#fear and loathing in the outer ring

[nocherrybombs]

Fear and Loathing in New Eridu

Caesar: What have you got there, Burnice?

Burnice, dragging Pulchra by the arm: I found her in a Hollow and she was so cute and pathetic that I just had to bring her home with me. Can we keep her? Pleeeease, Caesar?

Caesar: Alright, alright, you can keep her. But remember that taking care of a cat is a big commitment, okay?

Pulchra: ...you guys know I'm not a pet, right? I'm an adult Thiren. I can take care of myself.

Burnice: Yay! Don't worry, I promise I'll be responsible!

Pulchra: Hey, are you listening to me? Actually, better question: are you listening to yourself? You sound like a crazy person.

Burnice: I'll make sure she's fed, and groomed and happy and I'll take her to Cheesetopia whenever she wants.

Pulchra: Wait, I get free food out of this?

Burnice: Well, yeah, obviously! I'm not gonna let my pretty kitty starve to death!

Pulchra: Fuck, why does every single one of her personality flaws make me like her more?

Piper: That's her survival mechanism, I reckon. She's one of God's own prototypes; a high-powered mutant not even considered for mass production. Too annoying to live and too adorable to die.

Pulchra: You are all completely insane.

Lucy: Welcome to the Sons of Calydon, where apparently insanity is a prerequisite for membership.

[malkavi-ann]

When the Truth Hurts. Chapter 2

Elden Ring: Shadow of the Erdtree fanfiction

Rating: Mature (May change in the future)

Relationship: F/M

Pairing: Messmer the Impaler/Original Female Character

Tags: Self-Loathing, Reference to Depression, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Memory Loss, Messmer is bad at feelings, Mommy Issues, Abandonment Issues.

Link to Ao3

Chapter 2: The Woman in the Hut

And so Messmer, accompanied by his loyal commander, knights, and soldiers, embarked on his journey to the Gravesite Plain. It felt so unusual for him to be outside as he’d been spending all of his time being a hermit. At first, he hated being outdoors: the light seemed too bright and the nature sounds felt overwhelming. However, in a few hours, he got accustomed to it and even started to enjoy it a bit. It reminded Messmer of the times when his army was in its prime and was going from one place to another chasing down the Hornsent people. How brutally glorious those days were. Every battle and every siege was filled with purpose. Every Hornsent life that they took felt like a victory. But with time the fights became few and far between, and the glory of the crusade started to wane. Now Messmer and his army are stuck in this land, with no sign of their Queen returning her grace to them.

The journey continued smoothly as the path was clear. They left the Shadow Keep early in the morning and by the afternoon they had passed Castle Ensis, which was Lady Rellana’s main post. As the day went by, Messmer and his people started to slowly approach the south side of the Gravesite Plain. And the closer they were getting, the more anxious Messmer felt. His mind was filled with conflicting thoughts and emotions. On one hand, the possibility of seeing his mother excited him. Despite her prolonged absence and lack of communication, he still loved her dearly. Marika not only raised him all by herself, but she was also the one who sealed the abyssal serpent away to prevent it from overtaking Messmer’s body and soul. In his eyes, this was the biggest manifestation of her love and one of the reasons why he wouldn’t give up on her. On the other hand, the news that his mother was back was too good to be true, and Messmer was never an optimistic person. Besides, it still didn’t make sense why Marika would choose an abandoned hut in the middle of nowhere to make her return. And what was the deal with the blood fiends? Those creatures didn’t care for the Greater Will or the Golden Order. The whole situation was extremely odd, raising a lot of questions without giving any clear answers.

“You seem rather preoccupied, my friend.” The booming voice of Commander Gaius snapped Messmer back into reality.

“I’m not sure what to expect when we arrive at that place. I’ve been thinking a lot about this whole ordeal but I cannot think of any reasonable explanation as to why my mother would return so suddenly. It just doesn’t make any sense”, replied Messmer absent-mindedly.

”I agree with you. The involvement of the blood fiends seems rather peculiar as well. They are known for worshiping the Formless Mother who is an Outer God. And since there is no connection to the Queen’s Holy Order, my fear is that this is some sort of trap to get you out of the Keep. You must be careful, my friend.”

“Well, if this is indeed a trap, we shall find out soon enough. Looks like we’re nearing the Prospect Town, and according to the reports the hut is somewhere nearby.”

The group continued their journey along the snaky cliffside path southeast of Belurat. The road was narrow and rocky, making the pass extremely dangerous. Soon enough they reached the ruins of the town where a tribe of blood fiends had been living for centuries. The first thing that struck Messmer was the absolute silence: all he could hear was the howling wind. Normally, this place would be swarmed by the fiends; however, now it was completely deserted with no sign of the monsters. There was something eerie about this whole situation, and Messmer’s people got visibly nervous while they were passing through the town. However, nothing could have prepared them for what they were about to see next.

All around the hut, many bodies were lying on the ground: some of them were blood fiends and others were of his soldiers. One would think that a battle had taken place here, yet there were no signs of struggle and not a single drop of blood. At first, Messmer thought they were all dead but upon closer look, it turned out they were simply asleep. Their slumber was so unusually deep that any attempts to wake them up were unsuccessful. The whole situation around the mysterious woman was getting weirder and weirder.

“My lord, we’re waiting for your command”, said one of the Fire Knights to Messmer.

Messmer took a deep breath. “Take two soldiers with you and get to the hut. Get that woman out of there. I have many questions for her that need answers”, he ordered. The Fire Knight nodded and called over some of the foot soldiers to follow him. The distance between Messmer’s envoy and the hut was short, yet it felt like an eternity for them to reach the door. The Fire Knight knocked on the door and barked out the order: “We’re here on behalf of Sir Messmer the Impaler. We know you’re inside. Any resistance shall be met with force. Come out voluntarily and you shall be spared.”

As soon as he finished talking, the door slightly opened and a tiny cloud of purple mist left through the opening, enveloping the knight and the soldiers. Everyone was watching with tension as the group fell to the ground in a matter of seconds…and fell asleep. It became obvious that whoever was hiding in the shack had some sort of power to inflict sleep on others and was responsible for putting the blood fiends and scouts into slumber. This was the first sign that the woman in the hut was definitely not Marika as the latter was never known to have similar abilities.

The remaining group stood in silence unsure of what to do next. No one dared to move closer to the shack; instead, all the attention was on Messmer - his men were waiting for his instruction. Meanwhile, Messmer was weighing his options: he could turn back and forget about everything that happened or he could burn this hut from afar, killing this mysterious woman. There was also another option: he could confront the imposter and demand answers: who is she? Is she related to his mother? Why was she here? In truth, the circumstances around the woman made him curious to the point that he wanted to talk to her. Perhaps she knew something about Marika or maybe she was her messenger or even an avatar. There had to be some explanation as to why she looked like Marika, Messmer thought.

”My lord, do you have any orders for us?”, a voice brought Messmer back out of his thoughts.

“No, I shall face this imposter myself.”, responded Messmer with confidence. Everyone looked at him in disbelief, but no one dared to question his decision. “I would like to speak to her personally and no one shall interfere”, he added briefly. Gaius gave Messmer a concerned look as he knew how vulnerable his friend was about the subject of his mother. He didn’t say anything, yet he understood why Messmer wanted to deal with the imposter himself. “We will stand at the ready my Lord in case something happens.”, he finally said. Messmer nodded appreciatively and headed to the hut.

As Messmer was walking up to the door, his heart was pounding. The possibility of getting answers about his mother was exhilarating and frightening at the same time. Once he reached the door, it took him a moment to collect his thoughts. Then, he spoke loudly so the person in the hut could hear him: “My name is Messmer the Impaler. I came here in peace and I only wish to speak with you. No harm shall be inflicted upon you. You have my word.”, he promised.

Nobody replied to him for a couple of minutes. Suddenly, a small melodic voice came out behind the door. “Please come in. The door is open”. Messmer’s heart sank a bit as he didn’t recognize the voice. How foolish of him to think that Mother would finally return to someone so monstrous like Messmer. Perhaps, there is no hope for him after all. Nevertheless, he took a deep breath and pushed the door. Even though he realized this was not his mother, he was still determined to learn the truth.

[emblematicemblazer]

Worldbuilding and Theories of Engage

Lythos and The universe.

If you look at the map of Elyso you can see that the kingdoms of Firene, Brodia, Elusia and Solm form a circle around Lythos and Gradlon.  The four kingdoms each represent a season.

Firene - spring

Brodia - autumn

Elusia - winter 

Solm - summer

Each kingdom also represents one of the five 'godia' or elements in Buddhist traditions.

Firene - spring - air - represents growth, open-mindedness, wisdom and freedom

Brodia - autumn - earth - represents foundation, being acted upon, stability and stubbornness.

Elusia - water - represents flow, change, emotion and adaptability.

Solm - fire - represents creativity, motivation, passion, intensity and desire.

Gradlon/Lythos - the void - represents the source of the human spirit, everything, nothing, absence and death.

Lythos and Gradlon form a solar eclipse in the centre of the universe. A solar eclipse happens when the Moon covers the Sun's center, leaving the Sun's visible outer edges to form a “ring of fire” or annulus around the Moon. Lythos is a crescent shape and is the moon in the solar eclipse. Gradlon is the sun forming a 'ring of fire' around Lythos. In Tibetan Buddhism it is believed that during a solar and lunar eclipse that one's good and bad deeds are multiplied by 10,000. The good deeds of The Divine Dragon and the bad deeds of Sombron are multiplied.

A solar eclipse always coincides with the new moon. It is a sign of change and new beginnings. Gradlon rising to form the eclipse signifies new beginnings for Alear and Veyle. Veyle had a new beginning as her true self, a Dragon that helps people and saves the world. Alear has a new beginning as an Emblem. A new family is formed between Alear and Veyle. Each leader has a new beginning in a world of peace and mutual understanding with greater communication between the kingdoms. 

It is important to note that despite Lythos being the shape of a moon, the country's symbol is the sun. It is the same situation with Gradlon, the country is the shape of the sun and their symbol is the moon. This represents yin-yang. Ying and yang are not in conflict, they compliment each other to create balance. The fell and divine in Alear create a perfect balance. Alear and Veyle working together create balance. Yin-yang represents the uniting of opposites to create balance. 

Gradlon and Lythos also represent as above, so below. There is harmony, agreement and correspondence between each plane. What happens in life is reflected in death, what happens in heaven is reflected in earth. The ideal Elyso is one where yin-yang is in perfect harmony and where as above, so below is in agreement. The Xenologue demonstrates what happens without the Divine Dragon and humanity working together in perfect harmony, heaven falls (the Somniel has literally fallen from the sky,) and humanity falls to ruin (all the leaders are dead and the corrupted act like the living). Without the complimentary divine to work with the fell the world cannot be saved. It is only when the Divine Dragon is summoned to the fallen Elyso are they then able to save those who are left. 

Lythos and Gradlon as shadow and light.

Within you is light and shadow, both need to be recognized to understand who you really are.

The shadow is the part of you that you do not want to see, not others to witness. Gradlon as the shadow at the start of the game is hidden under water, hidden from view. The shadow is feared, hated, in denial and projected elsewhere. Sombron's inability to connect with others is projected onto the bonds of others, because his connections are weak and easy to break, which means that everyone else is the same. He loathes his enemies inability to admit failure, weakness and defeat because he cannot admit the same. 

The shadow is not evil but without facing it and recognizing it as evil you allow yourself to do evil deeds without recognising it as evil. Sombron believes he is justified in his actions because of his experience of isolation. People are not people, they are props to be used. His children are manufactured goods made to serve his ego. No one matters except his ego. 

 "Take the plank out of your own eye, and then you will see clearly enough to take the splinter out of your brother's eye" (Matthew 7:4-5)

Sombron is never able to face the shadow side of himself. Veyle and Alear are able to. 

Veyle sees the shadow side of herself, she does not identify with the cloaked figure who delights in harming people, however she understands that it only represents part of who she is. Completely identifying as cloaked Veyle would lead to much evil. She brings light to the shadow part of herself by believing in Alear, believing she can make connections and help people and by learning that Sombron is only a shadow of a father figure who wants to use her for his own ends. If the cloaked figure won she would have lived and been driven by fear and malice. Veyle pours light into the shadow side of herself by breaking the helmet from her head. When she first learns of her shadow side she confronts it with anger, surprise and fear. When she stands up for herself and faces her shadow with determination and sadness she sees how broken and needy her shadow self was. Veyle knows she has sinned and is saddened by what she has done and seeks redemption. The final desperate plea for a father that never loved her by her shadow self represents that broken and needy self. Most importantly to move on from her shadow she needs to forgive that part of her. She forgives Zephia and says she will remember her and she says goodbye to her father and holds no malice towards him. With her dark side recognised and faced up to, she is ready to open her heart up to the light of the Divine Dragon Alear. She still has a little way to go to accept her fell dragon side.

Alear faced up to their dark side when they discovered the truth of their identity. At first they were shocked and humiliated, their ego took a knock. The ego does not like the truth about the shadow self being revealed. Alear believed they could not be a good dragon if they were a fell dragon. By recognising and facing the fell part of themselves they are able to embrace the light and transcend to an emblem. 

Alear's shadow self projects their feeling of impurity upon the corrupted, that is why they fear them, they see the unholy fell energy within them that is within themselves. Alear faces their shadow self by becoming one of the corrupted and continuing to fight for peace. The shadow self is also demonstrated when Alear loses Marth. Alear can only embrace the light when they start to believe in themself and their self worth. Throughout the game Alear grows into the role of divinity, they are able to project confidence and give hope to their allies. They believe in their power to summon emblems even after Sombron has drained them of power. Defeating Dungeon is a symbol for defeating the shadow self. Importantly Alear does not show malice, instead they try to summon emblem X in hope that Sombron could, one day, find the light. 

[tidalhaired]

"In all fairness, the orc must have taken the blade of a Man," Elrond deduced. His last unfortunate victim, most likely. "And Men of the west usually do not coat their blades in anything vicious." So the orc must have done so in retrospect, the moment the blade was in his possession. "You could not have known."

The idea of Celebrían going out without a guard made him feel most uneasy. At the same time he loathed the idea of stifling her. This valley was as much hers as it was anyone's and she ought to be free to go wherever she liked, alone or no. Elrond adored her wild spirit and her independence, and should anyone back in Lórien feel he was imprisoning her in any way then he would deserve both rebuke and punishment.

Returning her smile, he reached for a damp, cool cloth and wiped her forehead, offering refreshment. "I have a suggestion. It would be wise to post more sentries outside, patrolling our outskirts in an inner and an outer ring. The orcs must be thaught that they cannot be anywhere near Imladris without detection. Loud alarming horns should send them scurrying away back into the shadow whence they came."

The valley housed plenty of eager Dúnedain who both wished to help and to prove themselves. They were eagle-eyed, and hunted orcs so well as if they had been made for it. They may like the idea of being formal sentries, in official duty of Imladris. "Do you think my brother's kin would like to help? Though they are Elf-friends, drafting them into my services may cause offence."

He very obviously did not say anything about her not going out anymore. They would let the darkness win if they hid away in obvious fear. It would send the wrong message to Sauron and his wretched beasts. And it would undermine the power of Vilya, who allowed Elrond to keep Imladris and her outskirts lush and pure in a world where the light was slowly fading.

[ 02 ] sender comes to receiver for help with a wound they swore they could take care of alone.

( @ccelebrian )

Wise as Elrond was, he swallowed the 'I told you so' sitting on his tongue. It would only serve to anger his wife and no other purpose. Celebrían was already hurt, he did not want to add emotional agitation. Besides, the concerned expression on his ageless features spoke for itself. His brow was furrowed and he chewed his bottom lip as he gestured for her to come over and sit on the bed.

There was a gash on her arm, and he could see why she thought herself capable of tending to it herself. The location was easily accessible by her uninjured hand and usually a cut like this one healed without required much aid. Alas, something was not right.

Examining it further was going to smart, so he distracted her by brushing a long strand of gleaming hair behind her dainty ear, while his thumb carefully pulled at the reddened skin around the cut. "You told me this was a regular Man-made blade that cut you," he mused, leaning down to check how the injury smelled. The coppery scent of her blood was intermingled with a subtle bitterness and the red irritation of her skin was unusual at this stage of a healing cut. "Has it been laced with poison?"

Perhaps Men would have already succumbed to it, while all it did for an Elf was hinder the healing process? "I will concoct an antidote, but it will require experimenting, as I am uncertain which herbs have been used to create the poison."

@ccelebrian

[sinisterexaggerator]

Give me one night Hondo Ohnaka lover please?

Title: Trust me 

Summary: Hondo Ohnaka sits at Maz's Castle on Takodana contemplating his many misfortunes and his strife. The Clone Wars have ended, but that does not mean his troubles have - that's when he sees you, and you are staring at his portrait. Perhaps the night will fair better than the day, but that all depends on you.

Notes: This is my first time writing a Hondo x Reader! I normally write for Cad Bane and Shriv Suurgav! I have ideas for more already! ;D Comments / reblogs are appreciated!

Hondo is slightly depressed and a little subdued in this fic - at least at first. It takes place after the Clone Wars have ended/during the Rise of the Empire Era and after Skragg has stolen his possessions/the loyalty of all his men. He has lost everything, so he is out of sorts. One thing though, I could not give up the inclusion of his coat.

PS: The portrait that I mention is "canon" and can be seen in Star Wars: Battlefront 2 at Maz's Castle hanging on the wall.

Word count: 5.5+

Warnings: NSFW / 18+ for smut, fingering, face-sitting, cunnilingus, penis in vagina sex (consensual and gentle), multiple orgasms, light-bondage, and role reversals/switching.

[ AO3 ]

______

“Cheer up, friend! It can’t be all that bad!” Maz Kanata said. The Weequay sitting at her bar was mopey; his head was downturned as his grey eyes studied the bubbling liquid within his tankard. He shifted to gaze at her beyond a set of wide rimmed goggles - they were apart of him like so many other things that adorned his person – all stolen.

“Everything’s gone, Maz. What could possibly be worse than that? My starships; my treasure; my crew; my men, my Kowakian monkey; my most prized possessions! Even all the women! First the Separatists, the Empire, and now that nefarious woman, Skragg!” Hondo Ohnaka sighed, reminiscing on his past life. He had been the most feared pirate captain in all the galaxy, his Ohnaka Gang renown from the Core worlds to the Outer Rim territories.

“They even stole my name!” Now he was nothing; a nobody; just a Weequay without a home. The only things left to him were the golden rings bedecking his ridged fingertips - his Deservrar battle helmet -  his signature coat taken from a nobleman. These items he did not give up. The clothes off his thick-skinned back were his only personal effects. That, and a few meagre credits.

“Well, you could be dead!” the small woman quipped, observing his long face from beneath a pair of unique spectacles. Hondo thought she had a point though loathe to admit it to himself with the way he felt.

“Yes, I suppose you are correct. At least you have a most handsome painting to remember me by when the inevitable happens.” He raised his mug in the direction of his self-proclaimed graven image, sure to be fawned over for generations, even after the pirate himself had finally met with Maker, though perhaps Maz would still be around to tell his tale.

That’s when he noticed you; you were beautiful and staring at his portrait. His eyes lit up with a little spark of something; you ignited within him a flame of hope as he contemplated all the possibilities of what this could mean for a lonely man like him, but only if he played his cards right…

“Excuse me, Maz.” Hondo stood abruptly, sliding across his barstool. He smoothed out the wrinkles of his crimson coat as he straightened to his full stature. He took a breath, regained himself, or at least a part of him. He brushed one braid back behind his armored shoulder as he reached deep within to retrieve his pomp; his brass; his old confidence, approaching you from the rear – and what a rear it was.

He admired you before bothering to say a word – vuluptous. You wore an unembellished dress, tightened around your hips by a belt lined with varied pouches. You sported a cropped jacket, open, to reveal a deep rent of cleavage; your boots were worn, your hair was down there appeared to be nothing out of the ordinary except for your uncommon comeliness.

He moved to stand beside you, Hondo folding his arms behind his back as he clasped his hands. He stood transfixed as he stared at his own portrait before his beguiling voice filled the space between you; it was lacquered with a façade of gentleness; nobility, artful in its expression, yet Hondo was far from an aristocrat – even scoundrels could have manners - his mother taught him well.

“I couldn’t help but notice you have exquisite taste. The artist truly captured the subject’s dashing good looks, wouldn’t you agree, my dear?”

You were aware of who the man was beside you - you had seen him earlier talking to the sole proprietor – he was on your radar before he ever noticed you, and his advance only made things easier. You mulled over his egotism - should you try to break it just for fun? Should you finesse yourself into his favor as he expected you to do? The potentialities were endless, you could create entire alternate realities based on a few scant words. Oh, but Hondo didn’t know you were that cunning, or a woman who could match his level of crookery and craftiness; you were dangerous.

You decided to buy in.

You didn’t face him but pretended to be unaware of who the Weequay was. You tipped toed forward to get a better look at the portrait or feigned to. “This particular Weequay’s eyes are captivating in their ability to entrance you. They are warm, yet mischievous. There is a twinkle of something hidden within their alluring depths - he has secrets, and he is unwilling to share them with me.”

A smirk was toying at the corner of your lips - you thought that might do the trick – you had chosen your words carefully so as to flatter the man’s self-esteem.

“What do you think?” you asked the pirate with your back still turned. You were giving him the perfect opportunity to make the moves on you. He better make it good.

Hondo Ohnaka smiled deviously as he adjusted the right cufflink of his striped tunic, more to give his hands something to do as he waited an appropriate length of time before responding to you. His reply held a modicum of effervescence, his syrupy voice laced with vainglorious arrogance, yet you would not deny it could easily hold sway over you if you allowed it to.

“I think you are astute in your observations. Perhaps you would enjoy looking into those eyes in person? It might be prudent to test your hypothesis before deciding one way or another what kind of man this Weequay really is. He might pleasantly surprise you.”

And here it was - the time for you to put on your charade - test your acting skills.

“And what would you know of that, Mister…?”

You turned to face the speaker; your gasp was wholly believable. You faintly touched your chest in a mock show of surprise.

“Hondo Ohnaka, at your service.” The knavish devil bowed, sweeping one arm forward in a featly twirl as it came to rest across his personage. He rose with a grin from ear to ear, quite satisfied that he had marveled you into such a state of awe.

Your visage changed; you became the knave, though your intentions were to seduce the rascal if it was even necessary.

Your hand along your bosom lightly glided behind your ear as you forged a blush; it quickly got lost in your lush curls. You spun a strand along your finger as you bat your lashes, your words dripping with licentious intonations.

“And what services do you offer?” you inquired coyly.  

