#lars he looks so fucking good i am placing my hands on him and kissing him

[k111lemall]

“You wanna do this here?” ⚡️ Kirk Hammett x Fem!Reader

word count: 1,317

warnings: smut, unprotected pinv, kinda public sex??, dry humping (for a second)

I sat on the couch, legs crossed, and a magazine in my hand - trying to drown out the sound of the boys arguing.

James didn’t like that Lars always had something to say about his playing and that he should “Shut the fuck up because you’re the drummer.” and this caused Lars to snap back with some snotty thing that made James get up and walk out of the room, the record producer following closely behind him.

I, Kirk, Lars, and Cliff all sat in silence in the room for a little bit before Lars cut the awkward tension with an “I mean, am I wrong? His guitar is all over the place.” and threw his hands in the air. Cliff looked at Lars and said, “Kinda, you could’ve mentioned it to him differently…instead of being a dick about it.” Lars whipped his head around to look at Cliff “I wasn’t a dick about it.” Lars snapped back, getting a “Ehh” from me and Kirk.

A couple of seconds later the record producer came back into the room, without James. “Listen, Lars, you and James need to apologize to each other - then I’m gonna take you all across the street and get us some food. Cool?” He said, looking around at all of us. Cliff grew a smirk on his face and got up from his chair, Lars rolled his eyes and with an annoyed “Okay” he followed behind Cliff.

They all turned to look at me and Kirk, who hadn’t followed them and the record producer gave us a look. “You guys coming?” He asked, Kirk shook his head “Nah, I’m gonna stay back and work on my solo.” Kirk said and the record producer looked at me “Want me to get you guys anything?” but me and Kirk shook our heads no and they waved goodbye before walking out of the room leaving just me and Kirk.

*:･☾⋆｡

Shortly after they left, Kirk sat down next to me on the couch to see what I was reading - and after a compliment from Kirk on how he loved my perfume, he was kissing my neck while I read him an article from the magazine on how rock music was damaging the youth. “Satan’s Music.” I scoffed as I read it, and Kirk laughed before going back to town on my neck, surely leaving bruises.

“I thought you had to work on your solo Mr. Hammett,” I said while laughing and playfully trying to push Kirk off. “Nah, all my solos are done. Just wanted to find a way to get some alone time with you.” Kirk replied, “Is that so?” I replied, and Kirk gave me a small “mhm” before pulling me into his lap.

Since I was now straddling Kirk on the couch, Kirk ran his hands up my thighs and to the bottom of my shorts, pulling them down a little. “You know James was staring at your legs?” Kirk asked and I shook my head “Wasn’t paying attention to him, just you and that magazine.” I replied, and Kirk chuckled. I ran my hands up his biceps and once I reached his shoulders I began running my hands down his chest and stomach, eventually getting to his belt and starting to un-do it.

Kirk looked down at his belt then at me and smirked. “You wanna do this here?” he asked “Yes Kirk, where else would we do it?” I replied “Well, I have a perfectly good car-“ I cut him off before he could finish “Kirk Hammett you are not fucking me in a car, we’re not eighteen anymore.” I replied and we both laughed.

I finally got his belt completely off and threw it on the ground and leaned myself down to kiss him. While me and Kirk kissed I used my free hands to un-do the top button and pull his zipper down. I could feel Kirk's mouth turn into a smile and Kirk brought his hands up to rub them up my back and eventually down my arms.

I lifted myself back up and took off my shirt and tossed it next to Kirk’s belt. Kirk’s hands roamed up my waist and eventually to my hips where he gently grinded me back and forth on his crotch. I could feel Kirk’s hard-on underneath me which provided some friction that made me lean my head down, causing my hair to fall in front of my face and a soft moan to escape my lips.

I looked back up and saw Kirk’s eyes laser-focused on where our bodies were meeting and his mouth was slightly parted. I took Kirk’s unawareness to my advantage and slowly lifted my hands to my back unclasped my bra and slid it down my arms before discarding it next to my top on the ground. The flying piece of fabric caught Kirk’s attention and he looked up at my bare chest.

“Please don’t make me wait any longer Kirk, I need you. Now.” I whined out, and Kirk grinned. “Okay, okay..” Kirk stopped moving my hips hooked his thumbs on the side of my shorts, and pulled them down. I lifted myself so Kirk could slide them down fully and I kicked them off. Now completely bare in front of Kirk, he looked at me hungrily - like he hadn’t seen me naked plenty of times before.

To snap Kirk out of his daze I hooked my hands on the tops of his jeans and boxers and slid them down enough for them his dick to spring free. His pre-cum leaked from the tip and I bit my lip and looked at Kirk who was already looking at me. I lifted myself and hovered over his fully hard dick before slowly sliding myself down his length and I gasped in a breath at the feeling. “Fuck..” Kirk groaned out, I moaned out and covered my mouth to hopefully muffle the sounds I was making a little bit but Kirk grabbed my arm and brought it down. “I wanna…fuck…hear you…” he gasped out.

I leaned my head back as Kirk began to thrust into me at a very fast pace and I could feel my eyes beginning to roll into the back of my head. “Kirk…fuck, fuck, fuck…” I moaned out. I placed my hand on Kirk’s stomach for support as I rode him back and forth, Kirk brought his hand up to grope one of my boobs and I used my other free hand to place it on top of his that was massaging my tit.

“Ah…fuck I think I’m gonna cum soon…” Kirk huffed out. “Me..too…” I replied and in seconds Kirk's grip on my boob tightened and his other hand moved to my hip to help me move faster on his cock. “Fuck, don’t stop Kirk, please don’t.” I begged, “I’m not stoppin’ just keep riding me.” Kirk replied. After a few more moments of pure pleasure, I could feel Kirk’s hips begin to buck into me. “Shit, I’m cumming!” Kirk yelled and a short gasp later and Kirk’s load filled me up and mine squirted all over him.

We both sat breathing heavily, I lifted myself off of Kirk and laid down on him for a minute - just listening to his heartbeat and trying to cool down. I used the hair tie on my wrist to put my hair in a low bun to get it off my neck, while Kirk put himself back in his pants and zipped them up while I re-dressed myself. As soon as I finished sliding on my shorts the door opened and everyone walked in holding styrofoam cups and takeout bags with their leftover food. “Well, you guys look like you had fun,” Lars said.

Me and Kirk both just looked at each other and smiled.

(HOLY GUACAMOLE THIS TOOK ME A WHILE. I AM SO SORRY FOR THE DELAY IN POSTING AND THE STORY SOUNDING KIND OF RUSHED - I HAD TO STUDY FOR A PSYCHOLOGY TEST AND HELP MY YOUNGER SISTER WITH SOMETHING OVER THE LAST COUPLE OF DAYS SO I'M SO SORRY BUT IT’S FINALLY OUT AND I HOPE YOU GUYS ENJOY!!)

[winter-fox-queen]

Kisses Like Wine 6

Summary:  The Thief gets into trouble, the reader makes a plan.

Warnings:  A little violence, some introspection.

We are drawing close to the end. :D

I’m tired of you.  You’re no better than my family.

He used the USB stick with its code to get into the vault.  Liberated the stone.  Got out of there.  If he was not, indeed, the world’s greatest thief, he would have failed utterly, because his focus was destroyed.

Your words kept echoing in his ears.  He’d had a lot of terrible things happen to him.  He’d been poisoned once and laid at death’s door for three days, just on the edge of death, the pain like the unrelenting fires of hell but he couldn’t let himself fall into a coma.

It didn’t hurt nearly as bad as what you said.  She’s just frustrated, he soothed himself.  It was a very frustrating night and you were not at your best.

He wanted to do something.  He imagined doing something.  Scenario after scenario, and they all ended the same, you saying that you understood what he’d been trying to do.  That you forgave him.

Maybe.  Maybe.  That you loved him.

That thought set him back.  Love was never part of the plan.  His plan was to show you a way out of your cage, but not replace it with another one.  You had to take your freedom, you had to build your own life.

He kept telling himself that he never wanted that life to be with him.

You were right.  He was a liar.  Something had changed.  Maybe it changed the night of the ball.

All this made him careless.  For the first time in his life, the first time in his long and very successful career…he was being tracked.

He got on a plane, headed to the final diamond, a five star hotel overlooking the Rhine.  Half hoping you would be there, doubting you would be.

He never made it out of the airport.

***

The last thing I was interested in was the Heart of the Rhine.  But here I was, working as a maid, looking for a way in.

Unlike the Compass, The Heart was usually in a vault, hidden behind a wine cellar.

“Are you any closer to getting the Star?”  My brother asked me when he called to check in.

“Do you know the Heart of the Rhine is worth twice what the Star is?  Twice.”

Silence.  Then, “Really?”

“And it is incredibly lovely.  I figure…get the Heart, then I can either just bring it home for the family, or trade it for the Star.  Get papa to let you know his preference, will you?”

“We’ve spent so much money getting you this far, we probably should go for the better stone…recoup our losses.”  He *almost* jokes.

“Did you email me what you found out?”

“Yep.  And overnighting your shopping list.  This is…this is it, right?  You’ll be done after this?”

“Miss me?”

Another silence.  “It’s not the same around here, no.  But…I don’t know how much more dad will let you do.”

“I know I’m not his only plan.”

“No.  The other plan is not…I’d avoid our boy, if I were you.”

I felt chills…”What are they going to do?”

He hung up.

I stared at the phone, cursed, then slipped it back in my apron.  The day before I thought I’d seen Lars, a huge piece of work that our head of security sometimes brought in.  I new he was on retainer, and usually worked for us a few times a year.

I changed, took off my wig, and went looking for him, scratching my scalp.

He was not hard to find.  I had to troll him in a bit, walking all over the place, but I knew once he got sight of me, he’d zero in.

“Hey, Lars!”  I handed him one of two cups of coffee I’d gotten.

He nodded at me.

“So, any luck finding the Thief?  Dad told me to connect up with you, compare notes.”

“I’m done with that…someone else has him, and by the time they’re done, there won’t be anything left to bother with.”

I tried to make the spike of panicked fear I felt act like rage.  “Are you fucking kidding me?  They kill him, and we won’t get our property back!”

He shrugged.  “Your father’s not that worried.  He must think you’ve already got it in the bag.”  He took a sip of his coffee.  I wish I’d poisoned it.  “ But, you should know that.”

I channeled every privileged woman I’d ever met, straightened my spline, looked down at him, and said, “Do you like working for my family.”

He started to look uncomfortable.  “Yeah.  But that’s your father’s call.”

“True.  And I think his call will be a definite no when I show him the pictures I took of you screwing my sister on his desk.  You should work for the porn industry…”

“You’re bluffing.”  He growled.

“Am I?”  I took a step towards him, as if I wasn’t scared.  “You will take me to where they are keeping him.  If you have people you can hire to get here fast, do it.  We will go in and retrieve the thief and you…you get to keep your job.”

“He’ll fire me if I get you killed.”

I stepped back, sighed.  “Lars.  Do you really think he’ll care?  He just wants the diamond.  In a year, maybe two, our head of security will retire.  Don’t you want a nice, cozy position that pays well and has lots of benefits?”

He licked his lip.  “I might be able to get a guy.  Maybe two.”

**

The Thief was cursing himself.  He started with French, then in celebration of where he was imprisoned, German.  Spanish, his mother tongue.  Arabic was next, and maybe, after that, Russian…

All the while, he was thinking.  He didn’t have long…the taste of blood in his mouth and the pain in his ribs told him they’d roughed him up while he was out, but not much.  He was duct taped, but they had not searched his person, so did not know about the very sharp blade he kept in his shirt cuff, and he was working, working.

Whatever drug they’d used (Was this karma?) had faded, leaving him clear minded.

Were you safe?  You had to be safe.  Please God, keep you safe.

Maybe this was you.  Maybe the torture had not begun in earnest because they were waiting for you.  And you wouldn’t really hurt him.  No matter how much he deserved it.  He’d beg for your forgiveness then say, punish me, punish me so you know I am telling the truth, not lying to avoid the pain.

He heard voices.  They were speaking Gaelic of all things.  Had he’d displeased anyone from that part of the world?  He didn’t think so, but anything was possible.

He heard someone at the door, so he held his hands together carefully (he was almost free) and let his head hang down.

Someone came close, smacked him gently.  “You must be awake by now…open your eyes.  It’s time to talk…”

He raised his head.  “And what would you like to say?  What’s the weather like outside…it was supposed to be nice, but with a bit of a chill.”

“You have amassed a rather…stunning collection of wealth.  The gentleman I work for thinks it is time you share.  So, you tell us where you keep your valuables, and perhaps we will let you live.”

Their eyes met, and the Thief said, “A wise man would not let me live…”

They could both hear gun shots, on the other side of the door.  “Hold that’s thought,” he said almost amiably as he went outside.

The Thief got up, threw the duct tape on the chair, and caught the door before it could close.  At the doorway, he could swear he heard you yell out to someone…not angry, mad.  In charge.  He smiled and drew his pack of cards out, selected one and threw it on the chair.

He slipped out.  The place was a large warehouse…a good place to take someone, you could do what you wanted and no one would hear, throw the body in a box and ship it.  He was tempted, to go and find you, but…the card would be enough.  The game was afoot.

