#first time trying out rim lighting and i really like the effect!

[tinkatonshammer]

Mantine/Torterra & Milotic/Articuno (with tiny Swablu) sprites made for Pokemon Infinite Fusion

[littleplasticrat]

Provocation and Planning (Gortash x Tav)

Tav thinks she's charging into Gortash's palace to seduce him, but he's been waiting for her. She still manages to surprise him.

Rating: Explicit

Tags: PIV sex, sex toys, anal fingering, come eating

Thanks to @bearhugsandshrugs for beta reading. You're cool ❤️

-

The first time Tav and Gortash had kissed, she'd bitten his tongue hard enough to draw blood. He'd instantly retaliated, setting the precedent for things to come.

After the ragtag group had clawed their way onto the docks from the Chionthar, Tav had looked at the archduke and really seen him for the first time. He was bloody and victorious, encased in his golden mechanical armour that did nothing to obscure the length of his limbs. He slicked his wet hair back out of his face and began unbuckling his breastplate when he noticed her looking, and gave her a slow, suggestive smile. His shirt hung open to reveal his hairy chest; he was steaming like a racehorse in the morning sun. Tav knew that she was going to have to fuck him as soon as possible . He must have seen it in her face, and pulled her into a kiss, first sucking her lower lip and then pressing his tongue into her mouth. That was when she'd bitten him.

Whatever it was - the adrenaline, the relief, or the strangely warm memory of the shin kick he'd delivered after she'd punched him in the morphic pool - the effect had been immediate. Gortash had inhaled sharply, then pulled back to dropping butterfly kisses on her mouth. Tav felt the curve of his smile, and then suddenly his quick hands had found a tear in her leather armour and he'd pinched her nipple through her undershirt, hard enough that she let out a strangled moan. Gale, who'd been standing next to them on the dock with a polite if strained smile, had gone bright red and practically sprinted off to Wyll and Karlach.

Read more below the cut or on Ao3. Thank you for reading! I'd love to hear from you.

Under normal circumstances, if a man kissed Tav like that, she knew she was likely about to get dragged away and fucked shortly thereafter. However, as the heroes slowly made their way back to the city centre, Gortash had withdrawn to his palace to launch the cleanup campaign. It became clear to Tav over the course of the day that the emergency measures for Baldur's Gate had been made in meticulous detail and were set up to be ready to implement at a moment's notice. Case in point: as she made her way to the Elfsong Tavern that evening for the celebrations, she saw Steel Watchers with rescue tools instead of their usual heavy weaponry digging through rubble alongside the Fists. Gortash must have been manufacturing the extra parts in secret. She wondered what else he'd prepared.

In anticipation of seeing him, she'd left her underwear in her pack and applied a few dabs of rosemary oil where her blood ran close to the skin. At the tavern, it didn't escape her that gazes lingered upon her, the light touches of her companions' hands guiding her through the smoke and the crowds. When Halsin lent past her to pick up a round of drinks from the bar, she felt him inhale a deep breath of her as his muscles flexed against her back. One huge hand had covered her hip briefly. She thought it might have been the case that the druid, a little drunk and made giddy by all the people, was just trying to steady himself against a reliable friend. But then his hand squeezed and Tav nearly pushed her ass back against him, stopping herself just in time. Later, she went out onto a balcony with Rugan to smoke and laugh with him. The Zhentarim stole glances at her nipples peaking against her blouse when he thought she wasn't paying attention, which made goosebumps ripple across her skin. When she looked back to his face, he would rest his lip against the rim of his tankard and give her a look that was half-innocent, half-debauched. I wonder if being a hero is going to be like this all the time? she thought to herself. It seemed exhausting.

Adding to the slow decline of her mood was the fact that the one smug, handsome bastard she wanted, that she spent the evening scanning the crowds for, did not appear. Hadn’t he felt the sparks of that kiss shoot through his body the way they shot through hers? Or, perhaps, was his duty to the city keeping him in the office? That seemed strangely absurd. As it neared midnight, it became obvious that Lord Gortash definitely wasn't coming. Tav slipped away from the party and made her way to the Palace with efficiency, weaving through the crowds of revellers. At the gates, she'd been expecting to have to explain who she was, or perhaps even break in, but every set of guards let her pass without comment. The ones outside Gortash's chambers even saluted her.

When she entered, she saw a lavish bedroom through double doors which lay ajar at the end of the corridor. The bed was very neat. On either side of the hallway leading to it were a small library, a bathroom, and a combined workshop and office. Gortash was sunk in a battered armchair at a small circular table in the latter room. Looking around the room, Tav saw that his desk, placed so that he could sit with his back to a corner, was piled high with paperwork. Occupying the centre of the freshly-swept floor was a thick, expensive-looking rug. There was a whole wall of drawers and shelves of various sizes, with each labelled in his precise handwriting. On that side of the office were two large workbenches; one was a tidy wooden trestle and one had seemingly been improvised from a sheet of metal and stacks of old documentation. Half-hidden beneath a pile of clothes and rubbish in the corner was a low camp bed, the kind that military recruits would start their careers in. The whole place smelled like pine, with an undertone of male musk, milled steel and oil. Through a nearby window, she could see the city stretching into the distance, half-ruined but surviving another day. Sounds of revelry were carried into the room on the wind. 

When Tav came to the door they made eye contact immediately and he showed no surprise; she knew then that he'd been waiting for her. With a lazy hand, Gortash plucked a grape from the dish in front of him and slowly slipped it into his mouth. Tav's eyes followed the movement of his fingers and she had to try hard to keep her face blank as a tingle flitted down her neck. As he leaned back, she noticed he was wearing a raw silk shirt and tight leather trousers, but the lacing on both was slovenly, as usual.

They stared at each other, and Tav felt herself start to blush under the archduke's open gaze. To hide her reaction, she stepped over to his table and picked up the bunch of grapes. She saw Gortash's strong fingers twitch as she swiped the fruit, but he did nothing.

"You missed the party at the Elfsong," Tav said, moving across the room to lean against the windowsill. "Didn't fancy being celebrated with the other heroes of Baldur's Gate? I'm surprised you'd pass on a chance to be fawned over."

Gortash scoffed and crossed his long legs.

"Yes, I had reports you were carousing in that rat hole with your little friends - and I can smell it on you now,” he said, inhaling. “I'll be holding my own celebration here in my palace . You should join me. See how it feels to wield power against the nobility of this city rather than its enemies." He looked her up and down, his eyes half-lidded. "I've been thinking about jewellery designs for you. Something to show off how magnificent you are."

It was Tav's turn to snort. "What about me has given you the impression I want to become some bejewelled whore on your arm?"

"Bejewelled whore… Ha. My dear, no one is immune to the pleasure of being draped in gold and gemstones," Gortash told her as he stood. "Especially not those of us who started life clad in rags." He approached Tav with slow steps and she reclined further against the window frame, holding the grapes out of his reach. "As for the second part... That wasn't a one-sided kiss this morning. Maybe I just want you by my side to keep an eye on you now the city is safe. A woman of your talents - What's the saying?" he asked, maintaining eye contact as he moved into her space, pressing his broad chest against her breasts to reach for the fruit. "Ah, yes. Devils make work for idle hands." She felt his fingers slip the grapes out of her loose grasp. "And-" Gortash's steady, sonorous voice suddenly wobbled off into a groan, and he snaked his other arm around her waist to crush her body against his. "Sweltering hells, Tav, have you come into my office without undergarments?"

She gasped and he rested his forehead against hers, their gazes meeting. She nodded, a blush creeping into her cheeks. The raw lust that pooled in his dark eyes in response made her back prickle with sweat as her nipples hardened against his chest.

"What are you doing to me, Tav? Gods, I need to see you. Take off your clothes. Let me see your body."

Gortash was almost snarling with arousal as he commanded her. Tav sighed at the slow melt of wetness in her cunt and pushed him gently backwards to give herself more space. Expression hungry, he watched her as she slowly undressed. She thought he might seize her when she bared her breasts to the moonlight, but he just swayed, eyes roving over her eagerly. His breathing stopped when she unlaced her trousers and let them slide down; something about his boyish thirst gave her a sudden vision of herself as a noblewoman being seduced by a young Gortash, grateful lordling and ardent worshipper of the powerful. But - there was nothing for him to gain from this, was there? All she had to give him was her body, which was now nearly bare under his glittering eyes. Kicking off her boots completed her strip, and then she was nude, standing there expectantly as she took in his reaction. She could see that there was a bulge in his leathers. Gortash was trying hard to modulate his breathing.

"I'm glad you came here tonight," he said. His voice was gravelly and low. "Tell me, Tav. What do you want?"

Tav felt another knot of insecurity inside her as she recognised her desire for him. What if he just saw this as a minor distraction? She decided to fall back and hide behind her old tricks. "I think you know," she replied in her best sultry tone, trailing a hand down between her breasts. “I want you to have sex with me.”

He moved into her space again, leaning one hand against the window frame above her. “If you wanted to fuck, you could have stayed in Elfsong Tavern. I saw the way some of them were looking at you this morning. And I’ve had several grateful and eager members of the aristocracy calling on me throughout the day, but I’ll be damned: all I could think about was you.” With the other hand, he lifted the bunch of grapes to his face and nuzzled his nose amongst the sweet, purple beads of the fruit. "So, I’ll ask again. What do you want?" Eyes boring into hers, he plucked a grape from its stalk with his teeth.

It was ridiculous, but also the horniest thing Tav had ever seen. Something about his confession and the boldness of his flirting opened something within her heart: In a breathy voice, almost a moan and nothing like the falsely seductive tone she’d just used, she said, "I want to have you and I want you to know me. I want to teach you what it sounds like when I come wrapped around your cock." Gortash pressed his eyes shut at this, and she heard a squelch as he crushed the entire bunch of grapes in his broad fist, their juices weeping to the floor. And then his lips were on hers.

They were both soon gasping into each other's mouths, their kisses wet and lavish. Gortash was clasping her face in his hands, pulling her hair, digging his fingers into her hips and squeezing her ass, almost in a frenzy. Under his onslaught, she was barely able to pull his shirt laces open. He broke their kiss to bite her neck and take fistfuls of her tits and inhale deeply from her cleavage, groaning as he did so.

"I thought - ah! I thought I stunk of carousing and revelry?" Tav said, trying to strike a mocking tone in her voice as her head fell back; Gortash had just begun to swirl her nipple in his mouth, his tongue firm and hot.

In response, he picked her up and she wrapped her legs around his waist. Carrying her over to his wooden workbench, he perched her on the pitted but clean surface. "While you do smell like a tavern whore, I never said I didn't like it," he groaned, then slowly licked a stripe up her neck and to the side of her face. He finished the trail with a kiss that was almost affectionate, punctuating this with a thrust of his hips so the bulge in his trousers pressed against her clit.

They looked at each other in open admiration. But the moment was cut short when he reached past her and picked up a small metal cylinder, about the width of his thumb, from the bench. Holding it up, she could see a small piece of leather attached to it – a strap. Gortash used it to slip the strange device onto her index finger.

"I made this for you today," he said softly.

She tried to hide her confusion then. Was he - was he proposing to her? With a weird leather ring?

She was soon proven wrong when, with one hand, Gortash pushed one of her thighs to the side to expose her folds. With the other, he took her hand and guided it downwards, placing her finger so it rested on her clit. His hand flowered briefly with magic and he muttered something. Tav yelped as the item began vibrating against her, a noise which morphed into a moan.

Gortash dropped kisses to her lips and whispered encouragement as he pushed against her hand, pressing the vibrator further into her folds. The sensations were unusual at first, but it began to feel incredible. She felt her cunt throb, get more slick.

Tav whimpered when he stepped out of her arms, giving her one more kiss before pulling out a chair so he was sitting in front of her. His eyes lingered on her face, although he observed the movements of her hand against her clit with a mixture of hunger and cold calculation.

In between gasps, Tav said, "I think it's... It's only fair that you show - me how you find your own pleasure."

Gortash smirked at her and began unlacing his trousers. His cock jumped free quickly - it seemed she hadn't been the only one to skip putting on underwear that evening - and he began stroking himself, leaning back in the chair. His cock curved enough to arch against his stomach and Tav couldn't help but admire the girth of it. She propped one foot up on the workbench to expose herself further. The sensation of dipping the vibrator into her slickness and bringing it back to her clit drew a new sound of pleasure from her that had Gortash moaning in response and speeding his hand up. She felt her juices begin to dribble down to her asshole. The archduke noticed too.

"I knew you were going to act like a slut for me," he told her, his voice hoarse. "But you've got the wettest cunt I've ever seen. Are you going to come on my desk? If you do, I'll make you lick it clean."

The filth of Gortash's idle threat made Tav flutter against her fingers. She was nearing the edge. Instead of pursuing her climax, she stretched her leg out to push Gortash's cock out of his hand with her foot. He gave her a grin as she pressed his shaft against his stomach.

"C'mere," she said. "I want to come on your mouth."

He closed his eyes delightedly and slid off the chair to kneel in front of her. She started moving her finger again as he parted her folds and thrust his tongue into her body. One of Gortash's hands was busy out of sight; he was touching himself as he ate her out. Tav felt the heat creep up then, her body tensing, quivering, vision going white or- or-

Her orgasm rippled through her and she cried out. Gortash dug his fingers into her thighs and pushed his face against her center. She felt him shuddering and he groaned into her cunt as his climax followed hers.

They stayed like that for a peaceful moment as their heart rates returned to normal. Tav had lifted the vibrator away from herself and Gortash uttered the word that made it stop running. She removed it from her hand and then stroked his hair as he nuzzled at her folds slowly, still enjoying the wetness her body had made for him. After some time, Tav pulled the man off her and stood up on shaky legs.

On the floor beneath where the archduke had been kneeling, she saw a wet gleam. Had she done that? Bending over to look closer, she saw that it was Gortash's spend. She turned to him and saw the heat still roiling behind his eyes as he looked back at her.

"My Lord," she said sweetly. "It appears one of us did make a mess. It wasn't me, though, was it?"

He shook his head.

"And what did you say should happen if I came on your desk?"

Gortash remained silent. Tav slid her fingers into his hair and gripped gently. "Say it."

"I said I would make you lick it clean."

Tav smiled then, and leaned closer. "When we first met, you said we would be equals, my Lord. My understanding was that if I joined you in an alliance, we would have parity in all things... Including what we're expected to follow through on. L ick ."

With that, she pushed his head towards the floor. He gave her a furtive look of adoration as he went down, filling her with a new flush of nameless excitement. His face neared the paving stone beneath the bench and she watched, her heart flickering with shock, as he used the tip of his tongue to daintily taste his mess. Her fingers remained in his thick hair as he bent lower to take a bolder lick, leaving a trail of spit on the stone. His eyes slid to hers, and he cleaned another stripe of cum off the floor. Something about his expression told her that she was in trouble, but it was too late; he'd already surged up and driven her to her knees. Squeezing her chin in one hand, he gave her a brief, searching look. He must have seen the excitement fizzling within her, because he nodded briefly, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards, and straightened. His cock, soft but slowly hardening, was at her eye level. 

"Here's a lesson I'd like to share about co-leadership then. It's all about coming to an agreement. I put it to you that you've been trying to provoke me to fuck you like a whore." As he spoke, Gortash was wrapping Tav's hair around his fist. "Tonight, I would have made love to you so tenderly - until you swooned. But I think we can both agree that that's not what you want, is it? Is it, you slut?" With his last question, he gave her a little shake.

"It's not what I want, my Lord."

"Do you want the privilege of coming on my cock?"

The thrill, the sheer smuttiness of him, left Tav gasping. She had to swallow hard and get control of herself before she could reply, "Yes, my Lord."

With that, he pulled her by her hair to the centre of the room and threw her down on the extravagant rug. She moaned as she hit the floor. His cock bobbed hard as he stripped off his clothes, revealing a lean, muscular body, dark hair foresting his chest and his taut stomach.

"On your hands and knees," he ordered, and Tav scrambled to comply. She felt him kneel behind her, then slowly begin to rub the head of his cock between her folds. She wiggled her hips in frustration, trying to tempt him into taking her.

"You're still so wet," Gortash muttered, pressing the end of the tip in, then pulling it back out before it brought Tav any stimulation.

She looked over her shoulder at him. "I'm so turned on for you. Please - "

His smirk caught her gaze before he pushed her down roughly, her face turned flat against the rug.

"Touch yourself, but don't come until I tell you to."

She sighed as he began to bully his thick cock inside her, the press of it against her walls driving her to moan and then howl as he pushed himself in to the hilt. It was so deep . In this position, with his size - 

Any marvelling thought she had was cut off by the electric snap of her nerves as he pulled out and thrust in again. She heard her name on his lips as he reached down and gathered a fistful of her hair. It was amazing how he groaned for her. He began fucking into her in a steady rhythm, her hips rolling back to meet him as they both made unabandoned noises of pleasure, losing themselves in it. Tav's nipples grazed the rug every time his thrusts pushed her forwards, making the nerve endings in her upper body sing. Her fingers rubbed her clit in a frantic motion that made her whole cunt quiver.

"Your ass - It's perfect," she heard Gortash gasp. "In fact-"

Tav was in no state to understand. She felt Gortash's thumb against the seam between his cock and her cunt as he ran it through her folds, gathering up the juices of their sex. Then, the pad of his thumb was rubbing against her asshole and then slipping in. The blunt pleasurepain of her ring being breached made her moan loudly, her core beginning to tense. With one hand on her hip and the other splayed across her flank, he pumped his thumb in and out of her. The steady roll of his cock drove her to hoarse cries; feeling her cunt tighten as she neared her climax, Gortash gave a triumphant laugh that turned into a moan of his own ecstasy.

"Come for me," he commanded. Tav bucked beneath him, pressing her face into the carpet to muffle her scream as she rode the waves of wet pleasure that seared through her, white-hot lightning wrapped in the velvet of her veins, turning her inside out from the soles of her feet to her scalp. She felt Gortash's cock throbbing inside her as he followed.

As she tried to slow down her breathing, Tav felt a strong arm wrap around her waist. Gortash pulled her upwards so her back was against his chest, then rolled them both onto their sides on the rug - which Tav distantly realised was spotless and smelled freshly cleaned. In her blissed out state, she decided not to worry about it. The archduke tucked his other arm under her head. His cock lingered inside her, and lying on her side squeezed it within her, making her twitch slowly. Her fires were calm for now, but the sensation of this intimacy would surely start to heat her up again. The evening wasn't finished, of course - and who said she had to go back to the Elfsong the moment the sun rose?

They lay still for a while. Tav enjoyed the sound of Gortash breathing steadily against her neck. Eventually, her leg twitched and she realised she'd been falling asleep. Nuzzling her, he brought his lips to her ear.

"Shall we move to the bedroom, my dear?"

She nodded and they helped each other stand up. Taking her by the hand, he led her into the lavish bedroom she'd seen when she'd entered. He pulled the bedsheets back for her and tucked her in; a gesture that was surprisingly sweet - or was it really that surprising? Beginning to drift, she counted the ways he’d prepared for her arrival that evening. The guards had even saluted her...

"What do you want to eat for breakfast?" he asked, stroking her sweaty hair off her forehead.

