#i love the fact that it's those very fires that ignite his anger and illuminate the target of it

[a-passing-storm]

I need to get on a stage and, like, viscerally yell something along the lines of “I see it now, by the light of my burning city. You did this.” (Thinking about Aeneid 2.559-582 or so.)

[mikrokcsmos]

Evermore

synopsis; in which you can no longer ignore all the signs of your husband’s affair.

pairing; husband!kim taehyung x wife!reader

genre; angst, marriage au

rating; PG-13

warnings; infidelity, not so much a warning but mentions of Yeontan to help keep you sane yw

w/c; 889

a/n; happy angsty reading! pls keep sending more if you enjoyed! <3 this is a repost from my old account.

song to listen to; evermore by taylor swift ft. bon iver

It was currently November, though it all started in July, or so you think. Least, that’s when you first started noticing the signs. Who knows exactly how long this whole affair has been going on.

Gray November, I’ve been down since July.

Your whole body felt heavy due to all the bottled up anger, sadness, and despair you kept inside, selfishly trying to keep yourself alive amongst all the chaos and denial you dealt with daily.

It was the night before the 4th of July, you recall. You were supposed to meet up at the movies to watch the third installment of your shared all time favorite franchise. A movie that you booked tickets for together months in advance. Only to be left in the dark room all alone, the only light illuminated from the projector. Glancing down at your phone that emitted a soft glow, you let out a quiet sigh of discontent not wanting to disturb fellow movie goers around you.

From Husband:

Sorry y/n, won’t be able to make it. This meeting is going on for way longer than expected. I’ll see you at home later, don’t wait up for me, okay? Save me some popcorn, though! Can’t wait to hear all about it! Love you.

That should’ve been your first red flag.

Motion capture, put me in a bad light.

Not that he left you to watch the movie alone, but yes, that sucked. He’s done it before, though. When you know for a fact he was caught up in a meeting, or so you hoped, thinking back on it now.

No. No, it was a detail that no one would’ve picked up on besides you, and in fact, most people would just scoff at and say you were over reacting. He was probably in a rush to send that text, they would say. He didn’t have time. Yeah, okay. Sure, whatever. But you knew.

Especially since you made a pact not too long after you started dating that you would use your pet names instead of your actual names when addressing each other. Or, not so much a pact, but more so just an unspoken rule you developed out of a daily habitual use of said pet names. He literally hasn’t called you by your name in years.

I replay my footsteps on each stepping stone, trying to find the one where I went wrong.

It was engraved in you since you were a little girl to be the ever doting, ever loyal, ever loving, ever faithful wife. Whenever you so chose to be one. Lord knows you were never in a rush. In fact, it wasn’t until you hit your 5 year anniversary that he got down on one knee and popped the question. Yet, you were still surprised when it happened. Still not expecting it for another 5 years later, at the very least. But, Kim Taehyung had other plans it seems. Ever the hopeless romantic, you should’ve known. Him always being the one to talk about your future together, hinting at a wedding and a big family with a little dog. At least you were able to cross off two of those, you thought bitterly. Contrary to the gentle pats you were currently giving to the Teacup Pom, Yeontan.

As the months progressed, he became less subtle. The lipstick stains on his collar of a color that didn’t exist in your make up collection, the waft of perfume you would smell as he kissed your cheek upon coming home that you knew wasn’t yours. And yet, you were still in denial. Not willing to risk losing him, your heart suffered instead.

Writing letters, addressed to the fire.

The only solace you had, being to write out your aggression of the day onto a piece of paper that would then meet the kiss of fire you would ignite nightly in your fireplace and burn, each time hoping and praying for it to cleanse your head and heart along with it.

It never worked. And you always cried silent tears of misery so as not to wake your peacefully sleeping husband curled up with the Teacup Pom in the next room over who came back from yet another late night out.

You never thought you would end up here. Being that wife that would become the gossip of other fellow wives. Becoming the ever pining wife that would stand alone in the dark at two o’clock in the morning looking out the window and waiting for your husband to come home. Craving his words and his touch. Knowing you weren’t currently getting either of those. She was. Whoever she is. You had no clue.

And I was catching my breath. Staring out an open window….

You stared longingly at your husband who just pulled up in the driveway. Yeontan running around your feet in excitement upon recognizing the sound of his human’s car. As he went to step out of the car, an article of clothing fell out, one he was quick to recover and throw in the backseat. More importantly one that was very obviously, not yours. Looking around to see if he had been caught, he locked eyes with you in the window. His widening in guilt, yours crying unrelentless tears as you stared emotionlessly, arms crossed over your chest where your heart just broke for the last and final time.

Catching my death.

[jvngkook97]

evermore (ft. bon iver) with any member

Evermore

pairing; husband!kim taehyung x wife!reader

genre; established relationship, angst, that’s it.

warnings; infidelity, not so much a warning but mentions of Yeontan to help keep you sane yw

w/c; 889

a/n; perfect timing for V to get some love! thank you so much for the request, anon! happy angsty reading! pls keep sending more if you enjoyed! <3

It was currently November, though it all started in July, or so you think. Least, that’s when you first started noticing the signs. Who knows exactly how long this whole affair has been going on.

Gray November, I've been down since July.

Your whole body felt heavy due to all the bottled up anger, sadness, and despair you kept inside, selfishly trying to keep yourself alive amongst all the chaos and denial you dealt with daily.

It was the night before the 4th of July, you recall. You were supposed to meet up at the movies to watch the third installment of your shared all time favorite franchise. A movie that you booked tickets for together months in advance. Only to be left in the dark room all alone, the only light illuminated from the projector. Glancing down at your phone that emitted a soft glow, you let out a quiet sigh of discontent not wanting to disturb fellow movie goers around you.

From Husband:

Sorry y/n, won’t be able to make it. This meeting is going on for way longer than expected. I’ll see you at home later, don’t wait up for me, okay? Save me some popcorn, though! Can’t wait to hear all about it! Love you.

That should’ve been your first red flag.

Motion capture, put me in a bad light.

Not that he left you to watch the movie alone, but yes, that sucked. He’s done it before, though. When you know for a fact he was caught up in a meeting, or so you hoped, thinking back on it now.

No. No, it was a detail that no one would’ve picked up on besides you, and in fact, most people would just scoff at and say you were over reacting. He was probably in a rush to send that text, they would say. He didn’t have time. Yeah, okay. Sure, whatever. But you knew.

Especially since you made a pact not too long after you started dating that you would use your pet names instead of your actual names when addressing each other. Or, not so much a pact, but more so just an unspoken rule you developed out of a daily habitual use of said pet names. He literally hasn’t called you by your name in years.

I replay my footsteps on each stepping stone, trying to find the one where I went wrong.

It was engraved in you since you were a little girl to be the ever doting, ever loyal, ever loving, ever faithful wife. Whenever you so chose to be one. Lord knows you were never in a rush. In fact, it wasn’t until you hit your 5 year anniversary that he got down on one knee and popped the question. Yet, you were still surprised when it happened. Still not expecting it for another 5 years later, at the very least. But, Kim Taehyung had other plans it seems. Ever the hopeless romantic, you should’ve known. Him always being the one to talk about your future together, hinting at a wedding and a big family with a little dog. At least you were able to cross off two of those, you thought bitterly. Contrary to the gentle pats you were currently giving to the Teacup Pom, Yeontan.

As the months progressed, he became less subtle. The lipstick stains on his collar of a color that didn’t exist in your make up collection, the waft of perfume you would smell as he kissed your cheek upon coming home that you knew wasn’t yours. And yet, you were still in denial. Not willing to risk losing him, your heart suffered instead.

Writing letters, addressed to the fire.

The only solace you had, being to write out your aggression of the day onto a piece of paper that would then meet the kiss of fire you would ignite nightly in your fireplace and burn, each time hoping and praying for it to cleanse your head and heart along with it.

It never worked. And you always cried silent tears of misery so as not to wake your peacefully sleeping husband curled up with the Teacup Pom in the next room over who came back from yet another late night out.

You never thought you would end up here. Being that wife that would become the gossip of other fellow wives. Becoming the ever pining wife that would stand alone in the dark at two o’clock in the morning looking out the window and waiting for your husband to come home. Craving his words and his touch. Knowing you weren’t currently getting either of those. She was. Whoever she is. You had no clue.

And I was catching my breath. Staring out an open window….

You stared longingly at your husband who just pulled up in the driveway. Yeontan running around your feet in excitement upon recognizing the sound of his human’s car. As he went to step out of the car, an article of clothing fell out, one he was quick to recover and throw in the backseat. More importantly one that was very obviously, not yours. Looking around to see if he had been caught, he locked eyes with you in the window. His widening in guilt, yours crying unrelentless tears as you stared emotionlessly, arms crossed over your chest where your heart just broke for the last and final time.

Catching my death.

[kyberphilosopher]

Cerise

Those are people who died, died Those are people who died, died They were all my friends and just died.

Word Count: 5736 Warnings: Crime, Weapons, Mentioned Murder of a R/pist, Crude humor.

Jason’s friend and roommate, another Gotham villain, is ordered to return to Task Force X.

ce·rise/səˈrēs,səˈrēz/ [noun] a bright or deep red color.

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

Let’s open up our story on a colorful note: Fuck Amanda Waller. 

Nobody likes her. You don’t like her. Jason doesn’t like her. None of the characters in this story like her. Arguably, none of the characters in your present universe like her, either. There’s a reason why people call her “The Wall”. It’s because that’s what it’s like talking to her. And that’s what it would be like trying to deny the request she’d passed on to you in her letter. 

It weighed on your mind briefly as you walk up the stairs of your apartment building. By the third flight, the weight’s pretty much disappeared. Sure, there’s anger at Waller for violating your agreement, but it’s so useless being annoyed with her that it washes away fast. So by the fourth flight, the whole thing is settled in your head to completion. You’ll go back to your Suicide Squad- or a Suicide Squad, considering most people Waller selects are idiots. Then you’ll do the job, and walk away bing, bang, boom. 

You tip your head politely as if in salute to the older woman, Mallorca, who occupies the apartment across from you. She returns a warm smile that raises her prominent and wrinkled jowls, igniting the fire in her warm brown eyes. “You need me to do your laundry again?” 

Of course an angel such as Mallorca would make such an offer. It’s not a bad offer, either. Your dark, silver lined chest plate is splattered with blood all over the front. It’s nobodies blood that doesn’t deserve it, as per your agreement with Waller. Just some perverted little prick who thought with his dick instead of his brain with the wrong girl. She looked frightened, and you saved her, and since the prick had just hit 18 (a fact you learned after rummaging around his wallet after), you had permission to bash his brain in. Hence the blood splattered vigilante armor. 

The first time Mallorca had seen such a sight, she had no reaction whatsoever. You weren’t sure what else you were expecting from an old woman living in a back alley apartment building, but it certainly wasn’t that. She offered no shock to your red masked, blood stained roommate either. Mallorca is simply an otherworldly being. And is that cocaine you see on the collar of her shirt?

“I got it,” you throw in return, rounding the corner so she’s at your back, and nearing the climb up the next and last flight of stairs. “Hey, is Jason home?” But when you turn around fully, Mallorca shows no intention of responding and has disappeared down your previous staircase. You clasp your hands against the sides of your thighs, “Oh, okay.”

You make your way up the final steps and stick a hand in a secret back pocket to fish around for your keys. You wince when you begin the rigorous task of tugging the lanyard free from the depths, which unfortunately fell near to your back hole. Then you slip the key into the lock and twist. 

Inside your apartment is near emptiness. There’s a couch, a rug, some windows, a TV, and to your immediate right is a small kitchen beside a hallway that leads to a bathroom and two bedrooms. You see the large plant you’d stuck in the corner is wilted and tinged brown, and the TV is playing some movie with the sound muted. No sign of your roommate, however. 

You toss your helmet and keys onto the couch. Then you make your way to the kitchen to search the fridge for a snack (that you know is not there) or perhaps some water. You bend down to peek an eye in, only to stand back up and close the thing. Then you pass over to the counter, and reach up to now peek an eye in the overhead cabinet. 

“You’re home early.”

You let out a short-but cathartic- scream, jumping as you turn around. You relax quickly. It’s only Jason, and your face changes from shocked and panicked to simply annoyed. 

The man at the other side of the room pulls his infamous red helmet from atop his face. Underneath is a classically masculine, handsome face with eyes that blend between green and blue. Black hair falls free in messy strands, accented by the one white tuft that you’ve claimed reminds you of a skunk. You tilt your head lazily in defeat. “How many times have I told you not to do that?”

Jason shrugs in his red hoodie and jeans, walking across the room to set the helmet on the coffee table. “Four. Any particular reason you’re home so early?” he flops himself onto the couch and kicks his feet up, crossing them tastefully next to the Red Hood helmet. 

You turn back around to continue the task of grabbing a cup from the top cabinet. “It’s been five, and I apologize for assuming I could do what I wanted in my own home.”

“If you have to ask me to stop sneaking up on you five times, you’re probably a really bad vigilante.”

“Fuck,” you mutter as you fill the cup with tap water. “That’s true.”

You turn around to face Jason. His eyes are already on you, illuminated by the blue glow from the television. They linger purely on your form for a moment, then they dip down to narrow at your armor. “Were you the one who killed that guy on the back of main?”

You furrow your brows and look up with pursed lips in thought. “Are you talking about the main diner or the main records shop?”

“Main diner on main street.”

“No, that was Azrael. This was by the records shop.” You raise the glass to your lips.

Jason snaps his fingers. “Oh, that guy. The kid?”

You nod and take another sip of the water. “He just turned eighteen, so you know. Free game. So, what do you want for dinner? Pick something good. I’m going back to the squad so I won’t be here for a few weeks.”

Jason’s brows furrow for a split second, then he perks up attentively. “You’re going back to the task force?” he repeats, though it sounds defeated and disbelieving. Distraught- is that the word you’re looking for?

“Yeah,” you shrug. “I got the letter-” you set the cup of water down and reach a hand into your pocket. Then you pull the crumpled envelope free of its confines and toss it onto the counter, “-today.”

Jason’s eyebrows furrow again. This time the movement is quick and curved and almost offended. “So, that’s it then?”

“What’s wrong, Jason?” you smirk. “Did you finally fall in love with your roommate turned friend? I always knew this day would come.”

“Uh, no?”

“Suit yourself.”

You turn back around and begin rinsing the cup out. Jason watches your back, something in his chest sinking. You weren’t his best friend. Besides living together, you weren’t really all that close. You were living a life a lot like his, running around at night as some antihero vigilante. The only difference was that you’d crossed paths with Waller and had managed to make it out of her system alive. Most antihero vigilante’s weren’t so lucky. Most of them died. But now you’re telling Jason right to his face that you’re going back. That you think you’ll only be gone a few weeks when it could just be forever. Sprayed with dark blood all over... what if it was yours?

“Actually,” Jason leans forward. His legs drop from the table and spread open, elbows resting against his knees with a hunched back. “Why don’t you pick dinner tonight?”

The glass clinks against the metal of the sink as you set it inside. Jason almost always picks dinner. Most of the time he chooses burgers or Chinese. Your apartments stove isn’t working, so eating from home really just means a BLT sandwich for the both of you. 

“Are you offering because you’re hoping I’ll choose that new steakhouse?” you smile.

“I’ll get you anything you want,” the man replies. “It’s on me.”

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

Jason meets you on the roof of the building about an hour and a half later. You wanted to go with him, since you’d say his behavior is different from usual, but he was very adamant about you staying in. Jason even encouraged you to go ahead and pick your favorite movie to watch while he’s gone. 

When you told him you’d decided on the steakhouse option, you meant it ironically. Between the two of you, money could be described as ‘tight’. Going to a new place like that would mean saving for a while. Furthermore, you hadn’t even given him your order before Red Hood was gone. 

To his credit, looking at him now, you wouldn’t change a thing. The first bite of the food is phenomenal. The second bite is just perfect. Jason must have mind reading powers to be so aware of your taste in food- you’d thought he never noticed. 

He gets a steak, as predicted. Jason loves steak. 

Gotham looks most like itself at night, a view shared between the two of you. Two sets of legs dangle over the side of your building, both of which are clad in heavy boots and armored knees. Jason had decided to go out as his alter ego- a fact he thought he could keep from you by putting his hoodie under his leather jacket. 

“I saw you put your helmet by the door,” you tell him. “I know what’s under that sweatshirt.”

“No you didn’t,” is all he says back. 

The wind tickles the back of your neck. It ripples through the air in lazy waves, making Jason’s hair ruffle. The white skunk streak disappears and reappears between the darker-than-midnight-sky strands. Behind Jason, the moon is full and lonely. Its only company is the two of you. 

“Oh my god,” you stuff your mouth. “This is so good.”

“Hm,” Jason hums in agreement, stabbing his steak once again with a fork in his black to-go box. It’s the next movement of his shoulder that catches your eye. 

“Jason, is that cocaine, or powder donut dust?” 

Jason glances over at you. 

Your eyes linger on the white splotch of something in the wrinkles of red fabric. “Because I asked you not to eat them since there’s only two left.”

Your face slowly falls to one of horror as Jason stays still. With a face of steel, he finally says, “It’s cocaine then.”

“Then?”

“Look what I got you.”

Jason sets his box to the ledge beside him and leans down. 

“Worst subject change ever.” You take an angry bite of your meal in an attempt to both silence yourself and to make you feel better. Unfortunately as you pull away from the bite, crumbs attach themselves to your chest plate and stick to your fingers. “Crap. Jason, your dumb food is getting shit all over my stuff!”

When you look over, Jason’s orbs are already on you. His eyes pierce yours, almost unintentionally daring them to look away. The skunk strands glow this close. He holds two things in his hands. The first is a small, brown pot you could balance in the palm of your hand, filled with miniature yellow and red flowers. Scarlet tulips, golden sunflowers, and blonde alstroemerias. In the other hand is a Blu-ray copy of your favorite film. 

“Oh,” is all you can muster out. 

When was the last time the two of you had actually exchanged gifts? You weren’t lovers, or best friends. You were just friends. It had to have been last Christmas, when you had gotten him a TV subscription for South Park and a pair of socks. Jason had gifted you a new bedframe that he later helped you put together. 

A big smile reaches your eyes and makes your cheeks sore. “I haven’t been able to find this anywhere,” you say, taking the movie from his fingers. Your voice comes out pure and genuine. “Thank you.” Your smile grows even larger when you cup the pot of flowers with both hands. 

“All of the flower shops were closed,” Jason explains. “Those are plastic. They won’t die anytime soon.”

At that moment, you swear you could’ve kissed him. He’s looking at you like this is all nothing, like he didn’t just drop big money on dinner and flowers for you. Jason knew what food you wanted before you did. He knew your favorite movie when you can’t even remember saying a thing about it. When had any other man or woman been so thoughtful? So romantic? So caring?

You glance down to the film in your lap. “I didn’t think you payed attention this well.”

Jason’s brow quirks upwards. Something flashes in his eyes as he adjusts his position, seven stories up from the ground. “What kind of roomie would I be if I didn’t?” he asks. Something tells you there’s a shyness blooming in that broad chest of his. Jason’s eyes flit downward to the blood on you, before his head dips back upwards to lock a stare with you once more. “You smell nice,” he states.

You look up at him simply. You know your eyes are filled with pure adoration, and that it’s showing all over your face, but you don’t care. Your red hooded, drug pedaling, bat wrangling, gun toting equal roommate is your favorite person in all of Gotham at this exact moment. 

Behind Jason, a small bird flits overhead with a flash of crimson. “Hey, look,” you pat Jason’s shoulder. His eyes follow yours until they land on the floor of the roof behind you. “I think it’s a robin.”

“I know that bird,” Jason scowls. “That’s the son of the bitch that keeps waking me up in the morning.”

“Hm?”

You watch as Jason swings his legs over the side and pushes himself from the ledge. One hand reaches into the back of his pants while the other searches his leather jacket pocket for something. After a few seconds, he produces both a clip of ammo and a gun, which connect with a click. 

“Ah!” you yelp, placing both the flowers and movie on the brick before copying your friends actions and standing on the roof. Jason hasn’t shot yet, but the gun in his hand is aimed right at the little birdie. He’s got a clean shot. His face remains neutral and unmoving as you take your place beside him. 

It’s a full minute, and the robin is still alive and intact. He nibbles on a little crumb of bread. “He looks happy,” you think out loud. The air of Gotham goes quiet up on that roof, despite the distant sirens, music, and people throughout the city. “Are you gonna shoot?”

Jason’s finger lingers over the trigger. Even the slightest of a squeeze would set the weapon off at this point. The balls of your feet move to and froe, anticipating the bang you’re so familiar with. But then Jason lowers the gun completely, and the robin flies away at the movement. “Nah. He’ll feel the pain I dish out in the morning.”