Hondo reached out for you with his hand laden in golden rings, his palm turned upward as he silently requested the presence of your own within his. You humored him, impressing your fingers along his. Those digits coiled and brought you close with a gentle tug so that he might implant a kiss. His lips were thin, warm to the touch, and soft as silk - they left behind the sensation of a tingle.

“That depends on you love, and what you’re in the market for,”  he retorted deftly.

He disengaged, not lingering more than he thought sensible. You took the opportunity to softly brush your fingertips along his frills before retracting your appendage. The man exuded a small sound of yearning, though he took a deep breath and bit his tongue to prevent himself from coming on too strong. Oooh, you were a wily one…

“I have a few ideas. Afterall, it’s not every day you meet the great pirate captain Hondo Ohnaka in the flesh,” you stated plainly, laying the compliments on thick.

“So you have heard of me – that’s more than I bargained for – though not unexpected.” “Great” was an adjective he was largely fond of.

“Oh, I’ve heard many things,” you japed, taking a step forward, one perfectly trim nail grazing the armor across his shoulder. It slid down, trailing the length of his unique skin between the ‘V’ shape enriched with gilded thread. It was supple, downy, yet exceptionally tough, like a Saurin, or a Trandoshan, perhaps, though smoother, more refined, like the man himself.

Hondo cleared his throat, his charcoal-colored irises catching you with a look that nearly took your breath away from behind his goggles. Instead, he grasped your hand again; he held it still against his chest. You could feel his heartbeat. This simple, yet intimate gesture had disarmed you in totality.

“I only hope I can live up to them,” he demurred.

---

You had coaxed Hondo to your lair, like the spider had the fly, or had he coaxed you? It was hard to tell the difference.

You had rented a room here on Takodana right inside Maz’s castle for the night, and this was the specific reason why. It had a lovely view of Nymeve Lake, though the only view you cared for was right in front of you. You scarcely made it there - you couldn’t keep your hands to yourself – you were explorative, and the pirate hardly protested.

You were surprised by your depraved appetites; there was just something about the man. He had powerful charisma, though he was supposed to play into your hands. He had barely touched you; you were so voracious, and he could not deny it was a boost to his self-regard, not that he needed much of one.

“I appreciate your- mmn.” His words were cut off by your richly hued lips; they anchored against his, unyielding, until you pushed your tongue between his teeth.

The man moaned into your parted mouth, his thickset muscle winding around yours in a calculated set of movements that catalyzed the stirring of your loins. You had pinned him to a wall outside your door, arms and all. His wrists were limp beneath your hands - it was a kind of role reversal that he was used to - the pirate had been the lover of Aurra Sing; he let you have your way with him.

“Make love to me,”  you whispered against his kiss, tugging him forward as he dutifully followed, though far be it from him to try and break your purchase. He was rather enjoying this.

“I daresay, you present a most convincing-”

It seems you would not allow him to finish speaking. Normally he might have sorely hated to be interrupted, but for this occasion it was warranted.

Your hands slipped down below his waistline as your mouths were joined; he didn’t bother to investigate what you might be up to. You had unlocked the door; pushed it open; the other hand kindly ran along the apex of his many frills. The man stopped you there. He clasped your hand with one of his. You let out a small gasp as he benignly berated you for touching them.

“Careful, darling, I cannot control what might become of me if you keep doing that.”

Something happened. Cold durasteel had met with his slender wrist. He heard a click then felt something small, obtrusive, and unforeseen pressed upon his person right afterward. He glanced down to find a palmed sized hold-out pistol fit snuggly against his guts. His skin was blaster-resistant, but at this close range he would not be one to risk a hasty move.

“Your other hand, please,” you requested tersely.

The Weequay hmphed, almost laughing at himself. He did as he was told; he released you and lowered his other arm. You quickly bound him in your binder -; the pouches along your belt were full of an assortment of deadly goodies that aided you in your profession – you were a bounty hunter.

Oh, but this had been hard to do. You were fraught with an internal struggle. You wanted him all to yourself, but you also desired to turn him in for the credits that he was worth - a slighted clan had put a sizeable price upon his head.

The man must have seen something within your eyes, for he spoke to you with cloying sweetness, though his words were tinged with disappointment as he rebuked himself – it was a new kind of game.

“I should have known that you were not truly interested in me. I am but a shadow of my former self, though I do applaud you. You would make a most excellent pirate, my dear. I have never felt so double-crossed.”

He looked sad, downtrodden, and though he was partially, he was putting on an act in hopes that you might drop your guard- make you feel sorry for him – to his pleasure it was working.

His pout; those lowered eyes now bereft of their happy glow. You tried to touch him again, his cheek, but you were shunned. He turned away from you and gazed down at the floor as he sighed out a forlorn breath that hitched, ragged in his throat. You felt scolded as your heart sank; you were moved by his sudden humbleness.

“Please, I beg of you - do not toy with my emotions any further. Let us get this over with.” The hurt was obvious – you had wounded his pride, his undoubtedly fragile ego. You had heard of his many failures, the bad luck he had been dealt; you bit your lip as you studied him.

You spoke without thinking. You couldn’t help yourself. You replaced your weapon as you twirled with him, keeping him trapped between the entrance of your rented room and the outside hall. “Perhaps we can make a deal.”

He would have smiled but he wouldn’t dare to. He kept up his façade; his head never lifted as he quietly told you the truth, conceding to your display of dominance. “I have nothing to offer you except myself.”

He lightly jingled the cuffs that currently confined him. “And that, I am afraid, you already have.”

It had been a whisper; he implanted the idea into your mind without you noticing. He was succumbing to your authority, giving you control over him; it was a boon, and not something many could have ever claimed to do.

You gathered his chin between your index and your thumb; you forced him to look at you. He blinked once, languidly, before his argentine sky-colored eyes bore deeply into yours -  they were the cast of a coming storm - achromatic, but oh-so-beautiful.

“For that I ask permission.”

He never wavered as he looked at you. “Any stipulations?”

“One of your many rings should suffice – enough to cover the bounty that would be owed to me.”

“How do I know this is not a trick? You might decide to take the bounty out on me and the gold.

“You don’t – you’ll just have to trust me.”

He thought it over or at least pretended to. “I accept.”

He brought his arms up, waiting to be freed, a pitiful look etched across his leathery countenance.

“Not a chance. I can’t have you running off on me quite yet.”

“A wise decision,” he stated simply.

---

The Weequay waited with downcast eyes as you undressed for him. He was attempting to be respectful, though he caught a glimpse of naked skin and betrayed you with a glance. You were in your lacey undergarments but the rest of you was bare. You crooked a finger as you beckoned him.

He stepped forward to the bed and you latched onto the center of the cuffs; a length of chain separated one hand from the other. You pulled him towards you; you wanted to devour him with another kiss. You serried your lips against his hungrily. He made the motions, though timid, behaving unlike he had before. You backed away to regard him, your frown apparent.

“Don’t you want me anymore?”

The longer he kept this performance going, the more and more believable it would seem, he told himself. After all, you had never met before or spoken before this night. He was sure his reputation proceeded him, though that didn’t mean you were aware of the many tricks and stratagems that Hondo could seemingly pull out of thin air - his unmatched theatrics being one of them – he could rival your performance.

“You are beautiful,” he informed you, “but I do not know what you want of me. I do not wish to-”

“Hondo.” You ran your fingers along one of his stray braids, fingering the end of it; the hair was wispy; you enjoyed its texture. “I want all of you, or the deal is off.”

“Then all of me you shall have.”

The Weequay kissed you then with balmy passion; his lips were soothing, as were his hands. He had raised his arms, ribbed digits tenderly caressing you even as they were bound, your rosy cheeks finding their way to the center of his palms. His touch was temperate, delicate, as if you were a fragile flower or an expensive work of art; his tongue crept forward to dance with yours if you would so allow.

He placed a knee upon your borrowed bed; he crept forward, coercing you to rest one foot and calf atop the coverlet. His fingers inched back to either side of your slender neck as he cradled you behind your ears. He realized he could have choked you, killed you right then and there with your own cuffs. You seemed none the wiser, oblivious to the danger as his tongue was now full flush inside your mouth.

The pirate decided not to do that, though he guided his cinched hands downward and cupped your lavish breasts. His moans were subdued, quiet, as he carefully massaged your flesh beneath your lingerie. His other knee joined the first; he used a small amount of subtle force to sit you down. He dipped you back upon your pillows the best he could - you fell gradually with his attentive aid - your hair tumbling around you like the halo of an angel; Hondo thought you luxurious.

The Weequay straddled you; he was now in a position of power over you, though he labored not to notice. He would ride it out.

He watched captivated as you undid the hooks, pushing down the straps to reveal your soft mammalian tissue for him to grope and fondle as he so wished. He adjusted his overcoat in an awkward fashion; it was proving difficult. He brushed it halfheartedly away by the point of his own elbow as he backed up, craning over you. He sowed felicitous kisses along your pulse point, your shoulders, beyond your clavicle, and down the center of your chest.

He lingered along your sternum before turning to your bosom, his lips leaving you in the throes of horripilation as the tiny hairs along your arms stood upright out of longing and excitement. He was being methodical, tortuous in his ministrations, his tongue finally extending to ghost your readily awaiting nipple. You emitted a small sound of elatedness as he had presently found his mark – he was good at that.

Your vocalization only seemed to encourage him; he compressed your other breast with the clawing of his fingers. He drove his hardened cock against your lower leg, though it remained hidden beneath his trousers. He sucked your teat with unrestrained enthusiasm as he let his instincts overtake him. He nipped you with his teeth, though very gently. He unlocked and released, not wanting to ignore the other breast. He gave each one attention in due time, leaving behind a trace of moist saliva.

He had begun his descent, though he nearly slipped along your abdomen in attempting a more complicated enterprise. Half of it might have been done on purpose but you would never know the opposite. He paused, looking at up at you from the transparisteel inset within his eyewear. The glass surface reflected the luminescence produced from the only lamp within the room, bouncing back at you. His expression changed, taking on notes of a patient lust, waiting idly as those steely, slanted eyes nearly caused your heart to stop.

“This would be much easier, and a far more pleasant experience for the both of us, if you would be so kind as to free my hands.”

You were nearly persuaded by his salacious mien alone; you were tempted to give in. His voice was honey in your ears; his gaze was hypnotizing. You had reached out towards your belongings where the key was stored before you stopped yourself; there was a glimmer in his pupils that made you second-guess; you had many doubts about the sentient, and this was one of them.

“No,” you firmly answered him. “How do I know you won’t betray me?”

He gave you only what could be described as a wicked grin. “You don’t – you will just have to trust me.”

He bent down from his position and kissed your inner thigh, suckling your skin. He left a tiny placement of broken capillaries in his wake before he adeptly convinced you otherwise.

“Come. Let me make you… feel alive,” he whispered as his hairline mouth wandered further inward towards your still clothed sex. You were undeniability turned on - you had surpassed aroused.

You thought you might regret this, but your desire for him carnally overpowered your resolve as did his lustrous baritone.

You fumbled for the key; you undid the binders hastily. You didn’t bother to replace them, you only left them off to the side as you were still entranced by the Weequay’s eyes.

Hondo rubbed one wrist, evocative of a man who had been subjected to undue imprisonment for a great length of time, though he murmured his approval, smiling all the while.

“That’s better.”

His fingers curled around either side of your underwear; he rolled them down your knees and off your ankles. He dropped them off by the vertex of two fingers in a moment of tomfoolery.

“You won’t be needing these,” he teased.

He made another set of motions; he removed several of his rings, oh, but they weren’t for you. Not yet. They were safely put away into his pocket.

Your breath caught in your throat as Hondo lowered his entire body to match up with your own. You were eye to eye now as he kissed you, and he had sunk two fingers deep inside your cunt without so much as a warning. His other hand ran through your hair, stroking you in a loving manner, his thumb petting you along your forehead as he whispered sweet nothings in your ear.

“You’re already so wet, love. Is it all for me?”

The skillful extremities inside your body’s cavity nestled to the hilt with the help of your excessive slick, their zeniths pressing lightly against the center of your pleasure. He shifted, biting your lower lip as your mouth parted, having been immersed in the  unique sensation in summation.

It was a cautious nibble before his warm muscle encircled yours, his erection riding against your hip. A dulcet whine escaped him, a tone that was most agreeable, for it caused you to peak along with the overwhelming prowess with which Hondo Ohnaka administered his cunning expertise.

You bit back the sounds of your release, refusing to wake the entire castle, though this disappointed Hondo. He was out to get you now.

“The nerve of you,” he scoffed.

You felt each rib of his alien extremities as they left you empty, sliding out with ease thanks to your abundant secretions though not enough for him.

“I want to hear you sing, my dear.”

He crept backward on his hands and knees, delving into your already soaked mound. He spread your lower lips apart with his thumb and index, titillating you with just the tip of his thick tongue across your clit. You squirmed, reaching back to grasp the bedframe as your chest heaved, pressing your lips together as you writhed.

He noticed the fight you gave; he redoubled his own efforts. His entire tongue entered you, sampling your nectar. The pad of his ridged thumb expertly rubbed your bundle of ardent nerves as he fucked you with his mouth, feasting like a starving animal.

You came again, albeit quietly; you were forcing yourself not to scream even as your toes curled inward. You were so overtaken by the depths of your own feelings, your body’s fervor, that you were surprised when Hondo grabbed you by the hips and forced you to roll over.

You found that he was beneath you; he had positioned you atop his face. You quickly readjusted so as not to smother him though the pirate would not have minded. Your breasts hung above his head as you steadied yourself against the bedposts. He moved to clutch your replete bosom so that he could belaud and worship them with both his hands.

The vibration of his vocal cords as he crooned aloud from the taste of you sent a shiver down your spine as it only added to the eroticism of this whole affair. He tweaked your nipples, the little pinch sending a sharp prickle throughout your entire being. He was involuntarily steaming up his own goggles as his nose flared, breathing in your delightful scent and nearly stifling himself against your malleable flesh; unlike his, it was pliant and extraordinarily fun to grabble.

That made three times; you were a little louder on this occasion, unable to regulate yourself as his effective muscle snaked and embedded itself into your sateen couloir.

Your back arched as you covered his hands upon your breasts with your own palms. You threshed in an effort to control yourself, though Hondo strategically placed his knee behind your back, pushing you forward so that you could not escape your orgasm.

Once you had calmed yourself, once the buzz and thrum had ebbed away, you found yourself struggling to breathe but Hondo wasn’t done with you - far from it.

You chirped, articulating your surprise with a belt of air expelling from your aching lungs as he pushed you back upon his lap. He wiped his mouth off before he simpered, asking you a straightforward, yet somehow loaded question.

“Top, or bottom, my dear?”

“Both.”

You leapt at him, kissing him along his face and frills, down his neck and towards his exposed chest. You undid the clasp that held his pants up, then pushed them down far enough to reveal his manhood. It was stout, slightly above average, and ridged like the rest of him, though fleshier than his otherwise hardened exterior. There were extra nodes which looked like they might be fun to ride; no use staring at it, you would never know until you tried.

“Eager, aren’t we?” Hondo noted as you aligned yourself and winded down along his cock. The man himself breathed unevenly as he watched you impale yourself.

“Do take your time, love, you don’t want me to- mmn...”

You didn’t listen to him; you made waves across his member. Your entire body fluctuated as you had become a human sheath, investing your whole self.

Ohhh, and his ribs and crests; his distinctly alien appendage. It felt so good steeped all the way to the end of your vaginal canal.

You moaned aloud, a fourth orgasm building up. He placed his hand along and behind your back, one resting against your lower abdomen. Both of you could feel him behind your velvet walls, the outline present through your skin as he cupped himself within you from without.

“Mm, Hondo…” you sighed out, leaning back precariously on your outspread palms. It only made things feel tighter inside you, allowing the man to further experience every inch of you enwrapped around his phallus.

“That’s it, darling. Slow and steady,” he serenaded you, his praise in that husky voice veneered with ambrosia, auditory, and nearly making you cum all on its own.

This time you vocalized. It was heavenly. Your voice most assuredly soared beyond the door and throughout the castle’s many halls.

Just as you thought you might recover, just as your body settled down, Hondo latched onto your waist and flipped you with the utmost care still imbued within your already twitching cunt. He smiled audaciously, eyeing you with obvious pretension as he casually reminded you of your previous rejoinder to his query.

“That makes four now, doesn’t it? But who’s keeping count? Let us not forget you wanted both.”

He plunged his groin into you, although laggardly, forcing you to feel every stroke of him inside you; it was almost excruciating – in the best possible way. One hand came up, carding; combing; brushing your flaccid strands away from your eyes and forehead as he gazed into yours with his of silver, his tongue finding yours stationary inside your mouth as you saw stars.

That’s when you heard the click.

You were so overcome with zeal;, so bewitched and enchanted by this Weequay’s abilities and well-honed skills, that you never saw it coming. He had locked one cuff around your wrist as you were steadying yourself from aloft, having already made it easy for him. He dragged your arm further upward as he wrapped the chain around the wooden railing, though he was mindful of not hurting you.

You tried to fight him off, but another orgasm was overtaking you. It gave him time to bind your other hand in the same manner leaving you entirely trapped and at his mercy, yet his languorous, indolent caresses never ceased upon your innards, even as you hummed his name.

You were now locked between yourself and the bed itself, the chain wrapped around the frame somewhat loosely, though it fastened both your hands in place.

Once finished, he occupied himself on what really mattered; your pretty accentuations as you came for the fifth time that very night. You didn’t have time to think about what you might have gotten yourself into; his pride would be through the roof.

He pumped harder into you, his hips picking up their pace. He was near himself, though he didn’t want to be presumptuous. He rocked backward as he made his own sounds of jubilation; you knew he was planning to escape. You wanted to feel his seed within you; you were well protected of your own accord.

“Cum inside me,”  you commanded lightly.

He did as he was ordered throughout a series of euphoric gesticulations across his handsome face. He had never even bothered to undress; he still wore his coat; his goggles; his boots and all. It seemed ideal for the situation - the one where he ultimately two-timed you - a quick getaway was his priority.

He was expended; he lay there atop you for a moment. He brushed his fingertips across your lips. You both didn’t move for several minutes until the sound of jingling durasteel invaded the lingering silence. He smirked at you before he rose, stood, and readjusted, cinching the buttons to his trousers.

“I suppose you can only blame yourself for this,” he noted, brushing a mote of something off the sleeve of his crimson coat.

“Trusting me, that is.”

His eyes returned to yours; that impish grin still present at the corner of his mouth.

“I have to say – despite everything - you have lifted my spirits! To feel so desired by a beautiful woman, even knowing it was for the bounty on my head, to remember that I am worth something - credits, your undying devotion - made it all worthwhile.”

Your sultry gaze met his as you lay naked, refusing to give him the enjoyment of seeing you upset – to lose your cool would be ignorant of you.

“Glad I could help,” you stated nonchalantly though your voice was laced with sarcasm.

“Ah, more than you know…”

The pirate had moved to stare out over the pristine lake, studying something within the expansive yard. “Tell me, darling… is that your YV series light freighter parked out there? Seems the appropriate mode of transportation for one such as yourself – a bounty hunter, of all things…”

The worry and fear that overtook you for a single instant answered his question better than anything you could have said. You shook the cuffs more harshly as he tutted his reproach at your brash actions.

“I’m in the market for a ship; yours might do the trick, for now, until I find something much more suited to my tastes.”

He came forward then, the sound of his boots echoing across the cobblestone; he stroked your silky locks, frowning down upon you. “Please, do not hurt yourself. There is no need for such behavior.”

He planted one more kiss along your lips before he delved into his pocket and withdrew one golden ring. He inlaid it upon your finger though too big for you. It was his repayment.

“I shall inform Maz you are in a bit of a situation. But that is to be expected, is it not? Cavorting … bargaining with pirates …especially ones you try to double-cross - you’re better than that.”

He waved his fingers at you in a foppish brandish, a flourish by all standards. He crossed the threshold to the now open door; he nodded once, tipping his head to you, then he closed you in. You sighed, for he was right. You had done this to yourself.

But it had been so worth it in the end …

---

Masterlist

[animemangasoul]

You Are Wanted Obi-Wan Kenobi

Summery: Summery: Qui-Gon lives and Mace gets a new Padawan.

[In which Qui-Gon repudiates Obi-Wan and Mace isn't about to let the kid leave the order without a fight.]

Chapter: 8/10?

His mission debrief was held in private with only himself standing in the middle and Master Yoda sitting across from him. Feemor was grateful for that. It was a small thing, a tiny gesture of consideration but it meant a lot to him and Feemor was sure his Great Grandmaster was aware of it, after all, Yoda had always been kind to him and that hadn't changed even after Qui-Gon Jinn disowned him.

So standing there; ignoring his throbbing knee for all it was worth, he carefully and with enough detail to suffice, summed up his mission.

The disastrous mission that nearly cost him everything. Might still be costing him everything. With the haunting voice at the back of his mind, echoing a constant reminder off his stripped humanity, of his lost dignity of……

When he closed his eyes at night, he could still hear it. The roars, the thirst for blood, the calling of death. He could still feel the grim of filth under his nails, the rot of expiration on his skin and he could taste it, the pain.

He'd fought in the Pits for over a year and a half and it clung to him like the stink of penance yet to be absolved.

After all, how could he call himself a Jedi if he'd killed to survive?

And yet….. here he was, back in old Jedi robes, skin clean, shaved head although marred with scars, actually alive with dust of blonde locks peaking out and hiding his damaged scalp.

He was tainted, Feemor knew that all too well. Maybe if he'd been a Shadow he would have been able to set aside the disgust, the horror, the guilt, but…. He wasn't. He was just an ordinary Jedi Master who'd gotten himself into more than he could handle and then felt too honour bond not to do the logical thing. The smart thing. He'd let his emotions rule him and now…now he was giving his report as if…. As if what he'd done, what he'd sacrificed had all been part of the mission.

"Hard on yourself you are," Master Yoda spoke up, breaking him out of his spiraling thoughts. "Believe this you might not, but the right thing you did. Saved those Padawans and force sensitive kids you did with the choice you made."

Feemor swallowed thickly, eyes blinking furiously to hold back the stinging of tears. The pride in Master Yoda's voice was obvious as the sun was bright and any other day, any other time in his life Feemor would have soaked it in like a starving wild animal thrown a piece of meat . But after everything….. After his failed mission….. After all that he'd been through. The praise felt like hot coal against his skin and he found himself recoiling away from it. Eyes drilling into his boots, bottom lip catching between his teeth.

How had everything gone so wrong?

The mission had been simple. Track down missing lightsabers currently being sold in the black-market by a notorious black-market dealer, known to have belonged to the Coruscant Temple's missing Padawans. Report back and let the Shadows handle the rest. Simple enough. Or it should have been. It's after all the reason why he took it in the first place.