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[ecoamerica]

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[queenxxxsupreme]

The Worries of a Mother

A/N: I neeeeeeeeed dad!Geralt in my life okay. Also don’t give me shit because Geralt is sterile. I know he is, I just chose to ignore it for this. You can fight me if you don’t like it. Requests are open:)

You hummed softly to yourself as you moved about the kitchen. You looked up to gaze out of the window in the kitchen. You could see your son, Bram, playing in the front yard with a few other kids.

He was adjusting well to the new village. You’d just recently moved in to your home after being forced out of your previous town by angry villagers. They believed your husband, a witcher, had stolen from them.

Something rubbed against your legs. You looked down to see your house cat rubbing against you, purring loudly. You knelt down to pet the cat. Just as you made contact with its fur, there was a loud knock at the front door.

You stood up and looked back to the window you’d seen your son through just a few moments ago. He was nowhere to be seen.

You went to the door and pulled it open to see a group of men. A few of them were looking across your yard. You followed his gaze and found that they were looking at Bram playing with the other kids. You immediately felt uneasy.

“Hello, gentlemen. What can I do for you?” You put on a friendly smile.

“Lars Van Dijick.” The man closest to you held his hand out. “I own the tavern just down the road. You are?”

“Y/N.” You shook his hand.

“Y/N. What a stunning name for such a beautiful woman.” Lars looked pass you, eyeing the inside of your home. “Is there a mister that I could speak to?”

“He’s busy at the moment. You can speak with me though.” You offered a little stiffly.

Lars looked at you, obviously a little shocked that you’d decline his desire to speak to your husband. He cleared his throat and nodded his head.

“Very well. Your boy….” He trailed off, turning to look at your son. “Has he got something wrong with him?”

You locked your jaw and fought the urge to immediately curse the man out. Bram did stand out in a crowd. Even if he was the normal size of a child his age, he had hair so blonde it was nearly white. But being that his hair was oddly colored and he was smaller than every other child his age, he was often subjected to bullying.

“I am surprised you’d ask me that so bluntly, good sir. You don’t know me.”

“He’s just asking ‘cause we don’t want our kids effected by your offspring.” A second man spoke.

The heat in your veins rose and bubbled. Your fingers curled into right fists by your sides.

The sound of a floorboard behind you creaking told you that your husband was making himself known. You could feel his presence behind you, massive and towering.

“Is everything alright, dove?” His low, husky voice calmed you down a little. You turned your head to look up at Geralt of Rivia. His hand slipped around your shoulders, comforting you. He could feel your distress and frustration rolling off of you in waves.

“We were just having a conversation with her.” Lars clearly was uncomfortable at the sight of the witcher.

“I believe I heard you say you’d like to speak to me.” Geralt gently ushered you to the side. You got the hint and moved to stand behind him, peaking around his large bicep so you could watch the men. “Now’s your chance.”

Lars fell silent, swallowing the lump in his throat.

“We don’t welcome your kind here.” One of the men towards the back spoke up. Geralt’s darkened amber eyes flickered to that man. “You’re nothing but bad news.”

“I will be if you insult my son once more.” He practically spoke through his teeth. “If you don’t want your bastard children playing with him, then keep them the fuck away from my home.”

The group disbanded, clearly losing whatever courage they thought they had.

Your husband glared at the men until they were out of your yard, closing the fence behind themselves.

You placed your hand on his bicep, rubbing his arm.

“You think they’ll do anything?” You asked him quietly.

“If they know what’s best for them, they wouldn’t.” Geralt let out a soft sigh. You rested your cheek against his arm, your fingers brushing over his bare forearm. The sleeves to the tunic he wore were pushed up to his elbows.

You looked to your son, who was happy and content playing with the other children.

“I only hope that the locals warm up to him.”

You said nothing in reply.

“It’s me they should be repulsed by.”

“They aren’t repulsed by him, love.” You shook your head softly. “They’re just curious. He…. He is different but different isn’t bad. He’s just like his father.” You kissed his arm. He hummed. “You’ll keep an eye on him while I finish up in the kitchen?”

He nodded once. You moved around to stand in front of him. You cupped his cheek, brushing your thumb across the corner of his lips. This took his attention away from your son for a moment. He looked down at you, a warm smile coming to his lips.

You could sense his agitation. He was irritated with everyone, with how they treated his son. He carried such an immense amount of guilt just because he thought he was the reason Bram was different.

You placed your free hand on his chest, rubbing soothing circles against the material of his shirt with your thumb.

“I love you.”

“I love you more.” He dipped his head down to seal a kiss on your lips.

You softly patted his chest, glancing over your shoulder to look at your son one last time before you disappeared into the house.

***

The sun was beginning to go down. It was time for Bram to come inside for dinner.

You made your way towards the front door. Geralt had gone to the barn out in the backyard where your horses were kept. You knew he liked to spend time with Roach when negative thoughts brewed inside his head.

You stepped out of the house, pulling the door shut behind you. Your eyes flickered around the front yard in search of your son and the kids he’d been playing with. The sticks they were using as swords were on the ground, almost as if they’d dropped them.

Your heart started to beat a little faster as you flooded with concern. Every time Bram was out of your sight, you could feel the butterflies in your stomach, tormenting you. The thought of anything happening to your precious child made you sick.

“Bram!” You called his name, taking a few steps down the cobble path that led to the main road resting just across the front yard.

He didn’t respond. That was very unlike him. He always answered you when you called. It was also very unlike him to leave the front yard without letting you know.

Maybe he was around back with Geralt.

***

You moved quickly, needing reassurance that your son was safe. The barn door was open.

“Geralt!” You didn’t mean to sound so frantic.

Sensing your panic, he left Roach’s side and moved towards you.

“Have you seen Bram?”

He didn’t answer you but a look of concern washed over his features.

“Oh gods-,”

“Don’t do that.” He cut you off, closing the space between you two. His hand cradled the side of your head while he looked behind you out into the field that rested outside of the barn doors. “He’s going to be okay.”

Tears were already forming in your eyes, blurring your vision. You brought your hand up to hold Geralt’s bicep, your fingers unintentionally digging into his arm.

“What if those men-What if they did something to him?”

Geralt said nothing to you at first. He just gazed down at you with those golden eyes you loved so much. He dipped his head down to kiss your forehead firmly.

“Go back to the house. I’ll find him.”

“I want to help you.”

“No, you need to stay home in case he returns.” He let you go and moved to fetch Roach.

Just as you were leaving the barn, you heard a scream come from the woods that rested beyond your backyard.

You looked over your shoulder to your husband. He took off in a sprint out of the barn, heading in the direction of the noise. You followed, though you were slower than him.

***

When you caught up to Geralt, he was leaning against a tree, his eyes focused on something ahead. Breathing heavy, you moved to stand next to him.

There was a creek not too far from where Geralt stood. On the other side of the creek was your son. He and the other children he’d been playing with were playing in the mud. Your son’s white hair was patched dark brown with mud and his clothes were covered in the same substance.

Bram was the first to look up. A bright smile crossed his lips as he saw you two looking down at him.

“Hi!” He waved his dirty fingers at you two.

Geralt gave him a soft smile and nodded.

“Come along, Bram.” You called for him, needing him closer to you. Worry and anxiety still swirled in your stomach. You always carried a fear that someone would do something to your boy simply because he was different or for who his father was. “You need to get washed up before dinner.”

Bram stood from the mud puddle he’d been playing in and moved carefully through the creek. He slipped on a rock and stumbled a little but he managed to catch his footing.

You saw Geralt flinch like he’d fly to your son’s side and rescue him from the gentle waters of the creek should he fall. You placed your hand on his arm, giving him a gentle squeeze.

As Bram approached you, you held your hands out to pick him up.

“But mommy! I’m dirty!”

“I don’t mind, love.” You smiled at him. You picked him up and hugged him tightly.

“Mommy! You’re squeezing me!”

You released him and settled with holding him on your hip. Geralt followed behind you as you made your way back through the woods towards the house.

“Did you have fun today?” Geralt asked Bram.

“Yes! The kids are nicer here than the ones at our other home.”

You smiled, content with having your messy son in your arms and your husband walking alongside you.

Geralt placed his hand on your back. You turned your head to look at him. The corners of his lips turned up in a smile.

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[shierak-inavva]

please ma'am i would like to know more about this 'obi wan gets sent to protect padme' au pls 👀

ok

ok so like, i’ve talked about this on twitter and i am gonna bring it here:

basically, my biggest gripe with the AOTC plot is why in the heck did a PADAWAN get sent on a high profile mission like protecting former queen and senator from naboo Padmé Amidala? even palpatine, at the beginning of the movie, mentions ‘master kenobi’ by name as a suggestion for a guard for padmé (and yes we know why, but still) so i went ahead and imagined a ‘what if’ for obi-wan getting sent instead of anakin—since on top of being a ‘familiar’ face that padmé AND her handmaidens trust and who already is a known name on naboo, obi-wan also already has bodyguarding experience under his belt.

now, factoring in that anakin stays at the temple for a bit and obi-wan DOES get like 3 days of vacation for the first time in....his life....then he gets a few days of just actually RESTING--in varykino, of all places, and with padme, who would literally let him rest anyway. so obi-wan gets a mini vacay. he gets to relax in one of the most beautiful places in the galaxy and padmé does, too--they talk about the battle of theed, about the senate, the jedi, about qui-gon, and for a little while obi-wan and padmé both get to just...breathe, and be...people. which is nice, and which tbqfh they both deserve.

there might not be a floating pear at dinner but there would be padmé watching him go through lightsaber forms in the early morning sun (either shirtless or yknow in some light clothes because fuck you i said so)

there's no balcony kiss, but there are some very lingering glances and smiles when the other isn't looking and some 'accidental' hand brushing...because they would ABSOLUTELY be slow-burn. obi-wan and padmé are both adults at this point, and both of them have obligations, obi-wan even moreso. but he's already known what attraction (physical and emotional) is like, what romantic emotions are like--he's not incapable of these things, he’s just reserved about them because he understands them, but his jedi teachings dictate restraint, and release. satine was still a figure in his life--he just made a choice, in the end, and do i think he regrets it? i think here and there he thinks about it, but i don’t think he fully feels regret over it by the time AOTC takes place. i think that comes later, when he sees her again during the clone wars.

now on naboo with padmé, he's faced with the same sort of emotions blooming up, and he would for sure think to himself about the choice with satine, about the jedi order, and about the repercussions there. so he might let himself get a little closer than he ought to, but ultimately nothing really WILD AND OVERT would come of it in AOTC, even if they'd been alone on naboo. there would be some very close calls, i think, for sure, but both of them are very good at keeping themselves guarded and very good at abstaining when necessary. again, these are two grown adults that have lived both of their lives with expectations weighing on them, and a certain behavior and standard expected of them. they aren’t two horny teenagers with nothing to lose and obi-wan would 100% respect padmé’s boundaries without hesitation while she would offer him the same respect, if maybe not so staunchly. padmé is for sure more flexible with her boundaries, but pair the two of them together flirting....i mean that’s a dangerous amount of chemistry right off the bat 👀

meanwhile anakin would be on coruscant and FRUSTRATED. not because he didn't get the assignment, though that would be part of it--the responsibility aspect—no, because they chose someone else to go protect padmé instead of him. hell, they could have sent mace windu and he'd still be frustrated and jealous as all fuck. but he still does as he's told. he just...looks into the dart. checks in more on the bounty hunter aspect of things because he’s SURE that’s a good lead after the zam situation. he's determined to prove himself, and if he can figure out who's trying to hurt padmé then she'll be impressed too, of course. and he wants that. a lot. obi-wan might have been sent to naboo but at this point anakin:

> is still VERY infatuated with padmé

> does not know about obi-wan’s romantic history and likely would assume he’s just boring her to death/that nothing would happen anyways

but instead of just consulting the council or the archives, anakin goes to palpatine.

palpatine offers NO help with the bounty hunter stuff.

but he DOES sow more seeds of jealousy in anakin's horny teen brain, and in the end anakin ends up jetting off of coruscant on his own. the movies just downplayed the everloving heck out of this but you KNOW palps was in anakin’s ear CONSTANTLY about obi-wan and padmé, stirring the pot.

now, anakin doesn't have the contacts that obi-wan does, but he's determined. i'm thinking he probably susses a few things out about the dart via the force; possibly with help from another master. kit? someone would help him focus if he asked. likely kit, or ki-adi, or plo, imo—he gets enough to at least send him looking for a bounty hunter and possibly towards kamino--but then the stuff with his mother comes up.

and he ends up on tattooine, with the lars family.

and shortly after the Sand People Incident™ is when he gets in contact with obi-wan--and padmé insists on seeing what's going on because she senses something is wrong and obi-wan agrees. (you can pry force sensitive!padmé from my cold dead hands) so anakin meets them at the lars homestead, tells them about his visions with the dart, about the bounty hunter and the feelings he got

and what better place than mos eisley to look for someone Seedy?

mos eisley has them run right into jango.

jango leads them to geonosis.

geonosis gets them all caught.

padmé is the one who sends a message to the jedi council about the geonosians and jango fett before she gets captured too--because you know they told her to stay with the ship while they investigate but then they took too long and she was like 'oh boy i better call the cops'.

the arena plays out like it did in AOTC, minus the secret kiss & love declaration. there’s a lot of ‘how did we get into this mess’ and ‘well you two took too long’ and ‘i told you i should have come in as a senator first’ and anakin trying to be very convincingly brave about ‘i’ll get us out of this’ which is aimed directly at padmé. honestly the rest of the movie would be VERY similar; i think whoever assisted anakin with the dart would wind up on kamino when anakin went to tattooine, and from there things progressed with the clones and the army gets to the republic.

but there's no clandestine wedding.

anakin returns to coruscant with the other masters, commended for his work helping the senator and with the dart. obi-wan and padmé likely have a small 'meeting' scene where she thanks him and he tells her he barely did anything—but there's some hand-touching, and some very meaningful looks, and they do kiss, just once. it's soft and quiet and not under the pressure of possibly dying or anything rushed by adrenaline or hormones, it's just a gentle kiss between two people who've had this building up for weeks; and in the end neither one of them apologize, but there's A LOT of body language that says they're into it and would kiss again--but obi-wan steps back, and padmé just smiles, and there's a shared understanding between them even if it's clear there's some amount of wistfulness.