“Don’t be sad,” you nudge Jason. “He’ll be back at six AM tomorrow to wake you up.” You turn to return to your beckoning food on the ledge. “Thanks for all this, anyway.”

“You’re welcome,” you hear Jason respond. “Hey Y/N?”

Jason watches you spin until you’re completely facing him. He can see the blood again. How it’s completely standing out against the darkness of your outfit. You look powerful, yeah. And you look like the antihero you’re labeled as. But all Jason sees is a corpse of a... of a friend. “Yeah?”

“You’re sure about this Waller thing?”

“Yeah?” you reply, as if it were obvious. The stain on you is so haunting it’s easy to think otherwise. “It’s not like I have much of a choice. It’ll only be a few weeks. I’ll be back before you know it. Then I can show you this sick ass movie.”

Then you go back to walking towards the ledge to retake your seat. But Jason remains standing. He watches as you, the person he thinks of naked so often, get comfortable, your back facing him. And, despite your word, Jason has the sinking feeling that some Suicide Squad mission isn’t the only place Amanda Waller will send you to. 

This time, Amanda Waller will send you to your grave.

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

This was supposed to be out on August 16th, for Jason’s birthday. But the concept came to me too late and I spent too long on it. Anyway, here’s some symbolism for ya.

Tulips symbolize unconditional love. Sunflowers symbolize adoration. Alstroemeria’s symbolize devotion. The reader describes the plant in their apartment as turning brown, suggesting it may share a similar fate as the reader as plants go brown when about to die. Robin’s symbolize optimism, a trait the reader displays towards the idea of returning to the Suicide Squad. Robin was also a former identity of Red Hood. Both of which could be why Jason decides to spare the bird. 

I’ll go back and proof read this in the morning.

[writefightandflightclub]

Kiss me warm (Poe x reader)

Author’s note: This is a songfic request for @wowjeena​. I listened to three songs and took excerpts from the lyrics which inspired me (see excerpts below). I then inputted that into the random fic generator which is my brain, and this is what it churned out! I hope you like it. I wanted it to be fluffy but turns out I don’t do romance all that well without a side dollop of angst, so here we are! The song references are subtle but I hope the inspiration comes across.

Something happened / To this heart of mine / When I saw you standing / In the sun. (Something Happened by Paul Anka)

The moon above is sayin' / It's love, it's love, I know, I know it's love / Kiss me, kiss me, kiss me warm / Make me feel like I've been born / Hold me, hold me, hold me right / Tonight, tonight my love, tonight. (Tonight, my love, Tonight by Paul Anka)

Give me your lips for just a moment / and my imagination will make that moment live / Give me what you alone can give / A kiss to build a dream on. (A Kiss to Build a Dream On by Louis Armstrong)

Summary: Poe loves you. He knows this to be true. He just never expected to let you know over the comms during a dogfight.

Warnings: mild angst, peril (dogfighting, crashing).

Poe loves you.  He knows this to be true.

His love for you is certain, even though it might be news to you. Even though he has no idea whether you feel - or ever could feel- the same. Even though he’s never even kissed you. Held you, like he wants to. His brows knit together as he thinks about going down with the weight of that particular regret. He decides he isn’t going down with the weight of his unspoken feelings as well.

So, this is why Poe first conveys his love to you over the comms. It’s not ideal, of course. It’s out of the blue. Ill-timed. It’s probably quite distracting considering you are in the middle of evasive manoevers and shooting down TIE fighters.

Even so, the sheer strength of feeling Poe has for you is so irrevocable that in that moment, when he is convinced his X-Wing is about to transport him towards a flaming end, he can’t dream of letting himself be snuffed out without saying it. Without letting you know about the spark you’ve kindled in him. He can’t possibly exit this plane of existence before you know, in no uncertain terms, that he is yours.

“It looks like this is it for me, Black five,” he rasps into the comms, the force of his descent and the force of his confession dragging his heart up into his mouth as his engine refuses to stutter back to life.

“Dameron?!” you respond, your voice patchy, wrapped in static. “That’s bullshit- I’ve got you.”

As his falling craft begins to gain velocity, he sees you expertly swing your ship around, shifting your trajectory and veering nobly into the thick of the dogfight, trying to draw the fire of the TIEs.

But it does no good. He keeps flipping the ignition switch but there’s nothing. He’s flying deadstick. He can fly almost anything, but there’s not a lot he can do about this. He closes his eyes against the rushing of... everything... as his X-Wing plummets further.

He braces himself against the violently rattling cockpit to utter his confession. “I need you to know something. I’m in love with you, Five. I’m so kriffing in love with you. You are the stars in my sky.”.

How he longs to hear your voice. Just one more time.

But there is radio silence. He’s just monologuing. And the ground seems to be quickly rising, growing more and more keen to greet his cockpit. 

***

As it turns out, it isn’t Poe’s turn to meet his end, after all, and he makes it to the ground only minutes after his confession. His engine had finally sparked back to life in time for him to pull up, flying barely above ground.

The landing is harsh and lucky. But he makes it. Alive. And then he sits in shock in for a moment, just breathing. Unable to move. That is, until a TIE fighter zips across the sky in front of him, tearing him from his stupour. It’s night here, but there’s enough light from the moon to illuminate the enemy; therefore, they can see him too. He startles in his seat, his X-Wing’s defenses clearly down, but then, with elation, he notices your familiar ship in pursuit.

“Black Leader, do you copy?” your frustrated voice crackles through the comms as you deliver a killing blow to the enemy craft, sending it barreling into the rocks he’d narrowly missed himself. He sees a column of smoke extend into the sky and knows you’ve got the job done. He smiles in relief as you hastily, messily settle your ship down atop a nearby dune, the ship creaking and half-skidding down the sandbank as you jump from the cockpit and beeline towards him. It’s not like you to be quite so careless with your descent.

You’re shouting before he’s even out of the cockpit. He can tell from the way your mouth is moving animatedly and from your wildly gesticulating arms. The way you tear off your helmet and throw it away from you. You’re shouting before he can even really hear you over the rush of blood in his ears. Before he can calm the adrenaline and mobilise his shaking legs sufficiently to climb down the ladder and on to the shifting desert floor.

When he finally touches his feet to the sand you’re already there. Practically in his face. Poe lifts his helmet off, unmuting the barrage of... you. Asking what the hell that stunt in the air was about. He defends his manoever adequately -his brain hasn’t quite kicked-in yet but Poe could argue in his sleep- however it becomes clear that’s not the stunt you’re angry about, somehow.

Oh. That’s right. He just told you that he’s in love with you. Over the comms. And then he didn’t die. There’s the small matter of consequences to deal with. He often neglects to think about those.

“What the hell are you playing at, Dameron?” you spit, your face streaked with tears, tendrils of hair clinging to your face.

And then he’s throwing up his hands defensively at you as you prod him in the chest with a shaking but insistent finger and this isn’t exactly how he would have wanted this declaration to go either, ok? But it’s not as if he had a second to think it through, is it?

“Wait...” he realises “You didn’t know?”

In fairness, he hadn’t intended to shock you. If you’d made him guess, Poe would have been fairly sure that his utterly stupefied, puppy-faced expression whenever you came near him had been adequately conveying his feelings for some time now, actually. Everyone else on base certainly seemed to have noticed. Many of them make a habit of teasing him about it, in fact. Routinely. Especially Leia, of all people.

Regardless, given that you don’t seem to have picked-up on it -despite your astute powers of observation in literally every other situation, so help him- he concedes that his outburst may have come as a little bit of a shock. 

“No!” you exclaim. You fold your arms, jutting your weight out over one hip.

He rolls his shoulders back, becoming irked. “You know, you don’t have to shout at me. You could just tell me you’re glad I’m alive, huh?”

You rub your palms over your face, through your hair, dragging the tendrils away from your tear tracks. “I am. I am. I’m sorry. Of course I am. I’m glad you’re alive.” The anger eeks away from your body. He guesses it wasn’t really anger at all. Dogfights can do that to a person.

“You too, Five.” he says in a weary voice.

He thinks about pulling you in for a hug but instead collapses his legs and parks his butt on the incline of the dune behind him. He takes a moment to prop his elbows on his knees and hang his head between them in relief, his hand winding around the back of his own neck. When he sits back up, his palms are presssed together, his chin resting on the point of his fingers.

He looks up at you, still just standing in front of him. His eyes glow kindly, now that you’ve stopped berating him. He clicks his tongue in approval “I gotta say. Bravo, ‘cause your manoevers were really something up there.. I’ll have to tell the General that-”

“Don’t change the subject, Poe.” you interject stiffly. Maybe you’re not quite finished berating him then.

He flutters his eyes and looks down at the ground, feeling suddenly vulnerable. “Were we talking about something else?” He offers a fleeting smile. 

His eyes follow you as you slowly move to sit beside him, adopting a matching position. “Poe” you say softly, and you don’t continue until he finally drags his head up to look you in the eyes. “How can you say you... love me?” you trip over the words as if they’re preposterous. “We’ve never even...” you trail off. Kissed, he thinks you were going to say, because you lick your lips, and is it too much to ask that you were considering the possibility? “How can you say that to me?”

He smiles easily, broadly. That’s the easiest question to answer. And so he just looks at you, not even caring anymore whether he looks like a lost puppy. Not caring that his eyes are full of adoration even as he feels it change and bend his face. “Because it’s true, Five. That’s all.” he responds, matter-of-factly. His eyebrows descend, his eyes narrow in concentration as he dwells on a very particular memory. “Something happened to me that day. I don’t know what to tell you.”

“What day?” you press, eyes wide and expectant.

Even though his body is still wracked by adrenaline he feels oddly calm, sure. It’s so easy for him to tell you this now. Makes perfect sense to him. A small, steady smile blooms on his face. “The first day I saw you, standing there. Standing in the sun. I just knew.”

He did just know. It had been instant. You’d lit a spark in him, and he’d diligently kindled that flame ever since. That spark was now a fire in his chest, roaring and well-tended. Like a warm hearth, Poe Dameron was waiting to warm you, waiting for you to come home and settle your arms around him. He was ready whenever you decided to stop by.

But, of course, you have to insist on disagreeing. “That’s ludicrous. You can’t just know something like that.”

He chuckles to himself. “That’s what I told myself too, first-off. But -and, get this- after that moment, the moment when I knew, we had our first conversation, out on the airfield.” The words are pouring out of him, and it feels relieving. “Do you remember what you said to me?” He examines your eyes for a flicker of recognition. “You told me that the first time you climbed into an X-wing, you just knew that’s where you were meant to be. That it just felt right.”

Your face is neutral, your expression pinched. “That’s... It’s different. We’re not a ship.”

“Maybe. But just know, that you’re it for me. No-one else has ever, or will ever come close. And whatever you think about that first moment, you’ve spent the past 8-months proving me more and more right every single day. Which, I know must be infuriating for you to hear because you hate it when I’m right, Five.”

He thinks you might smile, but instead, tears start brimming in your eyes. You stand suddenly, arms folded, turning away from him. Oh; wiping your eyes. “This is... not what I expected to deal with today.”

Poe stands too, placing a warm hand on your elbow in comfort, even though he isn’t sure why you’re crying. Even so, he doesn’t enjoy that you are. Especially not if it’s because of him.

“Well, this isn’t ideal for me either you know.” he says softly.

“Oh really?” you say sassily and without thinking, flicking your head back towards him. Unnecessarily cruel.

“Yeah, genius. Because it’s not as if you’re saying it back.”

His eyes meet yours. Wondering if you might. Firstly hopeful, then crestfallen. Your radio silence continues. He doesn’t take it as a positive sign. Especially when a tear slips down your cheek.

He drops his hand from your arm and looks down at his boots, trying to spare you having to bear the weight of his crushing disapointment. Suddenly the fire in his chest feels like it is burning him. Maybe he has let it grow out of control.

“Could you... Do you think you could ever?” his voice is small, barely audible.

“What, Poe?” you turn towards him, gripping his hands in yours. Perhaps sorry for the pain you see in his eyes.

“Love me back?”

“Poe...”

He breaks your grip, waves his hands defensively, shakes his head. “No, wait, don’t answer that. I...”

“Poe.” you grip his shoulders, forcing him to look at you again. “On the comms. I did reply to you. I think my exact words were: I love you too, Poe Dameron, you kriffing idiot.”

He looks at you in utter disbelief. “What in the hell?! Then why the kriff are you crying?!”

You take his hands again. “Because I’m happy.” your face splits into a smile, despite the tears still cascading down your cheeks. “Because I’m also kriffing terrified.”

He grips your hands more tightly, his rough thumbs rubbing circles over you. “What are you terrified of?”

Your eyes meet his, gentle and honest. “I’m terrified to take the next step, because once I do there’s no going back, Poe. Because I’ve tried so hard, for so long, to keep my heart cold. To keep it so cold, so frozen that it can’t be hurt. But inexplicably, flyboy, you’re it for me too. You’re melting me. And so I’m scared because the only thing worse than never having you at all would be having you and then losing you. And, I don’t know if you noticed, but we’re in the middle of a war. Today, you almost...” You can’t quite bring yourself to finish that sentiment.

His hand raises to your face and he gently brushes a stray strand of hair behind your ear. He looks at you with the softest, warmest, most joyful eyes. He looks at you as if that’s the best thing you could have said. He’s kept this fire going long enough, waiting to thaw you. He’s so happy that it’s been working. Kriff to the war. That’s the only thing that matters to him in this moment.

“Just kiss me. Tonight, my love. Under the moons. On this blasted planet.” His eyes search yours. “I just almost died. So please -I’m asking you- show me I’m alive.”

“I... Poe, I’m sorry, I can’t.”

“I understand that you’re scared. But I know you. You’ve got this, honey.” He winds his arms around your waist. He pulls you closer until your noses nuzzle together, leans his forehead against yours. He sighs contentedly, being able to hold you like this. “Give me your lips for just a moment and I promise, I’ll give you something to build a dream on.” His thumb gently tips your chin towards him. He feels your body almost lurch against him, in something like defeat, your hands finding a natural position on his chest. “Baby, please. Can I kiss you?”

“Ok, Poe. What the heck.” you say, your voice soft and breathy, your whole body agreeing. “Tonight. Under the moons. Kiss me. Kiss me warm.”

He closes the distance between you immediately, and he smiles into the kiss as his lips press softly to yours, his fingertips brushing the back of your neck as you melt into him. The kiss spreads a warmth through you both which carries all the way to the tip of your toes. It is everything he has been dreaming of, finally. It just feels right; he knows it’s where you’re meant to be. You wrap your arms around him and he feels like you’ve just come home. He’s eminently glad he kept the fire stoked and ready. 

He breaks away and he’s just... looking at you. Like he’ll never get tired of it. Still similing, goofy and adoring. And goddamn you are the most beautiful person he’s ever seen.

Poe wraps his arms around you again. Happier than he’s ever been to be alive.

That first day, in the sun, he knew he loved you. Tonight, under the moons, he knows he wants to spend his whole life with you. He just knows it.

...But he’ll definitely find a better way to announce that to you.

At least, he hopes.

[eryiss]

Chapter Three: ACTION

Summary: The Justine's were always a criminal family. The Dreyar's were forced into it due to prohibition. After gaining power and influence in the criminal world, the families were forced into a fragile truce. This was until the recently disowned Freed Justine arrived at Laxus Dreyar's door, demanding a job in exchange for information that could bring his family down. [Fraxus Multi-Chapter]

This was written as part of the Mashima’s Heroes Big Bang, hosted by @ft-ez-bb. I have been paired up with the wonderful @fairiesherefairiesthere​, who's made this great piece of art. Remember to give them lots of love.

You can read this under the cut, on Fanfiction, or on Archive of Our Own. You can find the chapter masterpost here.

Chapter Three – Action

~Four Days Later~

Freed loved music, he was almost addicted to it.

He was not a materialistic man, and if the situation called for it he could probably live his life out of a suitcase. But the one exception to that minimalistic lifestyle came in the form of his fondness for music.

This was evident in how he decorated his boarding house. Though the walls were mainly bare, he had many sideboards and shelves filled with the near hundreds of records that he had collected over the years, all of which he had listened to many times. In the centre of the room sat the large armchair which he lounged in, with the expensive gramophone sitting on the table beside it. Beside his bed lay the empty sleeve of the record he was currently listening to, and he found himself staring up at the ceiling as the soft sound of a smooth jazz band tickled his ears.

Music was good for many things, distraction being one of them.

Because, whenever he had allowed his mind to wonder over the past few days, his emotions had overthrown him. It was a mixture of anger, resentment, and annoyance at what Laxus had said to him four nights prior. The patronising insistence that Laxus should be the one saving Freed, despite Laxus being in much more danger than Freed had been, had more than ruffled him.

But of course Laxus wouldn't admit that. No, because Laxus was apparently the type of man who needed to prove himself in violent situations. Freed had assumed as much, but had hoped that Laxus would show him enough respect as to not treat him like a victim when he wasn't. But Laxus had condescended him, treated him as if he were the only person in danger, and disregarded the fact Freed had been the one to get them both out of the bar. For god's sake he'd done it without anyone on their side getting hurt, that was almost unheard of in those situations. It had ended as well as it could have, and Laxus had yelled at him like he was a teenager caught drinking.

There was also a touch of guilt when he thought back. He shouldn't have mocked Laxus for freezing up. Freed had done the same thing when first threatened with death. That had been cruel.

Hence, a distraction was welcome.

The sound of music filling his room was complimented by the heavy rain battering against the windows. Every few minutes, a crackle of lightning erupted across the sky, light slipping through his closed curtains. Freed had always been fond of storms, and so when his record ran to an end he didn't move, listening to the weather outside.

He nearly drifted off, yawns overtaking him until a slight clinking sound cut through the thunder and rain.

Then another. And another.

Freed stood up slowly, eyes fluttering open and blinking to get his attention back in the real world. The clinking sound was coming from his window, so he drew back the curtains and searched for the cause. After a moment, his eyes fell on the street below, and standing there was the familiar figure of Laxus Dreyar.

He stood on the sidewalk outside of Freed's boarding house, illuminated by the streetlamp above him, in a state of disrepute that Freed had not seen from the man. He looked a mess. The heavy rain was beating down on him, the suit he wore now sodden and his hair pressing against his head rather than styled with thick oil as it normally was. He looked up towards Freed, and his expression lacked the usual subtle confidence that he showed others. Freed looked down at him for a moment, before sighing, closing the curtains and walking to the door.

He climbed down the stairs, checked that Porlyusica was asleep, and unlocked the front door to the building. He looked outside to see Laxus retreating, apparently having thought Freed's closed curtains were a dismissal.

"Laxus," He said over the sound of the rain, staying in the doorframe as not to get wet. The blonde turned, saw Freed, and jogged to the open door. "What are you doing here?"

"Wanted to see you," Laxus said in explanation, voice a little hesitant. "You ain't been at the tavern."

That was true, Freed had not gone to work for the past four days. Not only did he not want a reminder of why he was angry, he also wanted to make sure he wouldn't do anything he regretted. Freed could be guilty of letting his anger known, and he couldn't risk antagonising Laxus further when he was still reliant on him. Yelling at him in the alleyway was one thing, but if his anger ignited during work hours and he said something regrettable, Laxus could easily fire him, and rightfully so. Staying away from him had seemed to be the smart thing to do.

Looking at Laxus now, a glimmer of the anger ignited, though not as much as he expected. Perhaps it was because Laxus had lost all his bravado, with the rain taking away any impressive façade. The humble expression he wore also seemed to calm Freed slightly.

"Look," Laxus continued. "I need to apologise to you. About what I… could I do this inside? If you don't mind?"

Freed thought for a moment. It would be easy to let the man remain out here, soaking him to the bone as a form of petty revenge. But he wasn't that childish.

"I suppose. Be quiet though, my landlady doesn't like guests."

Laxus nodded, and Freed stepped to the side to let him in. He closed the door, guided Laxus to his upstairs room and allowed him entrance. He closed the door, walking to the washroom and picking up a towel for Laxus to dry himself off as best he could. When he looked to Laxus, the blonde was glancing around at Freed's room with a passive expression.

When he turned to look at Freed, he smiled in thanks at the offered towel. He patted his face down with it, running a hand through his hair to get it out of his eyes, before looking around again. He seemed a little lost, and Freed sighed as he sat in his armchair.

"You said you wanted to talk?" Freed suggested.

"Yeah, I did," Laxus agreed, a slight stumble in his tone. Freed remained quiet. "Look, what happened, I weren't in my right mind, I guess I was… I was scared I suppose. Adrenaline rush maybe, I dunno. But well, what I'm trying to say is, the way I treated you wasn't… It was unfair to you, disrespectful. So I thought that I should apologise to you, which is what I'm doing."