"Your cock," she mumbled. Gortash chuckled and Tav smiled sleepily.

"That's a deal."

Tav was already drifting off again as Gortash climbed into bed next to her and pulled her to his chest.

[darkfuckademia]

Date Night With A Mothman

I tipped my head back and licked up the last drops. When I finished, Mothman was watching me closely, antennae fluttering curiously. I hummed the song to myself again as the sticky sweet taste coated my tongue once last time, “My pussy tastes like cherry cola…”

Mothman’s red eyes shone a light on my legs, then on the empty can in my hand, then back between my legs. He wasn’t moving all that quickly but my brain was starting to go so slow that I seemed to blink and he had leaned forward and buried his face between my thighs. Something long and thinner than a human tongue touched the white damp gusset of my panties. I was too relaxed from weed and stargazing to really do anything. I just stared down at him between my legs, trying to figure out what was going on and how I was supposed to react. Did that even just happen?

Mothman lifted his strangely shaped head and looked at the Coke can again while his antennae fluttered around his mouth, seeming to gather the taste of me on his face. Why would he do that? What was-

“Oh my god, can you understand me?” I asked with a slight slur.

He assessed the can, picking up a stray drop on the rim with a froglike flick of his very very long tongue, and then leaned back over to investigate between my legs. This time, I felt the brush of one velvety-furred finger peel my panties away and his tongue make contact with my pussy. I gasped at the still unexpected intrusion and the very inhuman texture between my legs. It almost felt more like a silicone toy, only way more flexible.

“My pussy doesn’t actually taste like Coke, sorry.”

He maybe wasn’t listening or maybe I was mumbling too much for him to understand. His tongue investigated me all over, first on the outside, playing with my clit curiously when I moaned, then dipping inside to see how deep it could get. Very, very deep, as it turned out.

“But you could keep doing that if, ummm, if you want to.”

He apparently did want to.

The familiar dizzy, sticky pleasure of being touched while obliteratingly high curled out from my clit and blanketed my body, the effect so much stronger when it wasn’t my own hand. I was heavy, so heavy, my legs falling open to make all the room for him he needed. I held onto the blanket for balance as I tried to lift my head to make sure this was really happening. And sure enough, it was. There was really a something between my legs. A something with tickly antennae and long elegant wings that very politely kept my feet warm.

I was being taken advantage of by Mothman. And he was fucking good at it.

Check out the rest here 🥤

[existslikepristin]

Been holding on to this one in a finished/unedited state for a few months now because I wasn't too happy with it. @worldsover did some editing for me. It still feels like something's missing (I'm not going to try to make Levi literally rewrite the whole thing), so feel free to give me critiques and suggestions, even if it's "yeah, I see what you mean and it is a little odd". I don't want to avoid posting it for forever, so let's call it a learning experience.

Regardless, I hope you enjoy! This is my first explicitly stated female reader insert, so that's yet another fun step.

(Also, I know I promised that the next story would be "normal" but you know what? Anything is normal compared to my last fic, so the only critique I will not be accepting is "Waaah, this isn't 'normal!'")

Tags: NSFW, TheLounge, Red Velvet, Irene, Female reader insert, anal, rimming, not a single line of dialogue, canonical silence, ass worship, massage oils, hand holding, yeah you’re deeefinitely the dominant one here