Coming back from a grueling long mission on the outer-rim, Feemor had taken it as a chance to finally get that break he'd been putting off for so long. He would go, track down the dealer, report back and let a Shadow take over.

Simple enough.

Simple….enough.

But it wasn't. Because loathe as he was to admit it, Feemor was nothing if not Qui-Gon Jinn's former Padawan and if there was anything that their lineage was infamous for was their ability to get into more trouble than was imaginable. The simplicity of the mission should have clued him in from the very beginning. But it hadn't and that was his first mistake.

And now here he was, unable to breathe a single minute without remembering the hands touching his skin, without recalling the foul breaths of those masked men, sizing him up like nothing more than the slave he'd become. Unable to go a day without remembering the fear, the terror of even taking something as innocent as a nap for you never knew……

["Left, you could have," Master Yoda had said when he'd come off the ship yesterday. "Choose to stay you did."]

And he had. He had chosen it. No one had forced his hand. No one had been there to force him. The slice of a knife, the burns of hot metal rods, the combats of death, he'd endured it all for a chance to track down the kids. Kids he'd found out weren't actually dead but being……

He'd chosen to stay in the darkness. Freedom had been in touch. Fresh air, warm clothes, home, it had all been so very close. He'd managed to escape the clutches of Mir'randa, managed to collect his lightsaber, info chip in hand, just a step away from his passage out of the accursed planet. He could have taken it, but he hadn't because at the end of it all. Despite everything he'd been through, everything he would continue to endure, he was a Jedi. So when he'd sensed the new shipment.

The force sensitive shipments.

The choice became obvious. So painfully obvious.

They'd been kids after all. Some unknown, unfamiliar but most of them….. They'd been theirs. Jedi Padawans. Their missing Jedi Padawans, and now those kids, terrified, hurt, having been through force knows what were about to be pulled into the very nightmare Feemor wanted to escape, and what had he done?

He'd watched as his window of escape closed. Watched as his last hope off the planet disappeared with a single droid; carrying a single chip meant for the Jedi temple and he'd made his way back inside. Back into the darkness. Back to the clutches of Mir'randa, back to being less than human. Less than a Jedi. Knowing this might very well be the last time he'd be able to sense the force dancing and flittering around him because this time around he knew his force-suppressant collar would likely be impossible to remove.

And for what?

For…..

What……

Gritting his teeth, Feemor dug his fingernails into his palm, the jolt of pain bringing him back to reality. Back from there.

"Sit down, you should." Feemor choked down a strangled noise of despair and shook his head, left knee straining under him.

"No thank you, Master." For he would be damned if he let himself show weakness. Not when he'd failed so spectacularly. Not when he'd only manage to save seven of them. Just seven. Four Padawans and three force sensitive kids.

Only seven when there had been sixteen.

He'd only managed to save seven……seven kids out of sixteen.

His stomach turned. An image of the Pit flashing through his mind for a single agonizing moment before he brutally shoved it to the back of his mind with the rest of his darkest deeds.

Seven.

"Will that be all, Master Yoda?" He managed to keep his voice stable even as his knee screamed, his heart thudded like the dreams of war and his scars ached with every breath. "Because I need to find my former Master and have a long overdue conversation with him."

A flicker of amusement danced across his Great Grandmaster's eyes before it was drowned out by concern yet again. If the concern was for him, for Qui-Gon, for Obi-Wan? Feemor didn't quite know. But he appreciated non-the-less. "A talking to he needs," the old troll rumbled, gimer-stick hitting the ground twice. "But first to the Halls you need to go. Grateful I am for the people of Dugmulo for taking care of you and the young children, but a secondary check up by our own, ease my heart it would."

Feemor smiled, it made his cheeks ache, strain. "Of course Master," he said, clasping his hands under his robes and giving a shallow bow; his knee protested but he refused to let it bother him. "I'll do that right away."

After all, he had all the time in the world now, didn't he?

He'd busted the ring, he'd shut down Mir'randa's Games, he'd…..yes, yes he'd failed to save them all but he'd saved some and those he hadn't been able to, he….. those Padawans, their bodies, he'd recovered them for the proper Jedi burial they deserved and for the others, Master Yoda had secured a journey back to their own families as their last resting place. Had it broken something fundamentally vital within him to do so? Perhaps. Had it cost him sleepless nights fraught with horrors brought on his creaking shoulders, horrors he'd been subjected to and caused himself to keep them all alive for just one more day. Yes, of course, yes. But…..

It was all over now, wasn't it?

He'd come back. He was home. Where he belonged. It had taken weeks.

After the Pit, after the Jedi came to the rescue, weeks of bacta tanks and treatments and several weeks more to ensure the safety and security of those kids who still----

He swallowed thickly, refusing to allow himself to collapse in front of his Grandmaster, no matter how much that might help liberate the choking guilt clawing at his throat because how could any of these kids trust him still after everything they'd seen him do? After the scars and burns and tears and blood. After seeing the filthy arena filled with the bodies of their fallen under the same sky as the cheers of their spectators?

How did anything he'd done to get the word out, to stop the trafficking, how did any of that lessen his desperate actions to keep them alive for another day, another week, another month, year…..how did it make up for it?

But he had all the time in the world now.

All the time.

And he'd come back for a reason. For Obi-Wan Kenobi. Because with all his newly acquired scars, still, no matter how, somehow being repudiated by Qui-Gon ran the deepest.

So what could he do but try and help his Padawan brother the only way he knew how? Running off to go fix what his former Master had somehow managed to break in his absence. As if Xanatos hadn't been enough of a nightmare to deal with as it was.

Maybe after he took care of that he could answer back Kuflo's insisting messages and Androlet's updates on how things were going Dugmulo. Maybe, maybe.

The Halls would just have to wait a little while longer. Because if he could do one right thing today, maybe it would be his first act to wipe away the blood marring his soul.

He took a step back from Master Yoda and turned to the door, wincing at the strain that simple action put on his knee; saying a soft goodbye.

"May the force be with you Great Grandpadawan."

Feemor's lips twitched, it didn't reach quite reach his eyes. "May the force be with you as well, Master." And with that, he left.

One foot in front of the other. Eyes focused on nothing but the path ahead. Ignoring the murmurs around him, the gossip, the looks of concern at his bandaged appearance and his limp. He ignored it all. Only allowing himself the briefest glimmer of satisfaction at the positive mutters on one Obi-Wan Kenobi that he caught every now and then. Apparently being the new Padawan of the Master of the Order was something to behold.

It did hurt a bit, Feemor silently had to admit to himself, not having had the chance to take on the kid himself.

After all, that was the primary reason why he'd wanted to rush back to begin with, despite initially deciding to supervise the imprisonment of the Gamers, but it hurt less knowing that the kid hadn't been thrown to the side for too long. That he hadn't been alone, confused, broken hearted for months as he wondered what he'd done wrong to be discarded like his time with Qui-Gon meant nothing that he was worthle…..clenching his fists tight enough to leave dents, Feemor gritted his teeth.

This wasn't about him. Going down this path would only lead to his suffering. Only reopen old wounds he was not quite ready to acknowledged. So he needed to focus on the here and now. This wasn't about him.

It was about Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon and little Skywalker and what he, Feemor could do to make things better. That was it. Nothing more. After all, hadn't he already lost his chance to get to know his Padawan brother with his own indecisions? He could have gotten to know him any time he'd wanted, but he had….he'd been so angry, so hurt, and he'd refused to have anything to do with the must innocent party in all of it. And that wasn't, shouldn't be an excuse.

So Master Windu was fine. Great even. The perfect Master probably. The one who stepped up when no one else would.

And…. He…..Feemor….he was not well. Not anymore. So taking on a Padawan brother who probably didn't even know who he was, that was just a recipe for disaster. So this was good. 'Yes,' he told himself firmly, taking one step after the other as he traced his steps from the council chambers to the Room of Thousand Fountains. 'This is good. Master Windu is a perfect choice so all I can do for Obi-Wan now,' when his knee nearly buckled under him, he again regretted not putting on the brace. 'Is to find Master Jinn and set things straight. For the betterment of everyone.'

'One problem with that plan though,' he grimaced, slamming a hand against the nearest wall for stability. Taking a moment to be grateful he was in an empty hallway and no one was there to witness his momentary weakness.

Frowning down at his right leg, he bared his teeth in frustration. Looked like his knee would refuse to carry him all the way to his destination after all.

"Kriff it," he hissed, teeth biting his lip hard enough to draw blood. "Kriff it all."

The agony coursing through his leg was almost unbearable. It had stiffened significantly on his walk over to the Council debriefing and Feemor should have known then that he wasn't going to make it but……

Weakness Is Death

That had been a mantra, his mantra that he'd lived by for what felt like forever. Instilled it in the kids. Bad'kuu, Kuflo, Gaa'ah, Androlet…. Everyone. He'd said it so many times it was all he knew how to say to them anymore. Weakness is death. To show a vulnerability was to allow yourself to be broken. To be scrapped from the inside out. The fingers. The touching, the prodding, the dragging…….

Weakness Is Death.

So Feemor refused to show it. To wear the brace, not in front of Yoda. Not in front of those who'd already seen his failures. Not when he needed to be strong and honorable to show…. To show he hadn't fallen.

He hadn't even been allowed to come back until several Jedi Masters had confirmed he hadn't turned. He was good. He was still a good Jedi, tainted yes,  but not fallen. Not yet. And what a relief that revelation had been. To know that despite everything he'd done, he could still call himself a Jedi. But he wasn't delusional enough not to know he was still under keen observation. Falter once, fall one time and it was all over.

So, no knee brace.

He'd managed to make due in the Pit. Fighting with a bad knee was disadvantage enough without him broadcasting that fact to the entire arena. Spectators and fighters alike. He'd always had a weak right knee ever since that disastrous first mission he took as a Master, but it hadn't been too hard to deal with at first, even if he'd had to take up Jar'kai to make up for his lack of mobility when it acted up.

Jar'Kai had been a way for him to compensate for his damaged knee at first, nearly two years in the Pit however, and it had solidified itself as the only form he could trust to keep him safe. To keep him alive.

Protect yourself for no one else will protect you under the skies of Miiir.

Sinking to the floor, eyes blinking back the sudden wetness burning at the edges, Feemor allowed himself a moment to just loathe it all. The regret, the pain, the failure, the shame. And then he breathed in and let it go.

It wouldn't do to dwell on the unchangeable.

Shoulders sagging he let his head drop back with a gentle thud against the wall behind him and he let his eyes fall shut. It all felt rather heavy. Being back here, being back home.

Maybe a moment to rest his eyes would be enough. Just a moment. Until the pain dulled. Then he'd go see Master Jinn, talk to him about missing his recent appointments with the mind healers and maybe…..maybe finally get the chance to talk things out. Yeah, maybe.

But a moment turned into two. And two turned into three and before Feemor could help it, he was clutching at his knee with both hands. The agony unparalleled.

It burned like thousand knives being sliced through his skin simultaneously. Feemor grimaced, head throbbing with the nausea bubbling in the pit of his stomach, screaming at him in aguish. 'Make it stop,' he thought, squeezing harder, fingers digging into the joints, face ashen and bottom lip bleeding. 'Kriff, make it stop.'

And then, it did. Not by much, not even half way but enough to bring a sense of clarity to him. And it was only when his mind wasn't being clouded by the bolt of sheer agony dancing through his body; paralyzing him in place, that he noticed the cold hand resting across his forehead and one atop of his joined hands. Soothing sense of warmth intermingling with his force signature and somewhat dulling the pain coursing through his veins. And Feemor breathed, raising his eyes to come face to face with one Obi-Wan Kenobi.

----------

"Stop," he ordered when he finally found his voice behind the sudden lump in his throat, gently pushing those hands away even as he instantly missed the soothing force healing that came with them. But Obi-Wan looked like death warmed over himself and Feemor would be force damned if he let his first action back home be to hospitalize his Padawan brother. "Thank you, but I'm okay."

The young man kneeling in front of him didn't look convinced, brows furrowing slightly and lips pursed, but he did back away, choosing to sit down next to him; grunting as he adjusted himself against the wall, cane coming to rest by his side. Feemor raised a brow in question, making his Padawan brother laugh lightly.

"Anakin had his first lightsaber practice today," he said in answer, tapping his cane lightly. "I still have a hard time getting around so---" His smile is hallow and Feemor felt it echo in his soul.

"Yeah," he muttered back, looking down at his knee, toes curling with each pulsating burst of electric pain shooting down his leg. He shouldn't have walked on it for so long. "I get it."

"I suppose you do."

Feemor snorted. "When you say Anakin?"

"Skywalker, yes." Obi-Wan's voice was much more lighter this time. "He was….really excited about it and asked me to come so I did. I was on my way back when I----" here he trailed off, but Feemor knew exactly what he was trying not to say, and it made him flush with embarrassment.

"When you found me lying on the floor trying to tear my leg off with my bare hands?"

"Well," Obi-Wan muttered. "I wouldn't exactly say, lying." Feemor stared and Obi-Wan snorted. "Okay, you looked pretty helpless."

"Hey, you don't look so great yourself."

The answering grin was a lot brighter and more real than Feemor had expected and it tugged at his heart. Because somehow despite the dark circles under the kid's eyes, despite the paleness and the fragility to his frame, somehow, when he smiled, really smiled, Feemor could almost drown in the regret of all the wonderful years he'd missed with this kid. The years he could have known him if he had been less of a coward.

Checking up on him religiously didn't make up for not being there for him. For not protecting him against what was likely Qui-Gon's darkest years. To not be a buffer, a confidant, to be a brother. In that sense, Feemor supposed he was a lot like his former Master. Who was just as guilty in tracking his movement as he was in tracking Obi-Wan's without ever taking the first step in meeting the other party half way.

Obi-Wan Kenobi.

His not so Padawan brother. Or all the more his Padawan brother for being tossed aside like himself.

Running a bandaged hand over his head; still feeling that momentary flicker of surprise at brushing against tufts of growing out blonde hair, the broken Jedi Master breathed in deeply and let it all out.

"Feemor," he said, pointing at himself. "My name is Feemor Einar."

Obi-Wan's eyes glittered. "I know."

"Oh?"

The Padawan nodded, fingers tapping away at his wooden cane. "You're the talk of the Temple."

"Is that so?"

"Yes," Obi-Wan's voice was neutral as anything and Feemor silently allowed himself to be impressed. He'd never been very good at keeping his emotions in check. "Sounds to me like you stopped a force sensitive trafficking ring and ended a barbaric gladiator tournaments in one single mission."

Feemor couldn't quite suppress the flinch at those words, and it made him burn with shame. "Not soon enough I'm afraid."

"I didn't mean---" Obi-Wan started, clearly noticing his sudden change in demeanor. The harshness in his force signature, the darkness and Feemor internally cursed himself for losing his grasp over his emotions, for his Padawan brother should never sound so uncertain and worried around him. "I didn't mean to bring it up I only heard----"

"It's okay," Feemor cut him off, careful to keep his voice gentle this time despite how his soul screamed and his heart longed for him to hide away for all eternity. "I didn't mean……" He sighed. "It's just been….tough."

Obi-Wan nodded. "Yeah."

Digging his nail into the crack between the tiles, Feemor focused on the pressure on his barely growing in nails and opened his mouth, keeping his voice playfully light. "I hear you're pretty famous around these parts yourself."

A beat and then another, silence filling up slowly between them and it's all Feemor could do to try and find a way to backtrack and try again? Figure out another way? Help? When his Padawan brother, pressed himself even tighter against the wall and clutched at his cane. "You could say that," he whispered, tone strained and part way broken. "You could say that."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

A single shake of the head.

Feemor hummed softly in understanding. "Then Obi-Wan Kenobi, it's a pleasure to officially meet you."

A huff. "Likewise Master Einar."

"You know who I really am, don't you?"

"Yes."

"When?"

"Not for long. Just after," The kid pulled at his braid. "Thanks for the bead by the way."

Dragging his focus away from his knee, Feemor nodded. "Of course."

A welcoming silence fell between them this time and Feemor was content with it. To sit there with his Padawan brother, after everything, just sit there with him. Not moving, not doing anything. And enjoy his company even if he didn't quite know how to connect with him yet. Even if they still had so much to talk about. And it's not like he didn't have a good reason. After all, the simple thought of trying to stand on his busted leg made his stomach do nauseating flips. But he couldn't stay here forever, not when he needed to see Qui-Gon and sort this all out, not when he still had that medical check up and the kids back at----

So when Obi-Wan bumped his cane against his shoulder and said "You look like you need this more than me," it's all Feemor can do not to drag the haunted looking kid into a desperate hug meant to suffocate with affection. Instead he grinned, taking the offered cane but still remaining seated.

"About Qui-Gon---"

"What about him?"

"I'm sorry that he did that to you."

Obi-Wan paused. And then, "I'm sorry he that to you too."

Feemor nodded back. "Thank you." And he meant it. Of course he meant it for there were very few who could truly understand what he'd been through and sympathize, even if he would never wish this on the kid given a choice, he was still so very grateful for the shared understanding no matter how much it grated on his dignity to admit so. "And I know it doesn't mean much, but I promise you Obi-Wan it wasn't your fault. Master Jinn, he's just…." He should really be getting up, but----. "He lashes out when he's cornered and that reflects badly on him and not you." He really really needed to get up and or he might never get up at all today and yet----. "You are wanted Obi-Wan Kenobi, I promise you that."

He should get up, but when the kid took a sharp intake of breath, then tentatively rested his head on his shoulder after a brief second of hesitation; auburn hair brushing under his chin, Feemor couldn't quite make himself do what he had to do because there was something that was so much more important right here, right now. "I'm going to punch him in the face." He didn't know why those words came out, but he meant them. And---

Obi-Wan laughed, it sounded a little bit broken and a little bit wet but it put a smile on Feemor's face and this one didn't quite ache as much. "Good luck with that."

"Thanks," he said, shifting closer so the kid could rest on his shoulder more comfortably. "I'll make it a good one."

Obi-Wan bumped their shoulders together and Feemor bumped him back, eyes feeling suspiciously damp.

Repudiated Padawans of Qui-Gon Jinn ought to stick together after all.

The End

Chapter: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10

[amayawolfe]

Bubblegum Blood Prologue Pt.3 - The Show Must Go On!

My Stories Masterlist  

Word Count: 4756

Summary: Hisoka gets ready for the side shows to be put on by the performance troupe. As he prepares, ghosts and echoes of his past come to haunt him; both threaten to drag him down into the dark depths from which they came.

Warnings: violence, homophobia, homophobic slurs, mental struggle, angst, mentions of death, description of gore, suggestions of past abuse/sexual abuse/non-consensuel, emotional trauma, harsh language

Hisoka

  Hisoka watched as his friend hurried by the group of utter human trash. A part of him wished Drake or Jasper would try something as she walked by just so he had an excuse to throw his fork next. When nothing happened he sighed in mild disappointment. 

  Disposing of those two would be a favor unto the world,~ ♢ Hisoka thought to himself. His heart quickened at the thought of taking care of the matter himself. His trainer’s words on how killing should only be done if there were no other choice replayed in his head; he snickered.

  Well, I suppose if no one else is willing to do it, then I have no other choice, now do I?~ ♢

  Glancing out the window Hisoka noticed the sun was starting to set. He decided it was best to get ready for the show and rose from his seat, leaving behind his nearly full plate of cold food. 

  As he started to walk by the fire performers, Jasper quickly stuck his foot out in attempts to trip Hisoka. Having expected the trainee to pull something like this, Hisoka easily stepped over Jasper’s foot, turned, winked, blew a kiss then turned back around and continued at his own casual walking pace towards the stairs. He added a little more sway to his hips than normal just to aggravate them. The overall speed and grace Hisoka applied to the move had nearly made it look like he was doing a little dance step.

  He could feel Drake, Jasper, and most likely a couple other people, burning a glare into the back of his head. The sensation caused him to smirk as he ascended the stairs.

  The troupe had sleeping arrangements done so everyone shared rooms to help save money; minus Morintonio who had his own private room. Hisoka and Abaki were each assigned to rooms with accommodations to fit eight people; having a bunk bed in each corner and a table with chairs in the center. Hisoka’s roommates consisted of three other trainees and four trained adults. 

  Upon entering the room he found one trainee and two adults getting ready for the shows. They glanced up at him as he entered, said nothing, and continued getting ready for their own acts. Hisoka smirked a little and went over to his assigned bunk and retrieved his travel bag. 

  Having been found with nothing more than the ruined clothes on his back, Hisoka had very little when it came to personal possessions. A few changes of clothes courtesy of Magikana and Abaki, some toiletries, a pack of his favorite gum, decks of playing cards,  makeup, and a special outfit for when he assisted Magikana in her magic acts.

  Throwing the travel bag over his shoulder Hisoka turned and headed to one of the shared bathrooms. Upon entering he closed and locked the door behind himself and tossed his bag atop the bathroom counter next to the sink. He ran his long slim fingers through his soft red raspberry hair, took a deep breath, held it, then let it out slowly. Turning his head to look into the mirror, he hesitated.

  Hisoka loathed looking into mirrors and avoided them as much as possible; only using them when he needed to put on his performance makeup. He closed his eyes, licked his lips, and felt a strained smile spread across his face.

  This is absurd ♠, he thought dismally to himself, she can’t hurt you anymore. Can’t lie to you anymore. She’s dead, dead by your own two hands. He balled both of his hands into tight, white knuckled fists. And the dead can’t hurt anyone! There’s simply no reason to be afraid anymore. ♣

  Yet he was. Hisoka was momentarily frozen with not only fear, but disgust and guilt as well. He stood there trembling in silence for several minutes. It was the sounds of the other troupe members getting ready just outside the bathroom door that brought him back around. 

  Turning his head the rest of the way and fully facing the mirror, Hisoka slowly opened his eyes. His gaze locked with the person that was staring back at him from the reflective surface. A woman with medium-long dark brown hair, fair skin peppered with freckles, a strong jaw, and a pointed nose was staring right back at the young redhead. Hisoka’s facial features closely resembled the woman’s, but the feature that was most strikingly similar were the eyes.

  The woman had the exact same eyes as Hisoka. Or rather, Hisoka had the exact same eyes as the woman. The same shade of golden amber that changed in intensity depending on the mood of the bearer. They even had the same lost and lonely feelings buried deep within the warm colors. 

  One thing about this woman that was difficult to miss was the dried blood splattered over her face and the horrid gash across her throat. The gash ran deep enough one could see her trachea had been split wide open. 

  “Hello, mother… ♠” Hisoka whispered bitterly. Nothing changed minus a small, sad smile that touched the woman’s lips. He sighed then pinched the bridge of his nose. 

  “When are you going to stop haunting me, mother? You’ve been dead for nearly half a year after all. ♣.” He took several slow, deep, calming breaths to lower his heart rate and hone in his focus.