Freed chuckled slightly at the fumbling of his words. "And you're doing very well."

"Yeah, words ain't my biggest talent," Laxus sighed, pacing. "Look, you could've died. I was scared that you'd get shot, and you kept taunting them and it was making things worse and-"

"Laxus, those men wouldn't kill me," Freed said calmly. "My father sent them to collect me, not to get rid of me; they would have shot me on sight if they wanted. The worst they would have done is beaten me a little, but the guns would never have been used, and we all knew it. So getting their attention on me was the best way to get you out of harm's way."

"I know. I know that," Laxus conceded, rubbing his face in annoyance. "But after it happened I wasn't thinking straight, and I kept thinking that they might have shot. That all the taunting and teasing you were doing was gonna push one of them over the edge and they were gonna shoot even if they didn't mean to. And I kept thinking about what would happen if they did shoot ya, and then I got pissed because you were fucking goading them into it, and I wouldn't have been able to stop them if they did anything."

"Laxus," Freed spoke carefully, but purposefully. "I don't need protection."

"You don't, I know. It was just… I panicked I guess. Acted out because I didn't wanna see you get hurt," Laxus shook his head a little self-deprecatingly. "I'm sorry. You're a proud man, and you're competent to. I should have known that, and not acted like you weren't. I'm… I'm really sorry, Freed."

The apology lay stagnant in the air.

Freed looked at Laxus, and his expression really was earnest. He suspected that apologies didn't come easy to Laxus – something they'd have in common if true – and so to come here and be more vulnerable than he was comfortable with was commendable. It would be very easy to forgive him then and there, especially because Freed wasn't faultless in the situation, but Freed cut himself off before speaking.

Earnestness from Laxus was rare, as was the lack of his bravado. And Freed wanted to take the chance to talk while he had it.

He stood up, and rather than saying anything, he reached for a record from one of his many shelves. He took it from its sleeve, placed it atop the gramophone, and allowed the soft, slow music to start playing. Laxus had watched him as he moved and when Freed turned to him, he looked at him questioningly.

"Dance with me," Freed requested, offering a hand. Laxus hesitated, so Freed smiled slightly. "I'll let you lead, if you want."

Laxus glanced down at Freed's outstretched hand for a moment, before stepping forward and taking it. Freed met him in the middle, their bodies lighting grazing one another. Freed wrapped an arm around Laxus' waist, and found Laxus' arm doing the same.

They both took a moment to get used to the feeling. Laxus was in his arms, wrapped up in his grasp and looking down at him with an expression that was downright soft. The cold wetness of his clothing was forgotten, and Freed couldn't help but note just how large a man Laxus was. He was firm, unmoving, and yet had a softness to him that could only be shown through his eyes. They stared at one another for a moment before they both began to sway in time to the music.

Neither spoke, and Freed rested his forehead against the blonde's shoulders as the soft piano tune filled his ears. The dampened scent of Laxus' cologne hit Freed's nose, and he smiled a little at the familiarity of it. He felt the slight level of tenseness in Laxus' posture loosen, and he couldn't help but smile further at it.

"I must say," Freed spoke softly, looking to Laxus again. "You're awfully comfortable dancing with a man, I half expected you to be stiff as a board."

"Well, you ain't the first man that I've danced with," Laxus shrugged, and the look he gave Freed was a weighty one. Freed kept his gaze for a moment. "But I ain't danced with a man quite like you before. Don't think I've known a man like you before."

"Should I be insulted?"

"No."

They continued swaying in each other's arms, the music soft and melodic and a perfect complement to the mood. Freed found himself trapped in the other man's gaze, and he felt that Laxus might be in the same situation. Freed didn't care, because in that moment he couldn't think of any better state he could be in.

Laxus was smiling at him now, and Freed tried to remember when he'd last been in a situation like this. Being softly intimate with a handsome charming man who looked at him like Laxus did. With a soft, vulnerable expression. He couldn't remember anyone looking at him like that.

"So," Freed began after a moment. "I'll be blunt. If you could, would you want to court me Laxus?"

Laxus thought for a moment. "Who said I can't?"

"The law."

"The law also says that I can't sell booze, I do that," Laxus smiled down a little at Freed, and the pianist felt his heartbeat quicken ever so slightly. "Bullshit laws don't apply to me. And if you really think that all the shit I've done for you wasn't some attempt at getting your attention, then you're stupider than I give you credit for."

So, Freed's assumption had been correct then. Good.

As had the teasing form all the workers in Fairy Tail, but Freed couldn't think about that right now. He looked up at Laxus with a gentle, uncynical expression, and he felt Laxus' grip around him pull him slightly closer.

"So the opera?" Freed asked. "It was a date of sorts, then?"

"Well, I ain't taking anyone else out for dinner," Laxus shrugged, and the statement was as good as admission. He sighed a little, before speaking again. "I didn't say it, even if I should have, but I kinda started to… fuck this is hard."

"Take your time," Freed said softly.

"I'm crap with words, Freed," Laxus admitted. "Not just words, emotional shit too. It messes me up, I get scared of it. I know you're probably used to men who wear their hearts of their sleeves, and can write poetry for you off the cuff and make you swoon. But when I think about talking about what I'm feeling I get… it's like I shut off," He sighed, and Freed remained quiet. "It makes things harder, y'know. Probably would've been easier if I just said I wanted to take you out because I liked you; not just hoping you'd figure it out. I tried to, a few times, but whenever I did I just froze. It ain't easy for me, stuff like this."

"You're doing well," Freed said gently, and Laxus gave him a small, thankful smile.

"What I'm trying to say is, if we do… if the two of us try and, y'know, make something of us," Laxus cringed at his own words. "I can't be romantic like other men can. I can't do sweeping romantic stuff, it ain't me. If I feel something for ya, I'd show you with what I did, rather than what I said. I mean, I can be emotional, just takes time for me," He looked at the floor for a moment. "I guess what I'm trying to say is, if we tried… if we took the next step, I might not be like the guys you've been with before. I ain't gonna turn into a poet for you."

Freed took a moment to think, then smiled up at the man, removing his hand from Laxus' waist and placing it on his cheek.

"I don't need a poet, Laxus. Nor do I want one," Freed said softly. "All we can ask for, and all I want, is a good man. You are a good man Laxus, and if you show affection through your actions rather than through words, then that is just who you are," He stroked Laxus' jaw with a finger. "A poet is a liar and an exaggerator; a good man is honest. And you have always been honest."

"You sure?" Laxus muttered. "Because I know you come from more than me and-"

"Do not be self-deprecating, it's hardly like you. And whether or not you are worthy of me is my choice to make, and I've already done so," Freed said firmly. "Though I think I should ask, are you sure about me?"

"Why the hell wouldn't I be?" Laxus exclaimed.

"Because if my father finds out about us, he will want you dead," Freed claimed, tone quietly serious. "He sees me working with you as a betrayal, no doubt us getting together will send him into a rage. And he doesn't have the sentimentality to think twice about killing you."

"I don't give a shit," Laxus mumbled into Freed's ear.

"Well I do," Freed retorted firmly. "If he hurts you, it will be my fault. I will not allow that."

Ridiculously, Laxus cracked a smile. "So you're allowed to be protective, huh?"

"Take it seriously."

"I am," Laxus assured him. "The second he sent his men into the bar; I knew I'd have to deal with him. Not just for you, for everyone working for me. You come into my bar as a worker, you're my responsibility and I look after you. And I know that you're the expert in crime, but I ain't stupid. I know what kind of a man he is, and what he's capable of. But he has weaknesses somewhere, and I'm gonna exploit them and bring him down and he ain't gonna hurt you. I'm not gonna let that happen to you."

"I don't need you to-"

"Hey," Laxus cut him off, looking down at him with sincerity. "If we do this, if we get together, I will be protective of you. I will do what I can to keep you safe, I will yell at you if you get reckless, and if there's a choice between the two of us getting hurt, I will make sure it happens to me," He grabbed Freed's chin before he could protest. "And I'm not saying that you can't look after yourself, because you can. I'm just not the kinda man who can sit by if someone they care about is in danger. And I know for a fact that you'd do the same for me, so don't even think about arguing about it," Freed sighed. "I care about you a lot, so I worry. You can't change that."

"I thought you said you were bad with words," Freed chuckled. "But that was actually rather romantic, in an odd sense."

"Maybe you bring it out of me," Laxus shrugged a little.

The conversation mellowed slightly, and the music filled their ears again. It was still a soft piano tune, something that sweethearts would have danced to at the end of a high school dance, and Freed didn't stop the smile from flittering onto his face as he swayed in time with the beat. Laxus' arm was still wrapped around him, and he smiled at the man softly.

Laxus smiled back at him, and the eye contact was simultaneously gentle and incredibly intense, and Freed found himself enraptured by the sustained honesty in his eyes. Laxus' expression was without falseness, and he seemed entirely at piece.

It was perfect. Perfect.

With almost perfect synchronicity, they both slightly moved their heads forward. As they did, a thrumming ran though Freed, excited, and apprehensive in equal parts.

Slowly, he leant forward and kissed Laxus.

The feeling of Laxus' lips against his own was incredible. Freed tilted his head slightly at the tentative chaste kiss, eyes flickering to Laxus'. The look of wonder in the blonde's expression matched Freed's own, and again simultaneously then leant back into each other and kissed again, moving their lips slowly against one another.

Rain water still dampened Laxus' lips, acting to contrast against how chapped they were, and Freed relished the feeling. Laxus pulled him forward a little more, and the hand Freed held on Laxus' cheek stroked him gently again. The kiss was soft, almost cautious but had an undertone of passion that Freed found himself thrilled by. He leant into it, opening his mouth slightly and smiling as Laxus did the same, deepening their kiss. It was perfect, utterly perfect.

As the music stopped playing, the two men remained, kissing one another as the storm raged around them.

~Three Weeks Later~

For the first time in months, Fairy Tail had closed its doors.

It wasn't empty though. A small congregation had formed around one of the tables in the main hall, made up of Fairy Tail's more criminal members. Laxus sat at the head of the table, with Bickslow and Evergreen to his left, and Gajeel and Mirajane to his right, with Freed opposite. The gathered employees all wore serious expressions, listening as Laxus explained the situation to them.

The Justine Family were getting more aggressive now, blatantly so. Staff members had been followed home, threats had been made, and most recently Natsu and Gray had been attacked; though they'd given worse than they'd got. Laxus was done with the situation now.

"Are they that dedicated to getting Freed back?" Mirajane asked once Laxus finished speaking. "No offence meant, but that's quite a lot of effort for one man."

"We think it's more than that," Laxus sighed. "It's an image thing."

"Erik and Sawyer are some of my father's most respected men," Freed explained, the group looking towards him. "So to have them return without me, and with Sawyer having been shot, was something of a humiliation to them. They assumed it would be easy task, underestimated us, and that makes their failure much worse. And given that all a crime family really has is violence and image, being unable to prove either of them was a wound for them. They need to prove themselves by getting revenge on someone here. As well as getting me back simply to prove that they can do it, I suspect."

"So it's an ego thing, then?" Bickslow questioned, leaning on her hand. "Is it really that worth it?"

"If people stop being scared of them, then they stop respecting them," Freed shrugged a little. "If that happens then all the stakes they have in the criminal world begin to crumble. Smaller families and organisations get cocky, and try to overthrow them, and one might succeed. They see this as fighting for their lives, meaning they're dangerous."

"Which also means if we fight back against them, they'll be in more trouble and therefore more reckless," Evergreen concluded, clicking her teeth. "The more we back them in a corner, the more desperate they'll become."

"Indeed," Freed agreed, resignedly.

"We ain't just gonna bend over and let the bastard fuck with us though," Gajeel proclaimed, glaring at the table. "Because we all know they'll get cocky if we don't do anything. We're fucked either way, right?"

"What else can we do?" Bickslow sighed, leaning back in his chair.

They all remained silent, not meeting each other's eyes as they thought through possible responses to the situation. Laxus looked over his gathered employees, and the anger he was feeling at the situation fizzled inside of him. Because, as tempting as it was to just say they'd bring the fight to them, the Justine Family were not ones to be taken lightly. They were murderers and brutally good at it. So as much as Laxus wanted to storm into the family home with a pistol and shoot the fucker between the eyes, it would do no good.

But the people Laxus employed, his family, were getting attacked on the streets. Their privacy was being violated, their safety put into question, and their lives put on hold because of the danger they faced. Laxus couldn't accept that. He couldn't.

"We have to do something," Laxus stated firmly. "Something big, make 'em scared to fuck with us. Can't attack us if they're scared."

"Good," Gajeel agreed. "Take the fight to the fuckers."

"But we're not that kind of place," Mirajane objected. "I know that we can't just sit by and let them keep going, but they're a lot better prepared for this type of thing. We only have a handful of weapons, and only a few people who would be any good at using them. They've probably got a full armoury full of guns and everyone trained in how to use them. If we try anything violent then most likely we'd be slaughtered."

"They're not as impressive as you'd think," Freed offered. "We'd be at a massive disadvantage, yes. But a lot of their power comes from bravado. That's why they're so worried about their image, it's their main asset."

"No, Mira's right," Laxus sighed. "I ain't gonna lead people to slaughter. We can't start a gang war."

Again, nobody knew what else to say. Laxus groaned and ran a hand through his hair in frustration, standing up and pacing slightly to dispel some of the nervous energy that was building. The protective instinct that arose within him for his employees was overpowering, and every day his anger at the situation got worse. When Natsu and Gray had walked in the night before, scuffed up and bruised, Laxus had been near apoplectic. Had the two men not assured him their attackers were left bleeding in the alleyway, Laxus might have stormed form the tavern and towards the house where Freed's father lived to get revenge of his own.

But of course that was the issue. Because he had some sense of self preservation, and if he did confront the man on his own then he'd be shot before he did anything. And if he brought anyone with him, he'd be putting them in the firing line. That also couldn't happen.

"I have something of an idea," Freed said, almost cautiously. Everyone looked towards him. "I know that consorting with the law isn't the most typical thing for a speakeasy to so, but the police have been trying to take my father down for a while. And although it seems like it, they're not immune from prosecution. They're just good at hiding proof of their crimes, and bribing people in the right places."

"So we call the police on them?" Evergreen asked. "If they're as good at dodging them, would that do anything?"

"They might throw it back at us," Bickslow added, looking a little worried. "I mean, one officer here at night as we're all fucked."

"I understand that. Which is why, rather than simply calling the police on them, I believe we should create a dossier of their crimes. Enough irrefutable evidence that, if we were to anonymously hand it to a detective – a non-corrupt one of course – that they would deal with the problem for us," Freed explained, and the group seemed to consider it. "They're good at covering their actions, but not perfect. So long as we dedicate time to it, we can find the cracks in their armour and exploit them to our advantage."

"Could work," Laxus said, considering. "How d'you think we'd find anything from them, though? Not like we have access to anything they're doing."

"Well," Freed said, a little cautiously. Laxus frowned. "It makes sense to have a man inside. Someone seeing first-hand what they're doing, gathering evidence on them."

"Who'd be able to-" Laxus began, but paused. "No."

"It makes the most sense," Freed retorted, seriousness in his voice. "I know how the family works so I can start work immediately, there's already a level of trust with me, and I'd see signs of illegality that you all might miss, given I grew up with it. And him sending people to get me back says he might want me in the family again for whatever reason, so I wouldn't have work my way up like anyone else would. It makes sense"

"What if he wants to bring you back to make an example out of you!" Laxus exclaimed. "What if just wanna beat yer ass and break your knees to show what happens if you break his trust!"

Laxus wouldn't allow it. He wouldn't. Freed's father had sent armed men to get Freed only weeks ago, something that was hardly a piece offering. Over the weeks he'd got more aggressive, and more readily violent, so who knew how he would react if Freed suddenly demanded to be let back into the family. For all Laxus knew he might just shoot Freed on the spot! Laxus couldn't let that happen, he just couldn't. It would be like guiding him into the jaws of the beast. No, it couldn't happen.

"It's the best option, Laxus," Freed said firmly.

"It ain't an option because it ain't gonna happen," Laxus retorted, glaring down at the man.

"He's got a point, Laxus," Evergreen said, and Laxus turned his glare to his employee. "We need to do something, and you even said getting the police involved could work. And Freed's the most logical person to do it."

"Well he ain't doing it," Laxus repeated with a growl. "What if they figure out what you're doin'? They're already pissed off that you're working here, if they find out you're trying to take them down then they'll just fucking shoot you. I ain't gonna let you risk that. We'll figure out another way to do it. We'll, fuck I dunno, we'll…"

"Bend over and let 'em fuck with us until they get bored of the beatings and start shooting?" Gajeel asked, glaring at Laxus with crossed arms. "We all know yer sweet on the guy, but he's his own man and a dangerous one. Stop pussyfooting around on his behalf."

"He's got a point Laxus," Bickslow agreed. "Someone has to do it. Freed's the obvious choice."

"He ain't a choice," Laxus insisted.

"Well it's either we do this, or, as Gajeel said, we allow them to do whatever they want to us," Freed said, firmness in his tone. "They will get arrogant, see us as pushovers and will make an example out of you. And that doesn't just mean there will the violence get worse, which it will, there will also kill the business. Anything to ruin you. You think he's the only one threatened by you? Every speakeasy in the city wants you gone. Your strength protects you, but if you get passive then you're vulnerable. They'll be vandalism, police at your door, threats and attacks from every competitor."

"You're being ridiculous," Laxus snapped.

"And you're being selfish," Freed retorted.

For a note, there was silence.

"My office," Laxus said through gritted teeth. "Now."

With a level of animosity between them both, they walked behind the bar and up the stairs to the office. By the time that Laxus had closed the door, giving them both privacy, Freed had taken a seat opposite Laxus' desk and was looking at him with a determined expression. Laxus didn't back away from it, holding the gaze and taking a seat in his own office chair. They sat in silence for a moment before Freed broke it.

"You won't stop me," He said firmly. "I don't need your permission."

"Well you definitely aren't getting it," Laxus grunted back.

"I don't understand why you're so against me doing it."

"You don't?" Laxus laughed a little, exasperation at the man becoming more obvious. "Your father sends gunmen to get you, he had people attack your colleagues, he sent a threatening note to your house and you don't know why I don't want you going to him? You can't see why that's a fucking stupid idea?"

"I'm aware of the danger, Laxus," Freed said testily.

"Are you? Really? Then maybe you're just stupid," Laxus scoffed. "Even if we forget the risk of him finding out what you're doing, even if he really has had a change of heart and suddenly wants you back for no reason, you still wouldn't be safe. You fucking said yourself that the people who work for him weren't happy to find out you fucked men; they wouldn't have forgotten that. Even if we're real fucking optimistic, you'll still be in danger. Those men are trigger happy and see you as wrong, and you just wanna stroll in and go back to them. Really?"

"I don't care," Freed said, almost defeatedly. "I am doing this no matter what you say, and I think you know that already. It will take a long amount of time and I won't be able to speak to you for months, perhaps. I'd rather not leave on bad terms, so can we talk like adults please."

Laxus went to retort, to say that hell would freeze over before Laxus allowed Freed to do that, but the set in Freed's jaw told him not to; Freed wouldn't listen to him if he acted like this.

"I ain't happy about it," Laxus grunted, quietly.

"I know, and I wouldn't do it if I didn't think it were necessary," Freed assured him, speaking softly. "But Gajeel was right. People like my father won't go away if we remain passive. He'll get worse and people will get hurt. I know that you wouldn't allow that to happen, and this is the best way to stop it from getting to that point."

Laxus was quiet. The bastard was appealing to his protective side.

"I'm scared you'll get hurt," Laxus confessed. "I'm scared that he might just want you back to hurt you, and that you'll end up washed up on the riverbed because I couldn't stop you."

"That won't happen. And I'm not saying that because I trust him, because I don't," Freed said firmly. "I'm saying that because I spent my entire life watching that man, and keeping myself safe. I know how he works, and I can predict what he might do. Before I came to work with you, I was doing that anyway."

"Yeah but what if you can't?" Laxus said weakly. "What if he takes you by surprise?"

"Then we deal with it when it happens," Freed assured him, smiling a little to comfort him. "You can either torture yourself about what might happen to me if things go wrong, or you can torture yourself wondering what'll happen to each of your employees every time they go outside at night. But at least this way, we'll be trying to stop things from getting worse, rather than sitting back and letting it happen."

Laxus hated the situation. And Freed.

He'd never hate Freed.

He wanted to argue more: if he was persuasive enough then maybe Freed would back down and keep himself safe. But of course that only meant that the attacks on his employees would get more violent and dangerous.

It was clear a decision had to be made. Laxus would have to decide if his worry for his employees was more important than his worry for Freed. It was a horrible decision, because his employees were committed people who had dedicated time and effort to him, but Freed was so damned important to him that he couldn't put it into words. He couldn't let Freed get hurt, but he also couldn't let the situation with the Justine's get worse and worse.