Open and Shut Up

~~~~~

No talking.

You can get behind that. That’s totally sexy. What’s less sexy… is a flowchart.

Obviously, you printed it out. Irene is going to be paying you for thi—It’s not payment, you remind yourself. It’s a mutual favor between acquaintances which may or may not involve money or goods/services which require it.

You scowl retroactively at Yeri’s so-called humorous insistence that you are, effectively, a prostitute. Performing sex acts in exchange, one time, for smoked salmon bagels is most definitely not prostitution, as you have reminded her many times.

Trying very hard to put that train of thought behind you, you glance around at the room. Low light, vanilla lavender sandalwood candles, obscenely soft towels, lube options, massage oils, and the stupid fucking laminated flowchart. You sigh—

NO! You don’t sigh, actually! Because the no talking rule was emphasized in great detail during negotiations, and included moans, groans, hums, whispers, grunts, and unnecessarily heavy breathing. And since a sigh is a heavy breath, you fucking hold that shit in tight!

But why do you need to hold in your sighs? Well, because of the final feature of the room that wasn’t mentioned two paragraphs ago: Irene, lying entirely nude on her stomach, on a bed of silk sheets, implying that your job—NOT your job, excuse you—has already begun. You entered the room mere seconds ago, so this should be extremely obvious to you, but you had to take care of a bit of exposition before you could really admire her body or get into the action. Perhaps you should do one of those two things now.

You can hardly believe what you’re seeing. Her slim legs and waist, the expanse of her back easily defeating the silkiness of the sheets she’s on, her elegant neck, her luxurious pitch black hair twirled into a loose bun, and the mild plumpness of her ass, peeking out from above the creases where her thighs meet it. Now, you’ve seen plenty of naked idols, but it’s the prestige that comes with this idol in particular that may have you so excited. Or it’s what she wants you to do to her. It’s hard to say. Point is, you’re wet, and you’re probably going to have to lay down a towel of your own.

On that note, you forgot an important aspect of the exposition: You’re not allowed to touch yourself.

That’s right. You’re in a room with a naked Irene, perhaps the most desired (per capita by fans and/or marketing departments) idol in history, preparing to gape her asshole in exchange for goods and/or services and/or currency totalling in value no less than the approximate equivalent worth of this spa treatment, and you aren’t supposed to get yourself off. But you are supposed to be naked, so you remove your shirt and bra, making just enough noise for her to hear you undressing, since that’s supposed to be how you let her know you’re about to start—

Oh, yes. Did you forget the most, actually, critically important part of your exposition? Oh, you think you caught on to it moments ago? Why, yes. You’re here, specifically, to gape her asshole. No more, except any action that will lead toward said gaping, and definitely no less. You are to take the role of dominant, while she takes the role of submissive. Never mind the fact that, per her instructions, you can’t speak, or make any noise, or touch yourself, or use her body to get yourself off, or choose your own state of undress, or touch any part of her not shown in the diagram on the flowchart, or do anything that isn’t explicitly spelled out on the flowchart… But you are required to spank her if she makes any noises. So yeah, you’re totally the dominant one here. (And, to be more specific, you are to keep track of which buttcheek you last spanked so that you can make sure to spread the ass-slapping evenly between cheeks and preserve symmetry, followed by immediate continuation of whatever action you were in the midst of prior to said spank.)

… Yes, that is the last of the exposition. What? You want to have a flashback to when the verbal negotiations were happening? Absolutely not. That’s dialogue, which is technically against the rules. It’s time to do things to Irene’s butthole. Stop stalling.

Once you remove your skirt, slippers, and underwear, you get onto your knees, noting that the floor seems slightly spongy and wondering what that’s about. Irene’s legs are closed. The crevasse of her ass on its own makes you want to scream, but the centerpoint of the cross formed by that crevasse and her thigh crease . There is the slightest gap at that point which reveals the tiniest sneak peak of what hides between. You bite down on your lips to suppress your instinctual lewd moan. Okay, you’re just getting started. Calm down, or this is going to be impossibly difficult.

You straddle Irene’s calves (without touching them!), take a deep and silent breath, and lean forward, placing your palms first on the flawless globes of her ass, then letting your fingers come to rest as well. They’re such a perfect combination of firm, soft, and smooth that it brings tears to your eyes. The inability to comment on them out loud brings you near-physical pain and certainly-mental anguish. If Irene cares, she’s not making it known. She’s deathly silent, and you only know she’s alive because of the way her back rises and falls with her breath.

Contact achieved. Looking at the flowchart isn’t necessary for now. You had a pretty easy time memorizing steps one through five since they don’t have any branching-off points. Step two is to inspect. You look away and take a couple more deep (and silent!) breaths, then increase the pressure of your hands on Irene’s butt and ever so slowly pull apart.

Within the realm of your imagination, you can see yourself comically hyperventilating. In the real world, you see a hole that you could only ever describe as manicured. Not a hair in sight, and some shade of pink so unrealistically perfect that it probably has a Pantone color named after it (Irene’s Butthole Pink? Pick a hex code). The miniscule folds of flesh are already very slightly gaped, giving you a near-imperceptible view into her interior, as if she’d had someone else very recently do what you’re about to, or as if she’d prepared herself with a butt plug. You wonder if Irene even owns a butt plug though, considering she can probably convince any person on the planet to open up her ass any time she would even want to use one. Or maybe she does have one. The Alexander III Commemorative Fabergé egg is still missing, after all…

You pull a little further, and can’t contain your shudder as not only her asshole opens by another couple millimeters, but her pussy lips spread and eventually split apart when the pressure barely overcomes the moisture holding them together. Your eyes and heart flutter, and you think you might faint. The vagina is one of many areas which is not indicated as touchable on the diagram, which hurts your soul because it’s the perfect number of shades darker than the surrounding skin and—

It’s time to focus! Asshole only! Get your mind out of the gutter!

Keeping one hand in place so she stays half-open, you get a handful of one of the massage oils. It feels room temperature, but you're supposed to hold it until it's warmer, so you stare at Irene's back as you try not to let too much drip away. The movement of her breathing is steady and subtle. In. Out. You try to match her pace. In. Out. In. Out.

When it's ready, you let the oil flow off your hand into the cleft of Irene's ass. She doesn't so much as flinch, which you obviously credit more to your excellent reading of body temperature and less to her ass-trance. But back to the butt in hand.

The oil travels leisurely down her crack, speeding up ever so slightly as the path becomes more vertical, and stopping to pool on top of her hole. You place your oily hand on its designated cheek again and repeat the process on the other side.

It’s time to really get started now… with step three-dash-C.

The tips of your thumbs meet just over her hole and press down flatly so that they do not enter her. You slowly shift them around each other and back, massaging with just the right pressure to stay on the rim. The rest of your hands are for massaging the rest of her derriere. It’s not necessary, but you want to show off your manual dexterity, and you want to make sure she’s as relaxed as can—She’s effectively already achieved Nirvana down there, from the looks of things, actually. The relaxation is for you. You’re the one who’s Nirvous about this anal—Is this a joke to you? It’s time for another spread test. You need to make sure Irene’s ready, because maybe somewhere between steps four-dash-E and four-dash-K you’ll forget to off yourself for that pun… Thank fuck you didn’t say that one out loud.

Step four is the first insertion.

Every ounce of fortitude you have is tested. You hold back your shaking. It’s just a finger. It is just a finger, right? You’ve done this plenty of times, to plenty of idols, no less. Well, not a silent butt-fingering, per se, but you’ve been knuckle deep in other idols before, and often more than one idol and often more than one knuckle! Irene just has a gravitas that makes yo—Don’t you dare say she has a gravitass. Stay. Quiet! And keep her ass spread with your free hand.

You watch the carefully trimmed, polished nail of your forefinger leisurely slip into her asshole. Then you pass your first knuckle. You stop on the second and quietly release your held breath. You don’t recall making an analogy about the feeling of her ass cheeks, but you’ll sure as hell compare the interior of her butt to cashmere. The minor gape you’d noticed previously has no effect on how tightly the hole hugs your digit.

Irene’s back rises a centimeter higher, and falls more slowly. Her pattern is broken. You catch your breath again. Did you do something wrong? Is the massage oil adequate? No, it’s only meant to be the starter. This was the whole intention. Right? You glance at the flowchart. Yes, step three, massage oil only, no additional lubrication. You do your best to relax and drag your finger back.

The way her asshole holds on to your finger is its own story of seduction, affair, and dramatic departure. She (her hole is a she) clearly doesn’t want her (so is your finger) to go, but she has to, lest her family shun her. But she cannot resist returning, leaving again despite all the kissing and languid hugging, and returning once more. One last time, she escapes completely, but after telling the story to a saucy friend, introduces Irene’s butt to them, and suddenly the sordid romance becomes a menage a trois.

Two fingers, two knuckles deep in Irene’s ass, you note your own wetness beginning to trail down your inner thigh. You aren’t sure exactly why the thought crosses your mind that you hope that it will somehow evaporate against your ragingly hot and bothered leg.

Now, out, and back in, out, and back in. With your breath. You match Irene’s. Out, and back in.

You gulp. You’re halfway through step four’s substeps. Next is the addition of another finger and more thrusting at a torturously slow pace for an actually timed five minutes. You find yourself hypnotized by it. The five minutes pass by in something more like twelve seconds, and the clock on the wall gently changes color to let you know it’s time to make the final preparations for step five. It’s not magical. It’s just connected by bluetooth to the phone to your left.

But what is magical? You’ve come this far, so you should know by now. It’s Irene’s asshole. You remove two of three fingers, then reinsert one more from the opposite hand, and as cautiously as you can, pull apart. There’s the magic.

Irene’s butt is open, and not just immediately around your fingers, but in a whole oval shape. It’s not enormously wide, but it’s enough that you could reasonably, without discomfort, insert the tip of your tongue.

… Hey. Wouldn’t you know it? That’s step five.

Rimming is always a questionable thing to do to your nose, ranging from the worst to a merely neutral idea. When you draw in close to Irene’s open ass, however, it’s the massage oil that overpowers your trepidatious olfactory sense. You’d noticed earlier that it was labeled as Fresh Linen, a scent that certainly makes sense given Irene’s reputation for laundry-doing, but it triggers a seemingly unrelated and entirely Loony memory of the smell of coffee. How the smells of linen and coffee are linked in your mind, you may never know. Perhaps you should see a professional about that.

But how’s the taste? Well, bland with the slight bitter spike of chemicals that improve viscosity but shouldn’t be ingested in large quantities. The risk of health complications is extremely low though, and you’d risk significantly more for this specific opportunity.

Irene’s butt cheeks and your face cheeks are still separated by your hands, but as of step five-dash-B that will no longer be the case. For now, your lips and tongue are in full contact, and that would be more than enough. To be licking around and inside the asshole of Irene, the rarely disputed queen of idols, you have to be infinitely lucky. You thank heaven you are.

Your focus is drawn in further and further. No more jokes. No more references to other stories. Even the most obvious pun/reference slips from your mind as you try your best to keep your tongue soft for Irene’s pleasure.

Your complete and total compliance doesn’t go unnoticed by Irene, somehow. The tiniest roll of her hips, that barest indication of her appreciation, kicks your core into overdrive. The trail down your thigh widens and it’s all you can do to beg the universe that you won’t drip on her calves.

It takes more strength than you knew you had not to squeal your desperation into her ass. Your thighs and your lungs and your everything else burn with desire. You know it’s not for want of air since your nose is still free, so it has to be your overwhelming need for Irene’s attention. You’d do anything. You are doing anything. A friendly agreement to gape her hole? No, this is a test, a labor, a trial. You’re proving your devotion.

You’re not licking a queen’s ass. 

You’re worshipping a goddess. 

It’s not a flowchart. 

It’s a divine ritual.

The shifting color on the clock only mostly guides you out of your trance. You pull away with a heavy heart, staring half lidded at the strings of saliva still connecting you with what you now live for. There’s no difference in size, but you much prefer the sheen you left on her rim to that of the oil. Step five isn’t over yet.

Do rituals have steps? You try to think back to any hieroglyphics you’ve seen in old textbooks. There were no numbers… Obviously there were no numbers. They were hieroglyphics. You can’t read that shit—

Stop.

You remove your fingers, allowing Irene’s ass to close once more. It happens slowly. You nearly choke, watching her hole return to its previous shape with your breath held so tightly in your chest that it feels like something is going to burst. Hey, maybe it will, but that can’t happen yet. That would be too loud, and your goddess demands silence, so you open your mouth to simply allow the breath to drift out along with any comments you had on the subject.

You close back in once again, this time letting your face settle against Irene’s cheeks and gently nudge them apart, reattaching your tongue to her rim. You want to dive in, to feel her squeeze you, maybe even cum around you, but that’s not part of the ritual. You need to give her rest. The best is yet to cum—no. Come. You give her the lightest rimming you can, holding your tongue back to merely caress her asshole while you silently revel in the light press of her glutes on your cheeks.

Another slight roll of her hips sends you reeling. Your vision fades and Irene is all that’s left. You can see the movement. It’s not just her breath, but her oh-so-gentle rocking back and forth that makes the light and shadows play across her back like the grains of the Elysian fields waving in the breeze. It doesn’t seem right for you to be allowed to experience this, to taste this, to be treated to a view of paradise, to understand the touch of divinity.

The gently shifting color of the clock, magenta to yellow, broadens your vision again. You back away, taking a deep breath that you only now realize you desperately needed.

Without thinking, finally, you do as Irene has commanded. You place your palms on her ass: your altar. You slide your thumbs into her glorious hole, and you pull apart softly. Her muscles have relaxed so thoroughly that you meet no resistance. She is simply open, as if this is just how she was always meant to be, told in myths that cannot be written. Her soft ass doesn’t try to clench down. It remains a portal that entices you, begs you to enter.

And you could. Certainly, as is the case with other gods, Irene could forgive you for showing her your specialty. You, the heroic champion, could show her an unexpected pleasure. Touch her clit, lap at her juices, grind yourself on the back of her thigh. Her instruction indicated that you’re the dominant one here. Make it so.

You hook the first knuckle of each of your pointer fingers, as directed, inside.

No. You can’t get greedy now. You’re not that kind of hero.

Irene opens further around your digits with no effort. Now you see the depth of her abyss, and it does not try to close. Irene wants you to see into her. Even the beautiful spheres of her ass to either side, her graceful back, her soft legs, her captivating hair… It all fades away. You know what the next step is. You don't need the clock to intuit the moment she's ready. Your higher thoughts and your lust blend together.

Slowly, you pull further apart. Not much. It may not seem like it's so small, but this immortal gateway still needs to be treated with reverence. For every millimeter you actually widen her, though, you see miles more. It makes you feel light-headed, even a little dizzy. And when you slide your fingers out, those feelings become far more distinct. Irene remains open.

Gaping may have been an appropriate word for her to have described what she wanted from you, but it was far too crude to represent what you see now. Then again, you’re not sure what else to call it. It’s been a while since the thesaurus failed you.

Irene's muscles are relaxed. Serene, even. Like this is where they should naturally be. You simply guided them.

You lean back in and gently kiss her rim. It's dangerous, running your tongue around the defined edge of the mortal and everlasting, but exhilarating. The slight rolling of her hips is your indication that Irene is feeling the same passion, for all the hubris it takes to assume such a thing about your goddess. As far as you know, she could just be moving because your tongue and lips aren't in the right places and making up for your inadequacies.

Still, every slight, slow shade of her ass against your cheek is a divine caress, urging you further along the journey. Your kisses are as insistent as you can get them without making the grave error of smacking your lips.

In the foggiest reaches of your vision, a hand reaches out to you along the floor. Irene grasps at the air like she wants something. That’s not part of the ritual. You can only think of one thing in the moment, and you take her hand in yours.

Irene’s fingers close around yours and curl into your palm. They flutter every time you swirl your tongue across her rim, and, after a moment, they squeeze.

It’s terrifying, at first, when Irene trembles underneath you. It evokes thoughts of earthquakes, brought upon by the wrath of the gods. But no, it’s orgasm. Her asshole contracts slightly, but otherwise just quivers against your mouth. It ends almost as soon as it begins.

Irene takes her hand away, and a bit of your soul with it. She lightly presses on the clock, and it shifts to white. You don’t have to be reminded of what that means. Steeling your heart, you back off of Irene’s ass and carefully push yourself up to your feet. Even at your full height, you can see into Irene’s hole. Taking it in with the full picture of the rest of her body is an incredible sight to behold. Knowing that you contributed to it makes it even more beautiful.

As you look over her, your eyes go wide and you have to contain a gasp. Irene’s calves are covered in little wet streaks, right where you had been hovering over her. Embarrassment washes over you. It's hard to imagine being so turned on as to not have felt yourself dripping on her, especially after having worried about that very thing mere minutes ago. You want to reach for a towel to correct your mistake, but you know you're not supposed to touch her. You're supposed to be dressing yourself and leaving, so you step away, and reach down for your clothes.

Your arms feel heavy as you pull your underwear up, only getting more embarrassed about how soaked they immediately become.

As you put on your shirt though, Irene moves again. You can't help but stand perfectly still, mesmerized by the smooth motion of Irene getting up onto her knees and sitting back on her heels. Now upright, she's even more statuesque, back curved inward from her generous bottom up to her gentle shoulders. One hand releases her hair from its bun, and the night sky falls past her neck, simultaneously obscuring and enhancing that gorgeous expanse.

Irene’s torso twists a quarter in your direction. It's hard to think that for however long you've been here, this is the first you've seen her face and it's merely a silhouette, not even far enough around that she could look at you out of the corner of her eye. All you can see is her eyelashes, pointed down, to indicate that her eyes are closed. The movement also coyly presents you with the side of her breast, yet another of the endless curves of her body that you have had no opportunity to worship.

One graceful arm comes back. Her fingers find their way to the cleft of her ass and sensually feel their way down. You don't even think to wipe away your drool as you watch those fingers dip inward. They move in and out, unhurried and exquisite.

Your mind reels. Were you not enough? Is she just basking in the remnants of her pleasure? Is she doing this for you to watch? Should you even still be here?

Irene continues to toy lightly with her asshole while at the same time her other hand shakes out her hair from below. 

Your legs twitch. You can't stay here anymore. You practically jump into your skirt, grab your shoes, and you're out the door. You keep the doorknob turned in your hand even as you whip yourself outside so the latch won't click when you close it.

In the hallway, you slump back against the wall. Your body is on fire. You need to be touched. You don’t live very far away. You can get home fast, and if you can’t grab someone on the way, idol or otherwise, you’ll be sitting on a vibrator all night—

The door you just came through opens again. Irene walks out in a shoulderless sweater, just long enough to cover her shorts, and sneakers. How she can look so casual, you’re sure you’ll never comprehend.

She doesn’t turn to leave, though. She steps closer to you, and closer, and closer. The hallway isn’t that wide. Are her steps inches long or is space expanding? Either way, she crosses and stands over you. It doesn’t matter what your height was. Your knees will only hold you against the wall at a height that makes it look like Irene is miles taller.

You open your mouth. You want to ask her to make good on her end of your bargain right now. Or maybe not. It doesn’t really matter. You just want to say something. But before you can, you feel the shock of physical connection. Irene strokes your cheek with the back of her fingers. Her eyes capture yours, holding you steady.

The distance becomes inches, and you’re paralyzed. She doesn’t blink as she gets even closer, but closes her eyes just in time to remove the final gap and touch her lips to yours. She kisses you so softly that you can barely feel it. In fact, the whole of your body seems suddenly light and cloudish, like a breeze could send you away. You even feel a drop of rain leave your eye.

When she retreats, she gives you the coyest smile to ever coy, and as she approaches her full height again, her fingers leave your jawline and the lightness you felt reverses. Gravity crashes your ass into the floor.

Then Irene turns to leave, breaking the line of sight to her eyes, freeing your own to wander. The last thing you see before she turns the corner is that she is not, in fact, wearing shorts under her sweater. You get one last glimpse of your handiwork. Though you can’t see very well and can’t imagine her ass is still gaped now that she’s back on her feet, it is still visibly wet, as are the backs of her thighs and calves.

[rosethreeart]

Rendering tips that hopefully don't sound nonsensical or vague <3

Gonna skip my "study the fundamentals" soapbox but Color Theory, contrast, and understanding how light works (especially bounce light) are your best friends!

Try not to over blend, especially with a soft brush/blur tool. This usually removes all the detail and little color variations present in the piece and essentially can set you back several stages in the rendering process. Figuring out how "blended" or "smooth" certain surfaces are compared to others is essential.

Frequently zooming in and out like a millennial trying to stay relevant on tiktok by making ads helps prevent you getting tunnel-visioned and helps with the tip mentioned above.

I'm a little freak and do almost all of my rendering on one layer immediately after sketching and laying down really quick flats. I didn't start that way tho! Doing your lighting in various different layers and layer styles first, and then merging them all to a new layer (do this with a "copy canvas" type of tool or even import the png of it to preserve the previous layers!!) and going in and blending on that, can help give a good sense on how the rendering process works.

traditional painting rules can and should apply! I had an after school art class in hs with some very wonderful teachers and one of the things that they taught me was to "only blend the outer edges of the colors". This helps with keeping color variation and detail., as well as preventing your colors from getting too "muddy".

if you're painting a person, knowing where the color variation in undertones is a huge help! Places like the rims of eyes, the nose, ears, neck, and joints tend to have a more reddish hue due to blood flow and whatnot! There are also "blues", yellows, and oranges, especially in the face!

I put "blue" because, once again, color theory kinda lowkey fucked up and does what it wants LMAO. Essentially if you have something "blue toned" on the body (save for veins) its typically a de-saturated, darker, and more "yellow"-ish tone then the original skin tone used, however even a dark, and muted magenta or even purple can give a similar effect! It really depends on the skin tone, and the colors that are surrounding it. Also different skin tones reflect light differently so that's important to be aware of as well!

Typically what I do is I use 3-5 "main" colors for a section that I'm doing. So lets look at this hand for a second

Since hands are very warm toned, I stuck in the red range and did very little variation in hue, to preserve that. So I have his natural skin tone as the "base", did a deeper and more saturated color as the "outline" to help me stay aware of my form. I have two shadows, a cool tone (where the twig would reflect light) and a warm tone (where the red of the hands would reflect). But I also used almost a neon red! You can see it a little bit on that thumb right there near the shadow. Sometimes having a (slightly-extremely) more saturated color can help act as a "transition" color. These also help with maintaining your contrast, preventing the colors from getting too muddy, be a function of bounce light, and help show the more "internal" hues of the body.

References can be a HUGE help (I used one for the tree <3) but keep in mind that they're there to give you an IDEA of what you're trying to make, not just be a 1:1 recreation (art studies are a different thing that I wont get into here)!

This shit aint easy and there WILL be an ugly phase or multiple but you gotta push through it! This also takes a long time to do so there's no shame in doing it in multiple sessions, in fact I recommend it, as fresh-eyes can be a savior to a drawing.

thats all I can think of at the moment <3

[monochromegee]

Any lighting tips? <3

Oh boy, I could swear there are rules to lighting, but I rarely stick to them myself, because I have a terrible memory and rendering is the bane of my existence. There are many different ways to use lighting, and I don't know how helpful the tips I can offer are, but a first good step is to determine the source of your light. What I like to do often is use a color gradient where one side of the figure is already a bit darker and the other a little lighter, like there for example:

I like to use that little trick to get the direction roughly down, save a bit of time and add more volume to things.

Another tip I could give is to not be scared to create contrast in places where light doesn't really reach. It's a bit scary to me as well, still, but pushing contrast can add a lot to the illusion.

If you use that though, you have to make sure to understand mid tones as well. These are basically the values somewhere in between your darkest and lightest spots. Light likes to scatter, especially on softer surfaces that don't have many hard edges, so mid tones are really important to suggest the shape of the thing that's being lit. This could be an example:

Rim light is also an effective way to make something stand out more, and what I learned recently is that it works way more effectively if you try and vary its weight, to kinda make it hug around the shapes it sits on, like here:

There are most likely exceptions, but those are rules that always apply to lighting and maybe they can help you understand it a little bit better! I constantly break those rules myself though, so I wouldn't bet that my art makes a good guideline for learning about lighting. I can only recommend using lots and lots of references. Photographs are the most reliable source there is, you can learn a LOT from those, or study some masters paintings to see how they use lighting.

So yeah, these are probably the best tips I can come up with, I'm not very good at explaining things, so I hope this helps a little bit :')

[heresathreebee]

Kurt Kunkle | Spree (2020) || Formal Wear // Strap-Ons

Halloween Party; 2k words; NO BETA/ SELF- EDITED, Swearing, Kurt Committed Crimes, Mentions of Medications and Side Effects, NSFW Streamer Reader, Costume Swap, Kissing, Oral (female receiving), Mommy Kink, Pet Names, Domme/Sub Dynamic, Pegging, Cock Ring, Cum Eating

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Influencer Parties always have the same outfits as Frat parties in movies– a dozen playboy bunnies, toga dudes, video game characters, half assed slashers, boring assholes in college-core or quoting movies ('I’m a homicidal maniac, they look just like everybody else'), and party city knock-offs. 

"What the hell are you supposed to be?," you ask from behind the rim of your solo cup. 

Kurt Kunkle brushes some glitter off of his dinner jacket and preens. "Bond. James Bond." 

You roll your eyes and hide a smile by taking a sip of the spiked punch. "Literally cannot believe you went as something other than the Scream killer. And no gun? What kind of spy are you?" 

Kurt shifts his feet uncomfortably. "I'm legally not allowed to hold one– not even a fake one." 

You raise your eyebrows in tandem, "noted." 

"B-but you look amazing," he stutters (and stares at your cleavage). "Let me guess… Catwoman?" 

You raise your cup and reply, "technically it's feline superheroine costume, but yes." 

"It's great, you look super hot," he says and wow he's lame at flirting but he's also super sincere about it and that's kinda doing it for you. "Do you want another drink?" 

You polish off the one in your hand and pull him into the kitchen area, avoiding the makeout sessions and shotgunners. You settle back against the counter and watch Kurt's every move as he fixes you a drink just to be on the safe side. He makes a screwdriver with almost no vodka in it, which is actually adorable. You figure either A) he doesn't want you to think he's trying to get you drunk or B) he made it how he likes it, which is confirmed when he makes one for himself the exact same way. 

“So do you come here often,” Kurt asks as he tries to lean sauvely on the counter (and getting his sleeve wet in the process). “Oh shit…” 

You laugh boisterously. “Did you really ask…? I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Um, kind of? I’ve been to Bobby’s parties before, but this will be my first Halloween party here. I’m surprised to see you without a camera in your hand.” 

This time Kurt sighs mournfully, “Yeah, I’m not allowed to do that either. Kurtsworld96 is officially dead.” 

“Aw, poor baby,” you reply with a mock pouty lip and brush some of the gel from hair slicked back hair off of his forehead. “Actually, I think I like you better without the camera. You have pretty eyes.” 

Kurt blushes and an instagram girl friend ropes you into a game of truth or dare (Kurt follows, naturally). You ignore the game for the most part and keep talking to him, learning that he is intimately familiar with your channel and it's domme content. He has to lean close to you to be heard over the occasional burst of laughter from the people actually playing the game. 

"Yeah, I like the video you did with The_Alpha_Canadian,” he says, referencing a video where you edged a gym bro for over an hour. “I wasn’t as impressed with his performance, like, if it was me, I would have been begging you to peg me.” 

Heat floods through your veins. Guys were all over your stream, accounting for 70% of your revenue– but as soon as it came to admitting they wanted you, or admitting they wanted to be dominated– suddenly the enthusiasm dries up and they all run scared. Kurt did not seem to suffer from at least saying it in confidence. 

You were going to ask him a question, but then half a dozen phone cameras with the flash on were being shoved in your face. “What?!”

“Truth or Dare, bitch!” Someone screamed. 

“Dare,” you growl, and swat at least three cameras out of your face which make the rest of them back up and turn their lights off out of fear respect. 

“Switch costumes with Melli!” 

MasochistMelli, your favorite collaborator (god, she’s a great submissive), was dressed as an angel until she wasn’t, that is. You and her are of similar physical size and you unzip the pleather bodysuit that’s been sticking to your body for hours. She laughs about exchanging sweaty clothes, and just behind her, you catch Kurt’s slack jawed expression as he gazes at your nearly nude forms. It reminds you how much you want to break him (knowing he’s either a total virgin or near enough). 