  Upon opening his eyes, the woman was gone. Hisoka let out a sigh of relief along with a small, strained laugh. When he was under severe stress, he would sometimes find it extremely difficult to be able to focus enough to get his mother to go away. Even though he didn’t believe in ghosts, Hisoka often wondered if her spirit haunted him.

  Frowning slightly he studied his own features in the mirror for a moment. After a few minutes he shrugged and smirked to himself. He knew there was something not right with him, something that continuously caused him to see his dead mother every time he looked into a mirror. Regardless of the fact that he held no remorse for his past actions. Well, for the most part, anyway.

  “Oh well,~ ♣” he sighed as he unzipped his travel bag, “the show must go on.~ ♢”

  Hisoka rummaged around his bag and pulled out his makeup. He also pulled out a piece of strawberry flavored BungeeGum brand bubble gum. He looked at the wrapper for a moment and tilted his head to one side as he stared at the little face on the wrapper. Looking back up at the mirror Hisoka tried to mimic the smile and did an eerily realistic job of it. Such a wide smile on his face came across as somewhat disturbing. He liked it.

  He unwrapped the gummy, rubbery treat and popped it into his mouth. The strawberry flavored gum was his favorite. With a small sigh of contentment he straightened out the wrapper and laid it out on the bathroom counter. Hisoka then dove back into his bag and pulled out a pair of charcoal grey velvet lycra leggings. He examined the material carefully, running his fingers over the smooth material as the shades of grey shifted in the light with each movement before setting it down.

  Next, he pulled out a light pink satin tunic with closed billowy sleeves and a high collar. Following the tunic was a two button double breasted vest that ended just below his chest and was in a medium shade of pastel yellow. The vest had silvery embroidered designs and the buttons were in the shapes of playing card suits. He smirked a little as he ran his fingers on the spade, club, heart, and diamond buttons in turn. 

  Playing cards had a huge significance in Hisoka's life; both for better and for worse. So he always seemed to get mixed feelings when he used playing cards and or bore their symbols. 

  Hisoka changed out of his current set of clothes and put on his performance attire. After tucking in his tunic he looked back at himself in the mirror and smiled. He loved how the colors complimented his hair and eyes. He turned his body this way and that to get a better look at himself then did a full pirouette. The action amused Hisoka and caused him to giggle a little at himself. 

  He particularly loved how the shirt sleeves moved with every motion of his arms. This was actually meant to draw the eyes of onlookers away from what he was doing as he performed magic tricks. Magikana had told him that the method was called “zee art of misdirection”.  Although he had not known what it was called at the time, Hisoka had actually learned a lot about this art from someone else, his mother.

  Shortly after he had made a nearly full recovery, Morintonio and Magikana found Hisoka shuffling a deck of playing cards. There had been some discussion as to whether or not the redheaded teen should be allowed to come along with the troupe; so upon seeing Hisoka with the cards, Morintonio had asked him if he knew any magic tricks. 

  The boy simply smiled and performed a few magic tricks. Most of them were basic and simple, but he did manage to pull off a couple that impressed both the ring leader and the magician. When asked about his talents, Hisoka simply replied, “My mother was a clever and talented woman.” It was then Morintonio offered for him to join the troupe and Magikana volunteered to take the boy under her wing.

  Drawing his attention back to the task at hand, Hisoka opened up his makeup and glanced down at the BungeeGum wrapper he had laid out. With a steady and practiced hand he applied his eye liner and some light blue eyeshadow to compliment the pinks and yellows of his outfit. He then applied a tinted lip gloss to give his full lips both shine and color.

  “And now for the finishing touches,~ ♢” he mused to himself. He leaned in close to the mirror and painted a yellow teardrop on his left cheek and a pink star on his right cheek, both just below the outer corners of his eyes. Hisoka then leaned back and admired his work. 

  “Why, aren’t I just the little treat! ♡” he smiled to himself. Hisoka instantly regretted his words as a memory ripped through his mind. 

  He was in a small, poorly lit room and there was a mixed scent of dirty bed sheets and alcohol. He wore nothing more than his boxers. His body trembling had not been due to him being cold, he was scared and felt horribly vulnerable. He wasn’t alone, a man stood swaying before him with a bottle in one hand. The man’s glazed eyes slowly went over the poor, nearly naked boy with the look of a predator. The man reached over to Hisoka and firmly took his chin in a rough hand, forcing Hisoka to look up at him. Hisoka shuddered as the man ran a rough thumb over his lips.

  “My,” the man slurred, “aren’t chu jusht the little treat.”

  Hisoka cried out and tore his vision away from the mirror. His body trembled just as it had in the memory and his breathing came out in quick, ragged breaths. Tears started to form in his eyes as he stared at the floor with his hands braced against his knees. His mind raced as he struggled to get his thoughts back under control.

  “H-hey, Hisoka? You okay in there, kid?” It was one of the adults that was sharing the sleeping area. The sudden voice caused Hisoka to blink out of his traumatic trance and glance quickly around the bathroom to assure himself of where he was and that he was safe. He then jumped a little when there was a loud knock at the bathroom door.

  “Hey! Hisoka! You okay?!” The man was now shouting and even sounded a little concerned as he tried the locked door knob. Hisoka wasn’t sure how long he had been standing there in that state or how long someone had been knocking at the bathroom door. 

  “I’m f-fine,” Hisoka’s voice cracked. He internally cursed himself then cleared his throat. 

  “I’m fine, thank you, ♡” he said in a more confident voice, “I’ll be out in a minute. ♣”

  After a quick glance in the mirror to check his makeup, Hisoka threw his previous outfit and everything else into his travel bag then grabbed it and headed for the door. He unlocked it, threw it open and strode out like nothing out of the ordinary had happened. As he did so, he passed by a tall, limber man with no hair and wearing a tumblers outfit. 

  The man put one hand on his hip while he rubbed his bald head with the other, watching the redheaded teen with a look of concern.

  “You sure you okay, kid? It sounded like you were screaming in there.”

  Hisoka suppressed a cringe, disgusted and agitated with his lack of control over himself. He looked up at the man and smiled.

  “Yes, I accidentally stubbed my toe you see,~ ♠” he lied, “It just simply caught me off guard is all. ♣”

  The man frowned and Hisoka could tell he didn’t believe him. But instead of pressing the matter any further, the man shrugged, grabbed a large bag filled with juggling pins, balls, and rings then headed out of the room closing the door behind him. 

  As soon as the man left, Hisoka’s false smile fell away from his face and he let loose an irritated sigh. Hisoka felt as though his mental state wasn’t getting any worse, but it sure as hell wasn’t getting much better.

  A sudden surge of loneliness washed over him as he secretly wished there was someone he could talk to. He did consider Abaki and Magikana to be friends, to a point, but he knew they wouldn’t understand him and would most likely ostracize him if he told them of his past. There was Morintonio, but Hisoka simply felt he did not know enough about the man to feel comfortable or safe enough to spill his dark secrets.

  It began to feel as though a cold, lonely feeling of despair had coiled around him and was squeezing him tightly; so much to the point it felt like it was becoming harder to breathe. Hisoka swallowed the growing lump in his throat and wrapped his arms around himself as his shoulders started to tremble. Tears began to prick his eyes and his lower lip quivered a little.  He thought of simply calling it a night and going to bed. After all, Magikana was more than capable of putting on a small sideshow all by herself.

  A boisterous group out in the hallway laughed and carried on as they passed the room’s closed door. The sudden noise caused him to start and it snapped him out of his dark thoughts, allowing him to shake off some of the melancholy he was sinking into. He wanted to be a part of that, a part of the laughter and joy. He wanted people to see him and see how great and wonderful he could be. Would hiding in this room all balled up and feeling sorry for himself achieve that?

  “No! ♣” he said loudly to no one other than himself, “The show must go on! And I will wow and dazzle them like no other! ♢”

  With a surge of confidence and the determination not to let life bring him down, Hisoka snatched a couple packs of playing out of his bag, put them in his breast pockets then tossed his bag up onto his bunk. Next he grabbed his performance boots made of soft medium grey leather and pulled them on. They nearly came up to his knee, had two inch heels, and had the card suit symbols as studs set in a diamond pattern on the outer side of each boot.

  Hisoka then hopped to his feet and tapped his boots in place before bolting for the door. He threw open the door and nearly crashed right into Abaki who was standing just on the other side. Hisoka had to grab the door frame to stop so suddenly and Abaki grabbed him by the shoulders in a surprised response.

  “Oh!” she gasped,  “There you are! Kana was looking for you, you two will be starting in just a few minutes, come on!”

  Before Hisoka even had a chance to respond Akabi grabbed him by the hand and started running down the hall towards the stairs with him in tow. Hisoka was grateful he had been able to pull himself back together when he had, he did not want his one of two friends to see him in the unstable state he had been in.

  Without hesitation Abaki ran down the flight of stairs while still holding his hand and made a beeline for the door. As soon as they got outside and to the harbor, Hisoka was astounded by the amount of people that had come to see the little side shows. He could feel a small surge of adrenaline from excitement and anticipation start to flow in his veins. Abaki released his hand and pointed in a direction through the crowds.

  “Kana should be over there finishing getting ready. You better hurry! I have to get to my group, break a leg!” She then turned and started to push through the crowd in the opposite direction she had pointed. 

  As Hisoka started to make his way through he barely heard Abaki shout out to him, “Oh! Hisoka! Meet me back here when you’re done and we can walk along the beach for shells!”

  Not sure if his friend could see him, the redheaded teen simply reached up and waved his hand above his head to confirm he had heard her. He then continued pushing through the crowd in the direction Abaki had told him to go. After a couple minutes, he breached the mass of people and stepped in the empty circular space that they had formed around his trainer.

  Magikana was dressed wonderfully in her full performance attire. She wore a scarlet satin tunic with open billowy sleeves and black velvet lycra leggings. A set of black card suit symbols went down the front of her tunic. On her shoulders was a black shawl with a high collar and bright silvery embroidery along with silver card suit symbols. On the underside of the shawl was a vibrant yellow satin material with more card suit patterns. Her boots were the same as Hisoka’s minus the fact they were black instead of grey. A vibrant yellow top hat with a dark blue top and red and black card suit symbols encircling near the base completed the outfit.

  The magician straightened up from leaning over her chest of supplies and gave her trainee a small frown. She mouthed the words “you are late”. In response Hisoka gave a sheepish grin and shrugged. She looked like she was about to say more but stopped herself as she looked over his face carefully. After a moment she pressed her lips tightly together and gave him a single nod followed by the signal to get the show started. 

  Hisoka’s smile became genuine as his heart began to race with excitement and he turned to face the crowd. He then began to announce as loudly and clearly as possible, “Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls of all ages! ♣ You are about to be tantalizingly wonderfied and mind numbingly mystified by the greatest magic show Moritintio’s Traveling Circus has to offer. ♢” As he spoke he swept his hands and arms gracefully through the air while practically dancing along the edge of the crowd, drawing everyone’s eyes to him. 

  “Introducing the lady of mystery and mistress of the arts of magic and illusions, the one and only, Magikana! ♡” Hisoka turned and made a sweeping gesture towards Magikana’s back, and in doing so, delivered everyone’s attention over to her.

  Magikana twirled in place so that she now faced her apprentice. She made a wide, sweeping bow towards the crowd. Standing up smiled out to the crowd and started to walk forward.

  “Zank you, my dear, for zat marvelous intro-” Magikana suddenly tripped and stumbled over her own feet. Hisoka winced as people around the crowd began to snicker.

  “Ah ha, v-vell,” Magikana stuttered as she straightened back up and smiled nervously. “Ve all make mistake, yes?” She pulled out a deck of playing cards seemingly out of thin air and began to shuffle them. “Now, for my first trick I-” 

  She was cut off again as the cards suddenly flew from her hand and all about the ground. A look of horror came across her face as Hisoka brought a hand up to cover his face in shame. People began to laugh and boo as Magikana stood there and nervously chewed a fingernail.

  Just as it looked like people were about to leave, a sly, mysterious smile spread across Magikana’s wide, thin lips and a mischievous glint flashed in her eyes. She twirled in place and let out a cry as she came down into a wide stanced crouch and slapped one palm down upon the ground. As soon as she did, each card that was laying on the ground suddenly burst into small clouds of different colored smoke. From the smoke flew out two to three pink and red hemotropic butterflies. The startled crowd made noises of awe as they watched the butterflies flit about before heading towards the inn the troupe was staying in.

  “Now zat I have your undivided attention,” Magikana crowed, shuffling yet another deck of cards that had mysteriously appeared in her hands, “Zee real show can begin!”

  With that, time went by in a blur. Both Magikana and Hisoka put on a glamorous show that kept people guessing for days; looking back and wondering just how objects seemingly appeared out of thin air or floated about, defying gravity. Before long, the donation box Hisoka would periodically work around the edge of the crowd was fit to burst.

  In a little over an hours time the show was over and people were slowly departing. Magikana and Hisoka were cleaning up their area when she looked over at her young apprentice and smiled.

  “You did very vell tonight, little vun,” she praised, “I vas concerned at first, I could tell you had been upset. Everything is okay now, yes?”

  Hisoka opened his mouth to respond but decided against his words. He then simply smiled and nodded instead. Magikana gave him a warm, sympathetic look.

  “You know, you can alvays talk to me, my deary,” she said gently. “You are like nephew to me, I vill alvays have time to listen to you.”

  Yes, that may be true, but you may not like what you hear… ♠ Hisoka thought bitterly to himself. And if you knew the truth about me, would you still call me your nephew? ♣

  “I will be sure to keep that in mind, sensei, thank you. ♡” His words and appreciation were genuine, but Magikana could tell something was still being kept from her. She let out a soft sigh and changed the subject.

  “Night is still young, you have plans?”

  “Actually, I do. Abaki asked me to join her to collect shells along the beach. ♡”

  “Ah, zat sounds vunderful. And moonlight is good enough for such venture.” Magikana then made a shooing gesture with her hand. “Go zen, I vill get zee rest.”

  Hisoka hesitated as there was still quite a bit of cleanup to do.

  “Are you sure? ♣”

  She nodded, “Yes, little vun should go and have fun vith friend. Ah! But if you see starfish, bring back for me. Add to collection.”

  Hisoka smirked, nodded, then turned and headed towards the direction he was supposed to meet Abaki.

  The crowds were still thick as the other shows had also ended. People milled about as they were slowly making their own way while conversing about what they had just seen. Hisoka decided to move to the outer edge of the crowd and work his way up along so that the buildings and alleys were to his left and the masses of people to his right. This made movement a little easier.

  He was in good spirits now, the emotional traumas he experienced not that long ago were pushed far back into the recesses of his mind. And he looked forward to a nice moonlit walk on the beach with his friend. 

  Perhaps I can convince Abaki to ask Camilla to join us. That would really rub Jasper the wrong way.~ ♡ Hisoka chuckled at his own thoughts. 

  Unfortunately, Hisoka’s divided attention between his own thoughts and avoiding the crowds streaming past had caused him to not pay enough attention to the narrow alleys he was passing. A large, strong hand reached out and grabbed him by the wrist, retching him into the ally and throwing him down on the filthy ground a couple meters in.

  Even though mildly stunned, Hisoka was quick to get back onto his feet only to receive a blow to the stomach. The redheaded teen gagged and stumbled a few steps back. Through watering eyes he looked up to see Jasper standing tall with a look of triumph and malice. 

  “Hello, twink,” he sneered. “I overheard Abaki saying she was to meet you after the shows. I knew you two were more than friends. Does she know you’re just leading her on?”

  “Why?~ ♣” Hisoka smirked and straightened up more, still holding one hand to his stomach, “Are you jealous, Jasper? I’m sorry to say this, but, you’re just not my type.~ ♠” 

  Jasper sneered in disgust at Hisoka using Abaki’s own words at him. But Hisoka wasn’t done.

  “Besides, what you’re saying doesn’t make any sense. Why would I lead Abaki on if I were gay? ♣”

  Jasper hesitated before he gave a triumphant grin and pointed at Hisoka.

  “It’s because you want more to be like you!”

  “Oh?~ ♣”

  “Yeah! Being gay is messed up and you don’t want to be alone, that’s why you’ve corrupted Abaki!”

  Hisoka couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity of it all. He popped a hip and moved his hand from his stomach to that hip. 

  “You poor homophobic fool,~ ♠” he chuckled and shook his head. “Abaki was interested in girls for quite some time before I even showed up. She told me herself. ♡And, if I recall correctly, she’s told you the same. ♣”

  “You’re lying,” Jasper snarled. He balled his hands into tight fists of anger. 

  “Oh? Am I now? ♣ Or are you just too naive and stubborn to face the truth that Abaki isn’t in you? And that, in fact, the girl you like is interested in your sister instead?~ ♡”

  “Shut up,” Jasper spat, “you shut your filthy queer mouth right now!”

  Hisoka’s smile became mischievous. He enjoyed upsetting Jasper to no end and wanted to push him even further.

  “And, if you ask me, it would appear your sister likes Aba-”

  “I SAID SHUT THE FUCK UP!!”

  Jasper charged Hisoka in a fit of rage. Hisoka simply smirked as Jasper had played right into Hisoka’s hands. As Jasper threw a punch aimed for Hisoka’s face, Hisoka easily sidestepped the blow and brought his elbow down on the back of Jasper’s neck as hard as he could.

  If the blow to the back of Jasper’s neck hadn’t rendered him unconscious, then the harsh impact of his face meeting the hard ground did. Hisoka snickered at the unconscious Jasper now at his feet. 

  “Pathetic,” he sighed, “I expected a better fight from you than that.~ ♠”

  As he was about to turn and walk out of the alley when something caught Hisoka’s attention. Jasper’s hands, they were smaller than the hand that had grabbed him and threw him into the alley. 

  Just as Hisoka realized this there was noise of movement behind him. He started to spin around and attempted to put up his nen in defense, but he wasn’t fast enough. Without seeing who his surprise attacker was, Hisoka felt a sudden sharp pain to the back of his head and everything went dark.

~  ~  ~

Previous Chapter: Bubblegum Blood Prologue Pt. 2 - A Glimpse of Darkness

Next Chapter: Bubblegum Blood Ch. 4 - On Death’s Doorstep

~  ~  ~

Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed this chapter, if you did, please be sure to slap that heart note!

[warriorangel4god]

Chapters: 1/? Fandom: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Obi-Wan Kenobi/Darth Maul

Summary:

What if Maul had never killed Qui-Gon Jinn in battle, but rather fled the fight to hide in shame of his failure, fearful that Darth Sidious would kill him upon discovering his incompetence in fulfilling his mission? And what if he sought out the Jedi Order as the war reaches it climax, revealing his master's secrets and the ways of the Sith?

Darth Maul is allowed to stay at the temple, to redeem himself, to find out what kind of person he is as the war comes to an end and the galaxy tries to heal.

Obi-Wan is there to help guide the way. “Careful, stare any harder and you might injure yourself.” Maul would have jumped out of his skin at the sudden voice if he hadn’t already detected the other’s Force presence earlier, having been too absorbed by his… current observations to say anything beforehand. He was much too occupied with staring at Obi-Wan Kenobi from afar, a yearning expression on his face. He would have preferred his dedicated time to watching Kenobi not be interrupted, but he supposes that’s too much to ask. The zabrak kept his eyes glued on the short ginger, drinking in his appearance one last time before turning to his unfortunate companion. “What would you know,” he scoffed, “How about you do us both a favor and mind your own business?”

