the song from the first scene plays again, this time showing that it had way more meaning than it did before, Launchpad questions if this is the way to go.

Launchpad: But I can't sacrifice my intelligence! There's so much more I can accomplish! Stop the evil conspiracy out to get us! Solve world hunger! Land a plane!

Oh, his intellect is definitely not going to survive. Also, there's a more personal reason for his questioning, and it was a theme throughout the episode: Launchpad wants Dewey to see him as a competent person to look up to, and, unlike Steelbeak, he usually doesn't have the confidence that this newfound intellect gave him. This makes this a rather heartfelt scene.

Somehow, they get back to the arcade with Dewey still thinking this was the game. There is no explanation for this whatsoever, and even Launchpad questions if it was a game...wait, is this actually that "it was all a game" ending I didn't want? What happened? Why are they here now? How are they here now? What happened to Black Heron? Eh, maybe I should take Dewey's words, from a previous scene, into account.

Dewey: Why are you overthinking this?!

I will say Dewey believing this was all a video game does at least give us a high stakes F.O.W.L. plot without advancing the arc too far this early in the season. Not even Launchpad could do that, as, in the end, Launchpad is back to his old self. He completely forgot about everything he saw, so he couldn't warn Mr. McD about all the misfortune that's going to happen. I will say that I am glad to see that there is a slight hint that the events of this episode did happen, as they do return to that puzzle cube running gag. A running gag that, while not having a real payoff, does have a point to it, how wonderful!

Oh, and as for Scrooge McDuck, with all of those tickets...he only managed to get a very, very small prize. Pretty accurate to the world of redemption games, I'm afraid to say. Don't want to anger that certain powerful rat.

How does it stack up?

The AR glasses do lead to some plot holes, and a lot of the episode relies on references, but none of that ruins the episode. Even the vague ending works in the episode's favor. Hell, maybe it will be explained in the future; this is the kind of show where I can expect that. Maybe not.

With great spy action, some great one-liners, a good villain, and some fantastic cameos from a fellow Disney Afternoon staple, this is another fantastic episode.

Next, suspicious mermaids!

← Quack Pack! 🦆 The Lost Harp of Mervana! →

[missjanjie]

Hold Me Tighter (Even Closer) | (4/?)

Title: Hold Me Tighter (Even Closer) Summary: A sequel to Hold Me Closer, Tiny Dancer. Brooke Lynn and Vanessa are back at NYU, but with new and improved positions. Brooke’s ready to start her career as a professor when, as fate would have it, she realizes her TA, Jackie, might have the hots for a student named Jan. The couple just might see it as a sign to give two new girls the love story they found in the same place. Word Count: ~3k (this chapter) / ~12k (total) Relationship(s): Branjie (Brooke Lynn Hytes/Vanessa Vanjie Mateo), Jankie (Jan Sport/Jackie Cox) Rating: E

read on ao3 | ko-fi

“I feel like I should at least pretend to be surprised. I don’t wanna come off as arrogant, you know?” Jan mused as she and Gigi walked back from the auditorium. She’d gone in just to pick up her script after securing her spot in the musical as Veronica, something she felt this whole week was leading up to. Something that made all of the chaos more bearable. “But this just… it feels right, right?”

Gigi chuckled softly and nodded. “Yeah, we all knew you had this in the bag. But I like the confidence you have, I’m proud of you, and you totally deserve this.”

Jan wrapped her arm around Gigi, hugging her from the side. “Thanks, I still needed to hear that,” she admitted. They continued walking in silence before she hesitantly told her, “I wanna tell Jackie. Despite what happened, she did help me a lot when it came to preparing for the audition.”

Gigi’s eyes lit up and she nodded enthusiastically. “Are you kidding? This is the perfect excuse to go talk to her! Even if things are weird, I’m sure she does actually want to know if you got the role. And if all goes well, you could always… thank her for her help,” she winked.

“Do you have any ideas about anything that doesn’t involve sex?” she asked.

“Hm… No, not really. Where’s the fun in that?”

Jan shook her head, she couldn’t have really expected anything else. But with Gigi, in its own weird way, it was almost endearing. “I appreciate the effort,” she told her with a wry grin. While she wasn’t exactly planning on following Gigi’s advice, she knew she was going to have to pluck up the courage to reach out to Jackie – she wanted to be the first to tell her about the role.