Once you finished donning the white feathery dress, halo and wings, the group starts seven minutes in heaven (because of course they do, it’s fucking faux high school in this bitch), and you drag the boy into the nearest closet to escape getting stuck with anyone else. 

"Oh hey, I–"  you interrupt him by pulling his lapels and smashing your lips to his. 

Kurt instantly sighs and cups his hands around your waist, pulling you close. He tastes like orange juice and licks what’s left of the flavored lip gloss clinging to your bottom lip. Just to tease, you nip his lip and suck a quick hickey into his neck. 

Kurt swears softly and his grip on your body gets tighter. “This doesn’t have to be just seven minutes, right? I mean, I’m cool with doing this the entire night if you are…” 

Chuckling, you lean back so you can look at his face. “Did you like that little show earlier? Basically got to see me naked. Did that make you hard, Kurt?” 

The man kisses you again and hides his face in your neck and you can barely understand his words in between the hundreds of desperate kisses he peppers on your neck and chest. “Actually… I mean it would have… definitely… normally I’d be rock hard by now… if I wasn’t, you know…” 

You hold still and wait for an answer. “If you weren’t what? Gay?” 

“No,” he sighs through his nose and the air cools the tracks of saliva he’s leaving all over your skin. “It’s these stupid meds I’m on now, they kind of, I don’t know… make it hard to get hard...” 

“Oh,” you nod in understanding. “Yeah, I’ve heard of that. My condolences.” You wrap your arm around his neck and let him grope your thighs and continue to kiss every part of you he can reach. “That’s too bad, I was thinking about seeing if you wanted to do a little video together.” 

Kurt lifts his head so fast he almost hits you. “Are you for real right now? I-I… that would literally be a dream come true for me, I don’t think you understand how big I fan I am of yours!” 

“Oh, but babe, what about…?” 

Kurt’s arms encircle you almost lovingly. “If anybody can make me come, it’s going to be you.” 

Challenge accepted. 

A flight of stairs and a few irate obstacles– sorry, partiers– later, you open the trunk of your car and set up your phone’s camcorder with Kurt in tow. “Hey party people and a late happy Halloween! I hope you’re up to some very naughty things tonight. For my part, I have a very special boy here looking for a good time, which I intend to give him full force, no holds bars. Sound good, Mr. Bond?” 

Kurt’s face lights up adorably and he nods so fast he becomes a blur. “Oh me! Yes! Oh god, yes.” 

Getting Kurt hard was easy because he didn’t seem to have hard limits. Degrade him, praise him, manhandle him, finger him– he really did beg for more at every turn. He’s just the perfect little sub. 

You’ve got him on his knees and ride the flat of his tongue against your clit. “Fuck, Kurt, such a good boy. And you learn so fast, baby. Can you guys believe it?” 

You talk to your recording, still unsure if you’re going to upload this or maybe keep it for yourself. Just when you need it, Kurt slips a few of his fingers into your warm channel and he fucks you at the same rate you hump his tongue. Your orgasm approaches fast, he can hear it coming and he groans at your taste, wanting to make it come faster and succeeding. 

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck,” your voice crescendoes until you softly keen and drench Kurt’s fingers in more slick. “That’s good, that’s good, Kurt. Stop now, baby, give me a minute.” 

Kurt rests his sweat slick forehead on your bare hip, his warm breath making you shiver in the night air. “Mommy. Please… I need you to fuck me. Please fuck me, mommy…” 

You can feel his erection brush against your calf and let him rub himself on your leg only because you know he can’t come with such little stimulation. “Okay pet. Can you stretch yourself out for me?” 

Kurt whimpers. “I’ve never done it by myself before…” 

You pet his hair back soothingly. “It’s okay baby. It’s okay…” 

…

You are strapped, camcorder propped up, car trunk open to give Kurt somewhere to bend over, and his ass thoroughly stretched and lubed. His legs are shaking from the effort not to spear himself onto the thick silicone you have been teasing his hole with. 

“Are you sure you’re ready, baby?,” you say just to be a dick. 

Kurt growls and answers you by arching his back more (but not begging, he’s been whimpering and begging for so long now, of course he’s ready!). 

“Here it comes.” You push the curved tip of the dildo passed his muscled ring and switch the vibration on. As soon as he relaxed just a tiny bit, you shoved the rest of it in fast, all six inches of it until the harness is right up against his cheeks and he’s nearly fallen to his face. Kurt yelps at the sudden movement, but as soon as he finds his footing again, he pushes back just to get it as deep as it can go. “Oh good fucking boy, Kurt! Look at you! You’re doing so well baby.” 

You can’t see his face from behind but you can imagine his jaw hanging open and the silent scream plastered on his face. “Do you want it fast and hard–” 

“Yes!” Kurt’s voice is shrill– “mommy, yes, don’t hold back…” 

As he wishes, you smirk slyly to your camera.

His back arches further when you take up a handful of his hair, the dry gel rehydrating and caking between your fingers. You use it to hold on to him as you start to thrust, keeping an even and quick tempo to ease yourself into the motion. It's not a position you are given often and it feels like such a treat and an honor to give Kurt what he wants– what he needs. 

And god, he's so vocal! You can see in the view window of your recording how red and shiny his cock and balls are, trapped to fullness by the black ring you cinched around it earlier. And when you thrust deep and smack your hips audibly against his, it twitches and begs for release. 

"Fuck baby," you reach around his hip and rip the ring off, "come if you can. I wanna see you. Will you make a mess for me, good boy?" 

Kurt whines his unintelligible answer and fucks himself back on your cock until his whole body siezes and his legs buckle under him. You quickly fist his spurting cock and milk as much white cum out of him as you can, even so far as to pinch the skin of his sack when he seems to be empty and you are instantly rewarded with a full, final jet that hits right into your front facing camera lens. 

Your laughter rings out high and satisfied as you pull your cock out and guide Kurt to rest halfway into the trunk. He's shaking like a leaf in the autumn air but so are you, so exhausted from the sex and in need of a nice warm bed. You pick up your phone and wipe the salty cum off with your tongue, getting enough to stop the video. 

"You okay there, Mr. Bond? I'm not going to have to stuff the rest of you into the trunk and dump your body somewhere, am I?" 

The man lifts his head weakly, looking like he's been through a hurricane. "Do I get the full domme experience? With the whole aftercare and cuddling?" 

You chuckle and stroke some of his hair out of his eyes. "Absolutely."

Previous | Masterlist | Next: GOT Koner Body Worship

I got trapped in a 5 hour game of Aggravation (a real board game by the way lol) it was a lot if fun but it was midnight before I was freed from it lol) thats why this was late

[iviarellereads]

Network Effect, Chapter 9

(Curious what I'm doing here? Read this post! For the link index and a primer on The Murderbot Diaries, read this one!)

In which Murderbot can't help but be a little happy to help screw over a corporation.

After twenty-seven minutes and twelve seconds,(1) Ratthi tapped on the hatch and sent me the feed message: Can I come in and talk to you? I sent back, Do you have my jacket?

Murderbot has been keyword-monitoring its surveillance, so it doesn't have to listen to everyone actively, and it knows nobody's in mortal danger without it. Well, unless Art murdered them all, but it keeps trying to poke MB in the feed, and it probably wouldn't keep calling MB ungrateful and and "a sulky dumbass" in MB's words, not Art's, if it had murdered all its humans.

Ratthi says he has it, and MB says he can come in. He asks if Amena can come too. MB leans back on the wall.

MB's been messing with Art, trying its patience, and cleaning the leaked fluids off itself. It didn't have a shower, though, because showers feel good and it wants to stay angry.(2) It almost rejected the Art-branded shirt that "fell" from the recycler, but it needs a shirt.(3)

MB doesn't want to upset Amena, so it says yes, she can come too. They enter, just the two, and MB warns them that Art can hear anything you say onboard it, anywhere. Ratthi says he's used to that, and doesn't say it's about MB, but it knows.

Ratthi asks about MB's relationship with Art. MB gets grossed out and defensive at the first implication of a sexual one, and is no less horrified at the idea of friendship. MB felt Art stop pinging it when the humans started talking, so it knows Art's listening. Ratthi asks if MB has made many bot friends, and MB thinks of Miki,(4) but says no, not friends like humans make. Ratthi is skeptical, saying Art seems to think it is, but MB says Art lies and is mean.

The lights flicker, imperceptible to human eyes, but visible to MB's. It knows Art heard that.(5)

Amena asks why MB keeps calling it Art, when its name is Perihelion. MB says it stands for Asshole Research Transport, an anagram. Amena says that's not what anagram means, but MB dismisses it as human pedantics.

Ratthi says it's possible that, while both MB and Art have relationships with humans, they don't seem to be sure how to have one with each other. MB gets grossed out at relationship again, and Ratthi says, other than friendship, what other word is there?

I had no idea. I did a quick search on my archives and pulled out the first result. “Mutual administrative assistance?” The lights fluctuated again, in what I could tell was a really sarcastic way. I yelled, “I know what you’re doing, ART, stop trying to communicate with me!”(6)

Ratthi informs MB that, if it hasn't been paying attention, they've come to an agreement with Art to get its crew back, in exchange for assistance returning to Preservation after. MB points out they're just doing what Art wants. Ratthi says there's not another good choice out here. Even if they sent a distress beacon, any response will put everyone in trouble, especially Art and its crew and their university. MB points out several ways it's even worse and more exploitative, that they'd have to pay out the nose just to get rescued.

Amena is aghast, Ratthi says he hates the Rim, and MB agrees, sarcastically, and notes that it's realized something it should have seen sooner.(7) Amena asks if MB would be okay, as a construct, but they have a short discussion about how Mensah technically owns it, under Rim law, and Amena is her legal representative in this. Ratthi confirms, if corporates show up, Amena has to assert ownership of MB. She's disgusted. MB says it doesn't like it either.

At any rate, Ratthi says Art still has repairs to do, and everyone has plans and preparations to make, and asks if MB will come out of the bathroom now. MB says it will, because it knows Art is lying.

This time when the lights fluctuated, it wasn’t sarcastic.

The humans have shifted around, but still have their video call active to the control room. Overse asks if they're all ready now. Ratthi says not quite, and MB says Art didn't come here for a distress call. Thiago is suspicious, and Arada asks if MB wants to jeopardize the deal they made with Art. MB says it absolutely needs to bring this up now.

Overse asks how MB knows, and MB says it's a research and teaching vessel, but all the educational spaces are out of use, the lab inactive, and no cargo module attached. MB asks what Art was doing when it received the distress call. Art asks if this is MB being helpful. No, MB says, this is quite the opposite. It's being held against its will and it will make its keeper regret it.(8)

Arada asks if MB wants to go back in the bathroom for a while and think about what it's doing. MB says it's done thinking, Art snarks about that being obvious. MB asks again what Art was doing.

Across the room, Eletra is asking Overse and Ratthi why they're letting their SecUnit do this. Overse almost says MB is independent, but Ratthi stops her and says merely that MB is usually more responsible.

Thiago, surprisingly, agrees with MB that it's a valid question. MB interprets this as the sensible humans abandoning it. Art says it's none of MB's business. MB argues Art made this its business when Art told the hostiles to kidnap MB. Art suggests MB can put itself out the airlock if it's unhappy with its situation.

The humans, for their part, are trying desperately to wave for MB's attention as Art makes this incredibly threatening statement. Only, this is what MB wanted. It says Art is upsetting Amena. MB noticed earlier that Art's tone with Amena is totally different from with the adults, and Art is fundamentally an educational vessel.

And before this when I was stupid and we were still friends(9) it had talked about human adolescents in an indulgent way.

Amena takes a breath, and before she can object, MB asks her privately in the feed to be honest. So, she says the grey people and being shot at scared the crap out of her, and she really would like to know what's actually going on.

After a long silence, Art says it has to violate its crew's NDA to answer. MB says Art kidnapped itself and its humans, that violated MB's contract with them. Art says it will consider it, then shows MB that it's talking only to it and its humans, cutting Eletra out.

In this more private channel, Art says that if any of them reveal what it's about to say to the corporate, it will kill her. MB isn't particularly attached to her, but it doesn't want anyone dying near its humans and traumatizing them more. So it's not opposed when Arada speaks for them and agrees. Aloud, Arada asks if they can use Art's cabins to clean up, so they don't accidentally indicate anything to Eletra. On the public channel, Art graciously invites them in.

Ratthi and Overse get Eletra settled in one of the rooms the grey people didn't get their growth medium scent all over, and supplies so she can take care of her business and might not feel a need to wander. MB posts a drone scout, just in case.

MB's humans go to the galley, far enough away that Eletra won't hear them even in the corridor before MB spots her moving. The humans are eating and drinking something warm Thiago made them. MB is pacing.

Finally, Arada asks if Art is ready to answer MB's questions. Art gives a lengthy explanation that amounts to, its crew sometimes acts on behalf of anti-corporate organizations,(10) and were on a data-collection mission to the abandoned colony. Amena notes the similarity to how Preservation's great-grandparents' colony had been abandoned. Art notes that sometimes, colonies cut off from the corporates can survive.

This colony had previously failed, but no data existed on why. One of Art's crew, Iris, had found some newsfeed archives about the takeover of the corporation that had controlled the second colony. Some employees were in a firefight, and deleted the database before the hostile takeover was completed. Iris made a note that it's possible, though unlikely, that they were trying to protect or conceal the colony.

After all the humans have read the article and notes, Art says its crew's mission was to see the colony's status, and if active, make contact and offer assistance against corporates, such as by evacuating the inhabitants. Amena asks why, surely if the colony survived, the other corporations would have no jurisdiction. Overse says no, another could easily, and legally, move in and take over. Amena is horrified, but Thiago says that's how the Corporate Rim is.

Ratthi asks what Art and its crew do, in these cases.

ART said, The University has the means to produce the colony’s original charter documents, which often contain clauses specifying that if the originating corporate body has ceased operations, then ownership of the planet is ceded to the colonists or their issue or successors living on the original site.

MB asks if that means the university forges the documents to free the colonies, and Art refuses to acknowledge the question, which probably means yes. MB has no qualms with the method of sticking it to the corporates, even if it's still angry at Art.

Art continues, in very passive voice, that a contract is facilitated between the colony and an independent transfer station, and once the station is established in the system, the colony is relatively safe from corporate ravaging.

Arada says Eletra said there were two corporate ships, and asks if Art was here before them. It was, and was forced to fire on a Barish-Estranza ship by those holding its crew hostage. It doesn't know what happened to the vessel or the crew. Ratthi asks if Art knows why the grey people would have brought Eletra and Ras aboard, but it really has no clue. The rest happened as it already described.

Overse suggests they put together a timeline. MB is about to say it has one, when Art provides its own. MB is annoyed, privately, that Art left out the point where it told the gray people MB was a weapon they could use.(11)

Amena says before things got weird, Ras tried to tell her about the colony reclamation, but Eletra cut him off. Thiago wonders whether the gray people came from the newer colony, or the original one, if they're remnant-contaminated, or if they were manipulated genetically by their corporation.

Discussion moves to the language they used, which has at least three pre-Corporation Rim languages involved, and their tech, which is also pretty ancient. Thiago says most of the alien contamination incidents happened before the Rim, though everything's suppressed so it's hard to know much detail about any of it.

Ratthi brings it back around to Thiago's question again. Art says evidence points to them being from inside the system.

MB takes the opportunity to point out Art's memory archive issues, and that it can't be sure who or what was aboard it before. Arada tries to interrupt, but Art says MB's earlier statement that Art lies a lot was untrue, but it cannot reveal information that would be against its crew's interests unless the circumstances call for it. Arada says they understand, and MB is looking out for their interests.

Art demands an apology. MB makes obscene gestures at the ceiling, since the humans are treating the ceiling like Art anyway. Art says that was unnecessary.

In a low voice, Ratthi commented to Overse, “Anyone who thinks machine intelligences don’t have emotions needs to be in this very uncomfortable room right now.”(12) ART was suddenly in my feed, on a private channel. I did what I had to do. You should understand that. I said aloud, “I’m not talking to you on the feed! You’re not my client and you’re not my—” I couldn’t say it, not anymore.(13) All the humans were staring at me. I wanted to face the wall but that felt like giving in.

Out of nowhere, MB has views all over the ship. It snarls at Art to stop being nice to it.

Amena takes MB's side and says maybe Art needs to give MB some time to process. MB, however, is suspicious and asks if Art is talking to Amena privately. Amena winces, and MB yells at Art to stop talking to its human(14) behind its back.

Privately, MB acknowledges that it isn't being at all logical, even if it felt like it was at the time.(15)

Arada says it's time to stop this unproductive arguing. Art needs to stop pressuring MB, she understands it's upset about its crew but MB is upset too. So, if it can give them any other information about this colony, it would be appreciated. Until then, she and Overse will get some data on the alien remnant on the engine, and see if they can help fix things faster. She assigns Ratthi and Thiago to med-scan-autopsy the dead Targets, and translate what they were saying in MB's recordings, to help narrow down who they were. She also asks Amena to talk to Eletra again, see if she can get her to open up.

Finally, she asks MB to figure out what caused Art's first reinitialization process, and how the Targets boarded, so they can prevent it happening again. She asks if Art is alright with all this, and it says an ominous, "For now."(16)

=====

(1) You know, bravo to everyone (but Art) on their restraint. (2) God if that ain't the mood sometimes. It's not quite "I don't deserve nice things" but it's a close cousin to that feeling, you know? (3) I love the implication that Art deliberately withheld the jacket, could have pushed it through but didn't, so MB would have to talk to a human sooner or later to get it back. (4) Precious cinnamon roll Miki who could kill you to defend its human friends but would rather make you a friend too if it could. Taken from us too soon, but a good reminder to MB that friendship is possible for bots. I think that's part of why it let itself open up so much to Mensah after. (5) Telltale upper-corner message: Perihelion will remember this. (6) Those poor humans having to deal with MB acting so unhinged. (7) This is where it figures out Art was lying about the distress, in case you missed it like I did on my first pass. (8) One of the classic blunders. Don't take a stubborn asshole who lives for chaos, prisoner. (9) So much for never having been friends. MB can't help but admit the truth sideways a lot of the time. I love picking up on its little slips, don't you? (10) Comrade Perihelion! No wonder it wasn't opposed to helping MB all those weeks ago. (11) Anything to avoid the conclusion it knows is inevitable: it cares for Art's crew, just for the sake of their being innocent humans, and it's going to help rescue them eventually. Otherwise this wouldn't be a book. (12) [quiet snicker] (13) You know it is still your friend, though. It betrayed you, because it knew you would be able to handle the betrayal. It didn't mean for MB's humans to get involved. I think Art even expresses, in its own way, that it feels bad for their involvement. It's not like Art is withholding supplies or passage back to Preservation, as long as it gets its crew back first. And, it may see them as an asset, more people means less danger individually, means better chance of success. (14) Amena is particularly MB's human here. It's not worried about Art talking to the others, but it doesn't want Art influencing Amena while it's still angry at Art. They're just so… human. (15) This really extra feels like an observation after the fact, versus most of MB's asides where it could have been the uncensored train of thought it was barreling down at the time. Thus, my use of a touch of past tense. (I'm capable, it just doesn't feel natural.) (16) Ominous in that it implies Art will change its mind sooner or later. Do you think so? Or is it just sulking at being dressed down like that by a human?

[fangirlshrewt97]

About The Two Of Us

Well folks, @burningsheepcrown​ did it yet again. So this fic can be considered a follow up to yesterday’s piece. I hope you guys like it. And God I really hope this is not the start of a series, but you lot my bully me in that direction anyways. 

Here’s the prompt doodle, what cuties, right??? 

Thanks to @jjwolfesworld for the title!

Also, apologies if I missed any typos. 

///

Dhruva hummed in appreciation as the first taste of coffee hit his tongue.

“Still doing your crazy early morning runs, huh? I really thought I would have tired you out yesterday.”

Dhruva hid his smile in the rim of his mug. “I won’t lie, it was exceptionally difficult to get up, but I was already awake, so might as well. Plus, there really is something energizing about seeing the sunrise, you should try it sometime.”

Daya made a noise of disgust that had Dhruva chuckling. He turned away from his window to lean against the counter, watching as Daya rummaged through his cupboards till he made a triumphant sound and emerged with another ceramic mug. And then he frowned when he couldn’t find a coffeepot.

“Where’s your coffee pot?”

Dhruva’s shoulders shook with silent laughter as he placed his own coffee on the counter and moved to Daya’s side, grabbing his mug from him. “I don’t have one, how many times have I said that the coffee tastes better when you use the filter.” Daya pouted, and God help him, Dhruva really wanted to pull him in by the drawstrings of the hoodie and kiss at his protruding lip. 

Instead he busied himself with pouring the ground coffee liquid into the milk pot, mixing the liquid until it was a dark brown, and transferred it to the mug. He then grabbed the sugar and was about to add two teaspoons, when he paused. “You still take it with sugar?”

Dhruva could feel Daya’s gaze burning the side of his face. “I do.”

Dhruva nodded and mixed the sugar, suddenly feeling off kilter. He handed him the mug, shivering as their fingers brushed. Clearing his throat, he grabbed his own mug, finishing the contents and placing the cup in the sink before turning on the stove. “Sit, there is still time for breakfast before you are expected at the station.”

Except Daya didn’t do that. He reached across from Dhruva and turned off the stove again before wrapping himself around Dhruva’s back, nuzzling against his neck. Dhruva swallowed the groan. Oh how many times had he fantasized about this moment.

“I’ve not changed that much you know.” Daya finally said. Dhruva stiffened. “Dhruva-”

Dhruva shook his head, but was too selfish to push Daya away. They needed to have this conversation, even if Dhruva would rather stab himself. “Daya, I don’t- I’m sorry.”

Daya sighed heavily, leaning his forehead against Dhruva’s nape. They stayed like that for a short eternity, Dhruva’s heart threatening to give out the whole time. Because yesterday had been unexpected, a side effect of the smoke that had curled around them, last night everything Dhruva had not dared to dream of, but today, in the light of the sun, reality was knocking at their door.

Finally Daya took a step back, and Dhruva had to bite back his whimper at the loss of points of contact. Daya didn’t shift far though, just enough to put some space between them. He nudged at Dhruva’s hip so the man would turn, and then enclosed him in the bracket of his arms.

Daya was still lovely, his assessment from yesterday still stood. Here, in his kitchen in the house that still felt so impersonal, Daya’s mere presence rendered it closer to home than it had felt in the last five years. His hair was bed-rumpled, but his eyes were alert, and still capable of penetrating down to Dhruva’s very core. Daya’s shoulders seemed twice as broad as his own, his chest so solid it felt like it would anchor Dhruva against any storm.

Dhruva kept his own gaze fixed on the small silver dollar of Daya’s necklace that was peeking out of the hoodie. He took in a deep breath and talked, afraid he would never be able to say the words otherwise. And whatever the outcome, Daya deserved a proper explanation. “I got scared Daya. I felt like things were working out so well for once in my life, and it terrified me. I got the offer for the promotion, and I was so sure this was the universe’s way of telling me to leave, to get out. To leave before you broke my heart because you realized how broken and damaged I was. You were changing and growing and my god, it was breath-taking to see you transform into such a wonderful man. You deserved someone who matched that, and it was not me. I felt myself stagnating, and it scared me so much. You used to look at me with so much happiness and playfulness and I just didn’t feel like I could match up. So I left, and ended up breaking both our hearts.”

The silence following Dhruva’s speech was heavy, foreboding.

“Have you been with anyone else since you came here?” Daya asked, and it wasn’t what he was expecting but Dhruva shook his head. Besides the fact that he buried himself in his work, his heart was too shattered to contemplate the idea of another relationship. “One night, with a girl whose name I don’t even remember. I was so drunk, it was so irresponsible. I left in the middle of the night, and I was so ashamed.”

Daya hummed. Dhruva felt the bile rise in his throat but he asked the words anyways. “You?”

Daya shrugged. “Nothing that lasted more than a night. I was so angry when you left, at you for not giving us a chance. At myself for not stopping you. At the universe for taking you away from me. I practically reverted to who I was before you. It took waking up on the beach, half naked, and surrounded by my own vomit to realize that I wouldn’t let you break me. Maruti and Shravni didn’t say anything, but I could see the disappointment in their eyes, and that hurt almost as much as you leaving.”

Dhruva felt a tear escape. “I’m sorry.”

Daya sighed again, lifting one hand to rub at his face. He suddenly looked older, shoulders slumped with a hidden burden and Dhruva felt sick again. “You keep saying that Dhruva, but what is done is done. We can keep standing here, explaining exactly how many ways we broke our hearts over the past five years because we were so scared. But frankly, I am tired. I want to live damn it, and I want to live with you. Because despite everything,” Daya gave a bittersweet laugh that had Dhruva reaching to cup his cheek on instinct. Daya rested his head on Dhruva’s hand, closing his eyes as he took a shuddering breath before opening them to look straight at Dhruva, “despite everything, I still love you so much. I still want to see you laugh, and smile, and I want to take you home.”

Dhruva couldn’t hold back the sob, or stop himself from crashing into Daya, but the man held steady, like he always did. Dhruva’s solid ground in the storm. “You deserve better than me.”

“Debatable bangaram,” Daya whispered into Dhruva’s ear as he wrapped his arms around his waist, “but I want you. Do you still want me?”

Of all the stupid questions….Dhruva clutched at the back of Daya’s hoodie, burying himself deeper. “Every second of every day since I left our home.”

Daya held him tighter. “Come home then. Come back with me.”

Dhruva lifted his head, sniffling. He was sure he looked like a mess, but Daya was looking at him so besottedly, he didn’t care. “Now?”

Daya nodded.

Dhruva shook his head. “Daya, I- what do I tell our superiors?”

Daya shrugged. “Dhruva, we can decide about a permanent move and the logistics later. But I leave at the end of the week. Do you have any cases pending?”

“I- just one.” Dhruva confirmed.

“Then wrap it up quickly. You’re the DSP Dhruva, that gives you some authority. It won’t be an abuse of power if you say you need a break.”

Dhruva looked down. Could it really be so simple? “My life is in Hyderabad Daya.”

“What life?” and Dhruva knew he didn’t mean to be callous, but the words hurt nonetheless. Daya sighed. “I’m sorry Bangaram, but I arrived last week. For the past few days I have been observing you and what life? You are the first at the station and the last to leave, the other officers think you are a robot for how little you sleep. And even look at this place. I would bet anything you haven’t actually added any personal touch to it since you moved in.”

Dhruva burrowed into Daya again. “It didn’t seem important at the time, all I could focus on was work because then I wasn’t thinking about how much everything else hurt. And then I couldn’t see the point.”

“Come home Dhruva.” Daya pleaded in his ear. And Dhruva… so tired after all these years of building these shields and walls that were useless against the other man anyways, crumpled. The prospect of being back home, in that little house Daya had by the beach, with their porch and their familiar running routes. The quiet evenings spent smelling the sea salt air, and the warm afternoons burying their toes in the sun-baked sun. Dhruva yearned.

“Okay.”

Daya pulled back enough to look at Dhruva, face alight with so much happiness, Dhruva’s own vision blurred. “Okay?”

Dhruva nodded. “Okay.”

Daya whooped and then lifted Dhruva, spinning him in the narrow kitchen, despite his shouts of alarm. But when Daya set him down again, still laughing, Dhruva couldn’t stop his own laughter. This ridiculous man, this charming, idiotic, brave man. He pulled Daya in by the back of the neck and kissed him. His heart felt like it was taking flight in his chest, and the sun seemed to glow brighter around them as Daya pressed him against the counter. At the edge of his awareness, he heard an alarm going off. Pushing Daya away was excruciating, and Dhruva chuckled as the man merely latched onto his neck instead. He pawed at the counter till his hand wrapped around his phone. Switching off the alarm, he tapped at Daya’s head lightly with his phone. “Come on, we are running out of time, let me make you breakfast, and then we can head out.”

Daya made a dissatisfied noise and he nipped once more at Dhruva’s throat before letting him go. “Spoilsport.”

Dhurva smiled shyly at him. He tugged at the pullstrings of the hoodie. “Go shower, I’ll have the food ready by the time you are out.”

Daya leaned in to press one more kiss before he wandered away, swaying his hips in the most distracting way. It was only when he disappeared into the bedroom that Dhruva slapped himself back to focus on the task at hand.

As promised, by the time Daya wandered back out again, buttoning the top button of his shirt, Dhruva had a nice stack of crisp dosas waiting for them, and was transferring the coriander chutney from the mixer to a separate bowl. Grinning at the tantalizing smell of the dosas, Daya took his seat. Dhruva joined him, distributing two dosas each before spooning some chutney to each of their plates.

Daya groaned at the first bite, making Dhruva blush. “Damn, I really missed your cooking too.”

Dhruva kicked him lightly, only to blush further when Daya trapped his leg between his own, and threw him a cheeky wink instead.

The pair settled into a familiar, comfortable silence as they ate, unable to stop themselves from brushing hands and fingers as they tangled their legs beneath the table. At the end of the meal, Daya disappeared again to retrieve their bags as Dhruva washed their plates. The domesticity of the routine made him smile as his heart ached in his chest. He didn’t know if things really would work out as smoothly as Daya was predicting, but he was going to give it his best shot. He had nearly destroyed them once, now he would be damned if he didn’t fight just as hard to keep the best thing in his life with him always.

Especially when it wrapped itself around his back and whispered jokes in his ear, making him laugh.

///

Am I using their names too often? 

Feedback is appreciated!!

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[radiantlyrey]

TRON Fic: A sort-of sequel AU thing... (Part Three)

Part One Part Two

Continuing on with the "Flynn brings Alan and Lora to the Grid" AU. Sorry this took so long to post; one of the scenes here kind of got long, and then I got distracted by other ideas to write and yeah. It happens~~ At any rate, here are the next 2500 (!!!) words of the story... (next part may be a while coming, jsyk)