Everything was too much. It was nauseating and awful and Laxus felt filled with a rage at the world that he'd never known before. He wanted to scream that this wasn't right, that people like Freed's father shouldn't be able to put people in situations like this, and that he should be killed for what he had done. Laxus would happily give the killing blow.

Caught up in the spirally worry, Laxus hadn't noticed Freed stand up and move beside him until a soft hand cupped his cheek.

"This is not your choice to make. I brought my father to your doorstep and I will deal with it," Freed said softly.

"Promise me you won't get hurt," Laxus whispered, cupping the hand on his cheek.

"No," Freed shook his head slightly. "But what I will promise you is that, once I have dealt with this, and everything is done, I will make sure you never feel like you do right now. And for every moment you feel anxious, every second of sadness that this causes, I promise you a lifetime of adoration from me. And once we are done, and we can be together again, I will show you just how hard it is for me to leave you."

Laxus couldn't say anything, instead taking Freed's hand off his cheek and pressing his lips to the soft, cold skin. He tugged at Freed, pulling him down so that the man sat atop his legs, and brought their lips together.

They kissed, slow and with passion. Yearning and sad, and Laxus wished it wouldn't end. That Freed wouldn't leave him even though he must.

"I need to do this Laxus," Freed whispered after they pulled apart. "But I will come back to you."

"Fucking better," Laxus almost whimpered as he spoke. "If you don't then-"

"I will," Freed assured him. "I will always come back to you."

They pulled each other into another kiss, which was just as sombre and delicate and hesitant as their first of the night had been. Laxus clung to Freed tightly, repeating the man's promise over and over in his head. He had to believe Freed, had to believe he was as good as his word.

But, as they kissed, they both knew the truth. Freed couldn't promise he'd come back, and that thought terrified Laxus.

~Two Days Later~

"I wish to see my father," Freed snapped, voice sharp and unflinching. "Now."

Standing at the door to his family estate, face to face with a dim looking member of his father's protection team, didn't stir any emotion from Freed. He had expected a level of anger or nervousness to rise up when he returned to the place he grew up in, and was no longer welcome at, but he felt nothing. Nothing but a simmering determination to achieve his goal as quickly as possible so he could leave, of course.

After the man left to find Freed's father, not before slamming the door in his face, Freed looked at the large building before him. It was lavish, expensive, and decorated with the ostentation fineries of a man who felt above the law and above other's judgement. It was gaudier than he remembered. The building itself seemed almost arrogant, as if sneering down at him.

It was hard to think that, at one point in his life, Freed had attained for a life like this.

After a short while, the door opened again, and the same musclebound idiot returned. He motioned for Freed to come in with a quick jerk of the head, and wordlessly guided Freed through the long corridors of the house. Freed recognised the route; he was being taken to his father's office, though through a purposefully convoluted route. It was an intimidation tactic his father had used, a way to show off how many men were at his command, as well as wrongfooting possible threats by forcing them to trawl around the large house without need. It didn't intimidate Freed, but it did make it clear that he was seen as an outsider.

That was what they'd expected, though. Once Laxus had accepted that Freed would be doing his infiltration plan despite his objections, the criminal members of Fairy Tail took time to assess what might happen, and what they'd need to do. This meeting going well was pivotal, and Freed needed to make it work, so knowing where he stood with his father was more useful than it was intimidating.

When they arrived at the office door, the guard knocked firmly. A moment later, the door opened.

Freed hadn't seen his father in months, and standing in the same room as him felt like a punch to the gut. He tried not to show the emotional winding he experienced, walking in with a confident stride. He stared at his father, unblinking and uncowering.

His father was a reflection of Freed, albeit obviously older. He shared his long green hair, his sharp and unforgiving features, his calculating eyes. Other than the wrinkles that covered his forehead, and the blander clothing the elder man chose to wear, the two men could have been mistaken for one another. Freed had never realised just how similar in appearance he was to his father, and the realisation was a little nauseating.

It wasn't just the two of them in the office. Two of his father's most loyal guards stood behind him, and Freed almost laughed as he saw who was standing to his father's left; the same man that had led to Freed's dismissal from the family. Clearly his father was doing everything to wrongfoot him.

The man wasn't as good looking as Freed remembered.

"Freed," His father said, voice low, gravely and unimpressed.

"Augustus," Freed replied, voice equally hostile.

They had all considered how best to get Freed back into the Justine family, and they had considered getting Freed to grovel for his father's approval. But that was entirely unlike Freed, and would probably raise suspicion rather than appeal to the man's ego. Freed was allowed to be as hostile as he liked, so long as he maintained the agreed upon story.

"You have a lot of confidence to come in here," Augustus growled, voice grating and sharp as he stood up. He slammed his hands on the desk, and Freed didn't flinch. "You come to my door unannounced, knowing you're not welcome, and you don't have the good manners to speak my real title. I should-"

"And what title would that be?" Freed cut him off, and a snarl covered Augustus' face.

"Do not interrupt me, boy," He demanded.

"You only ever called your sons 'boy' if I remember correctly," Freed smirked a little, and the look on his father's face was rather gratifying. Freed had to wonder why he was so scared of the man in the past. "Is that what the past few weeks have been about? Did you want me back?"

"You dare be so insubordinate in my presence," Augustus growled. "I should have you flogged on the damn streets for your arrogance. Perhaps if I'd have done more than when you were a kid then you wouldn't be the way you are."

Freed smirked, put his arms out slightly and looked at his father. "If beating me is what you want, go ahead."

Augustus stormed around the desk he was sitting at, leaving his behind him. He stood in front of Freed – he was smaller than before – with the snarl of a feral dog distorting his features. Without stopping, he raised his hand, so it was in line with Freed's face. The pianist might have flinched half a year ago, but now he regarded his father's hand with a small, uncaring gaze. When he saw his father's eyebrow twitched, he decided to inclined his cheek towards the raised hand, opening inviting the attack.

The slap's crack echoed around the room.

It was a painful thing, because despite his age Augustus was a strong man. He knew how to beat a man and it showed, but Freed simply chuckled, readjusted his jaw slightly and then looked at his father without care.

"Now that you've got that out of your system, shall we talk?"

Freed sat in one of the chairs opposite the desk, not waiting for an invitation he probably wouldn't have ever got. His father, already off-kilter from Freed's lack of reaction to the slap, stared down at his son with the closest thing to a gape he could show. Freed looked up at him, raised an eyebrow in a silent question, and then motioned for Augustus to sit in his own chair. He went to open his mouth, probably to begin some tirade against Freed.

"I wish to be reinstated in my previous position," Freed said before Augustus could begin. "Same level of respect, same finances, and of course the honour of being called your son again."

"You think that I would allow you back?" Augustus snarled. "After you went to the fucking Dreyar's! You betrayed your family."

"I was led to believe that I no longer had a family, it's somewhat a side effect of being disowned," Freed chuckled, and Augustus looked close to exploding. "But yes, I did go to the Dreyar's. I went to your main competitors, I worked for them for six months, and grew to understand what they were doing and how they worked. Information you don't have, but I could tell you."

That made Augustus' anger flicker away for a moment, and he slowly walked back to his chair. Freed had expected this, because the Justine Family was losing power quickly, and needed any advantage they could get. Freed was now offering this advantage to him.

"Why the hell should I listen to you?" Augustus demanded.

"I'm trying to prove a point," Free smiled.

"Which is?"

"Which is that the thing you hate about me is an asset," Freed snapped, anger flicking into his tone now. "That the part of me that you delight in calling a perversion is not only a part of who I am, but is also useful. That the very thing you used to try and humiliate me with, that you threw in my face every damned day of my life, will end up being the bedrock of your new empire."

"And how the fuck will you prove that?" Augustus growled.

"Because it's that so called perversion that got that man under my heel," Freed yelled. "He shared my predilection and I used that to my advantage. I had regular access to his private quarters; his finances, personal correspondence and every damn deal he ever made. And not only that, but I also got to see just how hopeless the idiot was in the world of crime, and he came to me for help. I create every aspect of that man's criminal profile and every weakness I installed is mine to take advantage of, Father. You used to beat me for my desire for men, and you used it to remove me from the life I had always known, and now the only way this family will keep its standing is to take advantage of what my supposed infliction allowed me to do."

It was sickening to say it, but that was the story they had come up with. Freed would be the spurred son, wanting to spitefully prove himself to his father by infiltrating his rival's business and getting information. He would have discovered Laxus' shared like of men, and would have instigated a relationship with him to further gather information.

But the idea of using Laxus like that was nauseating.

Some of the emotion was real though, because for as little Freed cared about the man before him, he was still his father. The same father who had taken the rod to Freed's back time after time, beating him for something he had no power over. Augustus Justine was a sick man, and Freed wished him hell.

"Well well," Augustus chuckled. "Perhaps I taught you well after all."

Freed would take no praise from this man. This morally destitute monster who cared only for how much money he had in the bank and how many thugs he had worshipping the ground he walked on. It was hard to believe that at some point, Freed had thought that was how every man of power would act.

"You say that he's got weaknesses?" August asked, using the voice he used when doing business.

"If you do as I say and reinstate my position in the family, then you'll see just how many weak spots he has," Freed replied, forcing a mean smirk on his face. "Within a year he'll be begging on the streets. Although, I wouldn't mind putting a bullet between his eyes, if I'm honest."

Even saying it sent bile up Freed's throat.

"That's what I like to hear," Augustus laughed. "One year?"

"This time next year, you'll have more power than ever before," Freed promised, smirking confidently. It was a hollow, horrible gesture.

Augustus clapped his hands together twice, standing up again and walking around the desk with a smile on his features. He spread his arms out wide, inviting Freed into a hug as he often did at the end of his business. For a moment, Freed found himself considering attacked the man. Picking up one of the many heavy ornaments decorating the desk and slamming the man across the head with them. Because he deserved it, for what he had done to both Freed and to the workers at Fairy Tail. Making the man bleed, perhaps cover, would be more than gratifying, and it would be so damned easy.

But he couldn't do that. As satisfying as it may be, Freed knew that taking the man down would achieve a lot more than simply attacking him. And so, slowly, almost tentatively, he stood up, walked into the man's arms and allowed himself to be pulled into a hug. His skin crawled as he did.

"Welcome back," Augustus proclaimed, laughing as if he hadn't betrayed and attacked his son mere months ago. He kissed both of Freed's cheeks. "My son!"

[jerepars]

Ape Dos Mil Extended Chapter Notes

1 / 9 Skeptics and True Believers

Hyperlinks appear in blue (underlined on mobile and the dashboard). The story is posted here. 

She knew she hated him from the moment she laid eyes on him. Teresa’s parents had died when she was a little girl and she’d practically raised herself, so she didn’t exactly have any role models to set an example for her and teach her to be mild mannered, or to teach her that hate was not the opposite of love. She was emotionally driven, and the things she felt, she felt deep in her soul. But anyway, it was a matter of principle. She hated him. Teresa was in Dallas, in Camila Vargas’ warehouse where the prostitutes and drug mules slept, and he was in the space that could be considered the bullpen. When their eyes met for the very first time, she felt the fire ignite and build inside her chest, her heart like a caged bird trying to escape her ribs, blood thick as lead in her anger.

I don’t...I don’t know why writing about Jeresa brings up so many Saves the Day references for me. Maybe because a lot of the imagery in the lyrics are kind of extreme? It’s not a direct reference but the last sentence, with the part about her heart trying to escape her ribs was written with “You Vandal” in mind: yeah my ribs have parted ways, said ‘we’re not going to protect this heart you have’.

James was the carrot Camila dangled in front of everyone—the girls and the sicarios—to get them to do what she wanted. He was the Taylor Vaughan in the world of the warehouse; everyone would either willingly fuck someone’s shit up to be him, or, they would lose their shit to be fucked by him. It seemed to suit him—looking good while doing bad things. He was who they could never be, or never be with, and that was exactly how Camila wanted it.

She’s All That is back on Netflix and I couldn’t help myself. In my mind, there’s this whole backstory of Teresa watching teen cult rom coms growing up, and that’s why she speaks English so well when she lands in Dallas, but this part of the story definitely wasn’t the appropriate time to elaborate on that (there may never be an appropriate time to elaborate on that, lol). But she knows who Taylor Vaughan is, from seeing the movie. The way James is likened to Taylor Vaughan (portrayed by Jodi Lyn O’Keefe) is because of a line said by Dean Sampson (Paul Walker’s character) near the beginning of the movie. Dean says, “Every girl wants to be her, and every guy wants to nail her” (0:47).

This is an idea I’ve been thinking about for a while. Because Camila is certainly not dumb. James sets the bar for everyone, and it’s a standard that they can’t compete with or for. It’s like putting James in his position is her slapping them in the face with a “you wish”. James and Camila both know that, and Teresa is smart enough to figure it out quickly.

But James was good at his job. Even after he got Teresa riled up, even after she called him an asshole, even after he told her she was going to die, he got her into the custodian’s closet and she threw up every last baggie of coke. He was so good at his job, in fact, that when she was barely hanging on, declared she could not possibly go any further, he’d decided, no, it wasn’t her moment to tap out yet. James pulled the bottle of soap out of the dispenser and poured it into her mouth until she heaved on her own gag reflex one more time and the last three bags came up.

This chapter is named after “Skeptics and True Believers” by The Academy Is... . The paragraph mentions that Teresa was barely hanging on because of the part of the song that goes: near death, last breath, and barely hanging on. It also seemed fitting because it’s a story about about soulmates, after all, and it is made clear that both Teresa and James believe in soulmates.

There’s one more song reference here. The part about James deciding it’s not Teresa’s time to tap out yet is because of PUP’s “Kids”: And I had it maxed out. I had a feeling, oh. Nothing is working. And everything's bleeding, oh. I should've tapped out. Given into my demons, oh.

This is a really interesting moment for Teresa, because we know how strong she is, that she’s a survivor and fighter. But she says she can’t do it, she can’t throw up anything else. She’s defeated, which is understandable because it’s not everything she’s going through is easy. It’d be easier to give in and give up, right? But James doesn’t let her tap out and takes over when he pours the soap in her mouth to make sure she can, makes sure she survives.

“What time is it?” Teresa kept her eyes on the groud, avoiding the light from the warehouse windows illuminating the dust motes in the air.

“It’s almost three,” James said flatly, then emphasized, “PM.”

Teresa let out a long sigh but didn’t respond to his badgering.

“Get up,” James muttered. “You’re coming with me.”

She finally looked up at him and made eye contact, squinting slightly against the afternoon light, but didn’t make a move to get up. James rubbed his fingers against his thumb impatiently. She sat still.

“Where?” Teresa asked.

Okay, listen, when I use dialogue from the show I turn on the closed captions to make sure that it’s all exact to what is said in the scene. That being said, I’ve seen and watched this scene so. many. times. I turned the volume to max in my headphones as I edited this to make sure I hadn’t been mishearing it this whole time. The Netflix closed captions claim that James says “come with me” but I just don’t buy that. I swear what he says is “you’re coming with me”. If I’m wrong, I’m sorry that I wrote it in wrong. (But I don’t think I am.)

“Mil gracias, Jaime.” Charger was already waving him off, typing out a message to the supposed professional cheerleader. “Quiet night in for you and the hot redhead tonight?”

James has a lot of nicknames from George. Boaz calls him Santiago. There’s a quick moment from 2x06 where Guero is speaking Spanish and calls him Jaime. In the translated closed caption, he says, “look here, James” (0:23), but you can hear him say Jaime. I can’t have Guero being the only one to call him that (lol) so I decided that maybe a lot of the warehouse guys call him that when they speak to him in Spanish.

Teresa’s back was turned to him as he approached, making her bed. James meant to ask if she was ready to go but his voice got caught in his throat when he saw how she’d made the bed. Even though it was a thin foam mattress on a rusty frame, she’d made her space stand out. It was nice and neat, a clean line folded into the corner. It was the same way nurses made beds in the infirmary and the way soldiers did in the barracks. James believed there were certain skills from boot camp that could never be unlearned. It was how he made the bed.

When I said I’d come up with the weirdest soulmates fic ever based on the tiniest detail, I wasn’t kidding around. When Guero leads the DEA to the empty warehouse in Dallas, he knows which bed was Teresa’s because he sees the corner folded over. Then there’s a flashback scene to Mexico, with Teresa telling him she makes the bed that way because her mom was a nurse and taught her that way. 

James was in the military. He was a soldier. He would have had to have made it through boot camp. He would have to know how to make those hospital corners.

And that being a thing they have in common was screaming out at me to take it in a literal sense: it’s why they’re soulmates. And, even further, it’s how they find out they’re soulmates.

The gears kept turning in my head. Because what if they don’t come to the realization at the same time? What if only one of them knows? It changes everything about their dynamic and why they do the things they do for each other through the first three seasons.

James knew Teresa was trouble. He’d told her as much, with some snarl in his voice and his eyes narrowed, as the sound of bass from the speakers in Camila’s club thumped into their conversation the night before. Pointing out the dangerous nature Teresa possessed was a warning—to her and to himself—not to get too close so she didn’t pull him down with her. The feeling he couldn’t place when he was around her would land him in serious trouble if he wasn’t careful. And he had plans for a future, completely separate and away from the Vargas cartel.

Looks like I went in hard with the pop punk references for this one. There’s a song by New Found Glory called “Don’t Let Her Pull You Down” that made me go with the phrasing that’s in this paragraph. 

All things considered, it probably was an act of betrayal on the universe’s part. The odds of someone dying on their birthday were so much better than all of the stars aligning. It was why people made their plans and chose to love without the universe in mind.

One more pop punk song reference in name only. That’s just how my dumb brain works. I’ll write sentences because I think of lyrics or song titles (or both). This time it was Senses Fail’s  “The Irony of Dying on Your Birthday”.

[transcendence-au]

The Manor of Alcor (9/10)

A/N: Wow...not sure how I didn't realize I haven't posted the rest of this...whoops!

Also on ff.net and AO3

Down, down, down into the dreaded abyss. Orrie wasn’t sure how long they were on the slide—too long in his books—but his feet eventually found solid floor, and he stumbled to keep his balance while blind. The sound of movement a little ways ahead signaled Belle was nearby. And the second Orrie wondered how they were going to navigate, a ball of fire ignited in Dipper’s palm. Now illuminated, the chamber didn’t seem quite as terrifying.

The small circular chamber had five entrances, not including the slide they came down. Four of the doors were metallic just like the various doors they’d passed by when they were first in the basement. But straight ahead was a giant door of the deepest black Orrie had ever seen. Ancient runes and signs were etched into its obsidian surface; and while most were strange, the boy could recognize more than a few symbols pertaining to the Alcor mythos.

Dipper held a finger to his mouth and wordlessly pointed toward the door. The other two nodded, with Belle gripping her bat even tighter. Her brother took the lead forward. He paused briefly to make certain they were safely behind him before thrusting the door open with a mighty push. Though it held firm with as much resistance as wet paper Orrie still noticed the sparks and smoke that sprung forth the moment Dipper touched the door; that door was not meant to be opened by demons. Seemingly unbothered, though, his friend stepped through.

Water sloshed out from all sides and drenched Dipper, and the teen actually fell to one knee, surprised and burned by the sudden assault of holy water. “Dipper!” Belle rushed forward, panic ringing in her voice. Robed men and women were already surrounding her twin and trying to tie him up with what appeared to be chains when she came at them. She landed a solid swing on one of the cultists, knocking a tooth out. Two saw her attack in time, however, and skirted out of the way as she swung. One grabbed her wrist while the other rammed his elbow into her stomach. She fell to her knees, utterly breathless, and the two cultists restrained her. Orrie fared no better at all as a single cultist was able to snatch him be the arms and wrangle them behind his back. They were forced inside—a chained Dipper being half-dragged in—and Orrie could only gape at what he saw.

This innermost chamber was gigantic, easily half as large as the entire first floor of the manor. The square room had numerous pedestals and candles sitting on poles. On top of the pedestals were large bowls filled with water and, to Orrie’s confusion…lilies? No, lotuses– in fact the same ones he’d seen in the pool and greenhouse.

“Hurry, hurry!” he heard one of the cultists whisper tersely, and around the room he saw even more of them light the bowls of lotuses with matches. A soft, almost grassy fragrance wafted through the room as they started to chant. Belle gasped, and though initially confused, Orrie quickly spotted why. Etched painstakingly into the stone floor was an enormous summoning circle of intricate design, and within it were four smaller but equally complex circles: one was in the center while the other three were spaced evenly apart near the edges. And as the murmured words grew in volume a sort of heavy chill settled over him. He glanced over to Dipper, hoping he was alright. His friend so far seemed unaffected by whatever they doing.