So, she texted her. Nothing dramatic, simply ‘I have good news, can we talk about it over coffee?’ and she sent it quickly before she could overanalyze and rewrite it. Though she was holding her breath until she received a text back, reading ‘sure, can be there in ten :)’.

By the time Jan made it to the coffee shop, she had managed to talk herself out of her nerves. She had to remind herself that before anything else, Jackie is a teacher, she knew how to be professional. And she could be professional too. They could have a professional friendship. As long as she didn’t look her right in the eye.

Jackie was notoriously early to everything – something Jan had only learned through passive gossip – so she wasn’t terribly surprised to see her sitting and waiting at a table with her coffee in hand. “Hey,” she greeted with a smile as she sat down and took a sip of her own drink.

“Hey you,” Jackie hummed. “So, what’s the big news?” she asked, trying not to give away that she strongly suspected the answer.

Either Jan didn’t notice or didn’t let it dampen her enthusiasm if she did. “I got the role! I’m gonna be Veronica,” she announced with a bright smile.

Jackie set her cup down and clasped her hands together. “Oh my god, that’s great!” She reached out, hand gently grasping Jan’s wrist. “I’m so happy for you, I knew you could do it.”

Jan smiled warmly. She missed the feeling of Jackie’s hand on her, even in a manner as simple as that. Even though she’d only experienced it briefly and drunkenly before, it felt comforting and familiar. “I definitely have you to thank in part for that. Who knows how hard I could’ve flopped if I picked the wrong song,” she mused.

“I don’t think it would’ve been possible for you to flop,” she retorted. “I think you could’ve sung the dictionary and they still would’ve given you the part.”

“Still, I’m glad I went to see you,” Jan finally got herself to make eye contact with Jackie. If nothing else, she wanted to convey that she was glad every part of that night happened, that she didn’t have any regrets, that the only thing she would’ve changed is running away in the morning. She doubted all of that would come across, but if she was lucky, the important parts would.

And Jackie seemed to at least try to understand what Jan meant. She smiled, she nodded, she rubbed her hand up and down Jan’s arm. “I’m glad you went to see me too,” she told her, voice holding just as many layers of emotion.

Jan smiled, biting down on her lip. “So, if I ever need someone to rehearse with…”

Jackie arched her brow. “Just rehearse?”

Blushing, she looked down. “Well, we’ll see where it goes, won’t we?” She strummed her fingers against the table as she took a long sip. “Maybe tonight?”

“Yeah,” Jackie breathed out, “I can do tonight.”

------

Going to see Jackie this time felt different. Jan was going in knowing the strong possibility of them having sex, and it took away a lot of pressure. It got rid of the fear of the unknown that had followed them ever since the morning after. She texted Jackie that she was in front of her apartment, then bounced on the balls of her feet as she waited.

“Hey,” Jackie greeted warmly as she ushered Jan inside. She looked her over curiously. “Whose letterman jacket is that?”

Jan looked over at her with a grin. “Mine,” she chirped. “I played soccer in high school. I kinda wanted to get into the mood of playing a high schooler. I was gonna get my old catholic school uniform, but…”

Jackie pouted playfully. “Don’t tease me like that,” she whined. “What, didn’t wanna take a ride out to Jersey?”

“Exactly!”

She chuckled softly. “Fair enough. You want anything to drink? Have you eaten?”

“I did,” Jan assures. “I’ll just take a water bottle or something if you’ve got one.”

Jackie nodded and fished one out of the fridge. “Heads up!” She tossed the bottle towards Jan, who was ready to catch it, but she had botched the throw terribly and it landed at the foot of the couch instead.

Jan giggled and picked it up. “Good effort!”

“Don’t patronize me, I have astigmatism,” she retorted with a dry laugh, grabbing a water bottle for herself. She didn’t want to say it out loud – lest she make Jan feel bad – but she was relieved that they had both decided not to drink. They needed time together with clear minds. And if something did happen, she wanted to remember every second of it.

“Were you in any clubs in high school?” Jan asked, deciding to change the subject.

“Other than theatre? I did student council, that was pretty fun, even though I know that’s about the nerdiest thing I could say.”

The younger student shrugged. “Hey, it helped get you here, so that’s all that really matters, right?”

Jackie tilted her head in thought for a moment. “Huh, yeah, I guess you’re right,” she decided, taking a swig of water. “Anyway, do you want to start with your lines or songs?”

“I feel like the songs take up a lot more of the show, that should probably take precedent,” Jan mused.

“Alright, which do you wanna start with?”