“i hope your trip back to coruscant is safe, master kenobi," she smiles like nothing's just happened, nothing's different.

"and yours, senator amidala. may the force be with you." and he bows, smiling back.

but they do look back at each other again, and everything is different.

and then you get into TCW—and PLEASE imagine all of the tension there because these two AREN’T married, they ARE sneaking around but only a little; obi-wan isn’t near as brazen with things as anakin and he and padmé get enough time together in the first few seasons to really build some THICK tension between them. like i’m talking dangerous rescue missions, them having to fight their way out together, getting smooshed in tight spaces together, S O M U C H accidental touching, SO MANY almost-kisses....and then there’s the clovis stuff, which would play out way differently because obi-wan isn’t the jealous type at all and would absolutely trust padmé; and then satine shows up again and we get a whole arc of obi-wan dealing with these conflicting emotions and padmé coming very close on multiple occasions to just telling him she loves him but! supporting his decision no matter what and respecting his emotions, because she understands, and because she knows love is selfless and not possessive and she wants to be with him...if that’s what he wants, too.

but then satine dies—and she worries about him once he's back from mandalore, and there is possibly some very gentle and sweet comforting for the audience to enjoy 👀 the big season finale after that is maul holding padmé and another senator or two hostage and it's an ultra close call but maul dips out, bc it was just bait—and the season ends with him admitting as clearly as he can in Obi-Wan Terms™ that he loves her and padmé reciprocating. they kiss and it's very sweeping and dramatic, but now maul knows kenobi has yet another weakness uh oh...

anyways honestly all of this leads to ROTS being about anakin dealing with the jealousy that palpatine’s been feeding into: jealousy towards obi-wan about padmé, and about being overshadowed. it’s about anakin feeling like he can never have enough, about wanting more and more, about obsessive love and doubt—and when it turns out padmé is pregnant, anakin’s suspicions get confirmed and he turns to palpatine yet again.

IDEALLY padmé survives this movie and she and obi-wan go into hiding together with the twins, (or their child? i mean this is for sure up to interpretation for this specific au) and anakin/vader combs the galaxy for them, resulting eventually in padmé’s death and the separation of the twins, and giving some actual meaning to leia remembering her mother in ROTJ.

so yeah i just. have a lot of feelings about things and at any given moment i can and will talk your ear off about ‘what if’ scenarios like this hdkdjdk 😭💦

[gaybastard2]

IDFC- Chapter 6: Fluff

Text

[Fluff]

Travis POV~

Larry and I sneaked out of our school right behind his friends, our hands interlocked. God, it felt so good to be near him. And I guess his friends, I mean they're pretty cool, don't get me wrong! It's just, I've wanted to be with Larry since goddamn freshman year. He's just so perfect in his own way. His long, unruly brown hair felt so soft under my fingers. The way Larry's smooth skin felt under my touch. His dark brown eyes.

Hell, fucking everything about him. His smile gives me fucking butterflies. Larry even pulls off fucking chipped black nail polish. Even the mole under his right eye is adorable! The warm feeling of his hand interlocked with mine still feels like a dream. My thoughts were ever so rudely cut short as Larry poked my cheek. "Hey, you fucking good, Trav?" He asked, concern lacing his words. I blushed lightly at the nickname before smiling genuinely and squeezing his hand gently. "I'm feeling good. Way better than normal, actually." I kissed his cheek, smiling wider at his blushing face afterwards. Larry smiled softly and squeezed my hand.

"Hey homos, y'all are adorable and shit, but we should probably keep going before people see us or something. Also you guys are making me super aware of how single I am." Ashley announced. They all giggled as I snorted and jokingly flipped her off, repeatedly punching her in the shoulder afterward. Damn, she's blunt as hell. God, I feel like shit for being a dick to her. To everyone. I'm still flabbergasted Larry can even be in the same room as me. I mean shit, I'm an asshole. Oh whatever, if I dwell on it I'll probably get defensive and end up lashing out, thinking it's for the better.

The rest of the walk was filled with talking and laughing, and was honestly really fun. I'm still not really used to being near people I can stand. Or being near people that can stand me. We made it to the apartments and ran in. Larry held the door for me and winked. I blushed lightly and rolled my eyes playfully, punching him lightly in the shoulder as I passed him. Larry giggled and followed me. I bumped into Sal as he stopped in front of the apartments basement door, earning a snicker from Larry. " We're here, bitches!" Larry yelled as he walked through the door.

"Language, Larry! Why are you all back early?" A woman from another room shouted. Larry's eyes widened as a woman walked in from a room from the right. She had long brown hair that reached halfway down her back. She was wearing worn, purple coveralls and brown fingerless gloves. She had a tool belt around her waists holding various tools. "Mom! You're home early." Larry said nervously. Sal and Ash snickered as the woman narrowed her eyes. Her eyes widened when they landed on me. I felt them linger on the bruise on my face before she smiled sweetly.

"Oh, you brought someone new! Lar-bear, you should have said something! Dang it, that's not the first impression I wanted to make." Lar-bear? Holy shit that's adorable. She sighed and turned back to me. "Hello, I'm Larry's mom, Lisa." Lisa explained with a warm smile, extending her hand for me to shake. I smiled and shook her hand. "I'm Travis, Larry's..." Shit. Is he out? I hesitated and looked over at Larry, praying he'd understand. He smiled and nodded. I grinned and looked back at Lisa. "Boyfriend. I'm Larry's boyfriend."

Her eyes brightened and she grinned, quickly pulling me into a tight hug. "Oh my god! That's amazing!" She squealed. I stayed frozen for a bit, surprised. She's nothing like my dad. I smiled and hugged her back, giggling quietly. After a few seconds, Lisa pulled away and sighed. "Well, I wish I could stay, but I just came back to grab my tool belt. Larry, when I get back, we're going to talk about why you guys aren't at school, but for now, please just stay out of trouble. Bye!" She quickly kissed all our heads and rushed out the door.

I looked at Larry. "Holy shit, Larry, your mom is so fucking nice." He laughed and nodded. "Yeah, she's awesome." He smiled sheepishly. Sal clapped his hands. "Well guys, it's been an interesting day, with some..fucking gross discoveries," Larry gagged and Ash shivered. I raised an eyebrow and looked at Larry. He just shook his head. The fuck did they find? "I think we should just chill and watch a movie or some shit. We can talk about the shit we saw later." They all nodded and then looked at me.

I smiled and nodded. As long as I'm not sobbing I'm a bathroom stall, I'm fine. We all decided on watching Heathers and took our place on Larry's couch as he got snacks from his kitchen. Ash, Sal, and I were just talking when we heard a crash from the kitchen. "Uhh, hey Sal? Can you come and help me?" Larry called. Sal snickered and ran to the kitchen to help him, leaving me and Ash in uncomfortable silence.

My eyes were glued to the floor as Ash fiddled with the cuff of her purple sleeve. Suddenly, praise the lord, Ash broke the silence by clearing her throat, causing my head to shoot up and look at her. "Hey, I just wanted to let you know, I'm not mad at you. Well, not that mad. I understand there was some, uh, things happening with your ass of a dad. I don't fully forgive you, but I'm on the right track." She said grinning. I felt a smile creep on my face. "Thank you, Ashley. It means a lot." I said shakily. I can't believe she forgives me, like holy shit I thought she hated me.

We managed to chat and joke relatively naturally with only a few awkward moments until Sal and Larry ran back in the room, both holding various snacks, blankets, and pillows. "Oh fuck yeah! This is going to be awesome!" Ash yelled. I snorted, reached up, and snagged a bag of chips from Larry's arms. "Gimme, I'm hungry as hell." He snickered and pecked my temple as Sal and Ash fake gagged.

After everyone finally settled, clutching blankets and pillows or eating snacks, Larry slid Heathers into the DVD player and started the movie. He plopped down next to me and kissed my cheek. I blushed lightly and snuggled into his side, sighing contently. I could get used to this.

It was relatively silent during the movie, minus the occasional comment on JD needing a lot of fucking help and the sound of chewing on chips and pretzels. As the credits rolled, Larry stood and stretched his legs as we discussed our favorite characters. Larry's favorite character was JD, mine and Ash's was Heather Chandler, and Sal's was Veronica. Ash and I grinned at each other. "Fuck yeah, she's a sassy bitch!" she yelled. I snickered and nodded.

Right after that, we heard aggressive knocking at the door, making Sal flinch and me cringe. "I'll get it." Larry murmured, walking up to the door.

"Get the fuck out!" We heard him scream. Shit.

[belladonnaandulriched]

artwork by badmotorartist on instagram; do not repost without her permission

the mirror never lies | chapter four: that night in sweden

Joey’s point of view

When I was a rascal growing up in upstate New York, I legit lost count how many times my aunt would refer to me as “sassy”, and I am, too. I am Mr. Sassafras… among other things. And I always wondered what she meant by that, too, like maybe I'm a saucy boy underneath this dark exterior and I need my ass slapped or something. I dunno.

Maybe Jessica saw that. Maybe it's more apparent to me than I had originally believed.

Who the hell knows.

But God, she was so adorable, though. It was like looking at myself, looking into my own eyes in a mirror or the reflection in Lake Ontario. I've been told my accent could knock a chick out but that one… I would kiss that Welsh accent if I could.

So, we're in this cramped little van here courtesy of the guys from Nuclear Assault and Metal Church. I know the each of us would be more than happy to trek down the spine of Scandinavia in a bus like Metallica, but it's better than being out in the cold.

I hadn't eaten much in the past few days because of the sheer lack of food around us and also because I just don't feel like it. I'm not feeling up for it. That girl in Wales used me not once but twice. That's just how it's going to be and how it always will be for me. Whatever.

It's starting to hurt a bit, even with my hands placed on my belly—I'm looking down at myself, at my slender legs and my even slimmer waist and wondering if anything good will come out of this. Even with as skinny as I am, I can't help but feel like there's too much here. I came on too strong for her—it's all my fault and I should've known.

Too much. Just too much. Just too fuckin' much.

Too much flesh here. Maybe if I quit eating altogether, I won't be as much. I won't be so damn sassy. If that's what's going to repel girls from me, alright. I'll do something about it.

I'll do something about it even if it means feeling uncomfortable for a time. I'll adjust. I'll get by.

But God, those Swedish meatballs back at the hotel smelled so good. They looked so smooth and lush. I should've eaten a bunch of 'em before we left. A bunch of those with a bunch of those princess cakes.

Mr. Sassy, Mr. Hockey Player, always hungry.

Oh well.

Just cuddle up here behind the passenger seat nestled right in between Frankie and Danny with my arms folded over my stomach to ease the cavernous feeling within me and go the fuck to sleep. I still have my boots on even upon falling asleep. I'm thinking of taking off my jacket because it's kinda warm back here, but—

…

…

…

Huh wha? Fuck! FUCK!

Oh, fuck—what the hell was that? What happened?

It's totally dark. We're stopped on the side of the road. Everything is loud. Someone broke a window?

Frankie says something to me and he sounds like he's down a sewer pipe.

“Joey? Joey? Joey, are you alright?” His voice is all echo-y.

“Joey?” My eyes adjust and his face comes into shape.

“Frankie—” I say to him and he sighs with relief. I can see the mortified look on his face even in the darkness. I hear Charlie breathing hard. I rub my eyes to make sure I'm not dreaming. It's dark and loud in here. I look over at Danny and he's running his fingers through his feathery hair.

The five of us climb out of the back of the van and into the bitter cold. For a moment, I sorta forgot where we were, and then I look up to the sky and I see the northern lights.

Neon green and dead silent.

Our driver says we hit a patch of ice and to keep ourselves from rolling over we hydroplaned off into a ditch: yeah, Danny and I both made the mistake of stepping into the snow bank here. I might be wearing boots but they're not the best kinda boots to be runnin' around in snow, though.

But even as I'm shaking off the snow, something catches my eye. I look up to find Scott, Charlie, and Frankie staring down the road behind us. I follow their gaze to the sight of Metallica's big bus laying on the other side of the road, laying there on its side.