“That went much better than hoped for.” Orrie, Dipper, and Belle glared as the imposter stepped forward from the group. He no longer wore his make-up and costume, but he still held that same smugness as that night they’d first met him. Maybe more so now. “I was expecting more of a fight from you three. Especially from you.” He directed those words toward Dipper. “But I won’t complain. Pretty soon nearly a decade’s wait will end with a glorious payoff.” Those not chanting cheered loudly, excitedly. Orrie actually trembled in fear.

“As if we’d let that happen,” Belle retorted even as she struggled against her captors. The imposter snorted.

“I’d love to see how you’re going to stop me. You two are mere children who were stupid enough to come here, and your ‘brother’ there is bound with consecrated chains.”

“Stupid!?” While her anger was understandable, Orrie admittedly thought that shouldn’t have been the focus.

“Decade’s wait? H-how long has this been going on? I thought we were the first victims.”

The fake Alcor shook his head. “Sorry, kid, but you aren’t the first. He was.” And he pointed to a person lying in one of the outer smaller circles. The three turned their gazes, and Orrie spotted the form of an old man he’d overlooked earlier. He was unconscious, a bit bloodied and bruised, but the man was alive. “Mr. Goodman has been so kind in letting us stay on his property these last eight years. Gave us full access to his house and everything. But maybe he should have done a better job hiding the manor’s secret. See, when I first came here, I had no idea how much power this dwelling contained. So when I did I dug a little deeper and found the original journal entries written by the first cultists. And I was intrigued.”

He paused when groaning sounded through the air. Mr. Goodman was stirring, and when he looked around and saw the imposter he let out almost a breathless gasp. “What is…Terry? Terry, please, you must stop this!” But Terry didn’t say anything. Instead, he walked over toward the centermost circle where there was a massive basin full of weird herbs. He took out a match and dropped it, and the plants instantly caught.

“Took me half a year to convince the other staff members to join me in this plan,” he spoke almost conversationally as he watched the flames grow. “Five to update the spell and circle in accordance to Alcor’s growth in power. Two to gather and grow all the necessary items. And another half to test it on some weaker demons. Now, finally, we’re ready.”

Dipper suddenly dropped, and Belle and Orrie turned as best they could to see what happened. “Bro!” With the force of an enraged grizzly Belle elbowed both her captors in the gut, grabbed her bat one of them had been holding, and slammed it hard into Dipper’s captor’s backside. He shrieked in pain as his hold on the chain loosened, enough for Dipper to slip an arm out and yank the rest away. With a shout he shot flames toward Orrie’s captors. They fled in fright, unintentionally freeing the youngest boy in their attempt to dodge. Orrie gratefully returned the favor by charging into the legs of some men about to shower Dipper with more holy water from their buckets, knocking them over. And he in turn was shielded by Belle and her bat before he could be grabbed once more. She stood protectively between the cultists and her brother and friend, her sharp, darting gaze daring anyone to mess with them.

“Dipper, what happened?” whispered Orrie. Dipper was still kneeling, and that greatly worried him.

“I-I—” Dipper grunted and coughed, trying to speak again. “Hard…to…think,” he finally got out. His eyes—which Orrie could now see weren’t able to focus on one thing for very long—landed on the burning lotuses around the room. “Lotus…flowers?”

“Indeed,” Terry chuckled, “The very same, in fact, mentioned in the ancient epics. Its ability to subdue mortal men after a mere taste is so powerful it’s banned in all but three countries worldwide, even for medicinal use. It’s nearly impossible to obtain one from the black market, let alone finding one in the wild. But we did our research, and all we needed was a single seed. After all, we had a magical greenhouse readily available for our purposes to make more.” He looked down at the bowl of burning herbs he was standing by. “The fumes from burning Lotus flowers and Yggdrasil don’t have much effect on humans, but on you…”

“Well, joke’s on you. Demons don’t need to breathe,” Belle shouted out, pointing her bat threateningly at him. “And you’re going to need a lot more Yggdrasil than that to make him loopy; trust me.”

But Terry seemed unbothered by her words. “Not at all. That’s what the Lotus flowers are for—to enhance the potency of the Yggdrasil. I’m fully aware demons don’t need to breathe nor eat nor sleep. But an unprepared demon might inhale a whiff of it, and that’s all it takes for the smoke to take effect. It gradually, eventually, alters a demon’s ability to function. And then, for a few precious seconds, puts them in a trance-like state– the closest to true sleep they will ever achieve; and they won’t have a single care in the world. This window is small—as I said, only a few seconds—before the demon is able to shake off the effects. But it’s long enough for our purposes.”

The man stepped away from the bowl, staring down Belle and Orrie with a facsimile of a pleasant smile. “Now– eeny, meeny, miney…” He pointed at Orrie. “You.”

“M-me?” the boy repeated dumbly while just as unintelligently pointing to himself.

“You’re the last piece I need to complete the ritual– the one with a strong mind. We watched you solve the hints and clues and were we able to narrow down who we needed. Of those who actively sought them, you solved the most.” And he snapped his fingers. Instantly the three of them were surrounded by a ring of maybe twenty identical copies of Terry. Orrie was caught so off-guard he immediately lost track of the real one as they all marched in closer.

“I…llusions,” Dipper told them through gritted teeth. “Can’t…hurt you.”

“Are you sure?” all the copies jeered. One of them ran forward and tried to grab Orrie, but Belle was faster and swung her bat. The illusion vanished like smoke. Then two more charged forward, and Belle aimed for the one on her right.

“No! Left!” But her brother’s words came too late as Belle swung again. The fake one disappeared. Orrie felt a burning sting run across the exposed part of his arm and turned to see the second Terry, the real one, race back to hide in the crowd of copies, the metallic end of a small knife glinting as it was concealed in his robe. He gripped his other hand over the wound to mitigate the bleeding.

Dipper wobbled as he forced himself to stand, and Belle hurried to his side, angling just so that her shoulder could provide him support while she continued to keep watch around them. Orrie was internally amazed how easily and readily they had each other’s back. “Thanks,” Dipper whispered, panting.

“Just hang tight,” she mumbled to him encouragingly. “We’ve got you covered.” Orrie nodded, currently helpless but just as keen to assist them somehow. Wait– he could help! He still had the grappling hook in his backpack. He started to slide the bag off when footsteps alerted him to fast-approaching danger. Several cultists were coming at them from behind, swarming upon them just as their leader and all his illusions charged. Dipper could easily tell the real from the fakes, but from Orrie and Belle’s perspective there was nothing but countless bodies all around them. There were shouts and cries as Orrie was pushed and grabbed at. Terrified, he reached out for his friends, desperate not to get separated from them.

A hand snatched his. “Got you!” Orrie yelled, scared by the cultist who’d grabbed him. Before another sound could be uttered the tall man hoisted Orrie straight up and carried him to the second of the smaller circles, the boy hitting him and struggling futilely the whole way. He dropped Orrie unceremoniously inside it. From his new location he could see his friends struggling to keep the cultists at bay, completely unaware that he’d already been taken.

The man who’d kidnapped him started chanting. “Guys!” Orrie stood and rushed out of the circle—only to smack right into an invisible wall. “Huh!?” He pounded his fists against solid air. It was a barrier of some sort, but…binding circles couldn’t affect living beings. He looked down, seeing the complex runes and weaving lines starting to glow milky white.

“…their blood is yours to relish…” he heard the man near him mutter. He tried to escape again, but merely bounced off the barrier he could not see. He was truly trapped.

“Belle! Dipper! Help!”

Only now the twins turned, realizing Orrie no longer with them. While distracted, though, Belle was lifted and thrown through the air by no doubt magic. Dipper in turn lunged at Terry, his human disguise fully discarded, now a creature of void darkness and brickwork lines of gold. The leader used his magic to levitate himself out of reach at the last second, but the tips of sharp black nails were still able to tear cleanly across his ankle. Terry yelled in pain and nearly tumbled, grabbing his foot. “Hurry and finish! Finish it now!” he shouted.

The chanting grew even faster, ever louder. Dipper—Alcor—shrieked and fell again to his knees, covering his ears. Belle, still halfway across the chamber, screamed her brother’s name as the words grew almost deafening to Orrie.

“From the one with a strong mind, their blood is yours to relish. From the one with a sound soul, their blood is yours to savor. From the ones with resilient bodies, their blood is yours to devour. With this offering, yield to our needs.”

Terry began uttering the words to Alcor the Dreambender’s summons, his voice overlapping and hauntingly overshadowing the words of his followers. The circle in the center started to glow. Alcor’s form wavered and flickered, shifting from whole to misshapen, physical to ghostly. He howled louder, fighting his own summons. The walls threatened to rain down on them as debris and stones collapsed from above.

They chanted the words one final time, and this time Alcor was robbed from the realm of corporeality. For all of two seconds Orrie could only stare at the space his friend used to occupy. But the brief time elapsed, and Alcor soon reappeared in the centermost circle. His form was blurry now, like smoke barely able to hold together in a humanoid shape. Golden eyes, despite lacking pupils or irises, somehow looked utterly empty and were half-lidded.

“Aha hahaha ahaHAHAHA!” To Orrie, Terry’s laughter drowned out the cheering cultists. “WE DID IT! We did what no one ever could: capture Alcor the Dreambender!”

“Dipper…” Belle whimpered. Then, shouting, “DIPPER! WAKE UP! WAKE UP, DIPPER!”

“Save your breath,” Terry said, manic grinned plastered on his face. “He can’t hear you anymore. He is asleep thanks to the Lotus flowers, essentially has no consciousness due to the Yggdrasil, and he is bound by our spell. In short, he is a puppet. Our slave.” He laughed again; he sounded demented. “If only those cultists had died that night; they’d be rulers of this world right now! Shame such brilliant minds ended up being so foolish. Now—” He turned toward his fellow cultists. “Bring an offering.”

Four people hustled to the far end of the room, completely hidden from view. When they approached Orrie gasped. The four were carrying Siegfried’s mangled body, heavy dead weight being dragged to the final smaller circle along the edge. Once it was inside Terry looked directly at Alcor. “Enhance my magical abilities. I want to be the most powerful human on Earth.” There was no handshake, no verbal exchange of words, but the body that had been placed in the circle instantly ignited in a sea of blue fire—Alcor’s fire.

“But how?” Belle was on her feet again, but what she was seeing petrified her in place. “A deal like that requires a lot more than one dead sacrifice. Even a living sacrifice shouldn’t be enough.”

“That’s true,” nodded Terry, “But this circle we’re in is absolutely ingenious: as long as the demon inside it has no objections, and the living sacrifices continue to offer their blood, any deal can be made with just the offering of one body.”

“But if either Orrie or Mr. Goodman just leave—”

“They can’t. The runes that form the outer border of their circles repel blood, preventing them from escaping. And the runes that form the inner border attract it so it can be used in the ritual. Both were activated the moment fresh blood entered the circle.”

“No.” At his words Orrie had looked down at his arm. The blood was not clotting, still pouring, dripping every so often onto the ground where it was then absorbed by the circle he was in. That’s why he couldn’t escape.

“Of course, this whole ritual will end the moment either of them dies from blood loss,” Terry continued, sounding not at all bothered, “But we’ll worry about that when the time comes.” He snapped his fingers, and Belle was teleported near the center of the circle, not far from her twin and Terry. A wall of thorns erupted around them, too high for Belle to climb. Terry snapped again, and another corpse—Dug’s this time; color-drained and bloated—floated to the offering circle. “You are the only obstacle left in our path. Get rid of you and nobody can stop us.” The man hovered high into the air, staring down at the siblings with twisted glee. “And how ironic would it be, Mizar, to be killed by your beloved Alcor? Hah! I bet that’s something not even the original cultists planned on doing.” He glared at Alcor. “Destroy Mizar. And make sure it’s so devastating her soul won’t be able to reincarnate for at least a hundred years.”

But Alcor did not move. And the body remained where it was. “Was I not clear?” Terry’s tone dropped. “Kill her.” But Alcor stayed perfectly still.

Murmur sprang up amongst the cultists. Belle, who’d not done anything to escape Alcor, continued to glare defiantly at Terry. “And you called us stupid,” she mocked. When she spoke it was slowly, as if talking to a little child. “Dipdop’s my bro. I’ve got his back, and he’s got mine. And nothing’s gonna’ change that.”

That’s right! Orrie thought with a grin. Alcor and Mizar were connected– he’d never hurt her willingly; that was something well-established by numerous accounts. Whatever bond they shared was so deep not even being bound stopped them from wanting to protect each other.

“Hmph. I see. So be it. But even though your relationship may be close, enough to not want real harm upon the other, siblings do enjoy a little teasing from time to time. What do you say, Alcor? How about having a little fun with her instead? Just a scare.” This time Dug’s body burned. Alcor’s expression didn’t change at all, as if he really were asleep and his body nothing more than a doll, as he raised clawed hands holding a giant ball of his fire, huge enough to engulf a full-grown adult. Belle’s eyes instantly lit.

“You know, that’s a pretty good idea. Except for one small problem…” Alcor threw the ball, and his sister’s hand clenched tightly. “I’m too angry right now to be scared.” She twisted on her toes, bringing her bat up and slugging the fireball so hard it rebounded, zooming now for Terry. The man recoiled in shock, shielding himself from the oncoming fiery orb, losing concentration. The flames passed over him, hurting him as much as a gust would, and he gasped. But the damage was done, and having lost his focus the thorny wall surrounding Belle withered and collapsed.

Several of the cultists grew furious that Belle was still standing. A couple ran forward, shouting how they’d use her body next as Alcor’s offering, but Terry blew them back with his magic. “No! I want to get rid of her myself now!” And with another snap of his fingers even more clones of him appeared. But this time there was something different– these copies had shadows. These were real.

They ganged up on Belle. The teen tried to fight back, but the close space gave little room for movement, and after a firm blow to the back she dropped her weapon. Once again Belle was caught; this time there was a Terry to hold each of her arms and legs as they moved her to face the original Terry. The real Terry sneered as black magic crept over his body like an aura, giving form to too crooked wings on his lower back and jagged nails on his hands. “This time there shall be no interference.” With fingers pointed squarely at her chest he pulled back his arm.

Orrie hardly thought. All he knew was that he was moving when Terry was, reaching around and behind him in a near muscle-memory reaction. He didn’t even take aim with the grappling gun, simply pointed it forward and shot. The hook missed Terry considerably, not only from it straying too far to the side but also because the cord wasn’t long enough. But it was long enough to strike against the ground with an earsplitting scrape, leaving behind a small indent in the stone. Immediately Orrie realized what he had to do.

But first he needed to save Belle. And Terry was no longer going to be distracted. With a click the rope automatically coiled back up, and Orrie took aim at the men and women near the offering circle, a painful ache growing in his chest. He steadied his breath and fired. The people jumped away, one even stumbling inside the circle to avoid his foot getting skewered by the hook. Orrie nearly hesitated in what he was about to do as absolute guilt gripped his very heart. But the hesitation did not win out.

“Help Mizar!”

For a brief millisecond, a tiny part of him hoped this would fail and just a little less blood would be spilled. But the larger part, the part that wanted to see his friends to survive, wanted him to survive, was more than willing to carry out the horrific deed. The man inside the circle had no hope of reacting in time. His body and clothes ignited with starving flames, and he was devoured alive by Alcor’s fire in seconds. Only an agonizing wail managed to escape before he was swallowed up entirely and nothing more remained of him. At the same time, Terry and his clones were flung back from Belle, the copies holding her exploding into sparks and the real one hunched over and clutching his now black and limp hand in pain.

All the other cultists needed several long seconds to comprehend what just happened and why. Several eyes kept darting between Orrie, Terry, the pile of remaining corpses, and each other. “Why are you all just standing—!?” Terry started to shout, but he was cut off by the mad rush to the back of the room. Dozens of cultists were trying to steal bodies, stop others from taking them, or push even more toward the offering circle. It was clear anyone could have a taste of Alcor’s power so long as there was something to sacrifice.

Orrie used this time to recoil the cable and take aim again, his targets this time much closer.

“Idiots!” Terry snapped a finger on his uninjured hand to levitate one of his own bickering cultists into the circle. “Stop helping Mizar, Alcor; you have no part in this.” The young man in the circle screamed as the fires consumed again, and Belle let out a startled gasp as whatever was protecting her vanished.

During all this Orrie fired and rewound, fired and rewound. The piercing scrape every time it struck the ground made him want to stop, but he kept at it. Almost there…

A cultist managed to shove someone into the circle and was preparing to make her demand. “Alcor, make me—” But Orrie fired one more time, striking the stone and finally disfiguring a symbol each in the outer and inner rings of runes around him. It was enough for him to leap out of his circle. “—as powerful as Terry!” But no deal could be made with the ritual incomplete. Orrie grinned weakly at his work.

Belle was grinning too. “Way to go, Orrie!” Upon hearing that Terry, in disbelief, spun around, glaring at the boy. He scowled when he pieced together what happened.

“It doesn’t matter. There’s still enough power to keep Alcor asleep thanks to the supplement circle in—” He froze, his eyes slowing widening as he remembered. “NO!” Orrie and Belle were suddenly bashed by a powerful, invisible force. Belle was knocked straight to the ground, but Orrie was blown high into the air. Gravity took hold of his body not long after, and he fell. Out of reflex he held out his arms to stop his fall.

“AAAH!” The impact broke his left arm. He collapsed fully, curling in and hugging the broken limb close. Through tear-filling eyes he saw the bleary image of Belle rushing over to him. Several cultists tried to stop her, but they weren’t getting anywhere near her and her bat.

Terry flew between the two. “This ends here!” he shouted, and he rushed at Belle.

Belle dove and tumbled under him, barely dodging his deadly aura. She made it to Orrie and pulled down her sleeve. Sewn on its inside was a strange yet somewhat recognizable symbol. Grabbing the tip of the dented grappling hook Belle pricked her thumb and smeared the blood onto the symbol.

“Snap out of it, Dipper!”

There was a roar, angry and inhuman, and all at once panic ensued. Orrie curled in tighter, unaware of Belle over him, as cultists ran, screaming, seeking the only exit. None could make it in time, struck down by fire or claws or whatever force Alcor decided to unleash upon them. Orrie peeked an eye open, watching as, pretty soon, the only one left was Terry, his copies no longer with him.

“Wel̨l,͝ ͘w̡ell,̧ w̧e҉ll͘–̡ no̕wh̷e̕re to͡ ́r҉un to?” The demon hovered closer to the man, who in turn retreated as far as possible to the wall, completely blocked. Terry’s eyes grew wider with panic by the second, his hands and fingers shaking so badly he could hardly snap. “N͠o̢wh͠e͞r̸e̸ ̨to ̧t̸e͠l͟ép̵o̶rt́ t͟o͟?̛” Alcor was maybe five feet in front of him. “S̛u͜ch̛ ̢a ̸w͡a͞s̵te͝ o̵f un͢l͘im͘i̡ted pow҉er.͝”

“I-I-I don’t understand!” shouted Terry, him pressed flat against the wall as if in desperation to phase through it. “Wh-why can’t I leave!? How are you—!?”

Alcor smiled, and Orrie froze. That ‘smile’ was nothing but merciless and cold, hungry and sadistic without an ounce of empathy. “You ̨m̡ay͝ ̀b̶e̶ th͡e m̸ost po̸weŕf̛u̡l͜ ͝hum͘an͞ o̡n Ear̷t̨h̶.̨ B̡u͞t̢ you̧ ͠a̢re ̀no͝҉t̕h̀͟͡i̵̕n̸̛g̴ ͢co̵mp͞ár͡ed to̴ t̴h͡e mo͟s̴t po͜wer̛f͘ul de̕m̴o̶n.̵” Wisps of smoke tried to coalesce between the two, but just a flick of Alcor’s hand made them instantly disperse. “S̕ee, ͜I ̡re̷membe͟r ev̨e͞ry̸th̷i͏n͘g̛. ̵Your͡ l̴i͝ttl̡e ҉sp̛e̡ll ̵only ͝n̷úmbed ̸m҉e m͟e̷nta͞l̕ly̡ ̴and͡ phys͢ica͝l̕ly̕.̴ B̛u͜t ̧I̴ w̢as ̕ve̶ry mu̢ćh̷ aẃa̢re͘.” He slammed clawed hands into his shoulders, pinning Terry to the wall. “Yo͡u̷ ͏w̛e͠r̸e wr͜on͘g͝ to t̀h͘ink̸ y͡o͠u co̸u͘l̡d͜ ̸us̶e̛ me ̢tò ͡kil̀l ͟my Mi̢z̷ar.̴ An̨d ͢thèn ̧tŗy ̕to ̸k͝i͡ll͘ h҉er ̡y͜oưrse̷l͏f.͠” Dagger-like nails dug into Terry’s skin, and the man yelled. “Bu̡t ýo̵u w҉e҉re͢ r̡ight a͞b̧out one t̷hi͘ǹg: ͟I ́d̨o͘ņ’̴t̴ ́ha̶v͞e̢ ̨àny̧ ̵i̧ssue̷s̷ ̶g͡et̛ting̨ ͟ŗid of͘ ̧up̨p̢it̸y b̕r̛a͠t̛s li̸k̀e͜ ̶yo̶u͜r͠s̡e̕l̡f͠.” And he pressed hard, pumping insurmountable amounts of magic into the human. The man went limp in an instant, his body burning away entirely on the inside, impossible for a mere mortal to contain even a sliver of such power.