Quinlan laughed boisterously in response, clapping a hand down on his shorter companion’s shoulder. Maul stiffened uncomfortably, lips curling downwards into a frown. “What, can’t handle a bit of teasing, Maul?” The grimace that graced Maul’s face only seemed to egg the other man on, humored by his reaction. Maul sneered and pushed the Jedi’s hand off his shoulder, shoving a finger into Quinlan’s chest pointedly. “Knock it off, Vos,” He growled lowly, “Or else I’ll do it for you.” Quinlan raised his hands in mock surrender, a small grin still on his face, which only seemed to enrage Maul further. “Alright, alright, relax, I catch your drift,” Quinlan laughed, unmoved by his trivial threat. Thoroughly irritated, Maul turned his back on the fallen Jedi and rested his head in his hands, leaning against the balcony railings to continue studying the object of his affections. He examined with much intent as Obi-Wan conversed passionately with his previous padawan, Anakin, making rather dramatic hand motions every now and again. Maul was enraptured by the gentle way he’d tap Anakin’s arm, as if checking that the boy was still giving him his full attention, elegance behind each of his mannerisms. The way his ginger hair shone in the sun, an auburn glow, a rebel strand of hair falling against his face. The way Obi-Wan’s mouth would twitch upward into a smile, how his eyebrows would furrow in disagreement, and how his nose would crinkle at inappropriate comments all deeply intrigued the former Sith. So engrossed again, Maul barely noticed the tense silence that had passed between him and Quinlan. He convinced himself that, perhaps, if he simply pretended that Vos no longer existed, the man would actually disappear. But of course, Quinlan had to break the peace with more prodding comments. “Maul…” He spoke quietly, now leaning against the railing beside him, “Why don’t you just go talk to him? Believe it or not, he actually likes you. I’m sure he’d be welcome to—” Maul slapped a hand over Quinlan’s mouth, arm shaking minutely, Quinlan’s unwelcome intrusion obviously hitting a nerve. “You keep your insolent mouth shut, Vos. You have no idea what you’re fucking talking about,” Maul hissed lowly, leaning in close, murder written all over his face. Quinlan ripped his hand from his mouth, raising an eyebrow in disbelief. He gave Maul a withering look, challenging him, “Oh yeah? And just what do I not understand, Sith?” Maul growled, his anger and rage threatening to boil over in seconds. He was seething from what would otherwise be a relatively normal conversation were he anyone else. But Maul was not anyone else. Maul laughed in his face, a sharp and irritated sound. “Like me? Nobody here likes me, Vos. My existence here is merely tolerated,” He snapped, eyes burning brightly, “I came crawling to the Jedi, defeated, pathetic, accepted only because it would be against your miserable Jedi ways to do otherwise. So don’t get it twisted. Continue to try and manipulate me and fill my head with lies and I might just kill you without a drop of remorse.”The look on Quinlan’s face made Maul’s stomach twist uncomfortably. It was a look of worry, shame, pity. Maul could hardly stand it, head practically snapping as he turned his gaze anywhere but at Quinlan, feeling sick the longer he looked at him like that. He felt his insides burn with humiliation, or perhaps even anger, loathing himself and the situation he’d placed himself in. “Maul.” No response. Quinlan sighed, voice softening, “I’m not manipulating you, I’m telling you the truth. I’m sorry you’re too fucked in the head to believe me, but I wouldn’t lie to you.” Maul shuffled a step further from him, looking for a way to escape from the current conversation. “Listen, you think I don’t know? You think I don’t get it? I’m screwed up too, Maul, trying to put back together the pieces of my life and find myself again,” He continued. Feeling a spark of anger flare as Maul continued to ignore him, Quinlan snatched him by the wrist, “Would you just listen—!” Maul punched him square in the face. “GET YOUR HANDS OFF ME, VOS!” The Jedi grit his teeth, now glaring at Maul as if to incinerate him on the spot, a dribble of blood running down his freshly busted lip. “What’s your fucking problem, huh? I’m trying to help you, stop acting like a youngling,” He snarled loudly, shoving Maul roughly, the zabrak smacking into the wall. Maul grunted, “Help me?! You’re a joke, Vos.” Quinlan shouted in outrage at the jab, clenching his fist in preparation for a good swing. Quinlan began to circle Maul like a predator waiting to catch its prey, getting up close and personal in Maul’s face, the Force growing dark around the two. Neither made a move against the other, waiting to see who would strike first. Before their violent shouting match could evolve into an actual fight—both already wound up and easily capable of brutally maiming the other—Obi-Wan and Anakin stepped in, separating the two with quick efficiency, Anakin holding Quinlan back while Obi-Wan pulled Maul away gently, an easy hand firmly grasping his shoulder as he steered the Sith into the gardens.  Both master and former padawan had been engrossed in intense discourse beforehand, deliberating over how to handle the logistics of one of Obi-Wan’s upcoming missions. In a few days, he would be shipped off to a planet near the Outer Rim, Obi-Wan’s skills needed to negotiate with an estranged Separatist leader who had accepted the end of the war poorly and thus refused to settle the matter peacefully. Most of the other leaders had come around rather quickly after the war ceased, or otherwise fought against them uselessly, unable to put up much of a struggle with the droid factories now shut down and leaving them with a severe shortage of armed defenses. The Republic’s current target planet, Ku’Daiya, was known for its dangers. It was a breeding ground for criminals, underground slavery, drug rings and much more. Ku’Daiya was also known for its strong propaganda against the Jedi. Obi-Wan was dead-set on going alone, while Anakin had other ideas. He insisted his master allow him to come along, to keep him safe and assist in the politics, no matter how he loathed it, even though his services were going to be needed elsewhere during the time Obi-Wan would be gone to Ku’Daiya. They had heavily debated the topic for days. Unfortunately, they had been pulled from their discussion at the sound of Maul’s initial outburst, alarmed by the sudden and volatile behavior from one of their more mentally unstable members of the temple. Obi-Wan was quick to abandon the argument and rush over to settle the issue, growing weary in how these occurrences continued to increase in recent time.  This would be the fourth time in a month that Obi-Wan would have to remove Maul from a disagreement. And of course it had to be Quinlan Vos of all people, the fool. In recent time, the fallen Jedi had taken to trying to mentor Maul with little success, managing to trigger Maul or otherwise upset him without fail. It was like the blind leading the blind; Quinlan was almost as equally disturbed as Maul was. He was most definitely not helping Maul’s healing process. Obi-Wan sighed to himself, trying to shake away all thoughts of Quinlan. He needed to focus on the here and now, with Maul, not with Quinlan. He was sure that Anakin had the situation covered on that end. The redhead gave Maul’s shoulder an affectionate squeeze before gracefully dropping to the ground and situating himself into a meditative position, turning to look up at Maul, the Dathomirian sporting an apprehensive expression. The Jedi raised an eyebrow at him, to which Maul only huffed in response before dropping down close beside him, their knees knocking together comfortably. The zabrak had grown considerably quiet, a tell that something was wrong. “Care to tell me what happened back there?” Obi-Wan nudged carefully. Maul plucked a blade of grass in thought, but said little more. The Sith frowned, scratching at one of his horns, a nervous tic. Obi-Wan gulped uncomfortably, feeling a bit unsure. It was always difficult to wrestle Maul’s thoughts out of him, the Sith hellbent on keeping his own feelings and emotions behind careful lock and key.  “How about we meditate on it?” He tried, offering his hand to Maul with a smile on his face. Maul looked down at his open hand with minor trepidation, as if it would strike him, before gingerly taking Obi-Wan’s hand into his own. “Is that your solution to everything, Kenobi?” Maul jested. Obi-Wan snorted light-heartedly at that, briefly reminded of Anakin’s own severe hatred of the practice. It was only a matter of time until Maul also began to notice how Obi-Wan turned to meditation for practically any and all problems he encountered in life. Even now, he couldn’t escape the teasing. “No, dearheart, it’s not,” He answered, a white lie, “But it’s what you need right now, I think. Come: Breathe with me. Release your feelings into the Force.” Obi-Wan breathed in deep through his nose and closed his eyes. While the Force was usually a comforting presence to him, ebbing and flowing around him gently, he could sense the turmoil rolling off of Maul in waves, dark and heavy. It was a choking, suffocating feeling that left him uneasy. Obi-Wan gently reached out to him through their shaky, newly-forming bond, attempting to sooth the Sith Lord. He could feel Maul’s shields rising in response.  His eyes snapped open and he turned to voice his displeasure at Maul’s withdrawal, but was cut short when he noticed Qui-Gon approaching with haste. Reluctantly, the two pulled their hands away from each other, Maul’s hands now resting in his own lap. Obi-Wan looked up at his former master with minor interest. “Master Qui-Gon, how can we help you? Care to join us for our meditation?” Obi-Wan asked. Of course, he didn’t want Qui-Gon to join them currently as it stands, considering Maul’s current behavior. He figured he should remain courteous anyway. “Not today, padawan mine,” He replied, “The Council is in need of you urgently. Maul, as well.” Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow in confusion and turned to Maul, who was now also looking up, attention piqued at the mention of his own name. He brushed off the ‘padawan’ comment, not caring enough to correct him. Even after all these years, Qui-Gon never seemed to drop the habit of calling him by his old rank. “What for? Has something happened?” Obi-Wan stood to his feet hurriedly, his Sith companion once again hesitant before following suit. He seemed anxious. “Does this have something to do with me? I’ve upset your precious Council,” Maul said with self-assurance, a growl leaving his throat, “Whatever it is, it has nothing to do with Kenobi. Leave him out of this.” Obi-Wan put a hand on Maul’s shoulder, rushing to speak on his behalf. Maul’s testy mood was starting to grate on him. He prayed to the Force that Qui-Gon wouldn’t be put off by his passive aggressive behavior. Luckily, Qui-Gon only smiled in response. “Dear boy, it is nothing of the sort. You jump to conclusions.” “Conclusions? Well, if it isn’t something I’ve done, why else would the Council wish to see me?” Obi-Wan’s grip tightened slightly, a warning for Maul to compose himself. The Sith’s reaction was almost instantaneous. Maul shut his mouth quickly, standing stock-still, body language so passive it seemed unnatural. Strange. Obi-Wan’s own worry for Maul was becoming too much for him. Too bad there was nothing he could do about the situation until they got this council meeting over with. Afterwards, he could have a real conversation with Maul about what was going on with him. “Lead the way, Master,” Obi-Wan piped up, eager to move on. Qui-Gon seemed placated enough, regarding the two with a curious look, but didn’t utter another word and led them to the Council Chambers. Darth Maul was not looking forward to this. At all.

[joyfulsongbird]

“Eurydice finds out she's pregnant after going to hadestown and Persephone makes hades let her go back to Orpheus.”

🦥 anon, it wouldn’t let me post it as a reply to an ask so here we go: I meant this to be short but 5000+ words burst from my fingertips so here you go.

I had to change it slightly so that Eurydice has the baby BEFORE Seph gets back (assuming she’s about one to two months pregnant, which wouldn’t be showing yet, when she goes to hadestown) cause Seph leaves and doesn’t come back for six months.

***

work, work, work

constant, pulling, weight on her shoulders, never ending

gods, she’s tired

so tired

she’s never been this tired before

will it ever end?

la la la la la la la

two voices, so many souls. her mouth is closed and she’s screaming, echoing, crying.

and then the bell, the signal that this is not never ending. that work doesn’t last to the end of time, that Hadestown has some mercy for it’s workers. for the people who cry at the foot of the wall every day, except now they are tearing it down. and they cry, they cry, they cry for all of the blood and sweat that went into building and now their tears sink into the mortar, slowly tearing down what they dedicated their life to. what they believed would save them from poverty. and now mister Hades, every morning, reminds them that the wall must come down. that someday, they will see the sunshine again. he doesn’t speak in that hopeful tone, of course not, but Eurydice hears it.

she hears it and hopes. she hears that he is reaching for them with this withered outstretched hand that hasn’t known mercy for so long, and she’s taking it. and saying “this is what it’s like to be merciful”.

look me in the eyes and see what it is to forgive.

for she knows forgiveness like the back of her hand. she knows forgiveness like the deepness of his eyes. knows forgiveness like that the pit of hunger in her stomach. she knows forgiveness. he does not. she can teach him, she can teach him. teach them. It’s only been about two or three months since Persephone went back for spring, it could be longer than that, could be shorter. what is time in Hadestown? there is only the toll and the wall and the crumbling of what they lived for.

she drops her hands to her sides, still coated in grime, her body aching to stretch her hands towards the sky (well, what they call the sky, it isn’t that, it is red and dark and unforgiving). it’s under her fingernails, it’s in her hair, it’s on her cheeks. she is a full fledged creature, with mud on her body like camouflage. she is a machine, work, move, clean, again. what is cleanliness if you are just going to get dirty again tomorrow?

and what is germs in Hadestown? there is no sickness here. that’s what they were promised. a warm place of wealth and no pain. they don’t get sick, they don’t get cold, they don’t go hungry. that’s what was promised to them. but she can’t feel anymore. yes, now she can remember his face, remember his voice, but now... now she feels nothing when she sees his face.

it’s definitely worse.

it’s like she’s looking at the face of a boy she saw in passing on the street. she knows that she loved him, that she still loves him. but there is nothing in her memories that twinges her feelings back into what they were. she sees everything through her own gaze, she knows that at some point she felt these emotions that were so extreme that she cried real tears, that she laughed with this joyousness that filled the entire room. she remembers how he looked at her. with reverence. with love. how he smiled every time she entered a room, and she smiled too. she knows that she smiled too, she remembers that.

she goes through her routines, goes to her shared apartment flat with two other women. they never really speak, they don’t even make eye contact most of time. Eurydice just taps her foot against the floor, waiting for her turn in the shower. directly across the wall, one of her roommates, Afra, stands there. doing the same thing; waiting, listening, all impatiently. Eurydice doesn’t know her well, doesn’t know how she got here but she assumes they all came for the same reasons. security. safety. or maybe, just to get away. Eurydice is sure that if she’d known about Hadestown when she was a younger girl, living in a home with people she loathed, with people who loathed her, she would’ve flown off to hadestown long ago.

Eurydice gets the shower next, stepping into the already steamy small room with the tub and rusty shower head against the wall. the mirror is fogged up and Eurydice leaves it that way, there’s no need to see herself this way. there’s no need to see herself at all. what’s the point down here? who needs mirrors in hell?

shedding her outer layers, she steps right into the shower, watching as the water below fills with dirt and grime, turning it a muted gray color, she stands there until the water turns clear again. she scrubs aimlessly at her skin with the soap bar for a minute or two, trying to feel clean but the dirt stays no matter what she does. it’s under her nails. it’s in her hair. it’s under her skin. she’ll never be rid of it. she’ll never get rid of-

she doubles over in the shower, the dizziness catching her off guard.

“woah, okay.” she murmurs to herself, reaching to clutch the slippery edge of the tub, steadying herself. it passes after a brief ten seconds but she steps out of the shower after that, turning off the water for fear of falling and hitting her head. she knows, objectively, that she can’t really be hurt here in Hadestown but old habits die hard.

dressing slowly and carefully, she addresses the main problem here is that both her head and her stomach are killing her.

well actually the largest looming problem here is: you don’t get sick in Hadestown.

Oh gods, does she have to be the anomaly here?

she’d like to just be normal, just blend into the crowd, but no, she has to be different. she has to stick out like a sore thumb in every place.

before she even knows what’s going on, she’s thrown up what little she’d eaten that day. it makes her feel a little better but sweat makes her forehead sticky, her whole body feels shaky and not quite right.

“Eurydice?” Afra’s voice is unsure of itself, they don’t often use their voices down here. “everything okay in there?”

“yes.” Eurydice calls back. “I’m fine.”

Is she?

she feels something for the first time in awhile: fear.

***

it was all very simple, she should’ve added it up the first time she threw up, so long ago. but it isn’t until she looks in a long mirror for the first time, wearing only her underclothes that she notices something.

no.

gods, no.

she doesn’t make an appointment with Hades, like he says you’re supposed to when you need to speak with him. this is too important, this is too much of his own fault that she has to speak him right then. she wants to cry, she needs to cry but she can’t. so she runs, so she runs as fast as she can until she’s at the doorsteps of the dark building where she knows he resides almost all of the hours of the day.

the door is unlocked, surprisingly, and she just walks in. down dark halls, ignoring the shadows that paint fear across her body. that’s the one thing she can feel nowadays, fear for herself, fear for Orpheus, fear for everything, for their unborn child. no child has been born in Hadestown to her knowledge, a desolate place like this cannot sustain a new life like that. it sucks life away, it tears families apart.

it’s relatively easy to find his office, it’s the only room that’s doorknob isn’t coated with dust and the door is slightly ajar, letting stark light stream into the dark hall.

she bursts inside before she even has time for a second thought.

he’s at his desk, pen in hand, paper in the other. his eyes raise to hers the moment he notices her presence.

“miss Eurydice-”

“cut the bullshit, Hades, why am I still here?”

“I-” she holds up her hand, cutting him off somehow. such an impressive, looming presence usually, but when a women on a mission is in front of him, he never knows what to do. she starts pacing back and forth, in front of his desk. clenching and unclenching her fists. should she punch him? no, no, nothing like that. she didn’t come here for violence... why did she come here? what was her mission when she set out to come here? she doesn’t know, she just knew that she had to get here.

“I thought I’d just be able to live my life in peace. In complete solidarity. That’s what you promised me. you told me I’d get- you said I’d be good here.”

“and didn’t I deliver?” he said, his rumbling voice carrying through the office. across the desk that was separating them. “aren’t you at peace?

she felt something lodged in her throat, she tries to swallow it but the effort makes her voice come out choked. “not anymore.”

suddenly, she feels everywhere. suddenly, she’s so full of feeling her knees nearly crumple to the ground. leaning against the desk. she still doesn’t cry. no, there’s almost too much feeling for that. her whole body is overwhelmed, for so long she felt nothing that this sudden feeling is almost causing her to double over in the pain. it’s fiercely coursing through her veins, her shaking knees could be from the fear or the feeling, she can’t tell.

Hades is up and holding onto one of her arms, his touch surprisingly gentle and uninvasive. he keeps her steady, while guiding her to come sit on a couch on the side of the wall.

“sit here.” he says, his voice shockingly calm and... kind. “I’ll get a glass of water.”

he busies himself with a pitcher of water that sits on his desk, and an empty glass beside it. Eurydice fiddles with the rings on her fingers, trying to sort her mind out, trying to figure out how to say it.

he’s pouring a glass of water. for her.

“I’m pregnant.”

he stops pouring.

he doesn’t turn around either. “your boy...”

“It’s Orpheus’, I’m positive.”

“how long?”

“I only just realized today. I didn’t know who to tell, Lady Persephone is gone and I just don’t know what I’m going to do.”

he’s being surprisingly calm, for a man with no children and no real relationship with Eurydice besides one layered with negative emotions.

“you don’t work for the time being.” he says after a moment of consideration. he turns around, holding a glass of water in one of his hands to face Eurydice’s gaping face. “I need to speak with my wife, but that can’t happen for another few months. So you don’t work and keep busy within what’s left of the walls.”

“what am I supposed to do? for those four months?” she has no idea when she’ll be due, the uncertainty of it is making her feel shaky. the fear strikes her again and she turns her to the side, not making eye contact with Hades again for fear of crumpling in on herself again. she purses her lips.

“I can tell you’re scared,” he begins.

“I’m not-” she starts.

“you younglings always try to convince everyone else that you aren’t terrified,” he thrusts the glass of water into her hand, giving her a pointed look.

“like you’re one to talk.”

he sighs. “only you could sass me when I’m trying to help you.” embarrassment faintly paints Eurydice’s cheeks a blush color, but it fades quickly. “let me continue.

“I can tell you’re scared,” he repeats. “but I’ll promise to protect you and your child, I may be a lot of terrible things but one thing I will never do is force a mother and her child apart. you’ll go back to your apartment and get some rest, tell your roommates that you don’t need to get up for work tomorrow, by special permission of Hades, and I’ll try to get in contact with my wife. But I have a feeling we won’t be able to have a full discussion until she gets back from summertime.”

Eurydice nods and takes a couple sips from that glass of water, her hand shakes so much, she knows that if there was ice in the glass they’d be able to hear the clinking of the two solids. but for now, she tries to act like she isn’t slowly crashing and burning.

Orpheus

Orpheus, you have a child

and he doesn’t know it. he may never know it.

“my child will be doomed to this life, won’t they?” she whispers, eyes downcast. “if-if I give them to Persephone before spring, will they be able to go Up Top? would it be possible?”

he sighs, the sound is burdened. “I don’t know. A child has never been born here before, so I don’t know.”

she stares at the surface of the water, rippling with little currents and waves from her trembling hand. “they will never know grass, or happiness, or love-”

“no.” Hades says firmly, he steps closer, he brushes her knuckles with his fingertips, unsure of what to do as a comfort. but his words are comfort enough. “your child will know love, you will love them and that is love enough.”

she purses her lips tight together, she still does not cry, she still has yet to cross that threshold of pure feeling.

“go home, get some sleep.” it’s a command, almost, like everything Hades says is. she could always refuse but instead of standing up to him like she usually prefers to, she nods, because she could use some sleep in times like now.

***

Eurydice had forgotten love until Calista.

she knew love well before Hadestown but in that span of few months, she forgot what it was like to love. to love something with this fierceness you can’t control, and to have that ability feels powerful. she felt like a monster before, but holding a child close to her chest is what makes her feel human again.

yes, they are still in Hadestown, but when life finds ways to spring up, it flourishes.

she’s moved apartments since finding out about the baby, to a smaller one, a studio with a bathroom and a tiny kitchen but it’s just for her and her daughter. people know that the only current mother in Hadestown lives there, her neighbors seem to brighten at the sight of her child. their darkness when they come back from work slides away for just a little bit of light when Callie smiles at them from afar.

her daughter brings hope, and Eurydice couldn’t be more proud. she doesn’t even know it yet, but Callie is really the carnation in the winter, she’s the light in the dark, the song in the silence.

And Persephone comes back and is immediately pointed in the direction of Eurydice’s apartment by Hades, with barely even a kiss on the cheek, she’s worried something bad has happened. It’s a combination of good and bad in her opinion.

she knocks on the door and a voice calls, “come in!”

Persephone, not knowing what she’ll find, steps inside tentatively. “Hades said to- oh my lords.”

Eurydice sits cross legged on her small bed, a baby sitting in her lap with the widest smile she’s ever seen on a child. she has her mothers eyes, even from here Persephone can see the dark color, the deepness of them.

“hi.” Eurydice begins. Persephone closes the door loudly, accidentally making Eurydice and the baby jump. she surges forward, first taking the young woman’s face in her hands, cupping her cheeks and brushing her cheeks with her thumbs.

“please tell me it’s Orpheus’.” Eurydice nods.

“It is” she assures, “look, she has his nose and you can just see, his hair, too.”

“she’s lovely.” Persephone sighs, sinking to sit beside Eurydice. Persephone brushes Eurydice’s bangs away from her eyes, she notices that they are freshly cut and a little jagged and uneven. she’ll ask about that later. “how old is she?”

“A month.” Eurydice answers immediately, her smile is genuine and Persephone can tell, there is love. a deep, motherly love that Persephone has only ever experienced when she looks at the young girl who turned into a young woman while she was away Up Top. “she came a little early, and I was worried, but she’s doing well now.”

“what’s her name?”

“Calista.” Eurydice says, gently tracing her daughter’s ears and tiny nose. “I started calling her Callie, though, and never stopped.”

“Callie.” Persephone repeats. “I love that.”

“me too.” Eurydice bites her bottom lip, before the real dawning of Persephone being here hits her. her expression barely changes and her tone of voice doesn’t at all but Persephone can feel the shift in the air.

“how is Orpheus doing?”

Persephone continues stroking through her black hair, untangling the knots like she imagines a mother would. “he just started singing again. only the past month or so. his voice sounds different after so long with so little use but it’s just as beautiful as it was when you knew him.”

Eurydice lifts Callie a little higher, adjusts her in her arms so that the child lies with her head in the crook of her elbow. “I’m sad that she’ll never get to meet him.”

she says it simply, she’s already accepted the fact, but underneath that is the lingering of sadness that lies there. an undercurrent of disappointment that Persephone came alone. she’d probably had the tiniest grain of hope and Persephone came empty handed.

“well!” she stands up, straightening out the creases in her dress. “I’d better get to the house, it’s been awhile since I’ve seen my husband up close.”

Eurydice smiles. “alright. see you again really soon?”

“of course.” Persephone plants a kiss on both girl’s heads and heads out the door, blinking away the sharp burn of tears.

***

she walks into Hades’ office and before she can even get the words out, he waves his hand at her without looking up from his ever important paperwork.

“I’m sending her up, don’t worry.”

she opens and closes her mouth. “I thought it might take some convincing.”

he scowls down at his desk. “I’m not heartless. I saw her when she first found out, the selflessness in that girl...” he shakes his head. “she was concerned about not being able to love her kid enough. not being able to provide that for her. she wanted to send Cal up there with you in the spring without her? you know that? the insanity in her, that I’d separate a mother and her child.”

Persephone steps around her and plants a firm, smiling kiss on his lips. Surprising him and pulling him away from his paperwork. “I love you.”

a smile twitches at his lips. “I love you too?”

“so,” Persephone says, promptly taking a small step back. “Eurydice and Callie will come up on the train with me in the spring?”

“as soon as I get all the paperwork in order. this is a... unique situation to say the least.” he turns back to his work, Persephone stands and watches for a moment, before planting one more soft kiss to the top of his head and heading out to get a drink. she can’t tell Eurydice yet, because if it doesn’t come true she’ll be heartbroken but knowing that she’ll be able to take the two of them up with her in the spring will be a joyous moment.

only six months until the couple that became a family gets reunited.