I've got a bad feeling about this, especially with James running like his ass is on fire into the darkness. What is he doing?

Oh, wait, here comes Kirk.

“Wait a minute, man, slow down,” Scott tells him. “Back up, back up—”

There's a pit in my stomach.

“Wait, where's Lars?” Charlie asks him.

I didn't hear him, but I did hear Danny say “call 911.”

I'm stunned. Speechless.

I was just getting to know Metallica, too.

I look over at Frankie as he's falling to the ground on his knees with his hands up to his mouth. Scott's got his hands upon his head. Charlie has a blank look on his face.

It's everything I need to know.

Kirk is literally crying—crying actual tears as he and Danny are calling the medics. I've got to do something.

I just have the aurora borealis overhead and the broken hazard lights guiding my way across the pavement. I round the back end of the bus to find Lars sitting there in the snow bank with no pants on. There's something in front of him—

Oh, shit.

No.

God damn.

Oh. OH.

I clasp a hand to my mouth. I want to puke but there's nothing in me, though. Lars turns his head towards me.

“Hey,” he says to me in a soft voice. I look at his green eyes, lit up by the hazard lights of the bus, but there's no life to them. I lower my hand. I don't know what to say to him, except for, “are—are you alright?”

He doesn't reply. I look over my shoulder. No one coming our way.

I nibble on my bottom lip. He's sitting there by himself. I've come this far, I have to do more than this.

The sight of Cliff's lifeless legs from underneath the bus is making my stomach writhe, but I take my seat there in the snow right next to Lars.

So he's not alone. Just so he's not lonely. Just so I'm not lonely, either.

I have my arms around my waist and he looks over at me, still with that blank expression on his face.

“How about you, are you alright?”

“Really hungry,” I confess.

“I wish I could help you guys. I really do.” His voice is broken and distant. I can very easily say he's going to get frostbite from sitting there in the snow, but the blank look on his face tells a different story.

“Well—I just haven't been eating,” I admit to him.

“Why is that?” he asks me in a low voice.

“I'd rather starve than let my band mates go hungry.” I'm totally bullshitting that, but there is in fact some truth to it. I want to belong here with them, and I'd rather let myself go to waste than see them fall flat on their fucking faces.

The blinking hazard light to my left is enough to let me look into those eyes and the sympathetic look on his face.

The hunger in my stomach is starting to eat at me, perhaps more so than the snow underneath me. It's cold out here, colder than anything I had ever felt in my life—and when we were in California last summer, I was freezing my ass off. California in the summertime!

I hear Frankie say something about not getting the chance to say goodbye to Cliff and all I can think is...

dude, nobody knew this would happen.

[ecoamerica]

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The recording is now available on ecoAmerica's YouTube channel for viewers to be inspired by student climate leaders! Join Aishah-Nyeta Brown & Jerome Foster II and be inspired by student climate leaders as we recognize the High School Student finalists. Watch now to find out which student received the $25,000 grand prize and top recognition!

[bookishfangirlco]

The Traitor Queen Epilogue

This takes place after the ending of The Traitor Queen! Starts out in Lara's POV but kind of ends up a mix of both? Don't ask, I don't know. This is also NSFW cause where’s the fun in it not being that way? I haven’t written a fanfic in forever because I have to do it fresh from reading the book, but there is no fanfiction for this series, and I needed to read this. So I wrote it myself lol.

Part 1 can be read here.

Part 1 & 2 can be read at the link below.

************************

It had been a long day after Aren had told his plan to our people, and Lara had stood by his side through all of it. Even if her body was sore, she refused to show it, and she felt energized by every word he spoke. She wanted an amazing future for her people, she craved for it with everything in her. She had killed her father, and if all goes well, Maradrina, and Valcotta will join Herandale in becoming allies with Ithicana. That meant her people could do more than spend their days fighting for their lives, more than preparing for the next battle. This hopefully meant a future where her people could leave and learn new things. They could follow their passions and see more than their beautiful nation. That also meant others could come here and share their teachings and crafts. It could mean a brighter future for Ithicana. This was everything!

"Lara? Where did you go, my queen?" Aren startled her with a hand on her arm, and with his murmured words, knocking her out of her train of thoughts. They were eating dinner with many of their friends, and her people. It was a celebration, but still meager as it will still be a while before the ships come in with the food they need to really thrive. Her people have not been treating her like a traitor, to her surprise still. There will still those with a bit of distrust in their eyes, but that was the least of what she expected.

She was floored when one of the children she had read to came and hugged her legs with joy to see her again. The little girl had squealed with joy, "My queen, oh you've come back! Will you read to us more? Now, right now?" 

 Lara had stood shocked for a moment, looking up at the girl's mother to see her reaction. The woman did not appear scared for her child, so Lara had looked down, and patted the girls head. "Hopefully tomorrow we can, if you're mother is willing.", she said glancing at the woman again. Her mother nodded, which made Lara's heart fill with joy.

"Possibly another day little one, you're Queen is still recovering from saving the kingdom."

She looked up at Aren's eyes, as they too sparkled with joy, as she teased," I hardly think reading to the children would be anymore strenuous than listening to you yammer on all day long."

Aren knew she was joking, but also knew that Lara would not back down from this challenge. She would read to the children tomorrow. And as many days as she could after.

"Lara? You're really starting to worry me. Do we need to retire to bed?" Aren stated low, knowing that Lara wouldn't want their people to hear that she might be struggling.

This is what finally popped Lara out of her thoughts. "No, Aren, I'm fine, I promise. Just...", She broke off, watching her people celebrate over dinner, "Just reflecting on the day."

Aren knew what she meant without her having to fully explain. She was still processing being no longer the Traitor Queen. Still processing being allowed to live this life with him. "Ah, I see." He grabbed her hand and kissed it, "I believe I am feeling a little of what you are too, my love." He said this some fire in his eyes.

She felt that fire low in her abdomen, and she knew she was looking at him with a mirror flame. "Maybe we should retire a bit early, my King," she murmured low so only he would hear, "I have to admit that I'm still hungry, but food is not what I am in need of right now."

Aren sucked in a breath, the low flame, now a raging inferno. "Lara..." He trailed off, wavering with indecision.

"I need you. Please." She did not wish to beg, but she longed to share this with him now that she can truly be with him.

"You are still recovering my love. That is far too much for me to ask of you in you're state." She could tell that he wanted her now. She noticed how he widened his legs, making room for his growing arousal.

She leaned close, whispering in his ear, "Then be gentle with me tonight. You can fuck me like our country depends on it when I am better healed."

She leaned back into her chair, meeting his eyes and she knew she had him. She could see it in his eyes as he glanced down at her body, and then their people, and finally back to her lips. She bit her lower lip for effect. She glanced at her people, and it did not appear anyone was aware of their exchange. If they were, they were dutifully making themselves appear as if they hadn't noticed. This was good enough for Lara to make her move.

Speaking up just loud enough for others to hear, Lara stated, "Aren, I find myself becoming tired after this lovely meal. Could you escort me to our room?" Not that she needed help finding her way there, but he wouldn't be able to say no to her.

Aren shook his head slightly and pursed his lips, still thinking he probably shouldn't do this, but still he said, "Of course, my queen." Looking to those around him, Aren said, "Thank you everyone for this first day into our bright future. You make Ithicana, your Queen, and I proud. Have a good night's rest, because the real work starts tomorrow." And with that Aren began leading Lara out of the room.

Ahnna caught Lara's eyes with a smirk and a wink, "Enjoy your first night truly back, your Grace. I do hope you get some sleep tonight." Lara blushed slightly but didn't say anything, hoping no one else heard Ahnna's words. She did meet her eyes though, smiling and nodding slightly. She could tell that Ahnna had forgiven Lara, and she hoped they could become close.

Aren walked Lara through the palace in silence, but it wasn't an uncomfortable silence. It was like the calm before the storm. Charged with an energy for what's to come. Aren's hand was on the small of her back, and it felt like a brand. She wanted his hand to go lower.

By the time they reached the room, and Aren opened the door for her, Lara was ready to do whatever she could to convince him. Aren closed the door behind them and she felt him come up behind her, but he hadn't touched her yet. She turned to him, and she saw him rubbing his neck. He was obviously torn still. "Lara...".

"Aren, I promise I'm okay enough for this. You said I rested for 3 days. I don't want to sleep now.", I said insistingly.

Aren made a frustrated growl in the back of his throat, "You've been up all day, Lara, you must be tired. You haven't rested all day, and you are still recovering from great injury. It's not that I don't want you. You know that I want you. I'll never stop wanting you. But I could never forgive myself if I caused you more pain."

She smiled, "If I remember correctly, which I of course do, your Grace, you bedded me right after stitching me up yourself, so this is no different."

"It is different Lara."

"I don't see how." She said, beginning to undo the laces at her breasts.

Aren caught her arms, "You died, Lara! This is completely different!"

She just stared into his eyes, seeing the hurt in them. The pain of that experience. She reached up and cupped his face, "I know. I'm sorry you had to go through that. More than anything, I am sorry for that. But..." And she reached up and kissed his forehead, and everywhere she could on his face till she reached his mouth, "I am not a fragile piece of glass. You won't shatter me." Biting his lip and tugged, she stopped his weakening protests, "So be gentle with me. But not too gentle. I need you, Aren."

Her words broke down his resolve completely. He grabbed her face, capturing her lips with his, the scrap of his teeth sending a thrill through her body. He pulled back, his hazel eyes meeting her azure ones, "You have to tell me right away if something causes you pain. And you better tell me, cause this won't happen again until your skin is completely healed if your stiches break open. Don't make me regret this Lara. I couldn't stand it if I hurt you."

"I promise you Aren. I will stop if I'm in pain. Now please, just touch me." Lara started to undo her dress with shaking fingers, and Aren replaced her fingers with his much steadier ones, having her dress undone and off her body in seconds.

Lara gasped at the cool air against her nipples, and they hardened under his molten gaze. All she was left in was his mother's necklace, and her undergarment.

He backed her up slowly until the back of her knees hit the edge of the bed. He gently sat her down, leaning down and kissing her with a passion that made her thighs become damp with her need for him. His right hand grazed from the crease behind her knee, tracing his way up her thigh, then her hip, slowly up her side until he reached the swell of her breast. Lara almost came out of her skin when Aren began swirling a circle around her nipple, but not quite touching the aching peak.

"There is no one like you, Lara. There will only be you, and I will spend the rest of my days proving just that to you. I love you now, and I will love you forever." With that he captured her lips with his, and finally closed his fingers around her tip, drawing a cry from her throat. He pulled back quickly, "Did I hurt you?"

Lara gasped out, "No, Aren, please, just keep touching me. I want you inside of me. And you're teasing m-" she broke off as he pushed her legs open and dropped to his own between them, and sucked her other nipple into his decadent mouth. He laved his tongue against her tip while his fingers tugged mercilessly at the other, sending sharp sparks of desire down between her legs.

Lara moaned sharply, "Aren!" as he gently nipped her nipple with his teeth, then bit down lightly on the underside her breast. When he deamed both breasts thoroughly worshipped he leaned back and slowly brought both his hands on either side of her starting at her shoulder to draw down her body, flicking her tips as he went, drawing another pleasurable gasp from Lara.

He barely grazed her skin as his finger tips crossed over the narly stich on her ribs, reminding him they probably shouldn't be doing this. He drew his hands closer to the apex of her thighs, then quickly bypassed it to gently trail his finger down the insides of her thighs down to her calves. He traced the same path with his lips, stopping to gently kiss the stiches that had been redone on her leg. The same one that he had stiched up the night he gave into his desire to her. The same night he had told her it had been a mistake to be with her.

"It wasn't a mistake." Lara swallowed, and for a moment looked confused, then clarity came into her lust filled eyes.

"It's okay, Aren. At the time..."

"No. It wasn't okay. I hurt you. It could never be a mistake to be with you. And I will prove that to you for the rest of our days. I promise you." He drew himself up to kiss her again, then gently pushed her back against the bed, "Now lean back and try not too wriggle too much. I don't want your stiches opening back up, and to have to be interrupted in devouring you."

Lara's eyes widened with lust, and for once she listened silently. She wouldn't be able to bare it if he stopped now.

Aren dropped to his knees again, and drew her under garment down her legs. With bated breath, he grabbed both her ankles and pushed them open for him. He kneeled before his Queen again. He would only kneel for Lara.

Her wetness glistened before him like his own personal dessert. He leaned in, breathing in her scent. Lara's hips twitched as she felt his breath against her most sensitive part that he had parted wide open. He drew his hands up her legs with the barest touch again, "Is this what you wanted, Lara? Is this gentle enough for you?"

"Aren!" Lara almost screamed at him to get on with it, but she was afraid he would stop altogether if he could. All she think about was his mouth so close to her, almost there. "More! Please Aren, I need more."

Aren looked up at her just in time for him to say, "You're wish is my command, my Queen." And with that, he was on her in seconds. His hands held her open for him to devour her. First he lightly licked up the dripping arousal that was leaving her slit, drinking it in. Then with broad strokes he brought his tongue to her bundle of nerves.