“Alright, Broseph, you can stop,” Belle called out. Her eyes focused solely on him and not the lifeless being in his hands. Beneath her Orrie tried to sit up. He whimpered as he shifted his arm, and Belle was quick to help him up.

Alcor released his hold, and the body fell with a muffled thud, landing sprawled like the rest around it. “S̵t͢op?͝ ̵I̵’̀v͞e ̨h҉a̴r͜dl̀y ev͠e͞n̡ be̡gųn̴.̧ Àn͜yo̧ne͞ w͠ho̢ t̴riés̀ t̛o hu̴ŕt̡ y̛o͡u̡ ̕lik̡ȩ t͟h͡at́ ͜d̀oe͘s̨n̷’͠t̸ ͠de͟s̕e̡r̨ve̕ t̴o—” But when he stared at his twin sister he halted. She stared back at him with such pain and tiredness and yet forcefulness he sobered immediately, most of his desire for revenge dampening.

“They’re all dead,” whispered Belle, “Besides, you’re scaring Orrie.” Dipper’s eyes snapped toward the youngest one, who flinched under his gaze. The demon quickly looked away.

“I…yeah. You’re right. Sorry.” His sights soon located the only other living person in the room. “Er, Mr. Goodman, was it? Let me get you out of there.” The next few minutes was spent getting Orrie to his feet, disabling Mr. Goodman’s confinement, and making sure the elder man had no grievous injuries.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Mr. Goodman tried to assure them, but his ashen face had yet to regain its color. “I’m just…blown away by all that has happened recently. To think Alcor himself would stumble upon this manor. I assure you I had no idea any of this was going to happen.”

“I know,” answered Dipper, trying to sound reassuring. It certainly helped that he now looked like a teenager again. “And I’m not angry at you for that. But if you don’t mind, since you’re able, can you find and gather all the evidence relating to this ritual, including the journal entries and notes written by the original cultists?” Mr. Goodman stared at him for a long moment before sighing deeply.

“Yes, I understand. I suppose you want to destroy all of it. No need for another incident like this one.” Dipper didn’t say anything as he conjured forth a cane and handed it to the man. He hobbled slowly toward the door. “Oh, that’s right,” he stopped halfway there, “Terry was using the manor’s security system to block all phone signals and to activate the traps. The controls to it aren’t that far, just out this room and through the door on the right. If you need me to I can turn them all off and call for an ambulance.”

“Please,” mumbled Belle, and Mr. Goodman continued his way out. The twins glanced briefly at each other before turning to Orrie. The boy couldn’t for the life of him gather the willpower to look at either of them in the face. But, he thought to himself, as all the tragedies that had transpired flashed before his eyes, as all the guilt and remorse settled over his heart like a thick blanket, he was still grateful. Grateful to be alive, and grateful to still have the Sterlings with him.

“…Guys,” he muttered dully, low enough Belle had to bend forward to hear him, “I think I’m going to have that break down soon.” Despite how serious she knew he was being Belle chuckled weakly.

“You know, I think I am too.” Already tears were forming in her eyes as she fought to keep up her smile.

“…Okay then.” But he didn’t. Pain and waning adrenaline overcame the body faster than the mind could process, and Orrie was sent falling into sudden but not wholly unwelcomed unconsciousness instead.

[teresa60521-blog]

Side Effects

chapter 7: baby daddy 1

Bakugou remembered the night that they had gotten together; it wasn’t that long ago but it was always fresh on his mind. He had slid a hastily scrawled note under her dorm room door commanding her to meet him on the roof at midnight. It was a spur of the moment kind of thing, one that was completely out of character for him. But he just wanted to get this bullshit out of the way. Her saucer-like eyes were always trained on him throughout class and it was hard not to notice them digging holes into the back of his head. It was easier to just knock this out of the park and have a stupid love declaration or something.

Though, he wasn’t that subtle either. Kirishima and Kaminari would tease him relentlessly about how he was always gazing at Uraraka when they were doing physical training. After they would always mention how she was too good for him. The stares hadn’t stop and it was a miracle that they didn’t realize the two were together.

Uraraka had, in fact, come that night and announced herself with an “Um…” as she pushed open the rooftop door. It had creaked loudly in the way that rusty metal did, sort of like the sound of nails on a chalkboard. Awful. Bakugou had been leaning with his elbows against the railing to overlook the campus, his back to her. He had looked over his shoulder and caught her eye, seeing the way she froze in surprise. She had stumbled over her words, something about not expecting it to be him, then again she really didn’t know who could have written her the note in the first place.

Bakugou had fired back with something along the lines of ‘was it really that surprising?’ and she had said no.

There was silence that ensued and awkwardness hung heavy in the air. It fit right in with the humidity making his hair stand up in every direction. He hadn’t known what to say now that she was there with him, alone, on the rooftop overlooking a darkened campus. It was past their curfew and they would be in deep shit if they were caught but this was worth it. Bakugou, for one, had been surprised that Uraraka would break the rules in the first place.

Curiosity did kill the cat, after all.

It was nerve wracking for Bakugou since he had never confessed to somebody before; he thought it was cheesy and disgustingly romantic, two things he definitely was not. Bakugou didn’t do romance. Yet there he was, letting his heart lead the way before his mind and his muscles had a chance to catch up. He would blame it on Uraraka’s glowing smile in the future but that night was the first (of many) that he would get a chance to talk with her one on one.

Bakugou hadn’t known how long they had been up on that roof but Uraraka had finally broken the quiet hum, telling Bakugou that she didn’t think it was funny that he was making fun of her feelings like this. Bakugou had immediately been pissed, palms igniting with fury. Swears flew from his mouth, arguing that he wasn’t making fun her and her shitty feelings (why he had said that he still had no clue). Never one to back down from being charged at, Uraraka had yelled back if they were so shitty then she was going to leave.

Bakugou hadn’t want her to leave. He didn’t even want to leave her now. It was the opposite of what he wanted and he had lurched forward to grab onto her wrist, gently, not to hurt her, and very quietly whispered into the abyss of the night that he returned her feelings and wanted to go out with her. Again, more silence. It would be the death of him if the League of Villains didn’t get to him first. That had sent shivers down his spine, thinking of those scarred hands that could turn him to particles at any moment.

The cicadas had chirped below and Bakugou’s heart hammered in his chest. It was the same feeling he had after the rush of pummeling an enemy into the ground, or Deku.

The only response from Uraraka had been to flush a shade of red that Bakugou had never seen before and to leave a ghost of kiss on his cheek before rushing back to her dorm room. Bakugou hadn’t know if that meant yes or no but his hand had gone to his cheek and he figured this was just another thing he could add to his list of shit he’s failed

The next morning, however, he had been surprised to find a note slipped under the door with the kanji for “YES” written on it. He felt so triumphant that he had blown up the note on the spot. Kirishima had banged on wall after that but that didn’t stop the grin from taking over his face.

After that the roof had become their special place. It held all their most private moments: confession, first hand holding (that was a big deal, okay?), all their secrets, their first kiss.

That last one had been nothing less than awkward.

It wasn’t romantic, not in the slightest. Fireworks didn’t go off at the first press of lips and Bakugou didn’t feel anything warm and fuzzy in him and he was certain that Uraraka hadn’t either.

It was spontaneous. Uraraka had been talking about something, a smile gracing her face and the pink on her cheeks surrounded by a deep red. It was as if they were the only two people in the world. Super cliche. Bakugou liked that about her, that she had the ability to make him forget about everything and anything else. There was not a care in her voice as she talked about everything under the sun and she was comfortable talking about her deepest fears and her dreams without being embarrassed. Bakugou wondered how she could be so selfless and why that had made him feel so warm inside.

Bakugou wasn’t a soft guy. Not even by a long shot. Everybody and their mother knew that. He had been chained like an animal at the Sports Festival in their first year for the whole country to see. Not his proudest moment but if they had just listened to him then there really wouldn’t have been a problem. But nobody ever fucking listened to him except this bright girl that had sat beside him on the rooftop every night just to talk to him.

That was what made him lean forward and kiss her square on the mouth.

Uraraka hadn’t kissed back, (who could blame her?) only blinked at him with wide brown eyes when he pulled back. Bakugou had immediately ducked his head between his knees, grumbling to himself about how that was fucking stupid and how he was being a pussy about everything. He had felt a dainty hand touch his shoulder and when he lifted his head, her lips were on his once more. It was still awkward, unpracticed; neither had kissed anybody before. Bakugou didn’t have time for shit like this. Number one heroes didn’t spend their days making out on the roof, they spent them training their ass off.

The concrete of the roof also held their first ‘I love you,’ the day they had moved back into the dorms for their second. They had a couple of days to settle before they started course work again and of course they made their way to roof the first chance they got. The sun was setting over the terrain. Bakugou didn’t give a shit but Uraraka had wanted to see it and he blindly followed without a complaint. Uraraka could be surprisingly scary if she didn’t get her way in certain things, just like he was 100% of the time.

That’s why he was so drawn to her in the first place. Uraraka could stand up to him and treat him like they were equals when he hadn’t thought the same. He did now, though. He saw all of her potential and strived to push her in the direction of that potential.

Their first ‘I love you’ was told under a glowing orange and fuschia sky. Uraraka had taken his hand, the risen pads of her fingertips tickling his palm before lacing their fingers together. She had smiled at him in the way she always did, with her eyes crinkling in giddiness. Bakugou wanted to ask how she was always happy, how she could smile through the reality that she would probably never be good enough or surpass the fucking bane of Bakugou’s entire existence, Deku. How she could live with herself knowing that her popularity would probably be based entirely on her happy-go-lucky outlook on life.

He never did and as she smiled at him, the sunset illuminating her in a way it never had before, the words had tumbled naturally out of his mouth. They were jumbled and he had, had to clear his throat to get them out again.

If it were possible, Uraraka’s smile would have grown infinitely wide. She had thrown her arms around his neck, her lashes brushing against his pulse and the intensity of her embrace knocked them to the ground. He had shouted and cursed about what the hell she thought she was doing but she had only smacked her hands on his cheeks, pulling him in for a big smooch on the lips, saying that she loved him too and that she didn’t care that they were only together for a few months. Their love was real and saw no obstacles.

Until now.

Until Uraraka had dropped an utter bomb on top of him that she was pregnant. What the fuck had she expected him to do?

Bakugou let out a frustrated yell and kicked over a garbage can. Garbage scattered everywhere and though Bakugou was normally a neat person, he walked away. He let the trash litter the side of the street. The anger burning holes in his veins made it hard for him to do anything heroic, if picking up some spilt trash could even be viewed as heroic. He was feeling less than heroic right now.

“Fuck!” Bakugou shouted into night, the sun beginning to set. It was identical to the one that had set the day they said ‘I love you’ and if Bakugou could, he would have blinded himself right now. He didn’t want to see anything or think of anything, much less anything to do with her .

How could Uraraka do this to them? To herself? All those dreams she spoke of all the fucking time; she wanted to make money to help her parents. She had told Deku and four eyes, and she had told him. On the roof. Of course it was on the roof. It was always on the goddamn roof.

“ I want to make money, y’know,” She had said one day, looking up at the stars. Bakugou had been on his back, arms tucked under his head and legs bent at the knee, one thrown over the other. Uraraka was sitting with her knees to her chest, hands patting against them in an unknown rhythm. “ So I can help my parents and their business. I want to save people too but… but it’s more important to help them . To me at least .”

Bakugou never understood her dreams. He could respect it and push her towards her goal but he didn’t understand it. He had even asked, “ You don’t want to do it for yourself? Seems kinda shitty that you’re going through all this bullcrap to not do it for yourself .”

He had insulted her without even realizing it. She had immediately snapped back.

“ I love my parents. Just because you hate your parents doesn’t mean that everybody does .”

They didn’t speak for a couple of days after that. It had blown up more than it had to because the both of them were stubborn and didn’t know how to talk out their problems. They didn’t want to admit that they were both out of line (Bakugou, in fact, did not hate his parents. He hated his mother’s nagging and he hated the way his dad never stuck up for himself like some sorry sack of shit but he still loved them. They had given him this amazing quirk after all, and a pretty good life too. He definitely couldn’t complain.)

They made up on his birthday, the birthday that had quite literally fucked them for the rest of their lives. Neither of them could have known but Bakugou never would have let the passion take over if he did.

When Uraraka had told him she was pregnant and that she was going to keep it, he immediately thought she was stupid. Why was she going to throw away everything she was working for, for some unborn brat? And the kid would be brat, if his genes were involved. He didn’t understand why she would leave school when she could easily get an abortion. He knew things, he knew they were easy to get here in Japan. Doctors were always advertising abortions for unwanted pregnancies.

Yet Uraraka didn’t want to get one. Dumbass.

He had stomped out on her like it was nothing. His mother had tried to stop him, probably to get him to explain, but since when did he listen to her? He shoved past her and out into the evening light, light that was now fading below the horizon.

Bakugou stuffed his hands into his pockets. He was pissed. Fucking infuriated. This didn’t just affect Uraraka, it affected him too, whether he wanted it to or not. It affected his parents and hers, even if they were being just as scummy as he was. It affected them going to school. It was a fucking shit show. The baby just caused problems! It wasn’t even a fucking baby yet, which was the kicker.

Bakugou let out a little laugh. It was just a fucking blob floating in her stomach. And Uraraka was going to throw everything away for that. What a fucking joke.

Bakugou didn’t want kids. He had never given it a thought because he was seventeen years old . He was focused on more important things, like becoming the number one hero and beating out Deku. He still didn’t get why All Might had given Deku of all nerds a quirk as powerful as All For One but there was nothing Bakugou could do except being angry about it.

Anger, anger, anger. That’s all people saw in Bakugou. It was easy to, considering that was his default state of being. In his mind he was mature but being able to be set off as easy as he was, that was quite immature. How the hell was he supposed to raise a kid if he couldn’t even ignore the fucking losers in his class?

“Fuck this.” Bakugou mumbled to himself and started on the journey home. He didn’t know if Uraraka had left yet but he sure as hell hoped she did. He had missed her a little bit during their summer break so far but now he didn’t want to look at her. He was just… he didn’t know what he felt, but it sure as hell wasn’t love. It was a complete one-eighty from what he had felt when they had left for summer break only a couple of weeks ago.

Sure, it was the anger talking. It was always the anger talking. He was mad. Not that, that anger was justified but somewhere in his mind this was all her fault. Maybe she was trying to tear them apart by adding a kid to the mix. Even if that was his fault. For not wrapping his dick.

Bakugou let out another grunt. What a fucking mess.

It was completely dark by the time Bakugou walked back up to the house. The lights were still on, as it was too early to go to bed. When he opened the door he heard quiet conversation and Uraraka’s voice was amongst the group. Bakugou slammed the door behind him and made an attempt to stomp up the stairs but a hand curled around collar of his shirt and yanked him back.

“And where do you think you’re going you brat?” Bakugou’s mother, Bakugou Mitsuki, asked, one perfect blonde eyebrow raised, pink-framed mouth in a thin line.

“To my room.” Bakugou tried to get out of her grip but she only twisted the shirt around her fist, holding him closer.

“No you don’t, you’re going to sit down and have a fucking meal.” Mitsuki dragged him to the dining room and pushed him roughly into a chair across from Uraraka. She straightened her clothes and sat down, a fake smile curling on her lips. She was clearly pissed; that hot-blooded gaze was the entire Bakugou family charm after all.

Uraraka looked down at her plate, refusing to look across at her boyfriend. Bakugou crossed his arms over his chest. Two could play at this game.

“I’m not hungry.” Bakugou stared hard at his mother, whose gaze was just as set.

“Too bad.” Mitsuki folded her hands in front of her. “You’ve got a real nice girl here, Katsuki. It would be a damn shame if you let her go.”

“I’m not raising a fucking kid.” Bakugou argued through grit teeth, feeling a bit of spit fly out onto the plate.

“Now, now…” His father, Bakugou Masaru, tried to calm them both, speaking softly. Neither looked at him, only Uraraka cast him a nervous glance.

Mitsuki jabbed a finger at her son. “You’re going to take responsibility for what you’ve done to this young lady, you hear? She shouldn’t have to be the only one to deal with your fucking mistake.”

“She was just as much a part of it as I was!” Bakugou yelled.

Mitsuki curled a fist, trying to appear polite in front of their guest. She would’ve smacked him upside the head by now if Uraraka wasn’t there. “You think I don’t know how sex works?” Both of the teenagers flinched. “I don’t give a shit what you say, Katsuki, you’re going to help whether you like it or not.”

“Mom, come the fuck-”

“In fact,” Mitsuki raised her voice to talk over her son and looked over at Uraraka with a sinister smile, “you’re more than welcome to stay here during the duration of your pregnancy, sweetie, since you’re having troubles at home.”

“What?” Bakugou screeched, palms immediately igniting.

“Katsuki, we don’t use quirks in the house.” Masaru warned lightly, finally interjecting loud enough to be heard.

“Oh fuck off, old man!” Bakugou stood and glared at all three of them, Uraraka sinking in her seat. “Fuck all of you! I don’t have to do anything!”

Bakugou stormed off to his room, vaguely hearing Uraraka politely declining the offer and his mother insisting, his father never speaking a word.Fucking coward , Bakugou seethed and slammed his door shut, pushing his dresser in front of it so nobody could come bursting in. Bakugou collapsed on his bed, staring at the wall with his arms tucked under his head and a pout on his face.

His mother was only doing this to torture him, he was sure. She never did what he wanted, always making decisions that only benefited her. She was the fucking selfish one. Maybe he did hate his mother.

He groaned and slammed his fist into the wall, barely feeling the throbbing. He was breathing heavily from frustration and rage. He closed his eyes and tried to even his breathing, trying desperately to not think about the high-pitched voice coming up through the floorboards, surrounding him, suffocating him. He loved that voice, or he did, before all of this mess happened.

Now, he wanted to shatter it to pieces and make sure that it was never in his proximity ever again.

[dfroza]

“The seed that flowers into righteousness will always be planted in peace

by those who embrace peace.”

A line as the closing line from Today’s chapter of the Scriptures from the New Testament Letter of James:

My brothers and sisters, do not encourage a large number of you to become teachers because teachers will be held to a higher standard. We all stumble along the way. If a person never speaks hurtful words or shouts in anger or profanity, then he has achieved perfection. The one who can control his tongue can also control the rest of his body. It’s like when we place a metal bit into a horse’s mouth to ride it; we can control its entire body with the slightest movement of our hands. Have you ever seen a massive ship sailing effortlessly across the water? Despite its immense size and the fact that it is propelled by mighty winds, a small rudder directs the ship in any direction the pilot chooses. It’s just the same with our tongues! It’s a small muscle, capable of marvelous undertakings.

And do you know how many forest fires begin with a single ember from a small campfire? The tongue is a blazing fire seeking to ignite an entire world of vices. The tongue is unique among all parts of the body because it is capable of corrupting the whole body. If that were not enough, it ignites and consumes the course of creation with a fuel that originates in hell itself. Humanity is capable of taming every bird and beast in existence, even reptiles and sea creatures great and small. But no man has ever demonstrated the ability to tame his own tongue! It is a spring of restless evil, brimming with toxic poisons. Ironically this same tongue can be both an instrument of blessing to our Lord and Father and a weapon that hurls curses upon others who are created in God’s own image. One mouth streams forth both blessings and curses. My brothers and sisters, this is not how it should be. Does a spring gush crystal clear freshwater and moments later spurt out bitter salt water? My brothers and sisters, does a fig tree produce olives? Is there a grapevine capable of growing figs? Can salt water give way to freshwater?

Who in your community is understanding and wise? Let his example, which is marked by wisdom and gentleness, blaze a trail for others. If your heart is one that bleeds dark streams of jealousy and selfishness, do not be so proud that you ignore your depraved state. The wisdom of this world should never be mistaken for heavenly wisdom; it originates below in the earthly realms, with the demons. Any place where you find jealousy and selfish ambition, you will discover chaos and evil thriving under its rule. Heavenly wisdom centers on purity, peace, gentleness, deference, mercy, and other good fruits untainted by hypocrisy. The seed that flowers into righteousness will always be planted in peace by those who embrace peace.