~~~

Well, at least one of us is having a good time, Alan thinks as Tron drives them through the city. Lora called shotgun, and she’s looking out the windows in obvious wonder, asking Flynn and Tron a flurry of questions. Alan can tell just by listening to her that she’s in full-on scientific observation mode, and more than once, she’s bemoaned the fact that she didn’t bring along the legal pad to take notes. He hasn’t seen her like this since… well, since she was still working at Encom. In a way, it’s not surprising she’s so excited; this place is the culmination of her work on the laser, work she might have been able to finish if things had gone differently at Encom.

Alan looks out the narrow backseat window. The city looks the same as it did where they arrived, all bright lines and stark black shapes, but the streets are busier, crowded with people (or programs, he supposes) and vehicles going places he can’t begin to guess. He tried counting the programs at first, but lost count somewhere in the mid-seventies. It’s all so much—so much city, so many programs. He turns away from the window and takes a deep breath, trying to calm himself down.

Flynn, sitting to his left in the other back row seat, notices. “You feeling all right, Alan?”

“I’m fine,” Alan says, though he’s not sure that he is. “Just… overwhelmed.”

“It’s a lot to take in, isn’t it?” Flynn glances out his window, then back at Alan. “But it’s really something else, don’t you think?”

“I mean…” He shrugs. “We’re having this conversation inside a computer, Flynn. You tell me.”

Flynn chuckles. “It is pretty damn crazy.”

Alan snorts. “It’s something.” He eyes the window and the world outside again. “Where are we going, anyway?”

“The admin tower,” Flynn replies. “We’ll be able to get an aircraft there, really give you guys the bird’s-eye view of everything. Plus, you and Lora need discs, and we can take care of that there, too.”

“Discs?” Alan asks, his brow furrowing.

Flynn reaches over his shoulder and pulls something off his back. It’s a black ring, with a thin line of light running over the center of it, almost extending the whole way around. “Identity discs,” he says, showing it to Alan. “It’s basically a functional ID—it records everything you see and do, and it’s handy as a weapon, too.” Flynn adjusts his grip on the disc and for a moment, the whole outside edge lights up, hissing like a high-powered saw. He turns the effect off with another change in his grip. “Cool, right? Not that we’re gonna run into any trouble tonight, but—better safe than sorry.”

“Right,” Alan says. “You said it records everything you see? How does it do that?”

Flynn shrugs. “Hell if I know. Look…” He holds the disc flat and touches the inside rim with his thumbs. Almost at once, a holographic portrait of Flynn appears over the open center of the disc, rotating slowly. Flynn reaches a hand up and taps the image, which changes, resolving into a shimmering picture of Alan sitting in the lightrunner. “This is my memory access. I can rewind it—” He runs a finger along the disc’s inner edge, and the image reverses itself like a video running backwards. “It even has the stuff I do at home saved,” Flynn adds, and indeed, the hologram soon shows Alan and Lora in the arcade basement. “Don’t have a clue why it works, only that it does. Which is honestly par for the course for everything in here.” With another tap of his finger, the image vanishes completely. He leans forward and hooks the disc back where it was. “Of course, discs also have a program’s permissions and things like that. What accesses they have, what kind of commands they can create.”

“Sounds interesting,” Alan says, feeling more lost than ever.

“Sounds to me like something worth looking into,” Lora comments from the front seat, Evidently she’s been listening. “Nothing happens for no reason, Flynn, especially in science.”

“Well, you are the PhD in the car, so I’ll defer to your judgement,” Flynn says with a grin.

Lora grins back, and then Alan notices the lightrunner slowing to a stop. “Are we here?” he asks, looking around.