She reached and grabbed a fistful of his hair, holding him to her as he moaned against her, vibrating her most sensitive of spots. Soon she realized she was chanting his name, over and over again, and it got louder as he sucked her clit into his mouth, tugging on it with just the right pressure. She was getting closer and closer to that precious precipice, drawing closer to being thrown over that edge.

Aren's fingers joined into the fray and Lara flew over that edge when he pressed up repeatedly against this sweet spot inside her. She screamed as Aren didn't let up his ministrations on her body, sending her over that incredible edge once more. He slowly stopped, kissing his way up to her lips. "How was that, my love?"

She was in awe of him, tasting herself on his lips, "Incredible." He began to lean back, "Where are you going?"

"Are you sure you don't want to rest now?" Aren's eyes blazed as he gazed upon her body. She could tell he would stop if she asked him. Lucky for both of them, that is not at all what she wanted.

"I'm positive. Now strip off those clothes before I get up and strip you with my teeth." She kept her legs open to remind him where he was going to put that cock of his when he was done.

I don't think she ever saw Aren as stunned in his life. She could tell he sort of wanted to see her do it. But his want for her not to hurt herself won out and he stripped faster than she thought possible with those boots on. She gazed upon his beatiful body, not believing that he was all hers. Her King. Her Husband.

He stalked to her, and drew himself over her gently, holding his body up over hers to not crush her. Her breasts pressed against his bare chest, the feeling exquisite. He brought her uninjured leg over his hip and his cock brushed her opening. They both hissed with desire from the feeling.

Lara began gently grounding herself against him. "Don't Lara, let me do all the work this time. You can make it up to me later," he said teasingly, but also seriously about her not moving too much, even if it did feel incredible.

Lara stopped, pouting her lip at him. She was no longer pouting when Aren dragged himself through her sensitive lips. He repeated this motion until he could tell Lara could take no more, and pushed into her opening.

Lara's mouth opened in a silent scream. It had been too long. And to think, she almost never got to feel this again. She would savor this moment, and all the ones that came after.

Aren pushed in all the way, seating himself, holding himself there for a moment, then drew back out swiftly. He almost pulled all the way out before pounding into her again, carefully as to not push into her too roughly. That could come later.

Lara gripped the sheets as his pounding got faster and faster, and he wanted her hands on his. He grabbed her hands, intertwining her fingers with his as intertwined as their bodies were.

Lara was getting closer and closer to that glittering edge again. "Aren, I-" Her words cut off as she threw her head back as Aren pushed in and ground his pelvis against her sensitive mound. She climaxed in a scream the whole palace probably heard, and Aren went with her, feeling her pulsing climax, groaning into her neck.

It was a long moment before either of them moved after Aren slowed to a stop. He gently removed himself from her body, but he didn't go far. Just pushed back far enough to examine all her stiches. Still holding up and didn't appear to be causing Lara any pain as she caught her breath with a smile on her face.

Aren smiled down at his gorgeous Queen, "There is no one else like you, Lara..." He laid down and drew her into arms, where she should be. Lara kissed his chest with a gentle press of her lips, and he kissed the top of her head. "I can't believe sometimes that I actually get to keep you in my life, I get to live this life with you as my Queen. Thank whatever power kept those sharks from eating you." He teased slightly, but they both know how serious what he was saying was.

She whispered as she placed her hands on his chest, her azure eyes looking up into his hazel ones, "I love you, Aren, from now until the very end. It will only be you, my King." He could see the emotion welling in her eyes.

He pulled her closer into his arms, trailing his fingers up and down her spine gently as he always did, "And I love you my Queen, from now until our final moments. There is no one else but you for me. And for Ithicana."

They both smiled as they drifted to sleep in each other's arms in true bliss.

[josiebelladonna]

You might be wondering why I’m writing about this given this is such a private and personal matter, and with the NSFW ban in place (fuck you, Tumblr, really, I hope the rumors are true and Yahoo shuts your big shot asses down the toilet you disgusting cocksuckers), this is very risky for me to write about this. But this is starting to drive me nuts given the importance and given the fact I’ve been starting to get the eye from people now. So read on if you’re like me... and you’re curious about the 20-something writing this right now.

I have been confused about my sexuality since I was about 16 or 17--I started to give it some thought when I turned 16 and I heard the phrase “16 and never been kissed” getting thrown around. I always went to the default of “straight” and yet I never really looked at a boy in the school yard or on the street and thought he was cute enough for me to call him more than just my friend--and it wasn’t until my cyber encounter after I got out of high school when I really began to feel it.

Yeah, after I left high school. Never went to prom, never had a sweetheart, anything.

Whenever I was asked “do you like anyone?” (I still get asked that, too) I could never answer that. The answer was always no and I felt like I was missing out on something. Some people in school actually thought I was lesbian because I never swooned over the hottest guy, which is ridiculous because I was more focused on my schoolwork and digging myself out of the hole of a dysfunctional family than having my eye on some dude who didn’t even know my name and probably wouldn’t think I was attractive anyways (and even if I was gay, what’s the fault in that?)

There have been a few times I’ve thought, for sure, I was asexual because of that. It’s always been hard for me to feel that “spark” if you will; I hate looking at selfies simply because of this. Hate it, absolutely hate it. and I’m glad the “I was tagged to post selfies!” meme on here is finally dead, too, because I found it pathetic. You really have to actually look good in order for me to give you an ounce of attention, and even then I won’t be like those people who are like “OMG you’re so HOT!” because I take a look and I think “they’re okay. Nothing fancy and I can’t see wtf is so great about them but kudos for having the balls/ovaries for taking the time out to take a snapshot of themselves.” And other times, I think “god, no. Sorry if I sound harsh, but no. I didn’t want to see you and I didn’t ask to see you, either.”

I know I’m not asexual because I’ve had fantasies galore and I have felt desire now that I really think about it. Although I have thought I was bisexual because I’ve thought about making out with a girl just to see what it’s like.

I think it has to do with my past, all of the shame I experienced as a child and an adolescent. I remember being very small and putting my hand down my pants and my strict religious grandmother saying “nice girls don’t do that” (she would also go on to shame me for being curious about other things like erotica), or wanting to pull my shirt up to touch my stomach and hearing “no one wants to see your bare belly, hannah, that’s not allowed.” When my chest started coming in, I was shamed for it (”she’s got boobs now, put a safe guard on her!” or *in a mocking voice* “chesty little thing”). When my hips started coming in, I was shamed for it (a favorite insult I’d get is “fatass”; or whenever I walked in front of a bunch of people, I did as best as I could to not bring attention to my hips). Or I was flatout shamed for the way I look, called ugly or gross. My uncle, aka the driving force in my body dysmorphia and my encounter with eating disorders, once said that I’m too heavy in build--I really am heavy, too, I’m like a female Lars Ulrich with a more olive complexion and I’ve got about a hundred pounds on him--and no one would love me or find me attractive if I was fat or above a certain weight. The first boy to have a crush on me was a total creep about it--I was 9 years old then, too, imagine how I’d feel if it happened to me now. All of this shame, all of this negativity... no wonder why I feel almost insulted when someone asks me “do you like anyone?” or “are you seeing anyone?” or assumes that I must have a hot boyfriend in my life. I really do feel insulted by those assumptions. Like, you just made fun of the fact I gain weight easily, and the fact I have a large bra size and now you’re asking if I’m thinking of getting railed? Fuck off. I don’t care who you are, either. Fuck. Right. Off.

Now that I think about it, I know for a damn fact that I’m not ace: when Ben and I were getting closer, in my third letter to him, I included a pic of myself where I dressed nice for him (he later said it felt like I was seducing him). I did as best and as decent as I could for Lars when I wrote to him last fall: I’ve written erotica about him, ffs; and I'm at the point now where I don’t go a day without thinking about Black Album era, where he had that long Jesus hair, that sexy beard, and a little “extra.” I guess I just like a little roundness and a little softness: I think about pinching his little cheeks or rubbing his tummy or just giving him a hug, and after all the bullshit he’s been through--and feeling unable to unsee the shocking amount of fanfics about him that paint him in a gross light--it’s understandable that I think about... you know, giving him a little lovin’. The same goes for Ben, too: after Chris died, I wrote to him with the confession that I’ve thought about comforting him and being there for him after Soundgarden broke up initially--I think I actually wrote a fic about that once. In fact, last night, to unwind after the trip back from Dodger Stadium, I watched some Anthrax videos and I never realized how cute Joey is. Everyone in Anthrax, actually: I guess I have a hair fetish because I think Scott doesn’t look right with a bald head; I’ve often thought about what Ben would look like with long hair, and I think about long haired, young and rambunctious Lars whereas Load era or St. Anger era practically never cross my mind (really, in my Dave and Lars folder, I have all of two pics of him without any hair, whereas the rest are from the 80s or the early 90s). And I think men who love their mamas are sexy, too, so there’s that.

And like I said, I have fantasies and I’ve thought about being touched. In my first encounter, I felt aroused, and the whole point of my tag nirvhannah shepherd chronicles is to act like an erotic memoir. Or maybe I’m gray: I can’t look at some person everyone deems as “hot” and feel the way their admirers do. Whenever my mom points out a cute guy, I’m like “yeah, okay” and then I just leave it at that; or I shrug, like “sorry, Mom, but... what do you want me to do?” And yet one of my aspirations in life is to be a sex symbol and I’m not sure how I feel about that, either. Or maybe I’m demi: in my first encounter, I already knew the guy, he sat behind me in math class and I was there to comfort him. I had already written to Ben twice and I found Lars just by happenstance. And I like to wear clothes that draw attention to my hips and my chest, just because I like wearing them and to serve as a middle finger to the bitches who body shamed me and told me I’m a girl, I’m never supposed to feel good about myself otherwise I’m a fucking whore and should be smote.

Really, if you’re religious, stay away from me. I won’t give you a hard time if you go to church but... stay away from me because organized religion has done more to wreak havoc on my life and my overall health than anything, and I grew up being smacked over the head with Watchtower magazines and the Jehovah’s Witness Bible while getting asked “why aren’t you going to the Kingdom Hall??” Second to that is conservative beliefs and that everyone should look and behave a certain way--and that goes for all of you social justice bloggers, too. If you identify as conservative, and conversely if you get offended by me saying certain words, stay the fuck away from me.

But either way, I’m still rather confused about my sexuality and how to describe it succinctly. I see people left and right identifying as gay or bi or whatever and on top of this, saying they’re proud of it. I mean, really, more power to you, but to be honest, I feel left out because it’s almost impossible for me to place a neat label on mine and it’s even harder for me to feel proud of it. The further I delve into it and peel back the layers and kick off the shackles of dysfunction, the more I feel weird inside and uncomfortable about myself, like I’m not this beautiful human being everyone I know thinks I am. And I wanted to write about it because I just wanted to air it out. I feel like a freak and I want to make that known.

[siberlius-moving]

god the ep fucked me up so I wrote some words for larry to get some closure on john and like whatever the show may have something else planned BUT I JUST WANT SOMETHING HAPPY

<set some time after where the main plot is resolved and some character development has happened and who cares where Ch**f is>

————————

They were in Von Fuchs’ chamber again. The last surviving one. Jane (or whichever the personality) had wanted to destroy it in violently destructive ways, but Larry had stopped her. Jane, as always, was prepared to demand some answers when Cliff clasped a hand on her shoulder.

“You want to use it?” He asked.

“I need it,” Larry replied, and quickly added before understanding curiosity turned into suspicion, “it lets me speaks to the energy inside me,”

Rita looked concerned. “You will be safe then? No strange ‘upgrades’?”

“The last time I was there I didn’t change,” he said. He regretted immediately, because Vic and Rita would latch on this tidbit.

“Okay,” Vic said instead, “We’ll destroy it after,”

Larry nodded. Then, with a spark of bravery, “Will you help me, set it up?”

Vic smiled. “Of course.”

They worked together. Vic guided everyone since he had more practical skills than the rest of the combined. Cliff did the heavy lifting. Rita helped squeezing into the nifty bits. Jane switched around her personalities for the parts that required unique expertise and Larry helped with some of the engineering.

And soon enough, it was done, amidst the remnants from a previous fire.

“Von Fuchs said that the chamber changed you for ‘the better’. I guess that means you are the best you are right now,” Jane patted him on the arm. Larry had expected her to put up more of a fight when he stopped her. It was kindness, he realised. Kindness that all of them had, for one another in this ragtag team, abandoned by the world. Except Vic, well, who had lots of potential - Larry knew that one day he would make it big and have to leave the group. But that would be a question for another day.

“Thank you,” Larry said. He hoped his voice carried the sincerity through the bandages.

“Let us know when you are ready to come out.”

Larry inhaled deeply, and stepped into the chamber.

Whirling sounds. Bright light. The buzz of electricity. The burst of negative energy from his chest.

Then his skin was free. He opened his eyes. There it was, the energy, humanoid thing, hovering right in front of the door. It made a sound that echoed through the chamber.

“I’m not leaving the door,” Larry said, "I’m- I just,”

He took a deep breath, and thought about the things he prepared to say, things he should have said earlier instead of snapping at everyone.

“Thank you for saving us, for doing all that you did. And I’m sorry. I fucked up. My life was going to be fucked up when I am the one living in, whether or not I crashed into you in space. I am sorry for yelling at you.”