***

Children grow fast, this is something that Eurydice was never told. by the time Callie is seven months old, Eurydice has watched her learn to crawl, learn to reach and to touch and to smile. it still scares her sometimes, that maybe she isn’t meant for this? maybe she’s not cut out for this kind of thing. she’s already had to reason with herself over several things that just dig into her scalp, telling her Callie deserves a better mother. she had to bottle feed her, for god's sakes, her body seems to be malnourished enough and overworked enough that she can’t give that to her daughter. she has to take care of herself too, is what Persephone keeps telling her. she has to give herself a little attention too, give herself some love as well.

she faces Hades one last time in front of the train, he says he’s there to see Persephone off but Eurydice is glad that he’s there.

“thank you,” she says, lifting her chin to look him right in the eyes. “for all that you did for me and Callie, and for you are doing for Orpheus. he doesn’t know it yet, but he will be very thankful to you.”

“don’t say things like that,” he says, voice extra gravelly with the sadness of his wife leaving, but he tries to hide it. “I would never have hired you if I’d known...”

“neither of us knew, I would never have agreed to go if I’d known.”

a small silence stretches between them, she doesn’t know what to do with herself, a year ago she despised this man. everything about him made her heart shudder in her chest, but now... she’s seen his mercy and can’t help but feel that it was there all along.

she holds out her hand to shake his. “thank you, I will make sure to let Calista know as she grows older all that you have done for us.”

he lets out a chuckle as he takes her hand. “I’m sure she will also know all I have done against you.”

“in my opinion, it evens out. thank you.” she drops his hand and climbs onto the train, her stomach starting to swirl in her stomach.

She tries to remind herself of all that she’s been told by Persephone, love herself and that has to be enough, as she climbs the train, she’d handed Calista over to Persephone while Eurydice puts her things on the train. her heart beats so fast, this rhythm of readiness, of anticipation.

thump, thump, thump

Get Callie, she’s getting fussy in another woman’s arms.

thump, thump, thump

Sit down in a seat before the train starts moving.

thump, thump, thump

“if it isn’t my favorite songbird.” a withered voice comes from the front of the train car.

“Hermes.” Eurydice breaths, she speeds her steps up to meet him halfway and throws her arms around his neck. she buries her face in the man’s shoulder, letting him gently hold her like a father would hold a daughter, gently, calmly. he pulls back after barely five seconds.

“you takin’ the train?” she nods with something like tears stinging in the back of her eyes but they aren’t close to falling, yet. Hermes’ smile stretches almost all the way to his eyes, wrinkles creasing on his forehead. “he’ll be waiting for Seph, right by the station.’

Eurydice smiles but her heartbeat is still flurrying over her entire chest, heat spreading across her whole body like a licking fire. she needs a distraction from her shaking hands and churning stomach. Hermes pats her cheek affectionately, finally looking over her shoulder and squinting at Persephone holding the infant in her arms. he narrows his eyes, like he’s seeing a mirage and isn’t sure exactly what he’s seeing.

Eurydice breaks away from him, going to Persephone to take her daughter from the other woman’s arms. “this is your kind of granddaughter, Calista.”

“a lovely name for a lovely girl.” Hermes smiles in that way he always does when he knows something, when he looks at someone and can see their future. Eurydice always feels exposed whenever Hermes looks at her, like he knows what goes on in her head every day. like he knows all of her fears and hopes and emotions. the train starts moving in that moment and Eurydice has to sit down, holding Callie in her lap, pulling her tightly against her chest.

they move through tunnels, the dim lights of the mines flash through the windows every once in awhile, flushing the four of them in a golden glow, turning Persephone’s green dress into a brownish color, splashing across Hermes face briefly and throwing shadows like the darkness of the wall falling over her. she hasn’t worked on the wall in months, hasn’t gone into the mines in about as long, but it still haunts her. to forget how to feel, though since Orpheus came and left, the place improved it still left her feeling like there a life she was missing out on, the other half of her. or maybe it just was that her other half was Up Top. Callie taught her to remember feeling, taught to feel again altogether. and when she begins to whimper in the dark of the train, her heart stutters and all she wants is to make her smile again.

“shhh,” Eurydice murmurs, bounding the little girl on her knee briefly. “it’s alright, love, shh.”

even just her voice soothes the child and she quiets, she is normally not the most emotional infant, though they all cry, Eurydice knows that from her younger siblings. she takes after her mother in that, she only gets emotional really when Eurydice gets emotional. so now, when Eurydice is nervous and fidgety and on edge, the girl picks up on it and begins to cry. she calms herself, taking deep breath and pressing a kiss to her daughters soft bed of dark brown hair.

it’s a longer train ride than Eurydice would think, so they sit in silence, contemplative over what is to come, over what is going to happen when those doors open and sunshine floods the train car. when Orpheus is right before her what will she say? what will she do? he doesn’t even know she’s coming, he’ll be happy to see her, won’t he? yes, yes, he will. she knows this, she knows he loved her, and hopes for that present tense to re-enter the assuredness of her vocabulary. she loves him, simple as that, and he will love what she brings with her.

as light starts to flood the car, she closes her eyes, feeling the warmth flood through her body. the familiar scent of the dirt and the trees, the sound of chattering voices and birds beginning to chirp, everything so familiar yet so foreign. the last time she was this anxious to step outside was during The Walk and she never stepped foot outdoors during that. she’s both ready and most definitely not.

“here,” Persephone says. “I’ll take Cal, and you can step out by yourself. take a look about, greet old friends without this little one in your arms.”

reluctantly, Eurydice relinquishes Callie into Persephone’s arms. she stands, ready to face her fate, ready to smell the earth, bask in the sunlight. she is here, she is full of light, she is ready.

she’s ready.

the train car opens by itself and she steps out, shading her eyes with her hand to gaze over the crowd, which a hush falls over. she is known here, though she looks different. though having been pregnant and gave birth, she’s lost weight. the doctors she saw worried for Callie’s health, when Eurydice has spent her whole life only getting just enough to eat and too often in Hadestown she neglected to eat, after the pregnancy especially, it seemed. she just simply... forgot to take care of herself sometimes. those were the days where she got talks from Persephone, lectures from Hades, both about taking care of herself not just for herself, for Calista. she tried her best, but old habits die hard. she looks more tired now, her hair now just brushing the very tops of her shoulders but the bangs freshly cut. every few months, or when she was feeling especially restless, she would go to the bathroom with a pair of scissors and retrim her bangs. what a great influence she’ll be on her kid.

and in the crowd, in the very back of the crowd, is a boy just a little bit older and more tired looking. and his eyes are raised to hers. his mouth is forming the first syllable of her name, with a question in his eyes. is this real? are you real?

and she wants to run to him and say yes yes yes yes im real this is real this is true

but she can’t move until Hermes walks up beside her, loops his arm through hers and begins to walk her down the steps of the station. the crowd parts for them and Eurydice can’t help but see the imagery of it all. like a bride walking down the aisle, she is being given away for the second time in her life. the first, she gave away herself, in secret. not an elopement but a ritual in which they were “married”. this time, she is given away to this life that she once gave up. here, she is being given permission to step back into this life, she is being given permission to look him in the eyes, to speak to him. he gives her away and leaves her there at the altar- or rather, right in front of Orpheus- and leaves her there, blending back into the crowd.

“how- how... what are you- how are you-?” he runs a hand through his hair, just looking at her, just... looking. “Eurydice-”

when he says her name, her entire body feels like it will combust and she can’t just stay standing there. it feels like their first kiss: happening before she knows what’s happening and over before she wants it to. whistles break out through the crowd, a laughter spreading through the silence. the tension breaks and she’s left just feeling his hands at her waist, and his face close to hers, his breath against her cheeks, fluttering her eyelashes against the breeze.

“how-?” he asks again.

she licks her lips, unsure of how to say it. “I’ll show you.”

Persephone is already walking towards them, holding Callie to her chest. Orpheus, the ever confused, just stares. the two dots not yet connected yet, so he must say the first thing that comes to mind.

“congratulat-”

Persephone shakes her head and laughs. “no, poet.” and hands Callie to Eurydice.

he watches with wide eyes as Eurydice holds the child in one arm and with the other, adjusts Orpheus’ arms so that she can gently place the girl in his arms. she holds both his arms and the baby for a moment before removing her hands and stepping back. his eyes flick from Eurydice, down to the infant, and then back to Eurydice in a panicked state.

“her name is Calista, she’s seven months old... and she’s your daughter.”

Orpheus lets out a huge, deep, shuddering sigh that feels somehow close to tears. he finally looks down and admires the face of the girl in his arms, and as he does, Eurydice tells him about her.

“she has your nose, and your hair, but my eyes. she’s not very talkative but she likes to be read to before going to sleep, and she always, always prefers to sleep close to me, or close to a person. she’s like you, she loves to listen. and she loves people-”

she stops herself at the sight of his face, smiling but filled with this sorrowful inside. “I can’t believe- I missed a whole life starting... Eurydice, she’s so beautiful.”

“not your fault, Orpheus, neither of us knew.” she murmurs. “and now, we’re here.”

“you’re home.”

[hero-with-fear]

{{damn-space-wizards - closed}}

Slavers.

Even in his earliest memories, Anakin could recall feeling a visceral reaction to the term. It roiled in his gut like bad Bantha stew: a cocktail of relentless hatred, simmering rage, and long suppressed fear. In some ways, the stark loathing he felt towards anyone selling sentient beings for profit reminded him of home. His had been a childhood of wondering if friends or family would wind up missing in the next raid. The cries of the suddenly orphaned or childless still stung his ears--if Anakin let his mind wander. Such times were behind the Jedi Knight, who these days sent wayward thoughts in a much warmer, Senatorial direction.

Slavers, however...those worthless kriffs just didn’t seem to go away.

The Outer Rim Sieges had brought Anakin farther away from the Republic than he’d been in years. The outlying systems were up for grabs and the Separatists wanted in. That meant the Jedi had to put a stop to it--which would have been great had they not already been stretched to the breaking point across the galaxy. Anakin, however, always seemed to be available. 

Taking another assignment meant spending more time away from...other things. Taking an assignment on a back water Sep occupied planet lorded over by a top tier, low-life slaver was another beast entirely. It was more than he’d signed up for. And more than his fragile patience could tolerate.

Porro Shul didn’t just deal in lives, he enjoyed the subjugation. Some said he’d been pirate in his younger years. Some pegged him as a former member of the Karazak Cooperative, but no one seemed to know the timeline. Whoever he’d killed to own the ring he now orchestrated, it’d paid off. The humanoid had become the mastermind behind one of the most frequented buyers markets in trafficking. 

Anakin knew him as the man who’d taken his mother from her family.

And he’d been assigned to negotiate with the barve.

[chaos-of-the-abyss]

I love Tolkien too!! Who’s your favorite character?

Anon, how dare you make me choose my favorite character when there are so many beautiful characters to pick from? 

In all honestly, I find that I can’t answer that question. I hope you're okay with reading a much, much longer response than you probably imagined originally. I’ll go over my top characters and why they’re so high on my personal list, because many of the reasons are different from character to character. These aren’t in any particular order.

This also isn’t even all of my top favorites, but the answer became so long that I had to limit it to a few. Basically, I wrote whole character analyses gushing about why I love the characters I mentioned - Sauron, Melkor, Manwë, and Varda. Enjoy :’)

Sauron

I loved reading about just because of how evil he is; it makes him very entertaining (and horrifying, more often than not) to read anything he’s involved in. He’s the worst. Literally the worst. I love how cunning and deceptive he is because I’ve always had a penchant for conniving characters. 

“Now the Elves made many rings; but secretly Sauron made One Ring to rule all the others, and their power was bound up with it, to be subject wholly to it and to last only so long as it too should last. And much of the strength and will of Sauron passed into that One Ring; for the power of the Elven-rings was very great, and that which should govern them must be a thing of surpassing potency; and Sauron forged it in the Mountain of Fire in the Land of Shadow. And while he wore the One Ring he could perceive all the things that were done by means of the lesser rings, and he could see and govern the very thoughts of those that wore them.”

But I also find Sauron interesting because it looks like he began as an anti-hero, a Byronic hero, even someone who had good intentions but coupled them with extreme measures and moral greyness. And instead of being your stereotypical angsty brooder who eventually finds “the light”, is redeemed, and finds happiness, Sauron plunged deeper and deeper into malice, ill intentions, and a desire to dominate.

“In my story Sauron represents as near an approach to the wholly evil will as is possible. He had gone the way of all tyrants: beginning well, at least on the level that while desiring to order all things according to his own wisdom he still at first considered the (economic) well-being of other inhabitants of the Earth. But he went further than human tyrants in pride and the lust for domination, being in origin an immortal (angelic) spirit. Sauron desired to be a God-King, and was held to be this by his servants, by a triple treachery: 1. Because of his admiration of Strength he had become a follower of Morgoth and fell with him down into the depths of evil, becoming his chief agent in Middle-earth. 2. when Morgoth was defeated by the Valar finally he forsook his allegiance; but out of fear only; he did not present himself to the Valar or sue for pardon, and remained in Middle-earth. 3. When he found how greatly his knowledge was admired by all other rational creatures and how easy it was to influence them, his pride became boundless.”

Tolkien himself says that Sauron “began well”, and because of his admiration for Morgoth’s immense power, was corrupted alongside him as well. It was also the fault of his arrogance; when he discovered that other beings admired and were amazed by him due to his status as a (former) angelic being, the praise basically got to his head. While I love redemption stories, it’s refreshing to read about a character who had his chance and let it go. And Sauron’s evil is absolutely unquestionable. It’s not up for debate; he is malevolent, selfish, and duplicitous, and through his desire for order, perfection, and control, actually seems to represent what Tolkien considers a very absolute form of evil.

“The most improper job of any man, even saints, is bossing other men.”

And what I find so gripping about Sauron is that he doesn’t carry out his cruelty with professionalism and a sense of necessity; he absolutely relishes it.

“Then straightaway they brought him into the dreadful presence of Sauron; and Sauron said: ‘I hear now that thou wouldst barter with me. What is thy price?’

And Gorlim answered that he should find Eilinel again, and with her be set free; for he thought Eilinel also had been made captive. Then Sauron smiled, saying: ‘That is a small price for so great a treachery. So shall it surely be. Say on!’

Now Gorlim would have drawn back, but daunted by the eyes of Sauron he told at last all that he would know. Then Sauron laughed; and he mocked Gorlim, and revealed to him that he had only seen a phantom devised by wizardry to entrap him; for Eilinel was dead. ‘Nonetheless I will grant thy prayer,’ said Sauron; 'and thou shalt go to Eilinel, and be set free of my service.’ Then he put him cruelly to death.”

Melkor

My initial reason for liking Melkor seems very similar to my reasons for liking Sauron: He’s a stellar villain, and, like Sauron, a complete and utter monster. And he’s intense. He’s terrifying; Tolkien’s descriptions of him are great, and just reading it on a page is captivating.

“… And he descended upon Arda in power and majesty greater than any other of the Valar, as a mountain that wades in the sea and has its head above the clouds and is clad in ice and crowned with smoke and fire; and the light of the eyes of Melkor was like a flame that withers with heat and pierces with a deadly cold.”

Yet he’s also quite different from his lieutenant, in my opinion. Melkor seems to be much more motivated by personal envy than Sauron is: 

‘As a shadow Melkor did not then conceive himself. For in his beginning he loves and desired light, and the form that he took was exceedingly bright; and he said in his heart: 'On such brightness as I am the Children shall hardly endure to look; therefore to know of aught else or beyond or even to strain their small minds to conceive of it would not be for their good.’ But a lesser brightness that stands before the greater becomes darkness. And Melkor was jealous, therefore, of all other brightness, and wished to take all light unto himself.’

He has a very interesting desire for light (tying into the envious aspect of his nature) that does nothing to redeem him in the slightest.

“He began with the desire of Light, but when he could not possess it for himself alone, he descended through fire and wrath into a great burning, down into Darkness. And darkness he used most in his evil works upon Arda, and filled it with fear for all living things.”

‘With Manwë dwells Varda, Lady of the Stars, who knows all the regions of Eä. Too great is her beauty to be declared in the words of Men or of Elves; for the light of Ilúvatar lives still in her face. In light is her power and her joy. Out of the deeps of Eä she came to the aid of Manwë; for Melkor she knew from before the making of the Music and rejected him, and he hated her, and feared her more than all others whom Eru made.’ 

A very interesting quote that has sparked a lot of discussion. Whatever this “rejection” means (I have my own thoughts in this, but I’m trying to keep this objective for this post), Melkor sought spirits of light to recruit to his side, and it seems that Varda embodies light, purity, holiness, etc. Her titles reflect this, as does this statement about the light of Ilúvatar. 

Now this embodiment of light, this spirit of brilliance, rejected to join Melkor’s side, and Melkor ‘hated her’. It’s quite obvious that Melkor is, for lack of a better word, salty, that Varda, whose face shines with Eru’s light, “rejected” him. He cannot have Eru’s light (the Flame Imperishable), and Varda is perhaps the closest he can get to this. But she declines to ally herself to him, and he despises her for it. He’s not just peeved at losing a powerful ally, he loathes her on a personal level because she represents light that he can never have, no matter how much he desires it. (Take that as you will.)

Melkor is compelling, to me, because of how contradictory he seems. He’s absolutely monstrous and evil, no doubt about that, and his malice, like Sauron’s, is unquestionable. But he’s also a very convoluted character; clearly, much of his evil is borne out of personal insecurities. If you think about it, his duality makes perfect sense and is not contradictory. I like that: a character that’s undoubtedly evil embodied, yet is still layered in a natural, human way, and not one-dimensional. 

Manwë

Manwë is a character I adore for entirely different reasons than the first two above. As a person, he’s probably one of the characters I adore most out of any fictional universe. I love how he’s described as majestic and kingly - and he is!

But Manwë Súlimo, highest and holiest of the Valar, sat upon the borders of the West, forsaking not in his thought the Outer Lands. For his throne was set in majesty upon the pinnacle of Taniquetil, which was the highest of the mountains of the world, standing upon the margin of the Seas. Spirits in the shape of hawks and eagles flew ever to and from his halls; and their eyes could see to the depths of the sea and could pierce the hidden caverns under the world, and their wings could bear them through the three regions of the firmament beyond the lights of heaven to the edge of Darkness. Thus they brought word to him of well nigh all that passed in Aman: yet some things were hidden even from the eyes of Manwë and the servants of Manwë, for where Melkor sat in his dark thought impenetrable shadows lay. [...] Elves and Men revere Manwë most of all the Valar, for he has no thought for his own honour, and is not jealous of his power, but ruleth all to peace. The Vanyar he loved most of all the Elves, and of him they received song and poesy. For poesy is the delight of Manwë, and the song of words is his music. Behold, the raiment of Manwë is blue, and blue is the fire of his eyes, and his sceptre is of sapphire which the Noldor wrought for him; and he is King of the world of gods and elves and men, the vicegerent of Ilúvatar, and the chief defence against the evil of Melkor.

I apologize for the sudden subjectivity, but in my eyes, you will never read a more badass description of a character. Period. 

Anyway . . . despite his magnificence and power, Manwë is very well-intentioned, very noble, not at all corrupted by his authority, although he is quite literally the ruler of the entire world (Arda). 

Elves and Men revere Manwë most of all the Valar, for he has no thought for his own honour, and is not jealous of his power, but ruleth all to peace. 

As explicitly stated by Tolkien, Manwë is good. And personally, I think he’s one of the strongest characters in Tolkien’s universe. In power, yes - I mean, I believe he’s stated to be the second most powerful of the Ainur, right after Melkor. But in strength of character, Manwë far surpasses his brother and a good amount of the other characters. He shows it several times; for one thing, not being corrupted by the amount of power that he has is impressive in itself, but I also think this is noteworthy. It’s a decision he is often criticized for, but as Tolkien himself insinuated, Manwë choosing to release Melkor and offer him a second chance was a good thing.

“Who then can say with assurance that if Melkor had been held in bond less evil would have followed? Even in his diminishment the power of Melkor is beyond our calculation. Yet some ruinous outburst of his despair is not the worst that might have befallen. The release was according to the promise of Manwë. If Manwë had broken this promise for his own purposes, even though still intending ‘good’, he would have taken a step upon the paths of Melkor. That is a perilous step. In that hour and act he would have ceased to be the vice-regent of the One, becoming but a king who takes advantage over a rival whom he has conquered by force. Would we then have the sorrows that indeed befell; or would we have the Elder King lose his honour, and so pass, maybe, to a world rent between two proud lords striving for the throne?

Of this we may be sure, we children of small strength: any one of the Valar might have taken the paths of Melkor and become like him: one was enough.”

Rather than doing what Melkor would have done - going back on his words out of fear and refusing to extend a helping hand to a defeated enemy - Manwë chose to do what he believed was right, what was according to his morals. He didn’t waver or back away in the face of peril and stayed true to who he was. And to me, that’s the ultimate act showing strength of character.

Varda

Ah, the OG queen I stan. I always loved Varda, truthfully, but @marta-elentari ‘s metas made me love her even more. 

Varda is that character that makes me scream “Yes queen” from the very start. I love the feeling of power and brilliance I get when I read descriptions of her:

‘With Manwë dwelt Varda the most beautiful, whom we Noldor name Elbereth, Queen of the Valar; she it was who wrought the Great Stars; and with them were a great host of fair spirits in great blessedness.’

‘With Manwë dwells Varda, Lady of the Stars, who knows all the regions of Eä. Too great is her beauty to be declared in the words of Men or of Elves; for the light of Ilúvatar lives still in her face. In light is her power and her joy. Out of the deeps of Eä she came to the aid of Manwë; for Melkor she knew from before the making of the Music and rejected him, and he hated her, and feared her more than all others whom Eru made.’

My first impression of her was that she was a very intelligent woman and a very keen judge of character, considering she was the first to sense the darkness in Melkor. I also admired her for rejecting him, because Melkor coerced multiple powerful Maiar to his side, even those with good intentions (*cough* Sauron *cough*), and I don’t imagine his powers of persuasion were any less potent or any less on display when he attempted to cajole Varda to join him. Yet she declined. 

But then, courtesy of @marta-elentari , I found these quotes:

‘And Manwë and Ulmo and Aulë were as Kings; but Varda was the Queen of the Valar, and the spouse of Manwë, and her beauty was high and terrible and of great reverence.’

I find this “high and terrible” description to be very interesting. Insofar I had only known Varda is this Virgin Mary-type figure, but I think that quote added some less ‘holy’ aspects to her personality. And I loved that. We see the word ‘beauty’ juxtaposed with ‘terrible’ in LOTR, when Galadriel is tempted by the Ring:

“Instead of a Dark Lord, you would have a queen, not dark but beautiful and terrible as the dawn! Tempestuous as the sea, and stronger than the foundations of the earth! All shall love me and despair!”

This quote is an external manifestation of Galadriel’s buried desire for more power, a change from the wise and kind Lady of Lothlórien that Galadriel was initially characterized as. Of course, learning more of Galadriel’s history and her younger days’ desire to come to Middle Earth and rule her own kingdom - another form of power - it makes sense and is not at all odd. 