The Letter of James, Chapter 3 (The Voice)

Today’s paired chapter of the Testaments is chapter 22 of First Chronicles where King David speaks to his son Solomon about building the Temple in Jerusalem and bringing the sacred Ark of the Covenant into the heart of its inner room, which also represents the way we invite the Spirit of our Creator to reside within our own in the True illumination of the Son:

[David Charges Solomon to Build The Temple]

David ordered all the resident aliens in the land to come together; he sent them to the stone quarries to cut dressed stone to build The Temple of God. He also stockpiled a huge quantity of iron for nails and bracings for the doors of the gates, more bronze than could be weighed, and cedar logs past counting (the Sidonians and Tyrians shipped in huge loads of cedar logs for David).

David was thinking, “My son Solomon is too young to plan ahead for this. But the sanctuary that is to be built for God has to be the greatest, the talk of all the nations; so I’ll get the construction materials together.” That’s why David prepared this huge stockpile of building materials before he died. Then he called in Solomon his son and commanded him to build a sanctuary for the God of Israel.

David said to Solomon, “I wanted in the worst way to build a sanctuary to honor my God. But God prevented me, saying, ‘You’ve killed too many people, fought too many wars. You are not the one to honor me by building a sanctuary—you’ve been responsible for too much killing, too much bloodshed. But you are going to have a son and he will be a quiet and peaceful man, and I will calm his enemies down on all sides. His very name will speak peace—that is, Solomon, which means Peace—and I’ll give peace and rest under his rule. He will be the one to build a sanctuary in my honor. He’ll be my royal adopted son and I’ll be his father; and I’ll make sure that the authority of his kingdom over Israel lasts forever.’

“So now, son, God be with you. God-speed as you build the sanctuary for your God, the job God has given you. And may God also give you discernment and understanding when he puts you in charge of Israel so that you will rule in reverent obedience under God’s Revelation. That’s what will make you successful, following the directions and doing the things that God commanded Moses for Israel. Courage! Take charge! Don’t be timid; don’t hold back. Look at this—I’ve gone to a lot of trouble to stockpile materials for the sanctuary of God: a hundred thousand talents (3,775 tons) of gold, a million talents (37,750 tons) of silver, tons of bronze and iron—too much to weigh—and all this timber and stone. And you’re free to add more. And workers both plentiful and prepared: stonecutters, masons, carpenters, artisans in gold and silver, bronze and iron. You’re all set—get to work! And God-speed!”

David gave orders to all of Israel’s leaders to help his son Solomon, saying, “Isn’t it obvious that your God is present with you; that he has given you peaceful relations with everyone around? My part in this was to put down the enemies, subdue the land to God and his people; your part is to give yourselves, heart and soul, to praying to your God. So get moving—build the sacred house of worship to God! Then bring the Chest of the Covenant of God and all the holy furnishings for the worship of God into the sanctuary built in honor of God.”

The Book of 1st Chronicles, Chapter 22 (The Message)

my personal reading of the Scriptures for Thursday, january 21 of 2021 with a paired chapter from each Testament of the Bible, along with Today’s Psalms and Proverbs

A set of posts by John Parsons about the significance of our personal “Passover” from death to eternal life:

In our Torah portion this week (i.e., parashat Bo) we read about the institution of the Passover and the final terrible plague that was to befall the Egyptians on the Passover night. When we think of this time, we may imagine God “passing over” those houses that had the blood of the lamb smeared on their doorposts, though it might better be said that God passed into the homes of those who trusted him, while he withdrew His Presence from those that did not...

To see this note that two different words are used that can be translated as “pass over.” First, God said, "I will pass over (i.e., avar: עֲבַר) the land of Egypt that night, and I will strike all the firstborn in the land of Egypt, both man and beast; and on all the gods of Egypt I will execute judgments; I am the LORD" (Exod. 12:12). But directly after saying this, God promised to “pass over” (i.e., pasach: פָּסַח) the homes of those who trusted in him to impart his protection from the plague of death: "The blood shall be a sign for you, on the houses where you are. And when I see the blood, I will pass over to you (lit. עֲלֵכֶם, ‘upon you’), and no plague will befall you to destroy you, when I strike the land of Egypt" (Exod. 12:13). In other words, when God would see the blood of the Passover lamb, he would pass over to enter the house and “cover” its occupants from the judgment of death.

The blood of the Passover lamb sheltered people from the plague of death by atoning for their sin by means of a substitutionary sacrifice. The Torah states that “the life (i.e., nefesh: נֶפֶשׁ, or ‘soul’) of the flesh is in the blood” (Lev. 17:11), and therefore death represents the separation of the soul from the body. The life blood of a sacrificial lamb was therefore offered in exchange for the death and destruction of others. Eating the lamb “roasted by fire” meant identifying with the death offered in exchange for your own; eating matzah, or unleavened bread, signified being delivered in haste, apart from the “rise of the flesh” or human design; and eating maror, or bitter herbs, recalled the bitterness of our slavery...

The first time the word “blood” (דָם) occurs in the Scriptures concerns the death of Abel, the son of Adam and Eve who was murdered by his brother Cain. After Abel’s blood was shed, the LORD confronted Cain and said, “What have you done? The voice of your brother's blood is crying to me from the ground” (Gen. 4:10). Since blood is the carrier of life, it bears the energy and vitality of life: it has its own spiritual “voice.” Likewise, the blood of Yeshua, the true Lamb of God who died upon the cross, speaks on our behalf, and reverses the power of death by creating a barrier that death can no longer cross, since the death of the sacrificial victim “exchanges” the merit and power of life. Unlike the blood of Abel that “cries out” for justice, the blood of Yeshua cries out for mercy (Heb. 12:24). Putting our trust in the provision of God’s sacrifice causes His wrath (or righteous judgment) to pass over while simultaneously extending love to the sinner.... This is the essential message of the gospel itself, that we have atonement through the sacrificial death, burial, and resurrection of Yeshua our Savior, the great Lamb of God (שׂה האלהים). As Yeshua said, "I tell you the solemn truth, the one who hears my message and believes the One who sent me has eternal life (חַיֵּי עוֹלָם) and will not be condemned, but has passed over (i.e., μετά + βαίνω, lit., "crossed over" [עָבַר]) from death to life" (John 5:24). Just as God's judgment passes over from life to death on my behalf; so His love passes over from death to life on my behalf... [Hebrew for Christians]

1.20.21 • Facebook

It was in the midst of the “dark cloud” that Yeshua made intercession for us (Matt. 27:45). The idea of substitutionary atonement is surely mysterious, but ultimately the message is simple: God loves you and has made a way for you to be eternally accepted -- despite your sin... That’s the “good news” of the cross, after all. That’s what Yeshua meant when he said, "Just as Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, so must the Son of Man be lifted up, that whoever believes in him may have eternal life. For God so loved the world, that he gave his only Son, that whoever believes in him should not perish but have eternal life (חַיֵּי עוֹלָם). For God did not send his Son into the world to condemn the world, but in order that the world might be saved through him" (John 3:14-17). Humanity as a whole has been "bitten by the snake" and needs to be delivered from its deadly venom. Just as the image made in the likeness of the destroying snake was lifted up for Israel's healing, so the One made in the likeness of sinful flesh was to be lifted up as the Healer of the world (Rom. 8:3). All we need to do is look and believe. Yeshua died for you so you can live. He stands at the door and knocks, offering to “pass over” your sin and to impart to you his life in exchange (Rev. 3:20). [Hebrew for Christians]

https://hebrew4christians.com/

1.20.21 • Facebook

Today’s message from the Institute for Creation Research

January 21, 2021

The Prayer of Moses

“O satisfy us early with thy mercy; that we may rejoice and be glad all our days.” (Psalm 90:14)

This majestic yet reflective psalm is the oldest of all psalms. The superscript of the psalm identifies it as “a prayer of Moses, the man of God.” While we are not directly told to do so, it is helpful to consider this psalm as the dying song of this man of God as he reflected back on his long life, including the 40 years in Egypt, the 40 years in Midian, and most importantly the recent 40 years of wilderness wanderings. As we survey this psalm, think of Moses pondering his life’s work shortly before he died.

The first stanza of the psalm (vv. 1-2) contrasts the unchanging eternity of the Lord, “even from everlasting to everlasting, thou art God” (v. 2), with the perpetual changes of the recent wilderness wandering in which the people had no “dwelling place” (v. 1). The next stanza (vv. 3-6) notes the frailty of man and the death of a whole generation. But God is the ever-living One; His years do not fail (v. 4). God is also a holy God, justly exercising righteous wrath. The open iniquities and secret sins of all mankind, particularly the people of God, merit His judgment (vv. 7-8).

In verses 9-12 we see the transient, carnal experiences of man contrasted with the permanent, spiritual nature of God. We need to recognize the intensity of His anger (v. 11) and govern our lives accordingly. “So teach us to number our days, that we may apply our hearts unto wisdom” (v. 12).

Perhaps the climax of this psalm is reflected in verses 13-15, where we see the beauty of the Lord our God described as the crowning adornment of human character. The only assurance of the permanent establishment of the work of a man is in its identity with the work of God. Our request of God should be: “Establish thou the work of our hands upon us” (v. 17). JDM

[lucifer-in-leather]

In the Dark

Submitted by @medicated-for-public-safety

(Ah, hey Rae…! You said you were in some serious need of Lucifer vibes, and I thought I would try to give you some since your fics always manage to cheer me up. This is my first time actually writing Lucifer and, even though I don’t usually post my stories online anymore, I don’t mind you posting this or keeping it all to yourself. Hopefully it helps you out…!)

The room had become cold some time ago, the single candle on the coffee table having snuffed under the unrelenting pressure of absolute power that came with the temperature drop. That only left brief flashes of lightning to tease light upon the room from the storm outside, but you somehow just couldn’t bring yourself to care. Just like you couldn’t bother about paying attention to your current guest. A part of you knew that there would be consequences for such a thing, but yet again; no concern seemed to be able to reach you in that moment of time. Too much stress had built up within you for who knows how long now and you couldn’t contain it all any longer. You were pretty sure all of the poor chemicals in your brain had fried themselves as a result. There was no immediate thought to your own well-being or how the looming presence in the room was becoming stiff with agitation. Hell, you probably would have welcomed the pain at this point. At least you would be feeling something. “Little one,” A red hue illuminated briefly from your right when that voice you loved so much, all honey and cyanide, drawled dangerously. His biting breath against the skin of your neck elicited the only movement you’d made in well over an hour that wasn’t blinking, a second shudder spilling through your spine as his finger languidly travelled up your bare arm, “You’re not making this any fun for me right now. You know I don’t like that.” Those words, that tone, let you know that the ice was growing thin. Your body’s immediate response was to erupt into goosebumps at the proximity of the being that could easily end your life with a flick of the wrist. He seemed to notice this, giving a knowing chuckle and brushing your hair back in order to nibble behind your ear. “Would you care to change the situation…? I might let you off easy this time if you’re a good girl.” He purred his words and for a short moment you almost wished that the sofa wasn’t separating most of his body from yours. Maybe if you felt more of your angel against you, you might be able to start feeling things inside of you again too. The shiver-inducing palm slipping up beneath the hem of your shirt and brushing your side caused those thoughts to vanish within the next instant. You’d grabbed the wrist of that hand tightly without really thinking, stopping the advance dead in it’s tracks in a way you never had before. “No,” Your voice cracked when it finally came out, eyes finding his face as a flash of lightning lit up the room briefly. It was quick, to the point where you couldn’t see if he was angered by your action or not, but you hardly thought on it long when he allowed you to gently push his hand out from under your shirt, “Not tonight, Lucifer. Please, just…I can’t. Not now…” There was silence for what felt like an eternity, crimson flashing within the darkness moments before Lucifer was crouched before you and cupping your face, “…Someone upset you.” It was a statement more than anything, but his hands cradling your cheeks actually had relief washing through you. Unfortunately, tears building up in your eyes and clinging to your lashes accompanied that very relief. Illumination from more lightning made them shine like stars for him, if only for a moment. “Answer me, little one.” Lucifer urged you so say something, anything. His thumbs caught the few tears that fell and you leaned into his touch. Your emotions hadn’t returned to you, exactly, but your body was acting like they did. Or were you silently crying now because you were with the one being that made you so complete and you couldn’t feel that flooding warmth now…? “Y/n,” The archangel started once more by actually calling out your name, his voice growing firm when you didn’t speak. You could feel his hands twitch as if he was restraining his physical strength, and his eyes began to glow again while practically searing though the darkness and into your own, “Answer. Me.” It took you a moment to realize that he wasn’t going to let you shake your head like you originally wanted, so you opted for a soft hum instead, “No one upset me. Well, not quite, anyway…it’s just–” “Let me guess; pesky human emotions running amok in that delightfully disturbed little mind of yours?” He cut you off, talking about your emotions almost mockingly. He did this a lot, so it hardly bothered you even when you hadn’t fried the feels switch in your brain. The mind comment would have been nice if you actually could muster enough to gush. “I’m not really feeling anything right now,” You admitted. He hadn’t moved his hands from your face, fingers caressing the skin beneath them in what was perhaps an attempt to soothe your tears away. It was working enough for you to try to explain to your internal issue to the archangel, “I’m pretty sure I overloaded and fried the wiring in my brain a bit. It doesn’t happen a lot unless I get really frustrated or upset, but usually passes after a few hours.” “I’ll never understand why father made such an obvious design flaw.” Lucifer gave a short click through his teeth. You were going to ask which ‘design flaw’ he was referring to this time, given how you knew he believed humans had quite a number of them, but he hardly gave you the chance to so much as part your lips. Lucifer had you pressed back against his chest within the fraction of a second, so fast it had your head spinning. A gasp only left your mouth when the candle on the table ignited of it’s own accord and the archangel pulled you with him while he reclined against one of the arms of your old sofa. His chuckle tickled the side of your face along with his slight scruff, lips meeting your forehead tenderly when one hand cupped your chin in a silent urge for you to dip your head back for him.

A warmth flooded into you from the point where his lips touched skin as he did so. It was the familiar sensation of Lucifer’s grace, mostly lingering within your head, both hot and cold in a tantalizing contrast along your frayed nerves. Little by little, the absent emotions buried within began to return. Tears started to fall again when the stress that was the cause of this entire mess was one of the first to hit you, but Lucifer caught and flicked them away without pulling any part of himself from you. One arm continued to hold you to his pleasantly chilly vessel, the hand on your chin now tracing imaginary circles along your jaw and up the back of your ear, all while his grace alleviated as much of your mental pain as it could from the inside out. The potent combination of these things had you melting into him and relenting entire control of your every molecule to Lucifer’s mercy with a quivering sigh. The stress was coming and going, but not quite fast enough for your liking as it drained what little energy you had. Sensing this, Lucifer tipped your head back further and claimed your mouth with his own. The angle allowed him to slip his tongue past your already parted lips, working you dizzy with his deliberate and precise movements. His caresses remained, as you pleaded earlier, above your clothing and non-advancing. That didn’t stop his tongue from all but making love to your mouth, though. The way in which he did so with such simple movements soon had you needing to break away for air. You’d forgotten all about the stress at that point. “You see, I would have made humans much differently,” Lucifer mused, watching you lay limp against him with his smugness returned in full. He thoroughly enjoyed your dazed expression as his large hand began to idly play with your hair, “But I suppose you’re as close as dad got to perfect with this little runaway experiment of his.” “If anyone is perfect, it’s you…” You distantly recalled yourself replying before he laughed and nudged your ear with the tip of his nose. The hand at your chin wiped the remaining tears against your cheeks away, leading you to realize that you’d stopped crying at some point. “The fact that you’re pointing out the obvious lets me know that you aren’t feeling completely better yet, little one.” His grace began to fade away from you, leaving a soft buzzing behind that tingled all the way down to your toes and even more so where his body continued to touch yours. Shifting so your side was resting against his front comfortably, you reached up to bump your nose lovingly against the scruff on his chin, “You stole what remaining working brain cells I had left with that damnable kiss of yours.” “Not that you had very many to begin with,” Lucifer teased. He kept playing with your hair and the sensation started to cause you to doze off right there in his arms with the distant sound of thunder rumbling just outside your window perfect background noise. The low, lulling cadence of his voice only aided your exhausted body’s attempt at a factory reset, “Now rest, my little lamb. You’ll be back to your usual emotional mess in the morning.” “Thank you, Luce…” You managed to murmur with a smile while what felt like a blanket was pulled over you. It was hard to believe that the archangel currently allowing you to fall asleep against him was suppose to bring about the apocalypse and hated human beings with the fire of a thousand burning suns. It was…nice… Before you drifted too far near slumber while surrounded by the scent and chill of your lover, Lucifer drew you out of it with the backs of his fingers rushing your cheek, “Oh, and little one? When you are feeling better, I will do well to remind you that it isn’t just going to be your phone company and plumbing that’s going to pay for the twenty minutes you spent ignoring me.” You suddenly weren’t as sleepy anymore when you looked up at him with an expression of mild despair. “Lucifer,” Your tone was a mixture of a warning and some sort of plea, already feeling the smugness oozing off of him in waves now as Lucifer knew he’d just become the number one thing under your skin. It didn’t make you feel any better, considering you had a pretty good idea of what he’d done; even in your fatigued state, “Please tell me that you didn’t try flushing my cellphone down the toilet again.” “You’ll get your answer if the room starts flooding in, say,” He deliberately looked at an imaginary watch on his wrist is such a nonchalant way that you nearly wanted to scream, “Five, maybe ten minutes?” “Lucifer!”

Okay... I have read this a few times and it is literally the most amazing thing ever and I am just so freaking happy!!! It’s totally me in a nutshell and Lucifer would just make this so much better! You got his character perfectly and I was grinning like an idiot reading this!

Thank you so freaking much for writing this and I am absolutely in love it and you!!

YOU ARE AMAZING!!!

[darkguardian-wattpad]

An excerpt from Entwined a Reylo fanfic by -DarkGuardian- on Wattpad

This is only part of a chapter called Of Fire and Ice and it takes place before The One Thing In Common. Please check the book out if you like this. It’s free of the free app Wattpad. Let me know what you think!

Rey found a grassy patch just far enough from the edge of the nearby cliff to lay down on. It was a strange thing, not being afraid to fly in a ship that she’d never piloted before which could travel at light-speed only to later discover she had a severe fear of heights. Although to be fair it probably wasn’t the hight that she feared but the water at the bottom of the drop. Back on Jakku she had roped down into many ships and mines without even breaking a sweat. The thing is, on a desert planet you don’t really ever get the chance to learn how to swim.

She peeked over the edge and her heart rose in her chest. Viridian swells rolled into massive violent waves before slamming into the cliff side. The water climbed thick jagged stone walls before retreating back hard into itself, dragging everything down with it. Angry white tips flowed out from the endless midnight blue depths that surrounded the island like hands waiting to grab unsuspecting ankles. She shivered. Back on Jakku Rey use to find a place like this in her mind when she needed to escape the cruel reality she faced daily. Now this close to the edge, she felt overwhelmed, almost fearful and there honestly wasn’t much that really scared her. She loved the island itself but the water surrounding it gave her anxiety. She had found some shallow pools along the beachside to wade through and once or twice, she had even gone as far as her waist line but the second she felt the current pulling and the undertow snaking around her, that’s when her bravery slipped.

She crawled from the ledge back to the soft green of the grass that she could lay in forever. It was nothing like the hot rolling sand that clung to everything and got everywhere. The grass was cool and soft. It smelt so nice and the way it moved with the wind, she could watch it for hours and sometimes she did. She found she loved the color green. Turning to her side she ran her hand over the short blades. She closed her eyes and let them tickle her palm. She smiled as she watched each blade slide over her skin through the force.

“Abusing the force for your own amusement…? That’s not a very Jedi thing to do Little scavenger.” A soft distant voice teased her.

She propped herself up to her palms as the world around her melted away into darkness. Her eyes took in the sudden change of scenery around her. Rey wasn’t on the cliff side anymore. She was in some kind of room. It was large, open and dark. Very dark. There were beams reaching from the bottom of the floor to the top of the ceiling with thick gashes of red molted metal stretching most of the length of them. She could use the soft glow from the tortured beams to see a little. Their smoldering scars shone just bright enough for her to navigate the area with her eyes. There were stands with control panels and small flickering lights waiting to be tampered with, she immediately hated those. They lit the things closest to them for a second at time and it played with her eyes. She blinked several times adjusting her eyes to the dark open space around her.