The Negative Spirit made another sound.

Larry stared incredulously, “Did you just whine?”

It whined.

“Okay. Yeah. We gotta find a way to communicate. And we need some rules because we need each other, alright?” It rumbled, closest to an acquiesce it could manage. Good. This was a start. Larry had burned enough bridges and made enough regrets for decades. Moving into the manor was the start of a new life. He was just too bitter and stupid to see it. Now to think about it, everyone in the manor was pretty much immortal, stuck in this stupid rut of a life together. Though, if they kept getting themselves into trouble they were probably going to die either way.

Larry laughed. The Other, the powerful energy-thing that lived within him, echoed. He kind of understood it. There was hope.

“Okay it’s time to come back in now. We gotta let Jane destroy the chamber,” he said.

The ever present electricity buzzed, faster and faster, and the being in front of him seemed to glow brighter and brighter and-

“Hey.”

Larry’s heart stilled. It always did, when he heard John’s voice, even back when they were together. Even when he burned that bridge and never saw him again and it haunted him in his dreams. And like what he was willed to always do, he ran into John’s arms.

John held him like it was 1961, like it was minutes before he would attempt a risky flight. And he kissed him as desperately as the minute of privacy between the USAF trailers could provide. His lips were warm. In his embrace he felt the warmth of the thousands of sunrises he had missed when isolated from the rest of the world. He buried his face in the crook of John's neck.

John ran his fingers through the curls of his hair. “Shhh,” he whispered, and the other hand rubbed gently up and down his side. “I’m here.”

“Are you real?” Larry mumbled into his shoulder.

“I am for now,” John said. That was enough.

“Do you hate me?”

“What for?”

For breaking your heart, over and over again. For treating you like shit. For not coming to your funeral when you died. For loving you and keeping it secret and making you a shame.

“You know,” Larry said wetly, “you are dead. You know the shit I did. All things I have put you through,”

The hands on him stilled. John pulled the two of them slightly apart and cradled his face instead. God, he looked the same. Like he jumped out of his best and worst memories. And he was everything Larry wanted and everything he gave up at the same time.

“And I should have stayed, when you were at your lowest. I shouldn’t have left you locked in a room. I shouldn’t have let it end just like that.” John pressed their foreheads together.

Larry couldn’t help himself. He kissed him again. “You are trying to make me feel better aren’t you. You did nothing wrong. I made too many mistakes,” 

“Maybe,” John conceded, thumb idly wiping a tear track from his face, “we were born in the wrong time, weren’t we? But listen, I am dead. You are alive, so so alive. You found a place to belong. You don’t need me, and you don’t need 1960s trauma following you at every step of the day. You need to forgive yourself and move on. I need you to do that for me, Lar?”

Larry stared into his eyes.

"Promise me? Please,"

The hands on his shoulder gave a comforting squeeze, and the strength came easily, “I promise."

“Good.”

John, the kindest man he ever knew, the love of his life who offered him a connection the he would do anything to have it back, held him close.

Larry choked,“I’m so, so sorry.”

John hummed softly against his hair.

“I know, baby.”

And in the flash of blinding light, John was gone. Not before pressing a soft kiss to Larry’s lips.

“Larry!" Cliff yelled from outside. "You good?"

"I'm fine!" Larry yelled back. He had felt it before he knew it, but as a reflex he looked at his palms. The gloves were on. The bandages were on. He knew that his skin was back to its mottled burnt self. He covered his face with his hands.

“Thank you,” he said, “for everything.”

“Did you say something?” Jane shouted from outside.

“I’m coming!” he replied, much louder. He straightened his coat, and pushed his shoulders back. Then he made his way out of the chamber, a little excited to watch Jane destroy the last of Von Fuch’s creation, feeling the ghost of a kiss clinging to his lips beneath the bandages.

[maniacalmachinist]

Predator/D&D (pt 6)

CHAPTER 6:  TAKING FLIGHT

Sleep didn’t come easily to Hachende after the feast, his mind abuzz with everything said and done; notions that were, and still are, completely contrary to everything he’d known.  He’d been given a small lodging, though from what he’d been told he was significantly taller than most “civilized” races.  The “bed” was a bit too soft for his taste, but the flooring offered a bit of comfort, and the wood itself smelled oddly sweet, and there was an odd form of fire enclosure that provided some degree or warmth.  What sleep he had was interrupted by a sudden series of sounds hitting against the portal of the room.  He had grabbed the handle after picking up his spear, recalling how the locking mechanism worked.  The Cold One was standing there, [Ah, good afternoon my friend . . . apologies if I woke you, but we decided to let you sleep in for a while.]

Hachende grunted, [I would thank you I suppose, but it was overwhelming to say the least.]

Gyre held up a hand, [Ah, again, I am sorry for the slight . . . but, the Druidess came to me this morning with something to better aid in your conversations.]  He took what seemed to be a pendant of some kind, a shiny blue stone embedded in a silver filigree.  [I apologize that it may stand out a bit from your normal attire, but rest assured that your ability to communicate will be far more useful.]

Hach rolled his eyes, growling and took the pendant, throwing it over his head and letting it dangle around his neck.  He was about to say something when he heard five familiar voices . . .

“So anyway, Lars was trying to get saddled on the horse when suddenly Wagh sneezed, scaring the fucking purebred, running around half mad with this dumbass strapped to it.  The orc was panicking while the dwarf and I were laughing our fucking asses off.” laughed Sven to a rather sour looking Lars. The female, Jessica, was rubbing her head, clearly agitated by their conversation.  Hach was shocked . . . understanding most of what was being said, clearly for a loss of his own words.  In an attempt to divert attention, Lars waved at Gyre, “Good morning Steward . . . most of us are ready.”

“Wagh comin’, Wagh comin!!”

“Honestly, you five have to be the oddest combination in the northern regions . . . though I suspect your little troop might expand.”

Jessica canted her head, confused, “What do you mean, ancient one?”

Gyre looked at her, aghast, “Come now, I’m older than most here, but I’m by no means ancient . . . ah, and I forgot my manners, Hachende will be joining us.”

Wagh scratched his head, “Duh, who be Itchy-Hand?”

Hach growled a bit, but recalled the simplistic creature, “I am Hachende . . . do you understand me?”

The five blinked at him, the dwarf Durgo laughing, “Ah laddies, ya be owin’ me again . . . told ye tha’ stew’rd would ha’ some deviltry ta be helpin’ our gues’!”

[If their speech becomes too annoying, you can always take off the pendant for a while to give your hearing a rest.]  Hache nodded, thankful for the advice.  “If you dolts are ready, I had a skiff prepared at the landing.  We’ll have to make a slight detour to my den before picking up Hachende’s ship.”

Jessica was clearly anxious, “Oh this is going to be once in a lifetime . . . to travel with a dragon!”

Hachende took a moment to gather his gear, “I’ve heard that term so much . . . is it a title of reverie or something?”

The five merely looked at each other and laughed, “You’ll see in a moment,” Lars responded with a chuckle while the group headed up to the landing, Gyre at the lead.

“Ah, a clear day . . . a most welcome sign to be sure.”  The landing itself was at the edge of a cliff, overlooking a drop that seemed to go for over a kilometer.  With a deep breath, Gyre jumped off the edge of the cliff . .

“What in the name of the gods . . . did that fool really just dive off a cliff without any equipment?!?”  Hachende placed his hand over his face, then shook as a melodic roar filled the air.  He looked at the lip of the cliff, his breath catching in his throat as a massive beast with huge wings was slowly lifting itself.  He took a step back defensively, not knowing what the fuck was going on . . . the creature itself did in fact resemble what Gyremar described to him earlier, but it was far more majestic: scales of silver that rippled like ocean waters, wings that were kicking up a blizzard of their own, and a muscular body that belied age and strength only ever seen in his own people’s greatest Leaders.

“I told you, Hachende,” the beast bellowed, lowing it’s head to the group, “Best get a good look and commit it to memory, for sights like this will surely be a rarity in your lives.”

The five were silent, mouths agape in disbelief, “bloody fuckin’ fel!” muttered the one called Lars.

“Well, don’t stand there gawking like a group of idiots, get on the skiff . . . “ Bellowed Gyremar, moving to the center of the landing.  What looked like a log raft with rails was awaiting them, and was attached to a long metal bar over the top with enough room for the occupants to sit down. “Try not to move around too much, a fall would be most inconvenient.”  Hach took up the center of the skiff, the others arrayed themselves around him against the rails.  Gyremar grunted, diving off the edge again, and flew back, taking hold of the skiff’s bar and pulled the group into the air.

“FUUUUUCK MEEEEE!” screamed Durgo.  Hach gasped, never having flown exposed to the elements in such a primitive manner.  Jessica was oddly at ease taking in the sights that passed beneath them.

*******************************************************************

The travel, which would have taken days by foot, went by in a matter of a few hours.  The four fools, mage, and Hach himself were actually fairly quiet.  Gyremar grunted in approval, making this trip easier to deal with, “WE’re coming up on my den, be ready to land.  You can get up and stretch, but I won’t be long . . . I need to speak with my cohort, lest they start tapping into my personal stash.”  He chuffed lightheartedly.

Gyre slowed down to hovering speeds, enough to plant the skiff on the landing point, “FUCKIN’ LAAAAND!!” The dwarf screamed, kissing the ground.  The rest, except Hach laughed at his antics, while Gyre made a deep bellow into the den, which was welcomed with excited yipping sounds.

“BOSSSS!!  Ya back!!” shouted a Kobold, Dar’gor from the look of it.

“Temporarily . . . I’m here with guests.  I came to inform you that the emergency is over, and return to business as usual, but I may be gone for several more days.”

The kobold chief nods excitedly, then it’s tone changes, “Ah, about that boss . . . we kept hearing barking outside the sealed cave, like a weird laugh. Yip!  I think the frost gnolls are on the move!”  Gyremar grunted, thinking on a plan.

“What are these small creatures, and that odd noise they make?”  Gunted Hach, hand on his disc, but more as a precaution than a necessity given the dragon conversing with them.

“Oh, those are Kobolds . . . kinda like reptilian rats, or vermin, but smart enough to use magic and some light weapons.” replied Jessica.  “Alone, they’re pretty harmless, but when they form raiding parties, it’s best to watch your step.  What they lack in strength, they can more than make up in numbers.  What they’re speaking is their language . . . a form of draconic, but far less elegant.”

“Draconic?  I’m assuming the language of the Cold One?”

“Uhh . .. oh, if you mean Steward Gyremar, then yes.  The language of his kind, and those like him.”

Hach nodded, then his eyes went wide, “Wait, how many more of his kind are there?”

“Oh, right . . . uh, his is but one breed out of, what was it . . . ten to fifteen different ones?  There’s five metallics, Gyremar being a silver dragon, the rest are gold, bronze, copper, and brass.  Then five chromatics; red, blue, black, green, and white.  There’s stories of purple ones as well, and some with gem-colored scales that are said to bend light as they fly,” Jessica responded, clearly enthusiastic . . . a little too much so for Hach’s tastes.

Hach put on his biomask to get a better look around this den, and mark it.  To his surprise, they had flown a course just southeast of where his ship crashed, and none too far from the site.  He cycled the vision modes, finding one that showed movement in the giant reptile’s den, and it was alive with what seemed like hundreds of the smaller “kobolds,” all scampering about with various duties.  He peered over the edge of the landing while the humanoids continued about their idle banter, cycling his vision . . . “Hmmmm, interesting . . . these creatures are cold blooded, but why are there warm signatures down below?”

“You said something big guy?” chimed Lars, curious about the yautja’s comment.

Hach nodded, pointing down at the base of the mountain, hundreds of meters from the landing, “Mostly reptiles live here, but there are warm bloods at the base.”

“Hey Steward!!  The Traveler thinks you and the kobolds might have some uninvited guests down below!!” Lars shouted to the dragon.

Gyremar snorted, and grunted . . . then sniffed the air, “Hmmm, while it is not my place to fight for others, perhaps this would be a decent test of your group’s abilities.”  He shifted his head to Hachende, “They’re likely gnolls, often hunting in small packs . . . probably thinking to take a few kobolds for food.”  He then addressed the whole group, “I’ll take you down below, but you’ll need some rope to hold onto me. Dar’gor . . . open that entrance, but only enough for one of your clan to get through, it’ll tease the gnolls enough to stick around, and my friends here will take care of the rest.”

“Yip yip, right boss!!” Dar’gor scurried off, barking what Hach thought were orders to the rest.

Sven and Lars procured some rope from their packs, and started preparing them, “We’ll have to latch them onto your horns, Gyremar . . . any objections.”

Gyre grunted, “It’ll be awkward, but expedient . . . ,” with the exception of Jessica, they were practically giddy with anticipation.

“Bou’ fookin’ bloody time!  Been itchin’ for a damn fight . . . the one with fewest kills buys the first roun’!”

Jessica strapped her stave to her back, “Are you guys seriously going to play around?!?”

“Hey, if today is your last day, better make the best of it.” chimed Lars.

“Fuck yea!” agreed Sven, bumping his forearm with Lars.

“Wagh beat heads?!?  Who heads?”

Durgo groaned, “Gnolls, ya bloody simpleton!”