But the similarity in word choice makes me wonder if Varda was ambitious and desired power and a position of rulership, just as Galadriel did. Because I’m a sucker for ambitious female characters, I latch on to this theory, and it makes me love Varda very much: a Holy Mary figure who is mighty and pure, but also more complex than the surface level seems to indicate, and a woman who isn’t punished for her ambition. 

[kylestagram]

∞ :-)

fall out boy - hold me tight or don’t“the distance between us/it sharpens me like a knife” 

i took the inspo for this oneshot from my divorced style au, as FOB has always reminded me of the tumultuous nature of stan and kyle’s relationship. this particular au is actually darker than this oneshot makes it appear, but i wanted to keep this hopeful. 

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

Kyle really should have thought twice before coming back to his home- former home, he tries earnestly to correct himself as he pulls his Mercedes into the dirt drive of his ex-husband’s acreage. It was in the same East Texas neighborhood they’d grown up in, a single story of brownstone and natural lighting; the neighbor’s goats watched him warily over the fence which bordered the division between their fifty and Stan’s five halfheartedly green ancestral acres. Kyle always thought that Stan could have done better than the clannish, insular people they’d lived with since birth, who’d he’d never hesitated to remind Stan never particularly liked either of their families, but a man with a fifty million dollar retirement package was loath to listen to his worrier of an ex-best friend. 

He’s glad he neglected to wear his new loafers today- the sun was beating down on the ground especially hard, making the swirling dust about as annoying as he remembers it. The reddishness of it matched his briefcase, or would if he’d ever remember to polish it, but Kyle waits for everything to die down, staring at his lap for a moment. Ever since he’d flown in from Jersey he’d wondered why he’d even bothered to show up. After what he’d cost Stan, he doubted that his ex-husband would even be willing to listen to what he had to say, but this was his last option before committing himself to another ten years of crushing debt and, even worse, another thirty of miserable celibacy. Kyle climbs the steps to the front door, avoiding a pile of cedar wood by the stoop and ringing the doorbell. After hearing no sign of Stan coming towards the door, he rings again; soon, a three-part thunk, boots and something else, get louder and louder as Stan finally arrives.

”Damn, just hold on a minute! I already told y’all that I can’t donate any more money this year without the IRS on my ass --” Stan opens the door without looking at him, and Kyle immediately feels himself blanch. What his fellow attorney had told him over the phone the day after Stan got out of the hospital all those year ago rang through his head- broken hip, damaged knee, screws in ten places. Never going to play again. Stuck with a walking aid. Hope you’re ready for the fallout, Dr. Marsh. It’s always bad with things like this.Kyle realized he’s been staring over Stan’s shoulder when Stan clears his throat impatiently for the second time. 

“What the hell are you doing here, Dr. Kyle Broflovski?”The emphasis on his very-much-not-married last name makes Kyle snarl a little bit inside, but he does his best to remain civil, repainting the same relaxed smile on his face that used to calm Stan-- used to perhaps being the operative words. He should have expected a little hostility. “I wanted to visit you, Stan. We haven’t talked in years.”Stan’s face softens in shock, then hardens into its middle-school shell. He clenches his hand around his cane,taking the weight off the hip he’d injured, as if the phantom pain of the break had hit him again. Kyle tries not to look at Stan’s eyes too much, for fear he’ll get swallowed up by their cerulean blue and spit out worse off than he already had been in their five years of separation.

“So what? You’ve never given a shit enough about me to understand that my life doesn’t revolve around you.”Kyle impulsively reaches for the outer handle, grabbing it to win himself the right to look the short distance up to Stan’s face. If Stan wanted to play rough, like being no longer legally together for their own good was some sort of schoolyard fight, then so be it. They’d had plenty of those, and he almost always won.

Kyle  rises a bit out of his slouch and hisses straight into Stan’s face, not caring if he gets his hand crushed. “Don’t lie about what I said that night, you goddamned bastard. You were the one who divorced me.”

Stan’s hand is firm on the back of the door. He makes a motion to close it, but Kyle gets too close for him to do so without whacking the screen door in his own face. This elicits a scowl from Stan, and they stand there for three agonizing moments (Kyle counts them) before Stan shifts even more of his weight onto his cane and lets out a short sigh. 

“You get ten minutes. Don’t come in until I get back.”

Stan turns on his heel, opening the door more gently than Kyle expected, and he hopes this is one of Stan’s silent I still love you’s.

[monaedroid]

She rose to fame as an endlessly inventive pop android. Now, she's finally revealing the real person waiting inside

Janelle Monáe is crying in her spacesuit. It's early April in Atlanta, and she's in one of the basement studios of her Wondaland Records headquarters, surrounded by computer monitors and TV screens, one of them running a screensaver that displays images of her heroes: Prince, Martin Luther King Jr., Pam Grier, Tina Turner, Lupita Nyong'o, David Bowie. She's about to reveal, for the first time, something the world has long guessed, something her closest friends and family already know, something she's long been loath to say in public. As she sings on a song from her new album, Dirty Computer,"Let the rumors be true." Janelle Monáe is not, she finally admits, the immaculate android, the "alien from outer space/The cybergirl without a face" she's claimed to be over a decade's worth of albums, videos, concerts and even interviews – she is, instead, a flawed, messy, flesh-and-blood 32-year-old human being.

And she has another rumor to confirm. "Being a queer black woman in America," she says, taking a breath as she comes out, "someone who has been in relationships with both men and women – I consider myself to be a free-ass motherfucker." She initially identified as bisexual, she clarifies, "but then later I read about pansexuality and was like, ‘Oh, these are things that I identify with too.' I'm open to learning more about who I am."

It's a lovely spacesuit she's wearing, a form-fitting white NASA artifact complete with a commander patch on one arm and an American flag on the other. She's put it on for no reason at all – there are no cameras in sight – as she lounges around Wondaland. The outfit is a remnant, perhaps, of the android persona, known as Cindi Mayweather, that she fed us all these years: a messianic, revolutionary robot who fell in love with a human and vowed to free the rest of the androids.

Early in her career, Monáe was insecure about living up to impossible showbiz ideals; the persona, the androgynous outfits, the inflexible commitment to the storyline both on- and offstage, served in part as protective armor. "It had to do with the fear of being judged," she says. "All I saw was that I was supposed to look a certain way coming into this industry, and I felt like I [didn't] look like a stereotypical black female artist."

She is also a perfectionist, a tendency that's helped her career and hindered her emotional life; portraying a flawless automaton was also a bit of wish fulfillment. It's one of the many reasons she thought she had a "computer virus" that needed cleaning, which led her to years of therapy, starting before the 2010 release of her debut, The ArchAndroid. "I felt misunderstood," she says. "I was like, ‘Before I self-destruct, before I become a confused person in front of the world, let me seek some help.' I was afraid for anybody to see me not at the top of my game. That obsession was too much for me."

So she overcompensated, as she puts it, leaving fans to puzzle over the sight and sound of a dark-skinned, androgynously dressed black woman creating Afro-futuristic fantasias as trippy as the Parliament-Funkadelic soundscapes she grew up hearing. She became a pop anomaly, a sometimes incongruous interloper in the universes of her earliest supporters, Big Boi and Puff Daddy, the latter having signed her to a partnership with Bad Boy Records in 2008. The ArchAndroidwas a buzzy introduction, and 2013's Electric Lady – certainly the first progged-out concept album in the history of Bad Boy – established her as one of the 21st century's most inventive voices. Years before Frank Ocean, Solange, Beyoncé and SZA pushed arty, alternative R&B to the mainstream, Monáe was already there, bridging the gap between neo-soul and all that was to come, unafraid to fuse rock, funk, hip-hop (when she feels like it, as on her recent single "Django Jane," she's a top-flight rapper), R&B, electronica and campy, drama-kid theatricality.

She always ducked questions about her sexuality ("I only date androids" was a stock response) but embedded the real answers in her music. "If you listen to my albums, it's there," she says. She cites "Mushrooms & Roses" and "Q.U.E.E.N.," two songs that reference a character named Mary as an object of affection. In the 45-minute film accompanying Dirty Computer, "Mary Apple" is the name given to female "dirty computers" taken captive and stripped of their real names, one of whom is played by Tessa Thompson. (The actress has been rumored to be Monáe's girlfriend, though Monáe won't discuss her dating life.) The original title of "Q.U.E.E.N.," she notes, was "Q.U.E.E.R.," and you can still hear the word on the track's background harmonies.

Monáe is the CEO of her own label, a CoverGirl model and a movie star, appearing in the Oscar-winning Moonlight and the Oscar-nominated Hidden Figures, two hits led by black casts. In both films, she tackles black American stories that don't typically get the big-screen treatment. "Our stories are being erased, basically," she says of her attachment to those scripts, which made her "want to tell my story." Monáe does worry that the human behind her masks may not be enough. She has asked aloud, including in therapy, "What if people don't think I'm as interesting as Cindi Mayweather?" She'll miss the freedom of being the android. "I created her, so I got to make her be whatever I wanted her to be. I didn't have to talk about the Janelle Monáe who was in therapy. It's Cindi Mayweather. She is who I aspire to be." On Dirty Computer, the only hints of sci-fi are in the title and the storyline of the accompanying film. The lyrics are flesh-and-blood confessions of both physical and emotional insecurity, punctuated with sexual liberation. They're the unfiltered desires of an overthinker letting herself speak without pause, for once. And she wants to help listeners gain the courage to be dirty computers too. "I want young girls, young boys, nonbinary, gay, straight, queer people who are having a hard time dealing with their sexuality, dealing with feeling ostracized or bullied for just being their unique selves, to know that I see you," she says in a tone befitting the commander patch on her arm. "This album is for you. Be proud."

Monáe grew up in a massive, devoutly Baptist family in Kansas City, Kansas, or as she likes to put it, "I got 50 first cousins!" Not all of them know details of her romantic life, but they have almost certainly seen her wear sheer pants and share a lollipop with Thompson in the "Make Me Feel" video. "I literally do not have time," she says, laughing, "to hold a town-hall meeting with my big-ass family and be like, ‘Hey, news flash!' " She worries that when we visit Kansas City tomorrow, they'll bring it up: "There are people in my life that love me and they have questions, and I guess when I get there, I'll have to answer those questions."

Over the years, she's heard some members of her family, mostly distant ones, say certain upsetting things. "A lot of this album," she says, "is a reaction to the sting of what it means to hear people in my family say, ‘All gay people are going to hell.' "

She began questioning the Bible and her family's Baptist faith early on. Now, she says, "I serve the God of love" – love, she's determined, is the common factor among all religions, an idea Stevie Wonder expanded on in a Dirty Computer interlude.

When we arrive in the flat, industrial Kansas side of Kansas City, her family doesn't actually have any questions – or anything unkind to say, for that matter. There's just a whole lot of love for their homegrown superstar.

Janelle Monáe Robinson was born here on December 1st, 1985, to a mom who worked as a janitor and a dad who was in the middle of a 21-year battle with crack addiction. Her parents separated when Monáe was less than a year old, and her mother later married the father of Janelle's younger sister, Kimmy.

Monáe's loving warnings about the sheer size of her family ring true as soon as we step into her old neighborhood. On one street, her maternal grandmother owned several homes in a row that housed cousins, aunts, uncles and Monáe herself. A few minutes away is her paternal great-grandmother's pastel-coated house. Monáe spent a significant portion of her time there – it was her main connection to her dad and his family as he went in and out of prison; their relationship was rocky until he got sober 13 years ago. Another short car ride away is her maternal Aunt Glo's home, where we meet her mom. "She's my favorite slice of pie," her Auntie Fats says, referring to Monáe's familial nickname of "pun'kin."

Monáe was raised in a working-class community called Quindaro. It started as a settlement established by Native Americans and abolitionists just prior to the Civil War, and became a refuge for black Americans escaping slavery via the Underground Railroad. A few weeks before our visit, vandals painted swastikas and "Hail Satan" on a statue of abolitionist John Brown in the neighborhood. It's since been repainted. "I know nobody in this neighborhood did that," her great-grandmother says, shaking her head. "Outsiders."

On the Missouri side of the bridge, Kansas City is predominately white, but Monáe's community is overwhelmingly black. "I would read about where I was from," she says, "and understand who's really disadvantaged coming from these environments. It sucks. It's like that for brown folks." It's hard to miss her family's religiosity – they hardly get a sentence out without a mention of God's blessings. At 91, Monáe's great-grandma still monitors the halls at the local vacation Bible school with a switch in hand. During our visit, she sits behind a piano to lead a gospel singalong. Monáe, beside an aunt and a cousin, joins in, belting "Call Him Up and Tell Him What You Want" and "Savior, Do Not Pass Me By."

Monáe is never more relaxed during our time together than when she's in Kansas City. Her Midwestern drawl comes back as she screams and sings while running into the arms of her cousins, aunts and uncles, many of whom she gets to see only during the holidays or tour stops nearby. At one point, she curls up into her mom's lap while they look at a homemade poster full of sepia-toned childhood pics. "She was a delightful baby," Auntie Fats recalls.

Monáe's family members all share different versions of the same story: She was born to be a star, and she made that clear as soon as she gained motor skills. There was that time she got escorted out of church for insisting on singing Michael Jackson's "Beat It" in the middle of the service. There were the talent shows for Juneteenth where she covered "The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill" three years in a row and won each time. She was the star of the school musicals, except for The Wiz her senior year, when she lost the role of Dorothy because she had to leave the audition early to pick up her mom at work. She's still a bit miffed about not getting that part.

Monáe soon passed a bigger audition, for the American Musical and Dramatic Academy, and headed to New York. She studied musical theater and shared a small apartment with a cousin where she didn't even have a bed to herself. When she wasn't in class, she was working.

Meanwhile, an old friend was having the college experience Monáe desired, in Atlanta, so she relocated. The rest is well-trod history in the myth-building of Monáe: She was an Afro'd neo-soul singer strumming her guitar on college quads and working at Office Depot. She was fired from that job for using one of the company's computers to respond to a fan's e-mail, an incident that inspired the song "Lettin' Go."

That song caught the attention of Big Boi, who put her on Outkast's Idlewild and helped connect her with Sean Combs. "I'm-a be honest with you," her dad says, recalling an invite to one of Monáe's shows in Atlanta, where Combs was supposed to be in the house. "I was like, ‘Yeah, right.' I didn't think Puff Daddy was coming."

Skepticism aside, Michael Robinson was proud of the invite. He'd recently gotten sober, and the two were repairing their relationship. He spent much of Janelle's childhood hearing about her immense talents from the more-present members of their family. He was honored that they had come far enough for Monáe to want him to be there for such an important concert. But he still didn't believe Puffy would be there.

"I go down there with my two cousins, and she says, ‘Dad, everyone's gonna know you're not from here. Your jeans are creased.' " Fashion faux pas aside – he insists he hasn't creased his jeans since – Robinson was in for a pleasant surprise when one of his cousins spotted Combs and Big Boi in the back. It was the beginning of his daughter's new life, and he was just in time to be along for the journey. "I remember thinking, ‘This is what the big time is like,' " he muses. "They had all the cameras, all the lights. It was all about Janelle."

Wondaland Arts Society's headquarters feels like a utopian synthesis of Monáe's past lives in Kansas City and Manhattan. It sits inconspicuously in the midst of suburban Atlanta and looks like every other neighborhood home, with its two floors and brick exterior. Inside is much more ostentatious, with vintage clocks wallpapering the foyer, pristine white couches in the communal living spaces, and books and records everywhere.

It mimics the close-knit, constant accessibility of her childhood in Kansas City, with all its artists popping in and out of the space throughout each day to record new music, rehearse for shows and present the final product to the rest of the collective. At one point, the singer-rapper Jidenna shows up, having recently returned from a trip to Africa – everyone immediately starts teasing him about his newly buff physique.

Simultaneously, Chuck Lightning, seemingly the more extroverted half of two-man funk act Deep Cotton, who make their own music as well as work with Monáe, grabs a bowl of quinoa from the kitchen as Monáe doles out decisions on which version of the "Pynk" video will be released (they settle on the one without the spoken-word love poem that appears within the song in the film).

Monáe recorded most of Dirty Computer here, in a small studio with Havana-inspired decor. Guests and collaborators ranged from Grimes to Brian Wilson, who added harmonies to the title track. The album's liner notes cite Bible verses and a recent Quincy Jones interview alongside Monica Sjöö's The Great Cosmic Mother and Ryan Coogler's Black Panther.

But she was particularly close to one inspiration. Monáe was good friends with Prince, who personally blessed the album's glossy camp tone and synthed-out hooks. "When Prince heard this particular direction, he was like, ‘That's what y'all need to be doing,' " Lightning says. "He picked out that sound as what was resonating with him." Prince gave highly specific music and equipment recommendations from the era they were drawing on, including Gary Numan, whom he loved. "The most powerful thing he could do was give us the brushes to paint with," Lightning says.

Rumors spread that Prince co-wrote the single "Make Me Feel," which features a "Kiss"-like guitar riff. "Prince did not write that song," says Monáe, who sorely missed his advice during the production process. "It was very difficult writing this album without him." Prince was the first person to get a physical copy of The ArchAndroid – she presented the CD to him with a flower and the titles written out by hand. "As we were writing songs, I was like, ‘What would Prince think?' And I could not call him. It's a difficult thing to lose your mentor in the middle of a journey they had been a part of."

Stevie Wonder was another early fan of Monáe, and a conversation between them – Wonder insisted she record it – appears as an interlude on Dirty Computer. At one point, years ago, her budding friendships with both legends collided: She had to choose between playing with Prince at Madison Square Garden or with Wonder in Los Angeles. Prince encouraged her to pick Stevie.

On election night in 2016, Monáe found herself experiencing an unfamiliar emotion. "For the first time," she says, "I felt scared." Overnight, she went from living in a country whose president loved her music and had her perform on the White House lawn to one where it felt like her right to exist was threatened. "I felt like if I wake up tomorrow," she says, "are people going to feel they have the right to just, like, kill me now?"

Monáe had already been a committed activist. In 2015, with members of Wondaland, she created "Hell You Talmbout," which demands we say the names of black Americans who have been victims of racial violence and police brutality. Before #MeToo and Time's Up, Monáe created an organization, Fem the Future, which stemmed from her frustrations about opportunities for women in the music industry. She was called on to perform at the 2017 Women's March and to speak about Time's Up while introducing Kesha at the Grammys. "We come in peace, but we mean business," she told the cheering crowd.

That sums up Monáe's mindset in the Trump era. She hopes not to destroy the oppressors but to change their minds. "The conversations might not happen with people in the position of power," she says, "but they can happen through a movie, they can happen through a song, they can happen through an album, they can happen through a speech on TV. Most of them will probably turn off their TVs, but . . ."

She's in a New York hotel now, two weeks before the album's release. "There's some anxiety there, but I feel brave," she says, teetering between her typical sternness and a bit of vulnerable shakiness. No tears will be shed today. "My musical heroes did not make the sacrifices they did for me to live in fear." Her activism isn't the focus of Dirty Computer, but it's there, hovering above every note. She ended band rehearsal in Atlanta by asking the musicians to reflect on how American this album is. Monáe's America is the one on the fringes; it accepts the outsiders and the computers with viruses, like the ones she thought she had.

She understands the significance of now making her personal life a bigger, louder part of her art. She cites the conversation around one of her films as an example of how she might use her own story to engage with more-conservative listeners. "When I did Hidden Figures, there were some Republican white men tweeting about it and how they just felt bad. You could feel through their tweets that they were just like, ‘These black women did help us get to space. How could we treat them like that?' "

Meanwhile, she's again anticipating questions from her family back in Kansas. She seems more worried about them than what anyone else has to say. Still, Dirty Computer is meant to be a celebration, and if she loses a few people along the way, Monáe seems OK with that risk.

"Through my experiences, I hope people are seen and heard," she says, sitting at a hotel-room desk, dressed up from a day of promo in a puffy black-and-red jacket, matching red pants and terry-cloth hotel slippers. "I may make some mistakes. I may have to learn on the go, but I'm open to this journey." She sighs, voice confident and stare unfaltering. "I need to go through this. We need to go through this. Together. I'm going to make you empathize with dirty computers all around the world."

https://www.rollingstone.com/music/features/cover-story-janelle-monae-prince-new-lp-her-sexuality-w519523

[notbecauseofvictories]

The Lovers of the Poor

arrive. The Ladies from the Ladies’ Betterment League Arrive in the afternoon, the late light slanting   In diluted gold bars across the boulevard brag Of proud, seamed faces with mercy and murder hinting   Here, there, interrupting, all deep and debonair, The pink paint on the innocence of fear;   Walk in a gingerly manner up the hall. Cutting with knives served by their softest care,   Served by their love, so barbarously fair. Whose mothers taught: You’d better not be cruel!   You had better not throw stones upon the wrens!   Herein they kiss and coddle and assault   Anew and dearly in the innocence   With which they baffle nature. Who are full,   Sleek, tender-clad, fit, fiftyish, a-glow, all   Sweetly abortive, hinting at fat fruit,   Judge it high time that fiftyish fingers felt   Beneath the lovelier planes of enterprise.   To resurrect. To moisten with milky chill.   To be a random hitching-post or plush. To be, for wet eyes, random and handy hem.                        Their guild is giving money to the poor. The worthy poor. The very very worthy And beautiful poor. Perhaps just not too swarthy? perhaps just not too dirty nor too dim   Nor—passionate. In truth, what they could wish Is—something less than derelict or dull. Not staunch enough to stab, though, gaze for gaze! God shield them sharply from the beggar-bold!   The noxious needy ones whose battle’s bald   Nonetheless for being voiceless, hits one down.                        But it’s all so bad! and entirely too much for them. The stench; the urine, cabbage, and dead beans, Dead porridges of assorted dusty grains, The old smoke, heavy diapers, and, they’re told, Something called chitterlings. The darkness. Drawn Darkness, or dirty light. The soil that stirs.   The soil that looks the soil of centuries. And for that matter the general oldness. Old   Wood. Old marble. Old tile. Old old old. Not homekind Oldness! Not Lake Forest, Glencoe. Nothing is sturdy, nothing is majestic, There is no quiet drama, no rubbed glaze, no   Unkillable infirmity of such A tasteful turn as lately they have left,   Glencoe, Lake Forest, and to which their cars   Must presently restore them. When they’re done With dullards and distortions of this fistic Patience of the poor and put-upon.                        They’ve never seen such a make-do-ness as   Newspaper rugs before! In this, this “flat,”   Their hostess is gathering up the oozed, the rich   Rugs of the morning (tattered! the bespattered. . . .)   Readies to spread clean rugs for afternoon.   Here is a scene for you. The Ladies look,   In horror, behind a substantial citizeness   Whose trains clank out across her swollen heart.   Who, arms akimbo, almost fills a door. All tumbling children, quilts dragged to the floor   And tortured thereover, potato peelings, soft- Eyed kitten, hunched-up, haggard, to-be-hurt.                        Their League is allotting largesse to the Lost.   But to put their clean, their pretty money, to put   Their money collected from delicate rose-fingers   Tipped with their hundred flawless rose-nails seems . . .                        They own Spode, Lowestoft, candelabra,   Mantels, and hostess gowns, and sunburst clocks,   Turtle soup, Chippendale, red satin “hangings,”   Aubussons and Hattie Carnegie. They Winter   In Palm Beach; cross the Water in June; attend,   When suitable, the nice Art Institute; Buy the right books in the best bindings; saunter   On Michigan, Easter mornings, in sun or wind.   Oh Squalor! This sick four-story hulk, this fibre   With fissures everywhere! Why, what are bringings   Of loathe-love largesse? What shall peril hungers   So old old, what shall flatter the desolate?   Tin can, blocked fire escape and chitterling And swaggering seeking youth and the puzzled wreckage   Of the middle passage, and urine and stale shames   And, again, the porridges of the underslung And children children children. Heavens! That Was a rat, surely, off there, in the shadows? Long And long-tailed? Gray? The Ladies from the Ladies’   Betterment League agree it will be better To achieve the outer air that rights and steadies, To hie to a house that does not holler, to ring Bells elsetime, better presently to cater To no more Possibilities, to get Away. Perhaps the money can be posted. Perhaps they two may choose another Slum! Some serious sooty half-unhappy home!— Where loathe-love likelier may be invested.                        Keeping their scented bodies in the center   Of the hall as they walk down the hysterical hall,   They allow their lovely skirts to graze no wall, Are off at what they manage of a canter, And, resuming all the clues of what they were, Try to avoid inhaling the laden air. GWENDOLYN BROOKS

[eclecticmuses]

The Weight On Their Shoulders

Like many of you, I’m still working through my feelings about the episode. This is part of my attempt to process, and steer things in a direction I hope the show takes. Unbeta’d.