She hesitated. “There’s one I’m still nervous about getting right, don’t laugh…”

Jackie furrowed her brows but gestured for Jan to continue.

“Dead Girl Walking,” Jan admitted. “I just… I don't know how to be sexy and lustful on stage, and it’s such a passionate song… I don’t know, I just haven’t worked through that awkwardness yet, and I can feel it coming out when I practice,” she explained, then noticed the way Jackie was looking at her. “Don’t give me that face, it’s different when it’s in front of an audience and specifically choreographed.”

She chuckled softly, tucking her hair behind her ear. “Sorry, sorry. I’m just struggling trying to conjure up the mental image of you not being able to do sexy.” In fact, the only mental image she could conjure up was the one of Jan half-naked, grinding on her thigh. But she did want to help and pressed her lips together as she tried to think of a plan. “Why don’t you just try singing it through first? Close your eyes and picture what you want to be able to do.”

Jan nodded, taking her phone out to get the music going. “Okay, yeah, I think that’ll work,” she decided. She pressed play on the instrumental-only music and set her phone down before closing her eyes and starting to sing.

Jackie nodded as she listened, waiting for the lines that would lead to her supplying the dialogue.

“Before they punch my clock I'm snappin' off your window lock Got no time to knock I'm a dead girl walking”

“Veronica? What are you doing in my room?” Jackie’s eyes were trained on Jan as she spoke. She noticed Jan’s posture seemed to relax like she took comfort and reassurance in her voice.

“Shh…” Jan was delivering the line, but also calming herself down with an exhaled breath.

“Sorry, but I really had to wake you See, I decided I must ride you till I break you…”

As Jan continued to sing, Jackie slowly, quietly got up and walked up behind her. She slipped off the letterman jacket and tossed it aside, then rested her hands on Jan’s hips, pressing kisses against the back of her neck.

Jan shuddered softly but didn’t break focus. She picked up on what Jackie was trying to do right away, and she thought it was a true testament to Jackie’s quick-thinking brilliance.

“Come on! Tonight I'm yours I'm your dead girl walkin'...”

Jackie leaned forward a bit, picking just the right spot to bite down and leave a hickey. It was clear what she was trying to communicate – ‘that’s right, you’re mine, keep singing for me’. But as the tone of the song became gentle, so did her touches. She raked her fingers through Jan’s hair, releasing it from the ponytail it was in, while her opposite arm wrapped securely around her waist. She knew to keep it nice and calm until her next cue.

“Let's make this beautiful!”

Jackie smirked and spun Jan around to face her. “That works for me.” She knew how the choreography for the number went and eased right into it – she pulled Jan into a kiss and held her close as she backed onto the couch, falling onto it with Jan straddling her lap.

Jan finally opened her eyes when her next singing cue hit. The passion she had failed to capture in her words came out in full force now. They hit every physical cue – she lightly slapped Jackie’s cheek, Jackie pulled her hair and pulled her shirt open, then moved her hands up Jan’s torso and to her breasts.

They rolled their hips together in time with the beat, punctuating every ‘yeah’, and Jackie swore the arousal she saw on Jan’s face was real by the time the music faded out.

And Jan was breathless, her face flushed red. She was searching for words, but there just didn’t seem like there was a good way to ease out of this quasi-performance mode.

“I think you’ll be able to do it now,” Jackie mused, her arms looped casually around Jan’s waist. “I knew you had it in you.”

“Is that the only thing I’m getting in me tonight?” Jan asked with a wink, twirling her hair around her finger.

Jackie gasped, putting her hand to her chest as if she were clutching pearls. “Janice Sport, you are naughty,” she chastised, her tone intentionally overdramatic.

“Then you should punish me,” she answered without missing a beat.

Instead of verbally answering, Jackie just scooped Jan up in her arms and carried her into the bedroom. She pushed Jan’s unbuttoned shirt off her shoulders and laid her down on the bed. “Now that you mention it, I think that’s exactly what you deserve.” She stood up and looked Jan over. “Strip for me.”

“You’re not gonna shoot me, are you?” Jan joked, referencing the scene in the musical. She didn’t wait for an answer, stripping down to nothing regardless.

“Mm… No, not this time,” she teased. She took her time undressing, making sure Jan never took her eyes off of her. It was a rush of confidence, of power, it stirred something up in her and she felt such an urge to act on it. She moved closer, then pulled Jan to sit at the edge of the bed, tilting her chin up with two fingers. “Now, what am I going to do with you?”