“We are,” Tron says. “Welcome to the admin tower.”

~~~

The admin tower is never very busy, but it seems to Tron that every program who works there is lurking in the halls tonight. They pass a dozen programs (many of them openly staring) before they even reached the lobby elevator. As annoyed as he is, Tron can’t exactly blame them. Alan_1 and Lora_B are the first Users to come to this system besides Flynn himself. Flynn’s talked for cycles about opening the Grid up to Users; now that promise seems to be coming to fruition. Many programs will want to say they were there, when the first Users arrived, that they got to see them with their own eyes.

Still, they could stand to be a little more discreet. He shoots a glare at a couple of staring programs; they immediately turn and resume their work. Flynn’s already reached the elevator, and he holds the door as Tron lengthens his stride to catch up. “I take it word got around?” Flynn asks.

“Clu probably disseminated your message to the tower staff when we left,” Tron replies. “There’s certainly more programs hanging around than usual this millicycle.”

“Is that a bad thing?” Alan_1 asks, looking concerned.

Tron shakes his head. “No,” he replies. “Most of them are just curious, I think.”

“About us?” Alan_1 gestures to include Lora_B in his question.

“Well, you guys are the first new Users the Grid has seen since yours truly built the place,” Flynn points out.

“And what does that mean?” Alan_1 asks, glancing between Flynn and Tron for an answer.

“It means,” Tron say, “that something greater than ourselves has come to see us. To help us build this new system. On the old system, your Encom system, our Users were… apart from us. Reachable, through the I/O towers, but only just. And then Flynn came,” he continues, “and changed everything for us. We were right that our Users existed, but wrong about how much we thought they knew.”

“And now we’ve got this new system,” Flynn says. “Where everything’s gonna be open, between programs, and Users, and… At least that’s what I hope we’re gonna do.” He smiled. “And you two are welcome to help us out.”

“More than happy to help,” Lora_B replies.

Alan_1 is about to answer as well, but then the elevator comes to a stop, and the doors open to reveal the administrative suite.

The suite takes up the entire top floor of the building, with most of the space given over to workstations keeping track of activity in every part of the Grid. There’s also a few office spaces for Flynn, Clu, and Tron himself, though Tron hardly ever uses his. He’s always found it easier to deal with the Grid’s security issues from the ground up, while Flynn and especially Clu prefer to take a top-down view of things.

The half-dozen programs who normally work this millicycle are all present, and all thankfully at their workstations. A few of them look up as Tron and the Users file out of the elevator, but only one actually comes up to greet them: Ashe, the program in charge of operations when Clu and Tron aren’t here. She cuts the same severe-yet-stylish figure as always, with her white hair pulled back in a tight bun, and light splashes of eye makeup to accentuate her dark skin. She wears a data interface over her right eye, and her suit’s light lines only cover the lapels of her jacket. Her low heels clack on the floor as she approaches, and she stops just in front of Tron and smiles politely.

“Tron, Creator,” she says, nodding to them both. “Welcome back. And Users.” Her gaze falls on Alan_1 and Lora_B. “Greetings. Welcome to the Grid.”

“Uh. Thank you?” says Alan_1.

“Of course. My name is Ashe, and I would be delighted, if there is time, to show you some of the work we do here to improve this system.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” Lora_B says. “I’m Lora, and this is Alan. We’re delighted to be here.”

“Thank you for the welcome, Ashe,” Flynn says, stepping forward. “We’re gonna need a couple of blank discs, and disc mounts, if you could call downstairs—”

“There’s no need for that, Creator,” Ashe replies. “Clu explained everything when he called in for a Recognizer. The discs and mounts are waiting in your office.”

“Oh…kay. Thank you again, Ashe.” He glances at Alan_1 and Lora_B. “If you’ll follow me…” He waves them on, and begins crossing the suite floor to the center office.

Tron watches them go for a moment, then turns briefly to Ashe. “Clu happen to say where he was going in that Recognizer?”

Ashe doesn’t bat an eye. “The Isomorph annex, I believe. He said he needed to oversee construction there.”

Tron represses a sigh with difficulty. “All right. Thank you.” He nods at Ashe in acknowledgement, and she returns to her workstation as he heads over to Flynn’s office.

As the doors open to admit him, he hears Flynn’s laughter. “All right, I admit it,” he’s saying when Tron walks in, “it is a bit of an ego booster. Don’t worry too much about it, though. Between Clu and Tron I get regular head deflations.”

“That conversation with Clu didn’t look like it went too well for you,” Alan_1 comments with a chuckle.

“For example, yes. And it did not, thanks for the painful reminder.” Flynn walks over to his desk, where two discs and disc mounts sit on the smooth black surface. “Anyway, discs! Come here, you two. Hey, Tron, you wanna lend a hand?”

Tron follows Alan_1 and Lora_B to Flynn. “What do you need, Flynn?”

He hands him one of the discs and its mount. “Get Alan set up. I’ll do Lora.”

Alan_1 glances at him. “What do you need me to—?”

Tron meets his eyes again, just briefly. “Stand with your back to me,” he says, and Alan_1 complies. Tron activates the disc mount for placement with one hand. “I’m applying the disc mount to your back now,” he explains. “It will latch onto your clothing, and you might feel a slight pulse.” Alan_1 nods as Tron does this, and only flinches a little as the mount settles itself.

He turns the disc over in his hands. “I am now giving you your identity disc. Everything you do or learn on this system will be imprinted on this disc. It is your first defense in an emergency. Guard it as closely as you can. Do you understand?”

Alan_1 takes a moment to answer, but when he says “Yes,” his voice is confident and clear.

“Then here is your disc, Alan_1. It will activate and synchronize when I place it on the mount.” He hooks the disc onto the mount and locks it gently into place. A slight shudder runs through Alan_1, and then the disc’s inner ring of light illuminates. The disc is live and synchronized.

“That was—something else,” Alan_1 says, turning around. “But—thank you for your help, Tron.”

Tron nods. “It was my honor, Alan_1.”

He rubs the back of his neck with one hand, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You can just call me Alan, you know. Lora, too. If it’s easier for you, that is.”

“I—” Tron stares for half a micro, it seems, then blinks and recovers himself. “That would be—thank you. Alan.” The name without its unique designator feels strange in his mouth; he tries not to let his discomfort show on his face. But Alan has already turned his attention back to Lora, whom Flynn is currently outfitting with her disc.

As Flynn locks her disc into place, the same small shudder runs through her, and Tron sees the telltale blue flash in her eyes that indicates synchronization. She blinks, then turns to Flynn. “Is it supposed to feel that strange?” she asks.

“A little bit,” Flynn replies. “It’s the sync with your disc that you’re feeling. From now on, it’ll happen every time you enter the system, but I’ve found the feeling tends to get lost in the disorientation of digitization.”

Alan sighs. “Is it weird that I was almost able to follow all that?”

“Not in the slightest,” Flynn tells him with a grin.

“That’s what I was afraid of.” Alan rubs his forehead with one hand. “So when’s this grand tour of yours supposed to start?”

“We can head up to the roof in a minute, but before I forget—I need to update your permissions, both of you.”

“What does that mean?” Lora asks.

“Well,” Flynn says, “right now, you guys are just designated in the system as basic Users. You can access pretty much any code on the Grid, but the kinds of changes you can make are limited. Turn around, please, Alan.” Alan turns, and Flynn taps the center of his disc, opening a limited readout of Alan’s data. “If y’all are gonna be helping me build stuff in here, you’re gonna need more access than that.”

“Which means what, exactly?” Alan asks.

“I’m making you both sub-admins,” Flynn replies. “You’ll be on the same kind of level as Clu and Tron, except with a User’s permissions instead of a program’s.” He taps a few things in Alan’s disc, then closes it out. “Done. Lora, you next.”

As Flynn makes the necessary changes to Lora’s disc, Alan frowns, then glances at Tron. “Is all of this as weird for you as it is for me?”

Tron considers the question, then answers, “I will admit, I was… startled by Flynn’s message. I didn’t expect him to bring Users to the Grid so soon. But if he wants you both here, and wants you to help, then I imagine he had a good reason for doing what he did.” Alan’s expression is still troubled, though. Tron continues, “It is—strange, meeting you. Alan… my User. But… I cannot say that I regret meeting you, as strange as it is.”

A smile crooks up the corner of Alan’s mouth. “I can’t say I regret meeting you, either, Tron. Thank you.”

And then Flynn finishes altering Lora’s disc, and calls for them to follow him up to the roof, where they should be able to get hold of an aircraft and begin the tour of the Grid. Tron and Alan exchange a glance, and Tron feels a sort of understanding pass between them. They’re doing this for their friend, Flynn, for all that it is in many ways a flight of fancy. As Tron follows Alan up the stairs to the roof access, he feels a blossoming hope within himself. This is the start of something new, and he can’t wait to see what this future with Alan and Lora will lead to.

[the-scifi-blob]

piece of a Penumbra Podcast fic!

opposite of a meet-cute (meet-heist?), aka Buddy & Vespa's origin story

just the first two scenes, written while procrastinating on studying

*

“Don’t pout, darling. It’s unbecoming.”

“You—“ Vespa’s so mad she can barely get the words out. Her whole face is likely red by now, and she can feel the handle of her dagger against her hip, her pulse racing frantically beneath it. “You stole from me, you – you big—“ She stutters on her words, trailing off. 

“Big what, dear? Hurry up now, we haven’t got all day.”

Across the dirty bar table, Buddy Aurinko taps her fingers against whiskey-stained wood. Her nails are perfectly manicured, and if Vespa glances up, she’ll be sure to see Buddy’s dark-red-rouged-lips quirked upward in amusement. 

The woman is dangerously perfect. She reminds Vespa of that Saturnite movie star (what was her name? Heplin? Auburn?) who’d starred in the first and last romantic comedy she’d ever watched, back on Ranga five years ago. The actress had been in her heyday at the time, with wide doe-eyes and curling hair, but Vespa hasn’t really kept up with her career since. There are no movie theaters in Outer Rim prisons, after all. 

Besides, it’s not like Vespa has any time for movies these days. Or dangerously perfect women.

“You know, I really thought you’d be able to use that mouth of yours more creatively.” Buddy leans forward, her wavy red hair falling into her left eye. “You certainly weren’t holding back last night.”

Her single visible eye glimmers in the light. The bar they’re sitting in has dirty lightbulbs hanging from the ceiling, a cheap attempt at decor, but when Buddy Aurinko leans forward, the glow catches on the curves of her face, and makes her red hair look like flames. 

“That’s–” Vespa feels her face heat up. Goddamnit. This situation really isn’t doing any favors for Vespa’s cardiovascular health. She gives her thigh a hefty snap-out-of-it pinch under the table. “Stop trying to distract me, you thief!”

“Thief? That’s a rather mighty accusation.” Buddy leans back, and the effect disappears; the dim bar lighting throws half her face into shadows. The other half pulls into a smirk. “This wouldn’t be a continuation of yesterday’s roleplay, would it? Handcuffs aren’t usually my cup of tea, but I’m willing to make an exception if–”

“My score!” Vespa shouts too octaves too high. “You took my score after we had sex last night!”

Around them, the few tables peter off into a shocked silence. The smile slips off Buddy’s face. 

This whole thing has been a huge mistake. Last night, Vespa had been sitting at her usual dingy underground bar after work, sipping her usual disgusting beer from a red-rusted metal cup. (Everything tastes a little like rust on Mars. Even after a month, Vespa’s still not used to it.)  

Then a shadow had appeared to her right, and years of training had her fingers darting to the butcher’s knife hidden at her belt – until she’d turned, and almost spit her beer onto the most striking red hair she’d encountered. Buddy Aurinko’s hair, tied into an updo, had looked like fire. Even after months on this rusted-over desert of a planet, the view was welcome.

Strangely familiar, too, although the nagging deja-vu was quickly shunted to the back of her mind.

“Are – are you looking for something?” she’d stuttered at the woman, face flaming.

“Isn’t everyone?” Buddy had drawled, leaning in as her fingers danced little patterns on Vespa’s chair. “What are you looking for, gorgeous?” 

One thing had led to another. All of it a huge mistake. Vespa’s fatal flaw, apparently, is beautiful and mysterious women. She’d rolled awake the next morning to an empty bed and piano score missing from the floor beside her mattress, a face-down business card in its place. Same time, same place? it had read. 

She’d flipped the card. Aurinko Correctional Facilities, and the memories had come pouring back: the alarms going off, the click of her cell door unlocking, the fan of red hair she’d followed to a tenth floor fire escape, and then finally to the outside world. 

She’d placed, with sudden dread, exactly where she’d met Buddy Aurinko the first time.

The prison warden’s daughter. The one who’d pulled the Aurinko Correctional Facility alarms and masterminded the prison break of a lifetime. The unlikely source of her freedom -- who had somehow, strangely, tracked her all the way to this Martian dumpster. 

“Give it back,” Vespa growls. Well–-tries to growl, and hopes her voice doesn’t sound too much like a petulant whine. 

“Careful, Ms. Ilkay.” Immediately, Buddy’s face is more guarded. “An underground bar in the Cerberus Province isn’t a good place to draw attention. This place is crawling with thieves and criminal runaways.” Her eyes are still shining as they skim the bar’s crowd. She’s elegant as ever, but Vespa spots the miniscule tensing of her shoulders. Vespa hasn’t spent years as an assassin, in the old life she’d left behind, without being able to catch every one of her opponents’ tells.

“Guess we fit right in, then,” Vespa grumbles, slumping lower in her seat. 

“Depends how you read things. I’m the warden’s daughter, and I let you walk. So you’re not really a runaway, are you? And I don’t typically charge for my services, but.” She clicks her pristine nails against the tabletop again. “I’ll consider that score your gift of gratitude. I’m quite a fan of piano compositions.”

“Giving me my freedom is not a service. I don’t owe you my music.”

“Oh, not for that!” Buddy clicks her tongue. “I’m no Board of Fresh Starts body trader. Lives aren’t for sale.” Her fingers inch forward again, tapping a rhythm on the table by Vespa’s elbow.  “No, the score is an advance payment for what I’m about to give you.”

“And what exactly would I want from a solar planet brat?”

“A job,” Buddy says.

Vespa blinks at her. “What.”

“A job. You’re a good medic, from what I’ve seen over the past few months. You’re smart—enough to see past all my father’s tricks at the Aurinko Correctional Facility. Plus you’re a specialized assassin from Ranga, which means you know how to fight. Even if I haven’t seen you in action.” In the strange lighting, Buddy’s lips twist into something that could be mistaken for disappointment. “You’re bored at your current job, aren’t you? I’d be bored if I were a trained assassin who had to sit around nursing people’s hangovers all day.”

“...You’ve been following me?”

“Of course! What type of crime boss would I be if I didn’t scout my talent?”

“You.” Vespa scoffs. “A crime boss.”

“I’m recruiting you to be my partner in crime, darling, not a parrot.”

“Look.” Vespa sighs. “I don’t know what joke you’re trying to pull, but the Cerberus Province isn’t a place for somebody like you.” She looks pointedly at Buddy Aurinko’s manicured nails, and her silk dress that screams Venus craftsmanship. “It’s dangerous to stay out here too long, and not just because there aren’t any radiation shields.” She swallows, looking away from the woman in front of her, who’s likely spent her life in shimmering places vastly different from the Martian desert outskirts. “Go home, okay? That’s the best advice I can give you.”

It’s the wrong thing to say. Immediately, Buddy’s eyes darken. She lifts up the hem of her silk dress, revealing a black strap along her thigh, and a string of knives and handguns. That’s hot, Vespa thinks, then immediately squashes down the thought like it’s a wayward beetle. “Well. It’s a good thing I take advice about as well as a cat takes to water. I don’t appreciate condescension, Vespa.” She lets the dress drop, morphing back into a wealthy socialite. “Seeing as I enjoyed last night, though, I’ll forgive you this once.” Rising from the table, she throws another business card down on the table. “We’ll continue this conversation in two days. Someplace less crowded.”

“I haven’t agreed to anything,” Vespa says, when she finds her voice again.

“Not yet. You’ll find that I can be very persuasive, darling.” Buddy winks, then turns, the dress swishing and sparkling and turning heads behind her. It takes another two minutes after her disappearance for Vespa to shake herself from stupor and down the rest of her lukewarm beer.  

Another five to realize that she’d forgotten to demand her piano score: the entire reason she’d dragged herself here for a dangerous second dose of Buddy Aurinko.

*

Life in the Cerberus Province is… well. It’s life, which means most days are no better than a pile of Martian rabbit shit. 

Vespa works at one of the government-underfunded pop-up clinics at the edge of town. It’s as terrible as it sounds; she spends her time bandaging up the bar-fight wounds of drunk thieves in their sixties, and doing her best to avoid their whiskey breath while she works. Sometimes, the screams of runaways from the Board of Fresh Starts will pierce the air – moments before they come barreling past security and into the clinic, their filtration bracelets flashing red, bodies already half-melted by radiation. 

She isn’t allowed to touch the Board runaways. Government policy. 

At night, she returns to a small two-room apartment, where her mattress sits in the opposite corner from the kitchen stove, and a door on the left wall opens to a tiny bathroom. It’s small, the heating scarce, and there’s a bar downstairs whose noise spills through the walls at night. The rent is atrocious. But it’s still a room in a concrete building, far enough underground to avoid the worst of the solar radiation. 

Living like this, she’ll last another five years. Probably.

Sighing, Vespa toes off her shoes at the apartment entryway. Red dust puffs into her face. She coughs it out. “Stupid desert,” she mutters under her breath. 

The eggs, she discovers when she pulls them from the fridge and tries to crack them into a frying pan, a half-hearted attempt at dinner, have started to fry in their shells. A white lump flops into the vegetable oil. “Stupid radiation,” Vespa mutters. She pulls a dagger from the scabbard at her hip, stabbing at the mess until it bursts. 

As she cooks, she can feel the edges of the card Buddy had left on the bar top digging into the front of her thigh through the fabric of her pocket. It feels heavier than paper ought to be, but Vespa thinks maybe that’s just because she still can’t get those stupid shimmery eyes and flaming red hair out of her head. 

Aurinko Correctional Facilities, the business card reads in a sleek sans serif typeface—but Buddy has scratched out the printed text with blue ink, and written in the margins, in a loopy cursive messier than Vespa would have expected: welcome to the Aurinko crime family. There’s an address underneath, and then a time. Tomorrow, 8pm.

When she’d first read it, Vespa had noted the strange way Buddy Aurinko wrote the ‘f’ of family—the end of the letter curling leftward in a little scroll-like spiral. 

It’s a stupid thing to notice. 

Ten minutes later, Vespa is seated on the floor beside her mattress, spearing pieces of scrambled egg with her dagger. “Stupid eggs,” she mutters when a piece flops onto her shit-green army pants. She daggers it and pops it in her mouth anyway. It tastes  metallic, which should trouble Vespa more than it does. 

Radiation sickness is inevitable in the Cerberus Province. Vespa knew this, but her stubborn ass had still jumped onto the first ship to Mars after the mass breakout from Aurinko Correctional Facilities — courtesy of Buddy Aurinko, self-proclaimed rebel and daughter of the warden. After ten years in that psychological hellhole, she’d been desperate to get as far away from the Outer Rim as possible.

Part of her wonders what she’s even trying to do here. It’s not like she’s accomplishing much with her freedom: Just work and household chores and more work, in a dry and endless cycle. Averting her eyes from radiation burns and blood filtration bracelets when she’s at the clinic. Turning into a lovely solar radiation slow-roast when she’s at home. She didn’t grow up with any far-fetched romantic aspirations for her own life, but still … her ten-year-old self would probably scoff at the life she’s leading now. 

If only her father could see her. 

As soon as the thought crosses her mind, nausea grips her stomach. She puts her plate down, taking deep breaths until it subsides. 

It’s been over a decade since she’s last seen him. She hasn’t once gone back to the wooden shed they’d shared, at the edge of Ranga’s second largest swamp – although the shadows of that first home seem to dog her heels wherever she goes. You don’t grow up in the Rangian swamps without expecting to start survival training at age six and be dead by thirty-five. 

Now that she’s out of that place, with more time on her hands than she’d ever thought she could have, she can still feel the ghosts of Ranga all around her, like a grip she doesn’t know how to break. Whispering – often in her father’s voice – that even if she were to make it to the bustling center of the solar system, she’d feel no happier, no less alone, than she does right now. 

At least here, everybody calls her by her name. Nobody looks at her twice when she steps into the women’s restrooms, and nobody even bats their third eye at her green hair or tattoos. She’s spent her whole life yearning for this type of anonymity. Now that she has it… well, she’ll take what she’s given without complaint. 

A cockroach hops two inches from her foot. Nose wrinkling, she squashes it with the blunt handle of her dagger. Gross. Well, maybe a little complaint.

When she’s done with the eggs, she rises, scrubbing off her dishes in the rust-caked sink before setting them by the stove to dry. Then–only because the edge of the card is cutting into her thigh, irritating her to no end–she digs it out of her pocket, and flips it over again to the side with Buddy’s messy scrawl ruining the typeface.

welcome to the Aurinko crime family, it still reads. The ‘f’ of family is still as ridiculously frilly as Vespa remembers. And…Vespa isn’t stupid enough to trust a rich solar heiress like Buddy Aurinko. She traces the letter with her calloused left thumb, though, and thinks about that pesky leak in her bathroom roof, and the Martian dust she can’t seem to keep off her floors and furniture, and the way all her work days have seemed to blend together into an endlessly bleak stretch of time as of late. 

She’s got no idea what Buddy is really after. But whatever it is – it can’t be any worse than what Vespa’s already been through. Can it?

[arcadechan]

Hello, I'm absolutely in love with your work, and most especially your use of color!

Apologizing in advance if you've answered this sort of question already, but do you have any particular methods of choosing/applying color to your pieces? I've struggled with choosing interesting colors/palettes alot personally and would love to know if you have any tips or anything about it!

Hello, thank you so much for the question!

I've been sent a similar ask before, but I also don't mind talking about art so your ask is more than welcome. Plus you touch on an interesting point! The way you apply color can be just as effective as the color itself. FUN.

The ask I linked above talks about how I choose color palettes, so check that out if you're interested~. I'll expand a little bit more down below since you got me thinking about stuff

(One note though: I primarily work digitally, and I might on purpose or accidentally frame my tips around that mindset.)

It's time for a list because I love lists so much:

If something breaks the rules of reality but looks COOLER or fits your style or theme or you just LIKE it more....maybe do it anyway. Why not? At least see what it would look like! (Make a new layer if you're working digitally, sketch it out on some scratch paper if you're going traditional) (this is especially good with color. I KNOW not many shadows are that shade of teal but it just looks good jerry, sorry!) (Light sources are good for this too)

You are not locked into anything, ESPECIALLY if you're working digitally. If you don't like how something looks, try first to figure out what WOULD make it look better and then give it a shot (I say to think about it a little bit first to try and prevent the sketch-delete-sketch-delete cycle, but....sometimes you NEED that cycle too. Even deleted art still lives in the memory of your hands and experience. It’s just trouble to get stuck there.)

When struggling with colors, look to simplify. Maybe do more pieces with JUST flat colors, see if that doesn’t help your palettes. You will find your renders more appealing if you start with a base you like, and even if you don’t like your renders…you’ll have a base you like, and that’s good enough! Flat color art is COOL. Knowing when NOT to add detail is just as masterful as knowing when and where to

When it comes to something you're struggling with, look to other artists. That's part of why I'm very happy to answer asks like this - it's good to remember you don't have to come up with every answer yourself. Even if you can't ask directly, there's a lot to learn just from...looking at art. What inspires you? What looks cool, or appealing? What solves a problem you've been struggling with? 