Read on AO3

-:-

It was two days before Jemma was able to bring herself to go see Fitz down in holding.

She had been too devastated at first, still reeling from what he had done, to feel like she could handle it. She didn’t want to leave him alone by himself, where he was surely suffocating under the weight of his own remorse and self-recrimination, but she didn’t know what she could say. She was still struggling to process everything and what it meant--for the team, for Fitz, for her and Fitz together.

Jemma had kept mostly to herself since everything had happened. Daisy was angry and bitter, May was focused on finding Coulson, and she honestly didn’t know how Mack and Elena felt; the other woman hadn’t said anything about it whenever Jemma came to check on her and monitor her recovery, but she could always feel her eyes on her. Not judgmental, just closely observing, but Jemma didn’t know how to take it. So she said nothing either, only sticking to the basics of what she needed to ensure Elena’s proper care.

The only person who regularly spoke to her was Deke. He had become her shadow in the time since, always following her around, making sure she tried to get some sleep, encouraging her to eat, standing guard outside the bathroom whenever she got sick. She still didn’t know what to make of the revelation that he was, in fact, her grandson, but she was almost grateful for his attention. She was afraid that everyone hated her now through association with Fitz, but Deke’s patient loyalty was proof that someone, at least, still cared.

And it was Deke’s gentle pleas that gave her the strength to make her way down to holding. “Fitz needs you right now,” he’d said quietly as he presented her with a mug of tea that she’d taught him how to make. “I can’t pretend I understand what you’re feeling and thinking. I just know what I know. And that’s that you two can make it through this. Remember what I said?”

Jemma had nodded, her eyes focused on her tea. The steps you take don’t need to be big. They just need to take you in the right direction. Her own words, said with such conviction by the man in front of her, who she barely knew, but was her grandson. He’d given her a faint spark of hope, and that hope was what carried her down the elevator to where holding was, even as her chest constricted with apprehension.

When she came into the outer room, Jemma could see Fitz sitting on the bed facing away from her, his arms balanced on his knees and his head hung low between his shoulders. Her first thought was of overwhelming bittersweet longing--she missed him, she wanted him by her side. The man she loved was in pain and she couldn’t take it away from him. But she was still trying to reconcile the good man she loved with the man who had tortured Daisy, who had trained a gun on her and Deke.

She approached the window. “Fitz,” she said quietly.

His head lifted at the sound of her voice, but there was a pause before he twisted to look around at her. “Jemma?” he asked, his voice hoarse. “Is that really you?”

Her mind flashed back to a time where he had asked her the very same thing, and it made a lump rise in her throat. “Yes,” she replied thickly, nodding her head. “It’s really me. I promise.”

Fitz nodded slowly back, looking away and worrying at the wedding band on his finger. “I didn’t think you would come back.”

The lump in her throat swelled, threatening to choke her. “Fitz…” Jemma swallowed to fight back the tears that were threatening. “I...I’m still processing all of this, but please...don’t ever think for one second that I would abandon you.”

He kept twisting his ring around his finger. “You did once before,” he mumbled.

Jemma squeezed her eyes shut. She thought they’d worked past all of that, but it made sense that that would be plaguing him right now. She wanted to chastise herself for not coming down sooner, but she couldn’t. Not fully. She hadn’t been really. Opening her eyes, she steeled herself. “Fitz,” she said again. “It’s different now. I’m different. I know we--we didn’t actually say the words, but, for better or worse--I meant it. With all of my heart. That’s not something I can just go back on.”

Fitz raised his head to look at her again, and his expression was pure anguish. “How?” he rasped. “How can you not hate me for what I’ve done? Not just to--to Daisy, to Mack, but to you? I’m not a good man, Jemma. How can you even look at me?”

Jemma took in a shaky breath. “Because I love you,” she said, her voice brimming with emotion. “And I believe that you are a good man. I...I don’t know how we’ll get through this, Fitz, but...I have to have faith that we can. I have to try.”

Shaking his head, Fitz buried his face in his hands for a long moment before dragging them off, but he keep his gaze pointed toward the floor. “You don’t understand, Jemma,” he said lowly. “That wasn’t some fear manifestation or, or a programmed simulation of me. It was me. Me. I did that.” He jabbed a finger at his chest, his tone dripping with self-loathing. “I am the Doctor, and the Doctor is me. There’s no separating us. Because I still think I did the right thing.” He shook his head. “You should leave me locked up down here for good. It’s the only way any of you will ever be safe from me.”

Jemma hated listening to Fitz talk about himself that way, and it made the tears brimming in her eyes finally spill over. She stepped closer to the window, pressing her fingertips along the bottom of it. “Please, Fitz,” she begged. “Please. Let me help you. I--I can’t lose you.”

“I think you already have,” he replied quietly, his head still bowed.

Jemma shook her head even though he couldn’t see her, feeling utterly distraught.”No,” she said quickly, “no. Fitz, I--”

She cut off, unsure if she should say what she was thinking. She was desperate for a way to get through to him, and what she had to tell him might only make things worse, but she told herself that he had a right to know. The longer she kept it from him, the worse the fallout might be. She took in another shuddering breath, she summoned up her frayed resolve.

“Fitz, I’m pregnant,” she whispered.

Fitz’s head shot up, his eyes wide as they connected with hers. Then he stood quickly, and took one halting step forward. “You--” he choked. “Jemma--?”

Jemma nodded and swiped at her cheeks, tears rolling down them. “I wanted this to be happy news,” she said wetly. “I wanted--”

“But it’s not, because I’m a monster,” Fitz cut in, clenching his hands into fists and looking away again.

“Fitz, no,” Jemma cried. Biting back a sob, she looked to the door that connected her room with Fitz’s, locked from her side. “I want to come in.”

Fitz whipped back around. “No, Jemma, I really don’t think--”

“Please,” she blurted.

He stared at her for a long moment, frozen, before he finally gave one short, terse nod of his head. Jemma immediately went to the door and unlocked it, opening it slowly and stepping inside. Fitz’s eyes were darting between herself and the door, like he was afraid of her, or he didn’t trust himself not to take advantage of the door being open and bolt. Jemma approached him carefully, not wanting to spook him. When she was a hand’s length away, she stopped and looked up at him. Up close she could see that his hair was unkempt, as if he’d been constantly tugging at it and raking his hands through, and there were dark circles smudged beneath his eyes. Once again, her heart went out to him, wanting nothing more than to ease his suffering and make things right--for the both of them. For everyone.

Fitz watched as Jemma lifted her hands to him, uncertain; they hovered between them before finally coming to rest lightly on his chest. He tensed, but he didn’t pull away. Taking courage from that, she slowly wrapped her arms around his middle, stepping forward and exhaling as she rested her cheek against his shoulder. After a pause, she felt Fitz’s arms come around her in turn, his hands feather-light on her shoulders. She could still feel that he was holding himself back from her, but it was still a start. She would take it.

The steps don’t have to be big.

Jemma lost track of how long they stood that way, silently holding each other, but when her heart felt like it was pounding a little less painfully in her chest and her urge to sob no longer overwhelmed her, she tried to speak again.

“Fitz,” she said. “You have to let me help you. If you can’t do it for me…” She stopped, sniffling, and tried again. “I want our child to know their father. And I hope--I believe--that you would be nothing but the best father in the universe.”

“How can you know that?” Fitz whispered brokenly, as though he didn’t dare to believe her.

She thought of what Deke said again, how he’d spoken so fondly of Fitz and said that it all came from his mother. It wasn’t her story to tell him, and she rather felt that one big revelation was enough for today. But she took the hope that Deke had given her and held onto it tight, just as tightly as she was holding Fitz.

“Because I know you better than you know yourself, sometimes,” she whispered, taking a leaf from Deke’s book. She breathed in, listening to the steady thump of Fitz’s heartbeat beneath her ear, and willed every ounce of love she felt for him to shine through in her words. “They couldn’t convince me that you were a bad man in the Framework, and you can’t convince me now. This...this won’t be easy. But I want to help you through this. I want you to let me help you through this. Because we have a future together...and I’m not going to let some silly curse try to take that from us.”

Fitz huffed quietly, a mere puff of breath that almost, almost felt like it had a ghost of humor to it.

Keeping her arms around him, Jemma lifted her head just enough to be able to look him in the eye again. “Do you trust me?” she asked.

Fitz bit his lip before nodding slightly.

She gave him a small, soft smile, the best she could do at the moment. “I know you can’t trust yourself right now,” she continued. “So trust me. We can work through this. You, me, everyone. I--I want you to be honest with me, and--tell me, when you see him or hear him. I want to help you, but I can’t if you don’t let me in. We’ve always worked better together, haven’t we?” Fitz nodded again, slowly, his eyes caught on hers. Jemma wanted to believe that he believed in her, but everything was so broken. At least he was listening to her now. Giving him another tiny smile, she pressed her hands into his back, her chest constricting with emotion. “Will you let me do this for you?” she asked tremulously. “...My husband?”

The tears in Fitz’s eyes finally fell as his face crumpled. Jemma tightened her arms around him and did her best to keep her gaze steady on his, open, letting everything she felt for him show through--her trust, her faith, her resolve. Finally, he nodded again. “I...I can try,” he whispered, his chin trembling.

Jemma’s smile widened briefly before she stepped back in to turn her face into his neck, letting herself try to find a measure of calm in the fact that Fitz was letting her hold him, and willing to let her try. This didn’t solve everything--not by a long shot--but it was a beginning, and she was prepared to see it through to the end. They could come out of this; they could still be the family she wanted to have with him. He could begin to heal.

The steps he took didn’t need to be big. They just needed to be in the right direction.

[mmeaninglessnamee]

Every movie I have seen (as of August 2018)

Here’s every movie I have ever seen, at least the ones I’ve remembered, I know I’m missing some.

Moneyball

Harold Lloyd – Safety last

Marx Brothers:  A night at the Opera

Marx Brothers:  A day at the races

Marx Brothers:  a day at the circus

October Sky

Monty Python’s Holy Grail

Monty Python’s Meaning of Life

Monty Python’s Life of Brian

The Fugitive

Field of dreams

Major league

2001 a space odyssey

Willy Wonka and the chocolate factory

Galaxy Quest

Star Trek The Motion Picture

Star Trek the Wrath of Khan

Star Trek the Search for Spock

Star Trek the Voyage Home

Star Trek the Final Frontier

Star Trek The Final Frontier

Star Trek Generations

Star Trek First Contact

Star Trek Insurrection

Star Trek Nemesis

Star Trek (Reboot)

Star Trek Into Darkness

Star Trek Beyond

Spaceballs

Blazing Saddles

Young Frankenstein

The Treasure of the Sierra Madre

Invictus

Shrek

The great escape

Big

Ferris Bueller’s Day Off

Home Alone

Where eagles dare

Rocky

Happy Gilmore

E.T.

War of the worlds (2005)

The Avengers

Captain America

Ed Wood

Plan 9 from Outer Space

The Sidehackers [MST3K]

Manos: the Hands of Fate [MST3K]

Juno

Indiana Jones Raiders of the Lost Arc

Indiana Jones The Temple of Doom

Indiana Jones Last Crusade

Indiana Jones The Kingdom of the Crystal Skull

Raiders of the Lost Ark: The Adaptation (1989)

The Hobbit (animated)

The Lord of the rings pt . 1 (animated)

The Lord of the rings pt . 2 (animated)

The Hobbit 1

The Hobbit 2

The Hobbit 3

TLOTR Fellowship

TLOTR Two Towers

TLOTR ROTK

Star Wars IV

Star Wars V

Star Wars VI

Star Wars I

Star Wars II

Star Wars III

Star Wars VII

Star Wars VIII

Harry Potter 1

Harry Potter 2

Harry Potter 3

Harry Potter 4

Harry Potter 5

Harry Potter 7-1

Harry Potter 7-2

Ben Hur (original)

Ben Hur (1959)

Fantasia

Fantasia 2000

Spy Kids

Spy Kids 2

Spy Kids 3

Pirates of the Caribbean

Pirates of the Caribbean 2

Pirates of the Caribbean 3

Blues Brothers

Anchorman

The Big Lewbowski

Mad Max Fury Road

Mad Max (Original)

Interstellar

The Martian

Finding Nemo

Toy Story

Toy Story 2

Toy Story 3

Monsters Inc.

Up

A Bug’s Life

The Incredibles

Frozen

Ratatouille

Wall-E

Dunkirk

National Lampoon’s Family Vacation

National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation

The Santa Clause

The Santa Clause 2

It’s A Wonderful Life

Miracle on 34th Street

Gideon’s Trumpet

V for Vendetta

Napoleon Dynamite

Elf

Olive the Other Reindeer

Superman

Superman 2

Man of Steel

Spiderman 3: Edgelord Peter Chronicles

To Kill a Mockingbird

Ocean’s 11

Men in Black

Men in Black 2

Slumdog Millionaire

My Cousin Vinnie

Transformers

Shawn of the dead

Jurassic Park

The Lost World

Jurassic Park 3

Jurassic World

Mrs Brisbee and the Rats of Nimh

High School Musical

Midnight in Paris

Godzilla vs Mothra or some shit like that, it had GZ and Mothra in it, ok?

(American) Godzilla

Back to the Future

Back to the Future 2

The Dark Knight

The Dark Knight Rises

Tootsie

Alien vs Predator

Casablanca

The Prestige

The Terminal

12 Angry Men

Minority Report

James Bond Live and Let Die

James Bond Casino Royale

James Bond Skyfall

Airplane

Airplane 2

Naked Gun

Naked Gun 2 ½

Naked Gun 33 1/3

Pink Panther

Inception

King Kong (Peter Jackson)

Hotel Rwanda

Groundhog Day

Ghostbusters

Ghostbusters 2

Ghostbusters (female reboot)

Caddyshack

Pan’s Labyrinth

Night at the Museum

The 3 Musketeers

Paul Blart Mall Cop

Cloud Atlas

The Sandlot

Armageddon

The Road to El Dorado

Chicken Run

Wallace and Gromit: Curse of the Were-Rabbit

Madagascar

She’s the Man

101 Dalmatians

20,000 leagues under the sea

Zorro (original)

The Absent-minded professor

Mary Poppins

Herbie the Love Bug

Herbie 2

My Side of the Mountain

Race to Witch Mountain

The Wizard of Oz

The Wiz

Honey I shrunk the kids

Honey we shrunk ourselves

Honey I blew up the baby

Cool Runnings

Angels in the Outfield

Field of Dreams

The Lion King 1 ½

The Lion King 2: Simba’s Pride

Inspector Gadget

The Princess Bride

Treasure Planet

The Rookie

The Simpsons Movie

Pokemon the first movie: Mewtwo Strikes Back

Pokemon 2000

Pokemon 3 Spell of the Unown

Pokemon 4ever

Pokemon  Heroes

Pokemon Mewtwo Returns (technically a special, not a movie)

Pokemon Jirachi Wish Maker

Pokemon the rise of Darkrai

Pokemon Giratina and the Sky Warrior

Pokemon Arceus and the Jewel of Life

Pokemon Black

Pokemon White (80% the same as Pokemon Black)

Pokemon Kyurem vs the Swords of Justice (and that’s the most recent one I’ve watched)

Ice Age

Ice Age 2

Ice Age 3

Prometheus

Iron Man 1

North by Northwest

Who Framed Roger Rabbit

Captain America

Ratatoulle

Love Live the School Idol Movie

Your Name (Kimi no Na Wa)

The Garden of Words

5 Centimeters per Second

The Place Promised in our Early Days

Voices of a Distant Star

Children who chase Lost Voices/Journey to Agartha (Hoshi o ou kodomo)

Nausicaa of the Valley of the Wind

Howl’s Moving Castle

Kiki’s Delivery Service

Princess Mononoke

A Silent Voice

Napping Princess [Ancien & the Magic Tablet]

Interstella 5555

Marie and the Witch’s Flower

The Sting

Apollo 13

Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure

Rear Window

The Birds

This is Spinal Tap

The Iron Giant

The Hunger Games

Supersize Me

Africa Screams

Office Space

Dr. Strangelove, or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb

Freaky Friday (remake verson)

National Treasure

National Treasure 2: Sean Bean dies this time

The Da Vinci Code

Angels and Demons

A Christmas carol (old version)

A Christmas carol (the one with Patrick Stewart)

A Christmas Story

Oz the Great and Powerful

The Wizard of Oz 3: Dorothy Goes to Hell (cinemassacre)

Taken

Kung Fu Panda

Super 8

Seeking a Friend for the End of the World

Talledega Nights

Crocodile Dundee

Crocodile Dundee 2

Romancing the Stone

Like Mike

Space Jam

Looney Toons Back in Action

Scooby Doo Ghoul School

Scooby Doo Reluctant Werewolf

Scooby Doo on Zombie Island

Scooby Doo and the Witch’s Ghost

Scooby Doo and the Alien Invaders

School of Rock

The Polar Express

The Bad News Bears (original)

The Dream Team

The Gods must be Crazy

The Gods must be Crazy 2

American Tale

The Dark Crystal

My Friend Martin (Animated MLK jr. history lesson thing)

Jakob the Liar (Holocaust story about a man in a ghetto claiming he has a radio, remake of a 70’s east german version of the same story)

The Devil’s Arithmetic

Man of Marble (1977) (Polish film)

Doctor Strange

Wonder Woman

U2 3D

A Hard Day’s Night

Help!

The Beatles: Eight Days A Week (touring documentary, 2016)

Yellow Submarine

UHF

Stop Making Sense

Mama Mia!

Valerian and the City of 1000 Planets

Il Boom

Lost in Translation

House of Flying Daggers

Edge of Tomorrow

Pacific Rim

The Post

Arrival

Evan Almighty

Bruce Almighty

Ace Ventura Animal Detective

Ace Venture Pet Detective

Despicable Me

Get Smart

Over the Hedge

March of Penguins

The African Queen

Girl, Interrupted

Gandhi

Around the World in 80 Days (Jackie Chan version)

Chicago (the musical)

Hugo

Journey to the Center of the Earth

Osmosis Jones

Cars

Les Miserables (2012)

Singing in the Rain

West Side Story

Mary Poppins

The General (Buster Keaton)

Little Big Man

Planes, Trains, and Automobiles

O Brother Where Art Thou

Beowulf (2007)

Crash

The Maltese Falcon

The African Queen

The Rocker

It’s a Mad Mad Mad Mad World

The Same Moon (La Misma Luna)

Airheads

The Secret of Roan Inish

Dave

Charlotte’s Web

Babe

The Three Musketeers

Dr. Doolittle

20,000 Leagues Under the Sea [I do not remember this at all]

Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs [I do not remember this at all, either]

101 Dalmatians

Aladdin and the King of thieves

Sweeny Todd

[That bad vampire movie I saw at a party in like 2012]

[That other MST3K sci-fi movie about the bodyswap]

Tekken: Blood Vengence

Jason Borne (2016)

Metropolis (2001, anime)

Pay It Forward

Sister Act 2

(some shitty bullying movie)

The Atomic Brain [MST3K]

Hairspray

Dallas Buyer’s Club

Seven Samurai

Magnificent 7 (1960)

A Funny Thing Happened On The Way To The Forum

Cinderella (Disney)

Ever After: A Cinderella Story (1998)

The Music Man

The King’s Speech

The Great Dictator

Oliver!

Kiss me Kate

Pirate Radio

Wrongfully Accused (Leslie Nielson)

(Huck Finn movie)

Bridesmaids

Modern Times

Abbot and Costello Meet Frankenstein

Metropolis (1927)

Funny Farm

The Black Stallion

National Velvet

Bionicle: Mask of Light

Arsenic and Old Lace

Unaccompanied Minors

Terminator

Isle of Dogs

A Quiet Place

Akira

Loving Vincent

Tangled

Hoodwinked

How to Train Your Dragon

The Nightmare Before Christmas

Ghost in the Shell (1995)

Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas

Samurai Cop (1991) [Rifftrax]

Birdemic: Shock and Terror [Rifftrax]

Solo: A Star Wars Story

Oh Lucy!

The Complete Works of William Shakespeare, Abridged

The Thief Lord

Breaking Away (1979)

Fright Night (2011)

Sharknado [Rifftrax]

The Incredibles 2

Mongolian Ping Pong

The Gold Rush (Charlie Chaplin)

City Lights (Charlie Chaplin)

City Slickers

(Escape to) Victory (1981)

The Phantom of the Opera

The Secret Life of Walter Mitty

Fireworks: Should we watch them from the bottom or the side? (2017)

Ed Edd and Eddy’s Big Picture Show

Jaws

The Color of Friendship (2000)

Flatland

The Wolverine (2013)

Codename: Kids Next Door – Operation Z.E.R.O.

Incredibles 2

Shawn the Sheep

Goodachari

Mutiny on the Bounty

Happy Death Day