Jan opened her mouth to respond, but Jackie pressed a finger to her lips. Not an actual question, got it. When Jackie kissed her, she readily reciprocated, wondering if she was planning the next steps or just dragging it out to tease her. It didn’t matter to her, really, she was eager for whatever Jackie was going to do.

And Jackie was just trying to figure out what to do. She had this beautiful girl, naked and ready for her to do what she pleased. As much as she liked this rush of power, it came with an odd sense of pressure too. But then an idea hit. “Lay on your back.”

Jan’s brow rose in interest, but she obeyed and laid on her back. Her eyes followed as Jackie as she walked across the room and rifled through a drawer. And when she realized Jackie was returning with a silk scarf, her heart started beating faster.

“Arms above your head,” Jackie instructed, then tied Jan’s wrists together. “Naughty girls don’t get to touch. Not me, not yourself. Just lay there like a good girl,” she cooed.

Jan whined because now that she was specifically told otherwise, all she wanted was to get her hands on Jackie. But then she watched Jackie disappear between her legs, and suddenly her whining turned to moaning.

Jackie’s hands firmly held Jan’s hips down against the bed. Her tongue traced along her slit before slowly circling her clit. She let her tongue dip inside her, thrusting and curling in ways that made Jan moan louder and writhe up more desperately. “Stay still or I’ll stop,” she warned firmly.

“Fuck, sorry, sorry,” Jan panted, finally willing herself to stay put. It felt far too good and she would do just about anything to keep it going. There was a brief moment of torturous nothingness, followed by the blissful relief of feeling Jackie’s tongue on her clit once more.

As Jackie continued sucking on and lapping at Jan’s clit, she eased a finger inside of her, pace rapidly building up until she was roughly fucking her with one, then two fingers. Her other hand alternated between holding Jan down and moving up to grope at her breasts. She felt and tasted perfect, every inch of her, and Jackie quickly found herself getting addicted to the girl.

If Jackie was starting to get addicted, Jan was fully hooked. Her moans were shamelessly, pornographically loud. If her hands weren’t tied, they’d be grabbing anything they could – Jackie, the comforter, she desperately needed something in her grasp. But all she could do was focus her energy on staying still, which was growing increasingly difficult. “Jackie, I – fuck – I’m close, so close, shit…”

“Go on,” Jackie encouraged. “Come for me.”

It had hardly taken more than that. A moan ripped through Jan as her orgasm hit, and she couldn’t help but buck up as she rode it out.

Jackie decided to let that slide, fucking her just as fervently through her orgasm, even continuing for a moment after she knew she was spent. “Hm,” she started as she finally moved to untie Jan’s wrists, “I think you’ve learned your lesson, haven’t you?”

“Uh-huh,” Jan nodded eagerly as she shook out her hands. “Wait, let me get you off too,” she insisted, reaching out to tug on Jackie’s arm. “Sit on my face.”

“I just can’t say ‘no’ to you,” Jackie chuckled. Despite giving in to Jan, she did wait until the brunette had caught her breath before she went on to straddle her face.

But as soon as Jackie was in position, Jan happily got to work. She gripped onto Jackie’s ass to hold her steady as she made quick work of sucking and licking at her.

Jackie held still at first, not wanting to overwhelm Jan. But when she was certain she was fine, she relaxed, rolling her hips steadily as she rode her face. “Fuck, Jan…”

Jan couldn’t help but be proud of herself when she realized she was having the same effect on Jackie as she did on her. She was an overachiever, even in bed. So, it became something of a self-imposed challenge to get Jackie off as fast as she could, not willing to stop until she had the older girl shaking.

And it ended up not taking long at all. Jackie was nearly as loud as Jan when she came, gripping onto the headboard as her hips rocked, then eventually slowed to a halt. “Jesus, fuck…” she exhaled as she moved to lay beside her. “Is there anything you can’t do with your mouth?” she teased.

“Whistle,” Jan replied with a shrug, which made both of them fall into a brief fit of giggles. She then cuddled up against Jackie. “You mind if I stay the night? I promise I’ll still be here in the morning.”

“Sure,” Jackie nodded, trying to sound casual, like she wouldn’t have cared either way if she got to wake up to Jan. “I’ll make breakfast.”

Jan nodded and let out a yawn. “Pancakes, please,” she murmured. This was fine, she thought. They had sex, and nothing felt weird. They could keep doing this, she told herself. There was nothing wrong with them just sleeping together, right?