“Uhhg . . . Wagh hate gnolls!!”  He beat his club against the ground, “Spirits, fight wit’ us!!” He howled.

Jessica blinks, “Wait, he’s a shaman!!!”

“Yeah . . . doesn’t look or act like it, but he knows his shit when he needs to know his shit” grinned Sven.

“Alright, enough talk . . . climb on and hold tight.  I’ll drop you off to the south side of the entrance.  Once there, it’s up to you six . . . I will observe from the side.”  Gyre tilted his head so the group could sling the ropes over.  

Hach was oddly thrilled and afraid . . . the struggle against the wyvern had left him questioning this place.  But at the same time, he would experience combat from the human ways.  He took hold of the rope, fastened well to the Dragon’s horn, opposite of the Orc Wagh.  When all were secure, Gyre started his descent to the entrance, his claws plowing into the rock, his pace steady but moved with purpose.

*********************************************************

They made good timing, Hach was able to see the warm bodies of the intruders more clearly, counting the warm-blooded signatures.

“How many ya be seein’ there, Hachende?” Shouted Durgo, annoying the warrior further.

“At least 20 . . . “

“Ya hear tha’ lads . . . soun’ like three or four huntin’ parties!”

Jessica started whispering, and the air around their bodies developed a light shimmer, even Hach’s.  He felt oddly lighter, and his mind clearer.  She panted afterward, “That should handle the basics for a while . . . please, don’t get too injured.  I’m an apprentice wizard, not a priest.”

“Hey, Bookworm Bitch, you worry too much . . . just keep your back to the wall, and keep an eye on us,” Lars laughed out.  Males openly insulting a female . . . Hach really wondered about the mental capability of these creatures. Hach just groaned, completely uncertain of this group of imbeciles . . .

“If you warm bloods are done, we’re almost there . . . save your victory soirée for later,” grunted Gyremar.  He looked around, then lowered his head a few meters from the Kobold entrance, “Good luck . . . and do be careful.  I’d hate to report bad news to the mayor.”

Lars and Sven smiled, hunkering down in the front of the group after dismounting, followed closely by the dwarf, orc, and female.  Hach took to the nearest tree, climbing with barely a sound and activated his shift suit, then advanced ahead of the group, eager to draw the first kill.

[sheusedtobesassier]

Day 10,785

172 days until I hit my thirties.

So. An assortment of 172 good memories from my twenties.

001. Addey hype mumbo jumbo singing along with Moana before she was really talking.

002. Being asked to say the big thank you at SOE graduation.

003. Isaac’s face when he peeked at Omar’s new shoes at the East Towne Starbucks.

004. Drinking Mike’s honey moonshine while we played Euchre in his starry cicada humming backyard.

005. Taking Mama on the water taxi rides when she visited me in Chicago.

006. Grandma Kathy calling me, “My pink haired granddaughter.”

007. Sneaking into camp with the Hines girls to write up collaboration glass bottle poems in the Prayer Chapel.

008. The slow and steady hike up to the Hollywood sign.

009. The night I kidnapped Mini Farm kittens to snuggle for a movie and accidentally left the gate open releasing the rest to the Wisconsin wild.

010. Sunday afternoon sipping Stella Artois in the perfect sunny front room of our Albany Park apartment.

011. Zoë giving me all her wallet cash so I could buy bare minimum groceries.

012. Taking turns reading The History of Love aloud in our Winter Staff Forest Springs apartment.

013. The Halloween/Hillside round of Murder in the Dark with All Stars only.

014. Acting a fool in the unfinished Lodge room filled from floor to ceiling with Tempur-Pedic mattresses.

015. Doug lounging in the giant crate of laundry bags in the laundry room.

016. GUBS INSIDE JOKES.

017. St. Patrick’s Day 2021, hahaha.

018.  Beyoncé: Lemonade in the empty downstairs apartment with Mary.

019. Accidentally getting kayak drunk from a backpack bottle of Ménage à Trois.

020. Daylight skinny dipping with Amber to inaugurate the new pool.

021. The perfect stray cat that came around the second half of 2018.

022. Renate being the first to cry with me post breakup. Bill supplying sparkling water to prevent dehydration.

023. Doing drag makeup in Bekah’s bathroom while her and Marissa giggled at each other in the tub.

024. Every kitchen island conversation I’ve ever had with Steve Hines.

025. The perfect colors the night we snuck up on the helicopter landing pad on that Dallas hotel.

026. FACILITATING THAT SAME WEEKEND’S GAME OF ASSASSIN, BEFORE IT GOT UGLY.

027. Becoming buddies with all four Williams brothers.

028. When Mercy told me I’m her favorite Williams brother.

029. Hahaha the Camp Clean Up I put Elliot on my crew for my own amusement and told him his only responsibility was to walk around with me the whole time.

030. The time Blaine and I were avoiding the long lunch line together and Nimanim was like, “Wait so this is like an actual friendship huh?”

031. Tanner enthusiastically reenacting Gandalf’s YOU SHALL NOT PASS as I came up the path.

032. Will realizing I’d Facebook stalked him without sending a friend request.

033. Magically finding Pop Rocks the morning of my perfect 22nd birthday.

034. My perfect 26th birthday weekend in Minneapolis with my dreamy local girl gang.

035. Tauri’s blossoms on the Sky Lodge trees in the spring.

036. Encountering and becoming completely enthralled by the Enneagram.

037. OLIVIA FUCKING GATWOOD APPRECIATING MY PINK HAIR.

038. Clementine von Radic writing that Greyhound always loses her luggage too.

039. My stretch of obsession with Hemingway’s love interests.

040. Becoming friends with Fat Boy Tucker pup.

041. Becoming friends with rescued best dog Star girl.

042. The night Doug was my ride from the airport and he pulled his truck over so we could take a good look at the gigantic moon.

043. That hilarious flirtatious moonlight wander of the horse trails with Omar and Edith and Caleb.

044. Jake Nelson giving me a surprise scoop of chocolate custard as a peace offering after his grumpy bedtime attitude.

045. THE DISCOVERY AND CAPTIVATION OF HADESTOWN.

046. Getting to have Alia in every day for a while there.

047. Les Mis at Overture Center because Ally bought our family tickets.

048. Pat Coakley telling me I don’t know how special I am.

049. Spit handshake with Janelle swearing we’ll never think any boys are cooler than we are.

050. Marissa picking me up without explanation to take us on a quiet sunset drive of her favorite county road.

051. Jayden imagination playing with Blue, Guy, and a motorcycle for a whole night then waking me up with them the next morning.

052. Genevieve asking to borrow my lavender romper for her rehearsal dinner.

053. Getting to be Cali’s sidekick the week leading up to her wedding extravaganza.

054. Houston YMCA hallway phone call from Justin’s dorm room asking me clarify which of the boys was Nick, Schmidt, and Winston.

055. The absolutely ludicrous old woman I got drunk with in the Amtrak dining car.

056. The absolute ludicrous glass skull light up cocktail I drank at Freehand’s hotel bar.

057. When Dan Hartke told me I’m a mother hen.

058. When the most beautiful Sora from Korea told me, “You always flowers.”

059. Hannah’s hand me down Steve Madden sandals.

060. Runaway trips with Amber Bamber to watch Shakespeare in the woods.

061. Storytelling with Jack Thomas.

062. Drunk bar darts after Corn Fest with Marissa’s gang.

063. Leaving the reception with Emmy to go curl up in Amber’s bed and giggle about how it was the last place she slept as a virgin.

064. The night Riana and Zoe and I took turns putting our heads out the car windows to howl like wolves.

065. Falling asleep on the couch with Zelina and Chelle beer buzzed watching Jersey Shore.

066. That perfect little basement Thai place a couple blocks from Emmy’s apartment dorm.

067. When Dan forced me to get out of his car and left because I’d annoyed him too hard on our library trip.

068. Vicki suggesting we go live together overseas.

069. Depop photoshoot with Taurilyn.

070. Mykenza bluntly declaring true things I couldn’t confirm or deny.

071. Norm announcing to the full room he was teaching that I was a rascal.

072. Zochella.

073. Noah Gundersen and Brett Dennen at The Majestic.

074. Every damn time we ate beautiful food at High Rock Cafe.

075. The nights I felt capable at TOCHI.

076. LENA DUNHAM’S GIRLS.

077. Jordan suddenly ballroom dancing Genevieve around the kitchen.

078. Staying up late crying to my mom about trying to take good care of the lesbian teenagers at Sky Lodge.

079. The night Caleb very suddenly showed up with a bowl of sangria then tried to leave a dozen times but we convinced him to stay.

080. Rachel swearing that the man in the Wrigleyville bookshop had love at first sighted me.

081. Making the list of how many musicals I’ve been affected by.

082. Discovering weirdo La Llamada then driving straight to Carlsons’s to immediately watch it again with them.

083. Writing heartfelt correspondence back and forth with Kat for a few years.

084. All the funky cards I’ve received from Amber.

085. Finding that PERFECT dress at Goodwill for Tauri’s Winter Ball.

086. An actual friendship with Paul Bierdeman.

087. COUNSELOR MEETINGS.

088. The night Emily Holverson and I stood outside the Lodge trading sincerity about Sky Lodge and the complications of ministry.

089. Blunt conversations with Josiah, hahaha.

090. The Lower Lakeview round of Murder in the Dark when I killed every single person playing before anyone could call, “Dead body!”

091. When I suddenly caught him listening to my singing in the tunnel.

092. Putting together outfits from Lolita’s wardrobe.

093. Driving into such an unexpectedly lush part of Missouri.

094. A nighttime surprise of Big Ben and The London Eye and Buckingham Palace and St James Park in the falling snow.

095. MY PERFECT ABODE IN ST. LOUIS, MO.

096. OUR PERFECT ABODE IN ALBUQUERQUE, NM.

097. Becoming one of Steve’s best friends.

098. The evening Elorine and I didn’t go with and REALLY talked.

099. THE UNDENIABLE INHERENT GOODNESS OF MERRY’S KIDS.

100. Farrell’s crying apology on the sidewalk outside of Maple.

101. Alex’s irregular sudden extreme compliments.

102. The females I’m close with over the internet due to mutual admiration.

103. Lars from Hinge, hahaha.

104. Sitting at the end of a long table with Janelle making a napkin list of our all time favorite manic pixie dream girls.

105. The handful of LotR marathons we’ve accomplished.

106. When Kat told me she understood the Harry Styles crush but that maybe he wasn’t right for me.

107. Reading so many Donald Miller books and getting others to read them too.

108. Kisses on the cheek from Esther.

109. Getting raspberries for Mike’s turtles as an apology for making death threats.

110. Tipsy dancing alone with my eyes closed for like a hundred songs at Sheryl’s Club on New Years 2021.

111. The flattering comparison to the wonderful Harley Duke.

112. Aw omg, our happy hammock stacks at Observatory Hill. 

113. Telling slumber party stories on stage for Women’s Retreat.

114. BEING THE MIME FOR LIFE GROUP’S FAVORITE.

115. Fatigued watching The Kissing Booth and laughing harder than ever.

116. Spastic goofing around with Ashley AND Brittany the day we moved Amber into her new home.

117. Sitting on my closet floor showing crying Riana baby videos of singing piano playing Janelle.

118. Giggle running through Piggly Wiggly parking lot at closing with Rene with like $400 of alcohol on Ally’s birthday.

119. Fireball shots ALL NIGHT with Jeremiah and his uncle on Christmas Eve.

120. Listening to the delicious details of Emmy’s Europe romance.

121. Zion giving me his Adidas crewneck as sentimental goodbye gift.

122. Arguing with Austin over our differing zombie apocalypse ideologies.

123. Drunk Discord/Among Us with Hunter and Bekah and Nick and Marissa.

124. How soft Kenny’s absurd speeches made my heart.

125. MINUTE LONG VOICE MEMOS STACKS WITH ROSIE. ♡♡

126. Listening to Lizzy McAlpine in an afternoon candlelight bath.

127. Listening through John Mayer’s The Search for Everything mowing the ball field.

128. Emotionally painting my old house in Birmingham.

129. Being really damn good at that Heads Up game with Omar.

130. Compiling worthwhile stuff for Foreman training.

131. GROWING MY PLANTS.

132. The stretch when Bryanna was usually wrapped in my blanket.

133. Talking about going to Colorado with Alex.

134. The notorious reputation of knowing everybody at CCCA.

135. GETTING ALL DRESSED UP FOR DINNER THEATER.

136. Calling Ally from a parking lot at Emmy’s bachelorette party because I was SO CONFIDENT I was a hot person that I had to talk to her about it.