For example, going back to color, you learn early in digital art that a purple/blue layer on multiply (or you know, other colors, but it's an example) can be a quick and easy way to do some shadows. and it is! I use it even today! But I never really liked it. So I started struggling with shadows. So I started looking to other art for inspiration. I've just always liked vibrant colors and watercolor as a medium, so...I started trying some things with that as my inspiration point.

I began applying shadows with watercolor brushes and wash brushes, I started using teal and aqua for shadows on top of a thicker magenta base. I started doing rim-lighting (boy oh boy rim-lighting). I started pushing and pulling colors, adding layers like with colored pencils. I started using more glow dodge layers, a separate layer for more opaque hard light and less opaque blooms; making pieces brighter instead of darker. I STARTED. Doing things I just LIKED more, and found out that hey…..some of it works. Some of it sticks. 

There’s a lot of advice out there on how to overcome artblock; and while I know that isn’t the exact nature of this question, from my own experience I’ve usually found I hit an artblock when there is a specific THING I am struggling with (for a long time it was feet. Right now it’s shoulders, necks, and noses. For you, perhaps it’s color). Whenever I hit this point there are a few easy things I try and lately it’s been working out.

I start by stopping drawing. I go out and get inspired again. Reading, watching animation, going out and seeing nice scenery in some good lighting, looking at other artists’ work…I take my mind of my own stuff and refill it with Good Juice for Creatives

I wait. I wait until my hands itch and I just gotta draw again. I wait until I have at least ONE thing I know I want to draw or try (like a new brush or challenge or IDEA)

When I start drawing again, I take it easy. Sketching in the sketchbook, drawing fanart or oc’s, not trying to come up with too much from scratch. The break we took earlier at least gives me enough energy and want-to-draw to power through the struggle of any remaining artblock

When you’re learning…there can be a frustrating SLOWNESS to it. And with art, well. It’s tricky. You’re training your eyes, hands, and mind on something…almost completely subjective. That’s why I keep coming back to studying things you like! Not only does that make for a more enjoyable experience…well. When I was in college, my art teacher told us to “trust your gesture”. 

When you are actively doing or studying art, you’re building a mental catalog. When you’re LIVING you’re doing this too! That’s where trust your gesture comes into play. You know colors you like when you see them. Trust the colors you like to be some of the colors you can use. Trust some of the things you like to be things you can learn from. A lot of art will come more naturally when you say “I know I can do it this way…but I WANT to do it this way”. 

And that’s why so much of my art is Like That.

[where-fantasy-meets-reality]

“We’re Not Promised Tomorrow.” Chapter 11 “The Briefing Room.”

Masterlist            Chapter 10 

Pairing: Obi-Wan x O.C. 

Word Count: 6.2 K

Warnings: The end of this chapter is very angsty and dark in my opinion. Physical abuse. Taunting. Canon-type violence. 

A/N: Hi everyone. Normally I would have updated my other story sooner but I am under the weather with Rona (for the second time) and I just don’t have it in my to write. This story is already written, so the chapters just have to be updated. So, for a little this one might receive more updates. This chapter begins one of the stories bigger arches that will carry on for a couple of chapters, it's a good one. Some of it will defiantly get dark but I always try to put that in the warnings. As always, thank you to everyone who supports the stories, it always greatly appreciated. 

- - - - - - - - - - - - - 

ObI-Wan sat on his meditation pad in his apartment. He had finished his nightly ritual and was now watching the scene outside his extremely large apartment window. Speeders and shuttles raced too and fro, their lights reflecting off of one another. In the distance, as far as the eye could see, buildings touched the sky, reaching past the clouds.

The city was dark, the inky blackness of night spreading across the sky. Clouds and light pollution made the beauty of space that lay beyond the city-wide planet.

Stoically, he was looking for something as he scanned the skyline.

It was late in the evening, 10:00 P.M.

Emily had not returned home from her mission yet. He knew the planet that they were headed to was in the outer rim, but it was also supposed to only be a standard day mission. Once the new leader was effectively sworn in and everything was secure, the Jedi could leave.

He had been fine all day until now that is. After he had watched her shuttle depart, he returned to his apartment to continue some of his leisure reading. Anakin had eventually stopped by around lunchtime and invited him to spar and work out in the Arena. They ended up having dinner together as well. Obi-Wan had asked him if he wanted to meditate with him but he said he had a previous engagement. He surmised that it most likely had something to do with Padme, but he wasn’t going to pry.

He was grateful for Anakin showing up. His muscles needed the workout, they were becoming stiff from all of this sitting around. By staying busy with Anakin he was able to keep his thoughts from wandering and his emotions in check. Now, however, it was getting late, too late really, and there was no sign of her ship on the horizon.

He had checked the news before and after his meditation. The transfer of power had gone over smoothly and the planet was secure, so their mission had been a success. If that was the case then she should have been back when he was about halfway through his meditation session.

Sometimes missions could get held up by unforeseen circumstances. Or she could have gotten deployed somewhere else before returning to the temple.

He thumbed the comlink in his hand as he scanned the sky. He had kept it on him all day. She had not called. In a way, he was relieved. If she had not called it meant she wasn't in danger.

He was overreacting. She was on a military cruiser with a full company of Republic officers, two other Jedi, and multiple regiments of Clone Troopers who respected her and would defend her.

He had not heard of any hiccups or mishaps around the Temple as far as problems with spacecraft.

They must have been redeployed somewhere else. There was no shortage of problems anywhere in any galaxy. He would probably see her tomorrow.

He bathed in his refresher and sank into the comfiness of his bed. His body finally felt like it had the first full day of training in what felt like forever. As he drifted off to sleep he tried to silence the voice in his head that said something was wrong with Emily. He knew it was nerves, that's all, just nerves. Every logical, reasonable answer made sense. She would be home soon.

- - - - - - - 

He awoke the next morning at 8:30 A.M.

Sleeping in was spoiling him. He normally rose at 6 A.M. sharp to mediate before a full day of wherever the Force of the Council would take him.

He wiped the sleepiness from his eyes as he sat up in bed. He stretched his arms and neck, waking his protesting muscles.

He checked the comlink on his bedside table. No messages.

“Well, that’s good. She didn’t call so she must be back at the Temple, safe and sound. She is probably curled up in her bed, sleeping. See, you worried for nothing.”

He dressed in his usual brown robe and beige tunic and headed out to the mess hall for something to eat.

He read his book while he ate breakfast. He would occasionally peer over the book and nonchalantly look around the mess hall. He was scanning the room for any sign of her. Or Xira. Even seeing that brainless wonder Sorv would have made him feel better. If they were back at the Temple, then that meant that she was back.

But he saw none of them.

“Pure coincidence. They’re all sleeping. They did get in late last night after all.”  

After breakfast, he returned the books that he finished back to the library. He checked out some new ones that he decided to skip last time; if he had the time, he mind as well read them now.

He walked back to his apartment and sat down to read one about ancient cultures and languages and their influence on the Ryloth system. The planet was important to the Spice Trade and the Hutt slave rings. Therefore, any extra knowledge would be beneficial if he ever found himself on planet or on a mission surrounding either of those things.

He tried to keep his emotions in check while reading. But the more the minutes ticked by, the more restless he became. Eventually, he was just looking at the words on the page and not actually absorbing them.

It was nearly lunchtime. He hadn’t heard a word from her at all, and that was odd. He looked at the comlink on his tea table. Nothing. Even if she had gotten in late she would have either stopped by or commed him to tell him she was back, that much he knew for certain.  

One hour. If he did not hear anything at all from her in one hour, he would go knock on her door. If she wasn’t there, he would break his word and use the comlink. He had originally told her he wouldn’t call her, but this was getting out of hand now. Military cruisers full of Republic officials didn't just not return for no reason. If she wasn't back in an hour and she didn’t answer his transmission, he would take it from there.

- - - - - - - 

An hour later he was walking briskly to her apartment. Nothing had happened. Not a sound or a word had been heard from her. He walked with purpose but made an effort not to draw attention to himself; the last thing needed was gossip from other beings.

The walk to her apartment in the past few days had flown by, minutes melting into seconds. His nerves and fear of giving himself away, not knowing what to say to her, had made him want to take all the time he could getting there.

Now seconds seemed like hours. He wanted to Force sprint the entire distance and just get there as quickly as he could.

Eventually, he made it to her door. Apartment 5225.

“Emily?” he called out as he knocked rapidly.

Nothing.

He pressed his ear up against the door to see if he could hear anything.

“It's a metal door genius. You won’t hear a blasted thing.” He scolded himself sarcastically.

He knocked again a little harder and louder.

“Emily?......Emily?......”

“Maybe she was in her bedroom sleeping?”

“Emily?! It’s Obi-Wan, are you in there!?”

He outright banged on the door this time.

“EMILY!!”

“Face it you fool, she’s not home.” He leaned his forehead against the door in defeat. He pounded his fist against it in frustration.

He tried to use the Force to see into the apartment. He could feel and see no other energy or life form in there. The air was still and silent, the apartment was clean as a whistle and had not been used. She really wasn’t home.

This is what he was afraid of. He had been dreading not hearing from her and then coming over here to find an empty apartment. He was even more afraid to try the comlink. If she didn’t answer he would be left to assume the worst.

His mind started racing with thoughts and scenarios. Would he have to take a ship to go look for her? Would Anakin cover for him? Would he try to stop him? What was his public reasoning for caring about her?

Every scenario his mind created about where she could be was scarier than the previous one.

“Okay, I can check other places before I get carried away. There’s still the Arena, the Library, The Messhall, and the Greenhouse; she could be in any of those places.”

Yes, he decided he was overreacting. She wasn’t obligated to check in with him; they had never said anything about it or made any future plans.

- - - - - - - - - 

Obi-Wan walked frustratedly out of the archives. He had been to the Arena, the Greenhouse, and the Messhall. No sign of her. He had checked a datapad in the Library; there was no news of any problems in the system her mission was in.

To say that he was growing terrified would be an understatement. He still hadn’t tried the comlink. It felt too final. If that action proved to be unsuccessful, he had to make his next move very calculatedly; and he wasn’t in the mood to make a calculated decision.  

Additionally, he had given her his word that he wouldn’t call for fear of distracting her or bringing unwanted attention to the fact that he gave her his personal comlink. He would know that she would know that he wouldn’t give her his word lightly.

Out of habit, he told himself to control his emotions. Jedi are not attached to people, and this is why. At the first sign of a problem, all sensibility is lost and panic ensues.

He racked his brain. Should he go back to the places he went before and try again? Maybe he missed her last time? Was there someplace he had missed that she could be?

“THE GARDEN!” He set off for the rooftop garden that could be seen from Emily’s apartment at a quickened pace.

- - - - - - - 

As he briskly climbed up the stairs of the Grand Staircase he could hear someone shouting his name from above.

Anakin and Ashoka were at the top of the landing in the Great Hall waving at him.

He was not in the mood for this. He didn’t have the time, but how could he ignore them? He had already acknowledged that he had seen them. He decided to make it quick but polite.

“Hey, Obi-Wan!” Anakin said to his former master. He sensed Obi-Wan’s unease and he felt confused. He had called him over to share his good news and Obi-Wan was radiating confusion and unease. He must have taken too long assessing him because Ashoka beat him to the question.

“Master Kenobi, is everything okay?” The young Padawan said, sensing his unease as well.

Obi-Wan got a momentary grip on himself and clamped down his feelings. He was growing careless and he found it embarrassing.

“Yes, I’m alright.” He said, forcing a smile. “How are the both of you today?”

“Great. We were on our way to find you, we wanted to tell you the good news!” Anakin exclaimed.

He knew Obi-Wan must have not wanted to talk about it, or maybe he couldn’t talk about it. Obi-Wan never usually had problems and was a “by the code Jedi”. If he had a problem he would figure it out on his own through mediation or by seeking an audience with the council.

“Oh, and what's that?” He was pressed for time but manners mattered.

He could give things a minute or two. Maybe it would give her time to appear somewhere out of thin air. Things like that could happen, couldn’t they? Then his heart could stop beating like a drum.

“We just left the Senate building. Padme had proceeded with her incentive from the other morning like she said would and it was passed today. We just got back from the hearing. SHE DID IT! Now we can have safer and more secure roots for the supplies through core systems. AND, whatever Emily said to Senator Organa must have caught his attention because he proposed an incentive to have more medical droids and better quality medical equipment placed in all units and Republic ships to aid overwhelmed healers.”

Anakin beamed with pride as he told Obi-Wan what he and Ashoka had witnessed. His wife had done a fantastic job. He was so proud of her. They were going to celebrate this evening, just the two of them to mark the special occasion.

Obi-Wan sighed. They did it. Padme had kept her word. She really wasn’t like most senators; she was fair, honest, and kind. Emily had succeeded as well. He and Emily were supposed to accompany Anakin and Ashoka to that hearing this morning. In all his worry he had completely forgotten. He would have loved for the two of them to be there together, to share that moment of mutual victory.

“That is absolutely amazing! Congratulations to her! Well done! If you see her later please express mine and Emily’s gratitude and congratulations.” Obi-Wan genuinely meant it.

“You got it,” Anakin said with a nod.

“Where are you off too, Master?” Ashoka said, indicating her question to Kenobi.

Before Obi-Wan could answer, they were interrupted by Master Mace Windu.

“Master Kenobi, General Skywalker, Padawan Tano.” He greeted them all and bowed.

They bowed in return, making sure to show their sign of mutual respect.

“Hello Master Windu, how are you?” Ahsoka asked.

Mace Windu wasn’t much for small talk so he must have needed something.

“I’ve been better I’m afraid. I’m actually here for you, Master Kenobi.” He said, turning to face him.

Obi-Wan’s stomach dropped to the floor.

“Yes, what can I do for you?” Obi-Wan kept his expressions neutral, his Force Signature in check, and his emotions shut down.

“There’s a Holoprojection message for you in the briefing room. Before you ask me anything, I will not discuss it here, you need to see it in the briefing room. Now.”

Mace Windu started to walk away from the group but stopped and turned around to address the trio again.

“On second thought, General Skywalker and Padawan Tano should come too. But the three of you need to come now, time is of the essence.”

Ahsoka and Anakin shared confused looks with one another but Obi-Wan stared out at the retreating Mace Windu, giving him a thousand-yard stare. He had a feeling he knew what this was about, and he prayed he was wrong.

- - - - - - - - - 

“Play it again,” Obi-Wan said blankly, his hand stroking his beard.

His heart was pounding in his ears. Out of every scenario his cynical brain, twisted from years of war had concocted, this one was worse than all of them put together.

Master Yoda hit the play button. The blue light of the hologram message sprang to life, the only light in the room.

His stomach tightened with aggression at the image.

“Hello Kenobi.” Darth Maul said menacingly. His smug, arrogant expression came in crystal clear.

“Have you missed me? I certainly have been thinking about you an awful lot. I’m so lonely without someone to torture, and you didn’t want to play nice last time we met, you escaped my capture. Savage and I are just so bored, we have nothing to aim our sheer hatred of you at.” Maul chuckled menacingly.  His voice was low and smooth.

The auburn-haired Jedi’s eyes narrowed on the hologram.

“OH! But you know, we have made some new friends recently, haven't we Savage! Yes, yes we have! Now the torturous fun can begin!” He laughed darkly. When he stopped, a sickening glint of mischievous delight glowed from his yellow eyes. “OH WAIT…..I forgot!.....in fact….you know our new little plaything.”

Maul’s expressions were erratic like that of a mad man as he stepped away to make room for his brother Savage.

Out from the shadows, Savage stepped forward. He dragged someone, a woman. He threw her onto the floor with such force that the woman cried out in pain. Maul slanked around the back of the woman and grabbed her by the hair, rearing her head up, so that his mouth was next to her ear. The women cried out in more pain. She tried to fight Maul but her hands were bound.

Obi-Wan’s rage doubled once again at the sight of Emily. It boiled in him like no other emotion had ever done so before. He was threatening to give himself away and he did not care.

Anakin glanced out of the corner of his eye at Obi-Wan. Others in the room may not have known their situation, but based on Obi-Wan’s reactions that he could sense through the Force, Anakin was starting to see a bigger picture between the two “friends.”

Maul’s menacing expression glared through the hologram as if he could actually see Obi-Wan.

“Do you like her Kenobi? Isn’t she a pretty little thing?... She certainly is… In fact, I hear you're already acquainted with her! Oh, how FANTASTIC! My new plaything and my mortal enemy are friends! That should make our play sessions more fun, shouldn’t it Sovage.” Maul laughed menacingly. Savage just grunted stoically.

Maul then leaned in lower to Emily’s ear so that his face was almost touching her neck.

Obi-Wan could tell just from her expressions on the hologram that Maul’s actions sent shivers down Emily’s spine. He wanted to reach through the hologram and push Maul off of her and pummel him into the ground. When Maul spoke, it was so low it was a harsh whisper that barely carried.

“Now Kenobi, you wouldn’t want me to make any new friends, would you? Not when you and I play so well together. Just think what I could do with her. She would make a great plaything to hunt through the fields wouldn’t she, Savage? Maybe we’ll use her as bait, the winner gets to kill her…..after she’s been tortured of course.” Maul threw Emily’s head to the ground and stood up, filled with anger.

Obi-Wan could hear her head hit the ground. His heart had stopped as he took in the sheer strength that Maul had used on her.

“HAVE I GOTTEN YOUR ATTENTION KENOBI?!  IF YOU WANT YOUR JEDI FRIEND BACK, YOU WILL HAVE TO COME AND GET HER!!!!..... But, there’s a catch! Oh yes…there is always a catch…. especially when I am bored…. the game has become more intense seeing how you're so good at all of my other games. This time, I am not going to tell you where we are! You will have to come and find us all on your own!”

Obi-Wan squinted in rage at the holographic Maul.

“OH! I have another surprise for you as well. You see, I had to make sure that I left only a few witnesses, just enough for you to get my message. The other two gutless Jedi who were with her, they are on their way back to you. When we boarded their ship, little Emily so daringly sacrificed herself by trying to save the whole crew. Hahahahah. Silly, foolish, the girl thought she could take us while the other two Jedi herded the ship's crew to the escape pods. We were kind enough to let her know the whole ship blew up and her two friends abandoned her; left her behind to have fun with us, as a reward for her failure!”

Obi-Wan heard Emily whimper at the mention of the ship being blown up.

“I am giving you two days to scour the galaxy and come save your friend. If you fail to find her or fail to come alone, then she will die mercilessly while you watch.”

Maul threw the comlink that Obi-Wan had given to Emily on the floor in front of her and used one of his metal claw-like feet to smash it. Emily screamed in fear at his actions.

“NO!!” She tried to lunge for the bits of comlink on the ground but Savage yanked her back into place by the hood of her robes. Obi-Wan tightened his jaw as she was forcefully yanked back.

“2 DAYS KENOBI! FAIL TO PLAY CORRECTLY AND SHE DIES!” The words that came from the Sith were a growl.

Just as quickly as the hologram had sprung to life, the image ended and collapsed now that it was done. The room was suspended in darkness briefly before the lights turned on automatically.

Emily’s image was ingrained in his mind. Even if he did manage to rescue her, that scene would haunt him in darkest nightmares for the rest of his life, there was no doubt about that.

No one spoke right away.

“We can confirm that the cruiser that they were on has been destroyed, and was blown up.  All Republic officials and Clone Troopers are dead. Master Derprov and General Zerga have confirmed it, as they said they saw it blow as they were leaving, and all of our scanners and coms on the ship are registered as offline. They were shot down at 22:00 hours. The two Jedi arrived an hour ago and are in the medical ward being treated for their injuries.” Master Windu explained all his usual professionalism and seriousness present.

Obi-Wan felt sick. That was the time his feeling of “something being wrong” had started on the previous night. The Force was trying to tell him and he wasn’t even listening. How stupid of him.

“Did they happen to notice or overhear any indication of where they took her? It will be impossible to search all the star systems of the galaxy for her in its entirety. That could take several lifetimes.” Obi-Wan stated, stroking his beard.

Master Yoda and Master Windu exchanged sideways glances at each other.

“Go you will not to find Master Marblu.” Master Yoda informed Kenobi.

His head started to spin. It felt like the floor was wobbling under his feet. What did they mean he couldn’t go?!? Before Obi-Wan could react Anakin interjected.

“ARE YOU SERIOUS? Did you see that animal? He has to go, she’s one of us, SHE’S A JEDI! WE CAN’T ABANDON ONE OF OUR OWN LIKE THAT!” Anakin bellowed.

For the first time in his life Obi-Wan was thankful Anakin had never listened to him about butting in and losing control.

Mace Windu sighed, annoyed with Anakin’s usual antics.

“Actually, what we meant to say is that we think you should go General Skywalker. Master Kenobi’s history with Maul may cloud his judgment and could jeopardize this mission. He and Maul have had too many failed encounters.”  Master Windu said, eyeing Anakin and Obi-Wan.

“I sliced him in half once before. This time when I swing, I’ll gladly swing for his head.” Obi-Wan replied darkly.

That was not good….Jedi did not kill for justice….they only killed when it was absolutely nessicary.

Realizing how he sounded, Obi-Wan closed his eyes and took a deep centering breath with changing his position or trying to draw more attention to himself.

Before either of the masters could reply, Anakin intervened again.

“….Masters...with all due respect, I will gladly take this mission…..But I am not going anywhere without Obi-Wan. He knows Maul better than anyone. Plus, you saw that message. That… creature is nuts! If we show up and we aren’t with Obi-Wan, he might go off the rails anyway and just kill her for spite, defeating the point of the mission. We could send Obi-Wan out as the bait to distract him, making his presence on the mission worthwhile.” Anakin stated.

Anakin meant what he said about using Obi-Wan as bait and that he wouldn’t leave for the mission without him. He had seen the way Obi-Wan looked at Master Marblu at the party. He knew they had been friends since before he became his Padawan. It was the same look he gave Padme when he thought no one was looking. If this were Padme and he were in Obi-Wan’s position, Anakin would have taken matters into his own hands and walked out of the briefing room a long time ago. But he knew his former Master. He knew he wouldn't disobey or argue with the council, but he would. He would fight the council for his best friend. His brother.

Obi-Wan could have hugged him right then and there with no regrets. His challenging of the council might, for once, work in their favor. He opted for a brief smile and faint expression that said “thanks” that was aimed only at Anakin.

Master Yoda leaned on his gimmer stick considering Skywalker's words. He closed his eyes and everyone in the room could feel him lean into the Force, feeling around him.

“Hhhmmmmm….agree against my better judgment I do agree with Skywalker. Kenobi must go. I feel that the Force wills it. A small team of your choice will you take Skywalker.” Master Yoda said as he taped his gimmer stick.

“How many people do I get?” Anakin asked immediately, standing at attention, ready and pleased with the Grand Master’s choice.