She slowly, lightly moved through the room, investigating the area around her as she searched for an exit. She could see large heavy looking bags hanging from the ceiling and what looked like a weapons rack at the far end of the room. Her pace quickened as she moved for it. She stepped on something hot and sharp causing her to swear inwardly. She lifted her foot and peeled shredded metal and wires from her boot. It was still hot in her hands and she assumed that whatever had cut up the beams had first enjoyed a taste of this… or what was left of it. She turned it over to examine it more closely and when her fingers found the hot section her foot had her hand retracted with such speed that the piece of what she now realized was a droid, went flying through the air. She pulled her fingers to her lips and in an attempt to cool the burning sensation she sucked the stinging tips into her mouth. There was a deep, guttural sound from behind her and she spun to face it. For a second under the light of the flashing panels, she thought she saw someone. When the light flashed on again they were gone and she remembered what brought her here… his voice!

“Where are you?” She growled through the darkness. A brush of air behind her sent her spinning around again. Her eyes scanned the area around her but still there was only darkness.

How poetic of a representation for Kylo Ren. She thought.

Then from behind her, just like in every one of the nightmares she’d had since she’d met him, that sound came. The searing hiss and crackle from his igniting cross-guard lightsaber. She could see the red glow behind her. It illuminated the floor just in front of her. He was close. If she were to be honest with herself, she knew he was close even before the glow and hiss of the lightsaber gave him away… she could feel him near. Rey froze as her sudden fear took root and locked her in place. She heard him twirl his plasma blade in his hand and she watched as the crimson glow moved over the floor. Even the sweeping shadows fled from the threatening crimson light of the crackling plasma. She felt the heat of that blade creeping towards her in waves, like it was reaching for her of its own volition. At least now she knew who and what was responsible for the injuries the beams and droids had endured. She realized then that she must have been in some kind of training room. She was already eyeing the darkness for an exit again, until he stepped closer to her. Her heart jumped into her throat and she swallowed to force it back down where it belonged.

She couldn’t die here, it was only a dream. She thought, but then she rubbed her fingertips together remembering the burn she had felt only seconds ago. Could she die here? Her mind swam in a sudden panic.

“What makes you think I want you dead?” He asked inquisitively. His voice rang through the air just behind her and she shivered. Rey had been vigorously training for months to keep her thoughts guarded and quiet and it all fell away the second she was next to him.

Good to know that was paying off. She chastised herself silently. Rey decided not to answer him. Instead she slowly turned her head to the right. She didn’t need to move her head to stare stare down at the crimson bathed floor between them but she made a show of pointing out the glow of his weapon while she stood unarmed.

“It’s not exactly a fair fight.” Rey had meant to sound strong but she heard the shakiness in her voice when she spoke. Again for the show of it, she held out her hands with her palms open for him to see she was unarmed.

Kylo Ren took two large strides forward brining his lightsaber so close to her that his arm shadowed over hers. His plasma blade groaned when he moved next to her. It crackled wildly as sparks spit in the open air along the length of it. His hand stayed low. He wasn’t trying to threaten her but he would use the plasma blade to trap her.

The last time Rey had seen that angry lightsaber he had used it to sever a man completely in half. She shifted uncomfortably at the memory. It took all of the self control she could muster not to bolt away from it. It wouldn’t have helped if she did, she had no where to go. She couldn’t side step to the left quick enough to escape his reach and if he chose to swing the saber from this close, she had no doubt the blow would be fatal. At the proximity with which she found herself to him, she defiantly couldn’t step backward. Forward would put her closer to that angry blade and she’d rather let him choke her to death before she would allow herself to meet her demise at the end of that sinister weapon.

She eyed the hilt the plasma was housed in. It looked rough at best. Fastened together the same as he was. Unstable in it’s craft and ready to explode at a moments notice. Quick to destroy, to consume and to overwhelm. They were both powerful, both dangerous, and yet some how both torn. Just as his hilt forced the split of the kyber crystal, sending it’s focus in multiple directions, she felt he to had something controlling him, forcing a divide in him in a similar way. She had witnessed his indecision first had. Had seen him struggling with his inner demons that night on the Starkiller. Now his black gloved hand squeezed the hilt tightly. So tightly in fact, that she could see his forearm flexing under the black pleats of his armor. He gripped the weapon as though he were containing it. As though he was the only thing keeping control over the straining weapon.

“Since when does life ever offer a fair fight?” He asked sincerely.

“It certainly hadn’t for your father.” She spit it out before she could stop herself. Her eyes shut tight. At least now she’d die quickly. She thought to herself.

He was silent behind her. She didn’t even hear him breathing. She swore she heard the plasma blade whine as it retracted back into it’s core. She thought she heard the very air around it being sucked with it back into it’s prison. She tensed at the sound assuming it would be her last, but nothing followed. Then she felt this deep swelling pain in her chest. This shattering sadness built up and she thought she might for just a moment… cry. Then regret washed over her and she was back to the pain again.

Heat stirred beneath her chest. The pain was melting down, reforging itself into a sharp, hot anger. It was a confusing wash of emotions and she didn’t understand why she was feeling them so suddenly and all at once. Han’s death had hurt but she had given herself the time she needed to move past the would be father figure, though she was obviously still very angry at kylo Ren.

When he spoke again, she understood where the emotions had come from.

“Don’t talk about things you don’t understand.” He seethed.

He had genuine anger there but under that were the same emotions she’d just felt. He used his anger as a shield and he was hiding behind it now. She should be use to being privy to his more intense emotions by now. Every time they were near each other she got sucked into his depths.

It was so surreal to be able to literally feel what some one else was. Not just sharing the feelings between them but actually physically feeling what he felt, was mind boggling and to be honest, exhausting. Rey now knew that she had hurt him with her words and she instantly regretted it. She forgot about the situation she was in, forgot how dangerous he was and in that moment of weakness, she turned to face him.

Rey froze absolutely stunned. She was just inches from his bare chest. So close, her nose almost touched him. She couldn’t breath with out taking in his scent and it was something unique. Something that she couldn’t pin down well enough to describe but it was marvelous. Cool yet spicy, crisp, earthy and very masculine. It reminded her of the night air. She almost smiled when she realized he reminded her of the soft grass she was currently curled up in.

She swallowed when she remembered where she was. Her eyes roamed over him. He was bare from the waist up. His arms were clad in the tight black pleated armor he normally wore, complete with black padded leather gloves. When she’d seen his arm under the glow of his lightsaber before there had been no sign or reason to think he wasn’t fully clothed. She’d seen his glove and arm guards. Now staring at the black leather straps that met at the center of his chest holding those arm guards up, she was dumbfounded. Her mind literally shut down. He didn’t say anything either, he just let her stand there in her idiocy.

He was more dangerous then she could have ever imagined. He was a wall of hard toned muscle. His skin appeared bright in contrast to the black armor he wore over his arms and shoulders. He was smooth planes and ripples of dazzling milky white skin. Little beauty spots dotted his perfection like tiny points of interest on a galactic map, leading travelers along through a very detailed tour of the hard lines and muscled length that Kylo Ren was built of.

Rey swallowed painfully hard as her eyes took him in. This was a body carved by the hands of abuse and war. Both old and new scares accented the entirety of him. He was a warrior in every way. It wasn’t hard for her to imagine him as the Master of the Knights of Ren now. His age meant nothing when compared to his experience. He wore the proof of his battles like permanent medals of honor.

It only took seconds to find the larger scare in his left abdomen. That one had undoubtably come from Chewie’s Bowcaster. She traced it with her eyes. It looked like a young child had made an innocent attempt at drawing a circle. It was mostly round but sloppy, shaky, and even a bit jagged in places.

Rey’s heart twisted with guilt and fear as the desire grew within her to see what she’d done to him. She was as curious as she was disgusted with herself knowing that she wanted to look up so badly to see what damage her anger was responsible for that night. Her eyes moved over the black armored sleeve that covered the length and top of his right arm and shoulder. A thick rugged scare peeked up from behind it. It stretched the length of his collar bone up and across his traps and led to his neck… and she stopped. Rey couldn’t bring her self to look further. She closed her eyes remembering the cauterized slash she had left across his face the last time she’d seen it.

How badly had she disfigured him? That beautiful, masculine face. Was there still sadness in those eyes or had she turned them to ice? She wondered at the ramifications of such a disfiguring mark, remembering the first time she’d looked upon his once perfect face. Her heart swelled. She could feel her breath rolling off of his chest. It reminded her that he was real. That he was not just a memory of some sad tortured soul that her mind kept painting him as.

This is Kylo Ren, you hate Kylo Ren. She evoked trying to push her thoughts away from sympathizing with the very man in front of her. She’d gotten soft since she met Leia and the others. Back on Jakku she’d have never given her actions or his a second thought. It’s not like murder and death didn’t surround Rey her entire life.

But Han felt different. His death had been a loss and having nothing prior to loose, only made it all the more difficult to cope with. He wasn’t like the usual smugglers she’d run into in the past back on the dusty planet. He had a set of rules, a code if you will. He was with the Resistance and they were the right side of the two forces. They were the light and Ren was the dark. He was a monster no matter how beautiful the face was he hid behind. Her inner resolve voiced.

But he hadn’t hid behind it. He had removed the mask he wore and shown himself to Han Solo. Faced his father with all of his demons and struggles bared. His fathers last moments had been of clear love and forgiveness. Her inner light defended.

Still, she couldn’t just accept that. She couldn’t get past the anger. Rey imagined red paint splattered across his face where the scar would be. It would always be there to remind him of what he’d done. She hadn’t intended on marking him but the connection didn’t go unnoticed. She’d struck him right where his father’s hand had touched him so lovingly only minutes before. There was a fleeting moment of satisfaction and she knew she should be ashamed at the darkness of her thoughts. She knew Han wouldn’t have wanted his son marred in shame over what he’d done. Han had the love to forgive him and that alone should be enough for Rey to get over it. Rey remembered the emotions she’d felt through him in the after math and again when she’d brought it up just seconds ago.

He would never be able to move past what he’d done, even if he wanted to and that was her fault. Tears welled up in her eyes. She fought to keep them from falling. How could she be responsible for such hate, such destruction? She’d called him a monster but she’d been only a strike away from killing him herself. She admitted shamefully to herself. And Maker, if she didn’t think about it often since.

Kylo looked down on her in anger and then in awe as he listened in on her internal struggle. He hadn’t initially meant to pry but she was so open and it did concern him. He reasoned. Her inner battle mirrored his own and since he was the cause, he felt guilty over it. He could feel her mentally withdrawing from him but he wouldn’t allow it. He had waited to long to have her here, to have her this close. He wanted to share with her what the scar meant to him. He wanted her to know that it was a reminder of her and not of his father.

When he thought of what he did to his father it was because he chose to not because she or anyone else needed to remind him. He would never forget and he didn’t want to. He’d done what he thought he had to do at the time and he couldn’t change that now even if he wanted to. Her scar was the only good thing that had come out of his life in a long time. A part of him died that night with his father. Another part came to life when she had marked him, unknowingly claimed him as her’s. Kylo Ren was permanently branded. He would always belong to her now and wether she knew it or accepted it, she belonged to him too. He suddenly needed her to understand how he felt about it.

He clipped the hilt of his lightsaber to his waistline and he grabbed her left hand with his right. He gave her no time process what was happening before he held it over the right side of his face. His fingers stayed over hers as he slowly guided them along the scar. Rey didn’t look up. She didn’t even open her eyes. Her fingers trembled against his skin as she blindly studied him. She traced the thin smooth line from over his brow, down his cheek to the hard line of his jaw.

He didn’t breath while she touched him. Kylo had run his fingers over this scar so many times since she’d given it to him that now without falter, he delicately moved her along with surgical precision. He stared down at Rey as he held her hand under his. Her fingers left a hot trail over the sensitive flesh as they explored. She wouldn’t look at him and he desperately wanted to see those wild hazel eyes looking up at him like the night she’d done this to him or the night he discovered their Force bond. He led her fingers down until they rested on his jaw line. He wanted to bring them further down, wanted to feel her traces the tissue down his neck and over his shoulder but he could feel her hesitation growing. Her resistance while touching him was building and he didn’t want to her to fight him. Not so soon after he’d just gotten her skin on his. When he stopped guiding her she tried to pull her hand away but he kept it in his. He wasn’t ready to let her go just yet. Kylo pulled against her when she tugged and instead of letting her hand go, he brought it to his mouth.

Her head snapped up and her eyes opened wide. She saw past his face, past his scar, she could only see the deep pools of darkness that were his brown eyes. They were soft and hard, strong and weak all at the same time. They held more then one kind of power and right now they were focused on her. He pressed his lips against the soft pads of her fingers. Large tears rolled down her soft face. She flattened her free hand against his chest in an attempt to push off of him but his left arm snaked around her back and he pulled her against him, pinning her hand between them. She pulled her other hand free from his loose grasp and tugged it away from his mouth.

In an attempt to regain control Rey balled her fist intending to strike him. Again he countered her. He caught her wrist with his hand and pulled it out to the side of his face. She didn’t have the arm strength to fight him, especially while hers was extended so awkwardly. Though he was bent to meet her, he was still much taller and she couldn’t use her weight to help pull her arm free. She felt ridiculous pulling against him. If she had been looking straight ahead, her face would have been pressed into his chest but when he’d trapped her, she was looking up at him and so she was stuck looking up at him now.

Kylo Ren was staring down at her and suddenly she felt like there was a lack of air in the room. Her lips parted to allow more oxygen in and out of her heavy chest. Ren’s eyes dropped from hers to her mouth and she felt her cheeks flush. She was embarrassed, flustered and excited by the way her body responded to his. Rey shivered under the intensity of his gaze and that made her uncomfortable. She didn’t like the lack of control she had around him. Her stomach was heating and she didn’t know if it was from outrage or something else.

“Let me go.” She attempted demanding, but it came out more of a whisper.

“When I’m done.” He said forcefully.

Her brows rose at his domineering response but she didn’t have time to retort before he silenced her. In one smooth motion the arm behind her back curled and lifted, scooping her around the curve of her lower back and waist just enough that her toes were barely left touching the floor, and his mouth captured hers. She instantly pictured the angry waves crashing against the cliff side. He forcefully led her lips with his and suddenly she was on fire. In that moment, she would gladly welcome the grasping hands of the viridian swells amongst the jagged teeth of the rocks below. Let them pull her under until she couldn’t breath. She didn’t care, she couldn’t think to care. All she could do was feel. Her hand was smoldering against the heat of his chest and she could feel his heart beat under her palm. He was pulling her under like the waves and she was powerless to stop him. Her eyes closed as they rolled in her head. She stopped fighting him then. Her body or her mind, was in shock and she became unable to process what was happening or who it was happening with. She couldn’t catch up to the world around her. Every thing was happening so fast and she was moving so slow.

Just as Rey thought she’d drown in him, his mouth broke the seal over hers. His lips softened and he gently moved along hers. She shivered under the delicate touch of his mouth over her swollen lips. All she could do was follow. Her insides were liquid and she felt her legs starting to shake as her knees weakened. He pulled away and rested his forehead along the bridge of her nose. She was stunned into silence as he breathed over her mouth. The soft black waves that framed his face tickled along her skin, sending chills all the way down to her toes. They stood pressed together for several seconds before she came back to her senses.

What the kriff  just happened and why hadn’t she stopped it? Her inner voice was as furious as it was confused and she could barely make out what it was saying. Then he spoke over her mouth and she didn’t care.

“When it’s not just a dream… imagine what that will feel like.” His eyes closed as though he were doing just that. “Imagine what it will feel like…” He spoke into her mouth adding emphasis to the last of his words. “When I’m really touching you.” His breath rolled along her chin and neck. She felt it in small puffs over her collar bone as he exhaled.

They way he finished the last sentence made her quiver and she literally started picturing his words in her head. He’d said it as though he were sure it would happen. Like it was predetermined and set in stone. Her skin sizzled and she felt her body responding in ways that shook her… no, terrified her! Somewhere in the middle of it all his grip on her had loosened. She felt her feet flat on the ground again. She focused on her footing. She let her mind feel the solid ground beneath her and she used it to level herself. She didn’t know when her balled fist had relaxed but now his leather clad hand was pressing against her skin. His fingers were bending over her knuckles to force her palm open against his. Her mind threatened to go blank again but she caught it just in time. She imagined resetting it like a droid on the fritz. She blacked everything out and rebuilt the world up around her. Rey shook her head and Kylo knew his time with her was up.

“That’s never going to happen.” She said finally finding her voice.

She jerked her hand out of his and he didn’t stop her. He let her go then and to both their surprise, she didn’t fall. Bully for me. She thought. Her legs still felt weak but she held herself up just the same, pretending to be unaffected by their recent contact.

Kylo watched her eyes smolder even as she looked away. He was amazed at how well she held herself, even as he felt his own body rock from their sudden intimacy. He watched her closely as she feigned normalcy. He could see how flustered she really was but he didn’t bring attention to it for fear he may embarrass her. He’d already gone to far. He hadn’t meant to kiss her but when her lips had parted under his eyes, he lost his self awareness and his body took over where his reason should have. She had so much more control over herself then he did. He marveled at her strength. The way she caught and brought herself back under restraint. Physically her chest heaved and her body shook ever so slightly. Even her fists were balled tightly at her sides. All while she was mentally pretending as though nothing had effected her. She was trying very hard to convince both of them of that, and he found it endearing. The harder she tried, the more amused he became. She held her head high and she clearly made an effort to look through him rather then at him. He couldn’t help it then, she was adorable and it made him smile. It was genuine and warm. An act he hadn’t done since he was a boy. He corrected the mishap quickly. His lips pulled to a straight line before she could see it. Thankfully she was to focused on looking at anything but him.

He was fire and she was ice. And Maker, he loved the way they melted together. He smiled inwardly.

It reminded him of the first time they’d challenged each other in the interrogation chamber. She had won there, but he was sure this victory would be his given enough time. “We’ll see.” He said mimicking his first challenge to her. His eyes were dark and mischievous. A small smile played at the right corner of his mouth and when he spoke, her eyes flew to his lips. She stared at his mouth for a second to long before she finally looked away.

Yes, she could win battle after battle, it wouldn’t matter in the end because he would win the war! He thought as he stared at her wild eyes.

Without warning green pierced through the darkness filling the small space between them with the same color as the grass she slept in. It separated them like the ravine had back on the Starkiller base. Kylo stepped towards Rey but he was already to late. His eyes caught her’s for a brief moment. They were wide with fear as she stared at him through the emerald light and then… she was gone. With their connection severed, she woke from her dream in a startle leaving him alone in the dark room.

Kylo reached for her with his mind but he was met by a strong force wall. It was far to potent to come from just her mind. “Skywalker!” He hissed. Kylo yanked the hilt of his lightsaber free from his waistline. It shook in his hand matching its masters unstable fury with an anger of its own. He ignited the plasma blade as he screamed his agitation into the air. He slashed and struck repeatedly at the beams and droid dispersion panels cutting his way through the room. He Force pulled the training bags, ripping them from the ceilings and hacked at them one after the other. Next he dismembered every single training droid in the room. After that he took his rage to the walls, slashing and pummeling with a combination of his blade and fists until his knuckles bled in his gloves.

When he finally found the red over his vision clearing, he stopped. His lightsaber retracted and the room was silent except for his heavy breaths and the dying sounds of sputtering electrical wires strewn about. He pressed his forehead into the wall just inches from where a thin glop of molted metal was starting to run. Heat lingered along his face tickling the sensitive flesh of his scar and he thought about her fingers. It had been months since he’d seen her. Since Luke had walled her away from him, he’d barely even been able to brush her mind with his over the long spans of time.

How long would it be until he found her again? How long would it be until she unintentionally drifted to him as she had tonight? Months… years…? He wouldn’t survive that long with out her. He stayed with his head pressed into the wall savoring the fleeting heat of the quickly cooling blood-like metal until it finally solidified, denying his already longing skin the heat it so craved. After several more moments of self wallowing he reluctantly pulled his head from the surface. He stretched his neck and rolled his shoulders in an attempt to release some tension before turning on his heels and heading to his private medical bay. He mentally sighed. He hated the kriffing med bed!

Luke stood over Rey, his green lightsaber illuminating his scowl in a frightful way. She scrambled to her feet, her eyes never leaving his. He looked wild. His hair whipped hard in the wind. His eyes glowed against the green of his plasma blade. His beard had grown scraggly and his robes bellowed behind him. Other then his appearance there was something else off balance about him. She couldn’t figure out what it was but something was changing in him and she’d seen it slowly developing over the last few weeks but now it happened at a rapid pace, seemingly right before her eyes.

“Master?” She found herself blinking up at him as though trying to identify who he was. Except for the clothes he wore and even they were not as tidy, he didn’t look a thing like the man she had met that first day she arrived on the island. His lightsaber retracted and he walked away from her without a word.

              *Hey guys n’ gals thanks for reading! Please repost repost repost! *             -DarkGuardian-