“We will allow you to take 6 individuals. We will not spare any Jedi already out on previous assignments, you are limited to who is available at the Tempel.  Pick your team wisely Skywalker.” Mace Windu stated.

“Master Kenobi, Padawan Tano, Captain Rex of the 501st, Arc Trooper Echo of the 501st, Arc Trooper Fives of the 501st, and Commander Cody of 212th Battalion are requested, Sir.”    

Anakin rattled off their names as if he had been making the list the whole time the message was being played, scheming how he would do this mission if allowed. Anakin was always just going to do his own thing, always thinking ahead….Even if the council did not know that.  

The room was silent. The suspense hung in the air as Windu and Yoda exchanged glances.

“Request granted. You have clearance to leave immediately. I know I don't need to remind you that Master Marblu’s life is on the line. Work swiftly and productively and trust in the Force. Master Marblu is a key Jedi in the Halls of Healing and has kept a lot of soldiers from dieing and able to return to battle. Additionally, she is a valued Jedi in the field. May the Force be with you.” Master Windu said with a bow.

They all bowed.

As they left the room Anakin quickly started giving rapid-fire commands.

“Ashoka, go round up the boys. Tell them they are needed for a rescue mission. Do not tell anyone else anything you saw or heard in that room. Meet in hangar 3 in five minutes.”

Ashoka nodded and took off running.

Anakin turned to Obi-Wan before he could say anything.

“They were crazy if they thought I was going anywhere without you. The three of us are the best team out there. With your fighting skills and my flying skills and Snips; no one works together like us. Plus…..I know she’s your….” Anakin coughed, choking on the word he initially wanted to use but decided not to at the last minute. “...friend…..and, I picked the best Clone Troopers I know….”  

Anakin’s eyes were wide, conveying his unsaid emotions that he knew his Master would register. He put his hand on Obi-Wan’s shoulder.

“We will get her back Obi-Wan. I promise you we will find her, I can feel it in the Force. I will go anywhere in the galaxy that I have to. We will bring her home, Obi-Wan.”

Obi-Wan stood across from Anakin, Anakin’s arm on his shoulder. His heart and mind were racing; as if they both wanted to leap out of his body and run to go find Emily.

He should have halted her mission. He should have persuaded her to take Sorv to the council and he could have elected to accompany her on the mission instead. That way she could have been on that escape pod instead of Sorv; not that Obi-Wan wanted anything bad to happen to Sorv but if it was between Emily or himself being with Maul he knew which one he would choose every time.

And Maul. The fiend. How desperate and maddened was he by his hatred that he was attacking random Republic ships and taking hostages to draw him out? Well, it wasn’t a super stretch, he had done that before but they were civilians in a village. But now he was taking Jedi hostages? Was it arguably worse or an improvement? 

Had it been a coincidence he took Emily? He knew better than anyone that Emily would have done exactly what Maul described her actions to be; self-sacrificing. But still, there was a prickling feeling on the back of his neck that said something was even more wrong than Emily just being in his custody.

 Did Maul know he was close to Emily? That thought sickened him, she would be in even more danger if Maul suspected that they were close. He would know that any harm that befell her would affect him. 

But how was it that of all the republic ships, with all the various Jedi spread across the galaxies, Maul had picked that one?

After being lost in his thoughts for some time he realized Anakin was still standing across from him. He had removed his hand from Obi-Wan’s shoulder and was just looking at him, expectantly waiting for him to respond.

“I’m sorry Anakin…..I’m…….” Obi-Wan stumbled over his words.

He chose to take the rare opportunity to confide his vulnerability in his brother and let his outward expression falter for the briefest of seconds while his mind raced.

“I’m…..well I’m lost. Scared. Frantic. Angry. Extremely angry. Struggling. And terrified that the woman I love….the only woman I’ve ever loved, is in that thing’s custody and I have no idea where she is.”

Before Obi-Wan could respond with any of that verbally, Anakin stopped him.

“I know Obi-Wan…..trust me….I understand….you guys are close.” Anakin said as he looked him in the eyes with a conviction Obi-Wan had never seen in him before.

Obi-Wan breathed a deep sigh.

“Thank you Anakin…..for what you did back there…..thank you for taking me on this mission, for telling them you wouldn’t leave without me….I don't know what I would do if I had to stay behind.”

Obi-Wan was looking at the ground as he spoke. His emotions were all over the place and he was trying to do what he did best, stuff them down. He knew if he looked at his former Padawan, he might break down.

“Aaaahhhh you’d probably end up finding a ship and sneaking off after us or just outright sneaking onto our ship if I know you old man. You may play by the rules with everything else, but I’ve seen what you do for your friends.” Anakin said with a smile and wink.

Obi-Wan gave a smirk. That is exactly what he would have done if they truly told him to stay out of it and made him stay behind.

“But look, we gotta get going. So come on, Ashoka is probably at hangar 3 waiting for us with the boys.” Anakin said as he took off towards the hanger bay.

Obi-Wan walked beside him, matching his pace.

“Did the two Jedi who returned, General Zurga and Master Derprov, did they happen to say where they were going or what system they were in when they hijacked? Did you receive any further briefing?” Obi-Wan asked.

“......No…..you didn’t catch that? Master Derprov and the other Jedi, the Rodian….they came back unconscious…..and their coordinates were unknown when they arrived. I don’t know how Maul wiped their computers but he did.”

Obi-Wan stopped walking. 

He couldn’t move. His heart felt like someone was squeezing it, causing a stinging pain.

Taking deep breaths, he tried to be calm as he looked at Anakin, but he was failing. For being the lead on the mission, Anakin was way too calm and casual for Obi-Wan’s liking, especially with the odds they were facing. 

“Anakin. Do you mean to tell me that we only have 2 days. 2 days and who knows what timeline Maul is using, he could have started counting time last night, or when he sent the hellomessage, when he blew up the ship, or now, or 2 hours ago…..WE DON’T KNOW! AND, we do not know where they are in ANY OF THE GALAXIES? THERE ARE THOUSANDS OF THEM!” Obi-Wan was shouting by the time he reached the end of his sentence.

Anakin shushed him and pushed him down an empty corridor of the temple.

“SSSSHHHHH! Be quiet!” He hissed. “You need to get a better grip on it Obi-Wan! I get what’s at stake here but reign it in. If anyone sees this and they get to the council before we can get out of here they’ll pull you from the mission.” Anakin said in a hushed, harsh voice.  

He was right, Obi-Wan thought to himself. How bad was he being that Anakin was telling him to calm down?

“Okay, well no offense Anakin, your usual plan is to just rush in lightsabers drawn and hope for the best. I’m not exactly liking our odds, your in charge of this mission, and the clock is ticking.” Obi-Wan snapped.

Anakin pursed his lips. That comment stung a bit, but he knew what his friend meant and how different their approaches could be to things. He reminded himself that if he was in Obi-Wan’s shoes that he would have lost it long ago, so he dug into his Jedi training and choose patience. 

“Okay, if that wasn’t true, I’d be offended. But, believe it or not, I have a plan…..a halfway decent one mind you.” Anakin said, smirking.

“Oh, do tell, I’m all ears.” Obi-Wan huffed sarcastically.

“All I need to man the ship is myself and Ashoka. The boys will prep the gear and come up with infiltration scenarios for when we get there, wherever there ends up being. I’ll tell them to come up with multiple ones in case we find ourselves in an odd situation….”

Obi-Wan cut him off

“HOW. DO. WE. KNOW. WHAT. TO. PLAN. FOR. IF. WE. DON’T. KNOW. WHERE. SHE. IS?” Obi-Wan enunciated every word through gritted teeth as he spoke to Anakin.

Choosing to remain very calm, and casual, Anakin continued. 

“Ah, well that’s where you come in my friend. You have a strong connection to her. You are going to mediate till the Force shows you her and you can find out where she is. I don’t want Ashoka anywhere near Maul, not if he is like that, she isn’t experienced enough, but I need someone to stay with the ship and be the co-pilot, so you can focus on finding her. That is why Ashoka is coming….plus like I said we’re a team.” Anakin said with a shoulder shrug.

“That’s his brilliant plan…that is the wonderful plan that is keeping him so calm?... I have to meditate and hope for the best?!?” Obi-Wan’s eyes were ready to pop out of his skull along with the veins in his forehead.

Breathing, he centered himself and considered his words carefully. 

“Anakin…...do you mean to tell me you expect me to meditate and just hope I can find her? You do understand how much of a long shot that is right? She could be an entire star system away, multiple ones, in fact, that’s too far to reach through the Force and find her!” He was panicking. His voice was growing louder again.

“Well do you have anything better, because I don’t! I am trying my best here Obi-Wan! We have nothing, no coordinates, no access point, no trail, no informants, nothing! Like I said, I understand what is at stake here, but unless you have another plan, you're going to have to work with me.” 

Now he was becoming frustrated with his former Master. 

Obi-Wan closed his eyes. He was right. Obi-Wan didn’t have a better plan, so he was going to have to trust him. He was being emotional, which was not helping things any more than his overreacting was. 

Anakin reached out to him again. 

“I feel it in the force Obi-Wan. We will find her. You're gonna have to work for it, but we will find her. Plus we’ll have R2, so once you find her, he’ll get us there the fastest.”

Obi-Wan’s head snapped up

“R2 makes 8 that breaks your agreement with the council!” Obi-Wan said to him, becoming frustrated all over again. He was ready to lose it on Anakin.

Anakin just smiled at Obi-Wan and shook his head. When would Obi-Wan ever learn to fully trust him?

“No. The team is comprised of 6. Plus I am 7. And R2 is mine, so he falls under my 1 person. Additionally…..he’s a droid, not an individual, and Master Windu said they could only spare 6 individuals, which is what I’m taking with me. 6 individuals and 1 droid.” Anakin retorted, smiling smugly.

Obi-Wan shook his head…..” this was utter madness.”

Anakin just shook off Obi-Wan’s negativity and ignored him. 

“Come on, let’s go, we’re wasting time,” Anakin said, pushing Obi-Wan back out into the hallway.

Knowing he was right, Obi-Wan just prayed to the Force that all this madness amounted to something and they succeeded in their mission. 

The two men set off at a run for hanger 3.

@nanagoswife @transcending-time @sillynilly27 @janebby @the-clones-and-me @kirstenvldfan21  @thewhitedannimal​ @tamnight @ocfairygodmother 

[zoopine]

The Fall of Betra

Dancing spears of light lit the distant skies a cool blue and echoes of projectiles tearing up screamspace set the quiet heavens above to a field of blooming flowers. It was beautiful in a way.

I hadn't long now until the destruction would be upon me. It didn't matter though, I wouldn't be able to escape even if I tried. I wouldn't want to anyway.

They gave us plenty of warnings. Betra's first mistake was even thinking of usurping the Net at all. The planet had been enveloped in the frenzy of rebellion for years now and it was about time the Sedinimar had stepped in.

There's an irony to it, though. The Sedinimar came into power by taking over it's rivals. I suppose that's how it happens; something comes into power by squashing competition and stays in power the same way.

The rim city of Caldein sat stretched across the sky. Dull yellow lights in contrast with the brilliant colors behind. The city wasn't involved in the conflict, though it was bound to be caught in the crossfire as it was situated in orbit around the planet.

Caldein made sure to set itself apart from Betra before the combat started. It was always technically part of the planet, but politically wise operated mostly independently. Even if not in direct line of fire the fighting will still have it's effects on the city, though, as it's heavily dependant on the planets exports to function.

I got up from the soft grass with assistance from my cane and looked down across the far stretching blue-green plains. Distant cities raged in red fire, not set by the pillars of flame in the distance, but by their own citizens. Set in the panic of thousands trying to escape the ever approaching lances. At this point no one will make it out.

The usurpation started with just a few extremist factions, but almost as if their passion for rebellion couldn't be held by them alone it spilled into the general population. Soon the majority of the planet was on board, enough so that it warranted action from the Sedinimar beyond the previous warnings and threats.

In expectation of the inevitable conflict the Sedinimar sent out a fleet of ships prepared both for high atmospheric combat and glassing. Betra's waysender was shut down as to ensure the only escape for the planet was surrender.

The distant sky was suddenly alit with a ruby red. The doming had begun. With Betra's threats of war and terrorism, the Sedinimar must have deemed the use of the weapon necessary. Far away lancers switched from direct beams to scattered rays of plasma and the dark of night now the bright burn of ionized atmosphere.

It was likely that the capitol city of Vreasen was the target. By now the air itself around the city had likely caught fire and soon the effects would be felt even as far as here.

Another aerial vehicle shot through the sky above me, now having even less of a chance to escape. Caldein above was likely dealing with an influx of refugees, those who managed to get away before the glassing started.

The Sedinimar's actions now were the most extreme they've ever taken. They've used military force to stop rebellion in the past, but the doming of a Net world was unprecedented. Betra held only a small population though, just under a billion. But still, the backlash before would be nothing compared to what it would be now.

I could've escaped. I was close enough to an evac shuttle to be able to have avoided what now was inevitable, but I didn't. I didn't want to. Betra was my birthplace and it will be my resting place.

I've lived a long life on this planet. My life was one full of regrets: never did I start a family, never did I start the careers I wanted to and never did I really ever see the Net, but I lived it nonetheless. I've lived here all my life. Why should I leave now?

The lancers so near now shut off, but their hot glow was still visible in the ships that they originated from. The blue color shifted to a deep red, the doming wasn't far off.

I sat back down to give my aching knees a well deserved rest. They had served me well all these years, working hard tilling feilds and working farms.

I took a deep breath of the cool air; it smelled of sweet grass and smoke.

[jedijinxed]

Star Wars: Tales of Nar Shaddaa

Chapter 1: The Stranger

- So – Began Brita. - Where does the spice comes from?

- A desert planet in the Outer Rim. - Said Tam. – Wait… Look. All of a sudden, she ceased walking. She starred at the square ahead of them. It was spacious and looked empty, except for the silent standing figure of a slender cloaked man. He had been waiting for them, or so it seemed. When Brita finally spotted him, she sighed. “Not another one”, she thought to herself. - There you are. - The stranger said in a calm voice. They kept starring at him. He had white hair and yellow eyes, and he starred back at them patiently. Brita was not fond of waiting on her opponents. She quickly raced towards him, daggers in hand. He dodged her first blow and took a step back. - I am not your enemy. - He whispered as she attacked again, and again he dodged her. - Then who are you? – She questioned. - Who do you serve? - Nobody. He’s a lone wolf. - Said Tam, from a distance. He jumped away from Brita and faced them. He began to cough. He coughed loudly for a long seconds and grumbled when he was finally able to stop it. - Your friend has unusual talent. - The stranger replied. - I have no master, indeed. But it has not always been so. - A renegade Sith. - Completed Tam. -Indeed. I am Cade, by the way. – He claimed. – Nevertheless, I am light-years away from my past life. The Sith way did not thrill me. - Perhaps, Cade. – She replied. – What is it you need from us? - There is someone I need you to… interrogate. He might actually… interest you. - Tam was confused. She could not see Cade through the Force, or sense his true intention. He was a living mystery to her, despite his familiar face. Brita would not embrace another mystery, or at least she did not intend to. Nar Shaddaa was a disordered place, where ignorance could be a blessing and peace was actually worth a large amount of credits. - Why would we help you? – Enquired Brita. -Well. – He began. – Bren Kilian is a fascist. I am not sure about the two of you, but I like fascists better when they are inside a Rancor’s nest and I’m above them watching. – And they appeared to finally agree on something. - I am not a friend of the Galactic Republic. But I know Kilian. We were once students. - Kilian is a Sith schutta. He’s a piece in a political game. – Reacted Tam. - He knows things. – Sustained Cade. – Relevant things. More than the Duros pazaak player you just brainwashed forever. - What is he talking about, Tam? – Brita looked confused. There was an upsetting side effect to Tam’s interrogation skill. She did not fully understand it, and had never discussed it with her partner. - It does not matter. We are not safe out here. – Said Tam. And indeed, the square did not feel safe at all. It felt as if they were not alone, being spied upon by creatures hiding in the shadow. The starships kept on coming and going and the night sky seemed slightly clearer. The Duros pazaak player they had interrogated lied against the floor in the stomach-turning alley they left him. He woke up, unable to speak. Headed back into the cantina, only to find out he was mute and deaf. He enjoyed music. And cantinas, and Twi’lek massagers. However, he could not perceive the appalling noise of that hectic planet anymore. All was silent, and it hurt him. Sat on the bar of a filthyn cantina, he wept as another cup of jet juice was poured before him. The unbalance in his mind caused him to forget he had no credits on him. He was then taken outside by the security guard, and he attempted to speak. To use sign language. But his mind had been invaded. There was no real sequence to his line of thought anymore, it was all just loud silence. And he was beat up. He could not hear the buzzing sound of the baton used in his beating, but he certainly felt it: a gut-wrenching pain. And after a few minutes, the Duros pazaak player finally gave in. The pain was far too big; all the confusion had driven him mad. He took the baton from the guard’s hand and tossed it. He then pushed the guard against the wall and removed the blaster pistol from his belt. Taking a step back, he aimed the pistol at his own mouth. The guard shouted, but it did not make a difference.

[the-firebird69]

So I'm going to do that I'm going to convert my rebel and the conversion kits on the way now I have to order it but I want to convert the rebel and I got the kid I like and it says you just keep the parts but once you do you won't want to change back and it's not that much heavier it's like five times heavier overall and they do tell you it all the calculations are done so what are the kid I'm going to put it on and I'm going to do it on YouTube sensation video and I'll have hits on it and I'll get paid by advertisers and he says we'll probably advertise the conversion kit if it's a decent video which you probably will be there's no doubt it needs to decent worker, just a reminder he says the torque wrench is probably 100% required and I got one of those so it's no problem but he always says that you have to twerk it properly and follow the instructions and pretty much that's it and really he works good it's faster it's effective it looks slow but it is it's done right and you people don't know what it's like to in carpentry these guys work the butts off for me and I wish you could pay him more back then she's you know I had to undercut so much just to get anything any job at all and we understand that he poked in in the last sentence or two and it was a lot of work and very difficult practically nobody sympathized it was hell and people were trying to get him work the big bosses did said what's up with our people we told them okay and we find out what it is they're all stingy as hell don't want to do anything want to take money from the bosses it was how it was horrible we learned stuff the hard way

He says the rebel 250 is perfect for me sometimes I'm not bigger and I'm smaller I weigh like 135 1:30 and I have longer hair and it'll inspire females women and girls to convert the 250 or bike sitter similar size similar to CC and it is great and it really is a great bike at first it goes like 1:20 and you do the kid and it goes up to like 180 or 190 easily and it does too faster but I don't want to horrified people it's much safer the brakes are much better the tires so much better and the drive is much safer you won't cut yourself in half and mostly the rebel doesn't go fast and you're not going that fast but it handles the highway okay this is something that people don't understand either when you're driving one of these light cycles even the lighter ones that are 300 lb or less you're on the highway there's something has very large amount of centripetal force because the tire in the rim and you stay up I'm going to truck goes by you hardly feel it it's like you're on a 103 Harley literally that's what it feels like so he says I should start out with a conversion and then he'd like to see me do like a riding commercial even with friends for the conversion kit and he might put it up on the conversion company website and try and get it on television and I'm up for that too and we could do it like a commercial as to what life cycle riders do and like you know a couple excerpts of where we go you know like to work and to the pub and make some jokes say like I'm here already it's not real far but you know it's kind of the it's kind of the humor that goes along with it but really it's great for girls and and women it is terrific for kids too who are old enough to drive and have a license for a motorcycle and I'm all for getting scooter licenses going too there's a ton of motorcycle driver license companies out they need some here in Florida this place is just a dog it's terrible nobody cares okay DC can jam it tons of people say it whether your gifted or not we're not what a wonderful day it's a great day is trying to help me out and really it's it's just a lot of money I mean the numbers are huge I don't even know what to do it said you could buy some stuff and you can buy other things tons of people about some tons of people drove same motorcycles out into the desert we saw them do that too I'm going to get going on this and thanking him he says well thank you when it's you know it's done and the deal's closed and you got your stuff coming cuz not that it's not going to happen but boy it's a great idea and you probably need a little help to do it and women might actually help you like the Queen Elizabeth there she says it's done plenty but really he's a famous guy and for him to do it and to sponsor it is special and it's a newer rebel it's a 2019 so it's going to look really nice shiny and pretty and everything the colors match and the kit it's very slick it's very fast done very well and he said it's done by a giant but there we call them that he says like will and Bill but he's a different family we know the family too they're around sometimes and it's not Ajax

Ron

This is fantastic it's like a one-arm one-man it's like a gigantic one man marketing campaign I've got calls all over the place asking for videos from Lori's shop where women have done it and she's going to put a few up and they're famous women but really putting the guy up there is better but having them both is superb he can't get any better than that and he's like Tom Cruise okay this is just a real a real famous famous moment for me it says it feels real good and it's a nice activity during the day and it's for for us as well and it's for safety but really this is a great idea because women need it and people who are not huge and younger people really need something they can do and this size bike is perfect too we sound a lot of smaller bikes that are light cycles 250cc works real good and the Chinese pump out tons of those even though you have to get like a 300 it's a little bit better motor because you don't want to be going 120 you want to be going be able to go a little faster cuz sometimes the traffic really starts moving but boy and a motorcycle these days you'll be feeling a lot safer I'm really excited this is an amazing day I mean I'm getting a lot of calls just put a couple up and she says she's getting a headache this too many people calling you have to go and schedule it online she said she couldn't do that because people don't understand the instructions she's got a call center now so it's a shops even the old Sears places she's taking over she says this one right there at the Town center Mall he thinks and there is so she's going to look into it cuz I'm all might rent it out I don't see why you can't have a wide tire motorcycle they do custom shop stuff what is that custom shop stuff in town do it how the guys want it and he'll make a lot of money so we're going to look into both and try and help them out but she might do it she said she's going to do it right now and she probably will and we're talking to Sears a lot of thoughts by the way and they're barking at some stuff and not at others please says why not do a sampling of stores and we can try and work the kinks out we have it like 90% there before other department stores and other Walmarts and stuff pick up on it so he's excited he wants to do it and we're going ahead with it and Thor Freya taught him that one and Hera helps with it all the time and she knows how to do that too but really that's who they learned it from we're going ahead with this idea too I'm posting these up there and try and do it commercial for the conversion

Zig Zag