137. Playing the stupidest laughingest game of The Floor Is Lava with Jackson when I came to visit them all in Dallas.

138. Feeling really really really at home in my apartment at Sky Lodge.

139. How Ryan Boon would struggle to talk through his laughter.

140. Belonging to myself at Fiddleheads Coffee in Cedarburg.

141. THE UNDENIABLE IMMEDIATE CHEMISTRY BETWEEN ME AND COURTNEY HART.

142. Big Falls County Park. Every time.

143. Kayaking down Blue River with Duke, Jeremiah and Addey, Hunter, and Hunter’s friend.

144. That perfect burger at Pier Burger in Santa Monica.

145. Riding The Brown Line down to The Loop and all the way back up.

146. Aw. Welp. Every lengthy truthful phone call with Sam.

147. The four seasons I was compiling four second videos.

148. Ashley’s and my perfect roommates stretch, featuring our perfect couch.

149. The night we forced so many to come to our Blackfish showing then sign our petition opposing Sea World. Hahaha. #emptythetanks

150. The night Ben and I sat in the corner giddy burning through TriBond cards.

151. The night I showed up at Doug’s and Lueck’s door losing my damn mind over The Dress.

152. Community Soccer at the local elementary school gym.

153. Frigid stranded in the Chequamegon National Forest with Mary and Caleb on our return drive from our nightmare trip to Duluth.

154. The final night of being “cats in a bag” sleeping in Janelle’s bottom bunk.

155. Filling up the broomball courts under a negative degrees meteor shower.

156. Getting another wonderful summertime of Delala.

157. The Sunday service the pastor wouldn’t quit snapping his fingers and a bunch of us were txting each other like, “OMFG NO AHHH HOW DO WE MAKE HIM STOP????”

158. Oomph. The perfect veggie omelette (no cheese) at Sparks.

159. Dad’s soft voicemail about his admiration for Adele.

160. Their neighbor lady Maddie’s outfit for the Christmas cantata and her disappointment with the unfamiliar song selection.

161. Raquel’s completely irresistible fun streak.

162. Listening to folklore with Jayden and the girlies first thing when I woke up every morning for a while there.

163. Going through Met Gala looks cuddled up with Omar.

164. The way it felt reading Anthropology of an American Girl.

165. The giant primary colors crochet blanket mom made for me.

166. Noah scooping me up in that hug in the Waterloo parsonage kitchen.

167. When Omar completely surprised me with what he can do to a piano.

168. Deciding I am a Pinot Grigio girl.

169. Omfg, the Nest Night we intensely debated our way through a Staff Wives wrestling bracket.

170. Dismantling multiple purity talks and dress codes like it’s my calling.

171. Laying on blankets in the middle of many fields in different places for the sake of being very very very very sunkissed.

172. Regularly running into Bill at Kwik Trip.

[soap-brain]

a stormpilot under the cut. it’s cold and poe isn’t happy

thanks to @insane-sociopath for beta’ing, and @sauwuron for telling me that i didn’t fuck canon up too badly!

Poe wakes up because he’s shaking so badly he can barely control it.

The room is dark except for Beeb’s charging station and the little sleeping blinks the astromech makes, and it’s cold beyond words.

Poe is curled up in a tiny ball, shaking and so frozen he can barely feel his toes, fingers, nose, and pulling the single blanket closer around him isn’t helping.

There’s only one thing to do, and that’s crossing the entire room on bare feet to get to the storage closet, and pull out every single blanket that he owns, put on eleven pairs of socks and wear every item he owns.

Oh, stars, the floor is cold. Coldcoldcoldcoldcold until he reaches the closet, the opening mechanism near icy too, and unwieldy in Poe’s numb fingers.

He has to rummage a bit before he finds the set of heavy throws and tosses them onto his bunk (or close enough at least) before going to look for socks as well. There are only regular ones to be had, but three pairs of those should be fine, right?

He gets another warm shirt before hurrying back and heaping the blankets onto his bed, slips under them and curls up.

He doesn’t know what time it is.

And it’s still really cold.

He fluffs the pillow up and tucks himself in as best as he can, drawing his knees so close it’s uncomfortable. He could really use a Finn to cuddle right now, but Finn’s on a mission and not expected back for the next few days.

When BB-8 beeps at him to wake up what feels like only minutes later, there’s no light flooding the room. Instead, the droid turned on the lights, but only a bit so Poe’s eyes aren’t immediately assaulted by bright light.

Poe feels chilled to the bone, frozen in the fetal position he curled himself in.

He groans, and Beeb thunks against the bed, twittering at him to get up, he’s got a patrol this morning.

He does, and usually he likes those casual patrols, time for some relaxed maneuvers and drills while he and his squadron take the piss out of each other, but he already knows that it’ll be too cold out to be anything but miserable today.

BB-8’s beeps turn a little more shrill, complaining that he isn’t up yet, that he was hard to wake, that he shouldn’t take too long in the ‘fresher because he’ll run late otherwise.

    “Shut up,” he mutters, trying to snuggle back into his pillow for a last minute of relative bliss.

The droid’s offended screech stabs just as much as the cold, so Poe groans some more and finally sits up, dragging a tired hand over his frozen face.

    “Force, it’s cold,” he complains, ignoring Beeb’s pointed tittering about how if he got a move on he’d be less cold.

The room sucks out what little warmth was left in him, and for a moment he squints at the completely blacked out window, but his brain refuses to understand what that’s supposed to mean, so he stumbles off into the ‘fresher instead.

The water beating down on him is cold, and it doesn’t get any better, and his skin is riddled with goosebumps and he’s completely and miserably awake.

He pulls on his flight suit and adds a jacket and an extra pair of socks for good measure, before being herded out towards the mess hall by his ridiculous ball of a droid.

     “Morning, sleepyhead!” Jess greets him.

Poe glares and wraps his fingers closer around his cup of steaming hot tea, hoping it’ll thaw him a little.

Black squadron is still all there, chatting and having breakfast. Poe sits hunched in on himself a little, because the mess hall is big and drafty and he’s rapidly losing all higher brain function because it’s so damn cold.

Snap raises his cup towards him in greeting. Poe holds on closely to his, reluctant to let go of the warmth.

    “So, the kids are currently clearing the snow off our fighters, and then we should be good to go just a little behind schedule,” Jess says, ripping large chunks of her bread off to dip in whatever oddly flavored jam she’s favouring this week.

    “Snow?” Something about that registers in Poe’s frozen brain.

    “White frozen water. Fell from the sky like all hell tonight. And the heating is busted - I heard that the main generator might be gone for good now.”

    “The whole generator?”

    “Mhm. Don’t tell me you’re the one lucky ass in the whole base who’s important parts didn’t freeze off tonight.”

    “Oh, no, don’t worry, I’m properly unable to procreate now. Kriff, it’s cold.”

    “Good thing we’re pilots though, huh? Imagine clearing X-Wings in this storm.”

Poe sips his tea, tongue numb with the sudden heat.

    “There’s a storm?”

    “Yeah? A snow storm?”

Poe shudders and digs into his breakfast. “Good damn thing we’re not rookies anymore, huh? I don’t think I even own a jacket warm enough.”

When they finish up in the mess and head out and Poe sees the hangar, he is admittedly stunned. A narrow path, about two boots wide, leads out to the fighters, and on both sides there’s snow piled higher than he is tall. Some thoughtful soul has filled the makeshift path with gravel, so its not as much a slippery death trap as it undoubtedly was before.

Cold seeps through the toes of Poe’s boots, and he trails a finger along the wall of snow that’s surely hiding anything that isn’t a fighter.

Disgusting. Cold. Wet. Yikes.

They leave the small overhang and suddenly the wind is howling overhead, messing with Poe’s hair and freezing his ears. Snowflakes barely make it to the ground before being whisked away again, and the sky is grey and cloudy.

Out here, the snow isn’t quite as high, and someone has cleared a larger space right in the center of the outside hangar, with individual paths to what Poe can only assume are the squadron docking pads.

BB-8 beeps something at him, but the wind in Poe’s ears tears the sounds away.

A couple of rookies are standing at parade rest, guarding the paths, shaking and quivering with the biting cold, and hell, Poe gets it, he really does - he was a rookie too, once, and he would’ve done anything to impress the pilots - but this is a little to far.

    “Get inside, all of you,” he shouts, getting a mouthful of snowflakes for his trouble. “Go get a hot drink and stay inside until it’s an emergency. It’s too cold out here!”

He can see them sighing in relief, breath puffing out, and he shakes his head a little.

The X-Wings are mostly free of snow, but BB-8 has difficulties getting settled, so Poe spends more time outside than he would’ve liked to.

Thankfully his cockpit greets him with - well, not with warmth, because that’s not a concept that exists anymore, but at least the storm and the howling wind cuts out.

Poe shakes the snow out of his hair and puts his helmet on, pressing ice cold ears flat to his skull.

Karé mutters some swears about the cold, and even though Poe usually doesn’t approve of swearing in tower range, he can’t help but quietly agree.

Liftoff is one hell of a gamble, and Poe hasn’t felt his baby shake this dramatically for a while, wobbling and tilting until he’s got her back under control.

Hours later, they land, one by one, like they usually would never do, Poe circling above, trying to see that they all make it down safely before descending himself. Tower is issuing all kinds of warnings, and so’s BB-8, but he would like a hot drink and to spend the night in his bed and not circling a planet, thanks very much.

There’s just enough space for his fighter down there - not a problem at all usually, but with the wind and the snow he can barely see where he’s going, much less feel in control of the situation.

But he’s the best pilot in the Resistance, thank you very much, and he’s hungry, so he’s going to manage. And he does.

The landing struts screech and probably throw up sparks, but he fits perfectly between the other X-Wings.

Dinner is spent in company, and just as he’s about to retire because his eyes are falling shut, one of the techies darts up to him.

    “Commander Dameron, there’s a caller waiting for you in comm suite five.”

Poe needs a moment to connect the dots before a wide grin spreads over his face.

Finn!

He jogs to the comm suite wing, the short distance failing to rack up his circulation at all, but at least his toes get some feeling back into them.

Beeb trails behind him, chattering delightedly about Finn, and yeah, Poe can’t wait to see his boyfriend’s face either. Beautiful, cuddly Finn, who still doesn’t manage to sleep a full eight hours at once and would’ve kissed him awake this morning, just to make Poe grump at him.

Poe slides into the comm suite, leaving the door open just long enough for the astromech to follow him in, and falls into the chair, fingers dancing over the buttons to initiate the call.

Finn’s image flickers into view, tinged blue and a bit staticky, but he’s smiling brighter than any sun.

    “Finn!” Poe exclaims, his fingers instinctively reaching out to touch the image in front of him.

    “Poe. I missed you!”

    “Missed you too. How’s the mission?”

Finn rolls his eyes, still grinning broadly. “Do you have nothing but talking shop on your mind, Poe Dameron? If that’s so, then I’d rather talk to Beeb.”

BB-8 trills happily, the snide remark towards Poe an afterthought, and Poe can’t help but laugh with Finn.

    “Sorry. How are you doing, buddy?”

    “Gecht-lar was amazing. Pretty. So pretty, and so diverse. The cities! They were so colourful, and - ha, there were so many parties. Plenty of cliffs too - our pilot had a field day. You would’ve liked it. Really bad booze, too.”

    “Hey!”

    “Oh, come one, Poe. Your taste in alcohol is terrible.”

    “But my taste in men however, is great.” Poe winks, and it makes Finn giggle.

    “Saw some pretty nice places where we could’ve… had some fun, too. Watch the stars, drink a little, and then I’d lay you out.” Finn’s voice drops just a hint, and there’s a smirk lingering in the corner of his smile.

Poe slides down his chair a little. “Oh yeah? What’d you do to me?”

    “Kiss you.”

    “That’s it?”

    “What’d you do to me, Poe? Or am I the only one who’s feeling a little lonely?”

    “I’d kiss you too. And then I’d do a lot of other things once we kicked BB-8 off the cliff.”

The droid shrieks in offence and sends a bolt of lightning up Poe’s leg, making him jump and squeak.

Finn throws his head back and laughs again, clearly enjoying Poe’s abject misery at his droid getting revenge.

    “Okay, okay, we love you, Beeb, and we’d never kick you off a cliff!” Poe amends, patting BB-8’s dome. “But I think I’m allowed to miss my boyfriend, aren’t I?”

There’s that smile Poe’d wanted to see on Finn’s face, the one that comes out when he calls Finn his boyfriend. Or any other pet name really. Poe’s body prefers to blush, but Finn gets this delightfully bashfully happy smile.

    “Just three more days, Poe. You’ll live.”

    “Are you sure? Because we’re sitting in the middle of a horrid snowstorm, and the generator is broken. They haven’t even gotten through to the generator yet, that’s how bad it’s snowing. I need someone to cuddle me and keep me warm at night.”

    “You’ve got BB-8.”

    “She isn’t as cuddly as you are.” Yup, that makes his cheeks heat up.

There’s a small commotion somewhere to Finn’s left and he frowns.

    “Poe, I gotta -”

    “Go?”

    “Yeah,” Finn breathes. “I’m sorry. Hey, Poe, you be careful, okay? Don’t - I don’t want to come back to have them tell me you got squished between an X-Wing and a wall of snow, okay?”

Beeb trills a goodbye and an agreement that makes Finn’s lips quirk up.

Poe blows him a kiss. “Will do, buddy. You be careful too.” Come back to me, he wants to say.

Finn catches the kiss and presses it to his chest and Poe blushes some more and then the connection cuts out and the room is quiet again.

     “Only three more days, Beeb,” Poe says, getting up and stretching. “Come on, let’s head to bed.”

Another miserable night, but this time he wakes early enough to catch what must be the last drops of barely lukewarm water.

He also gets to spend three hours inside the general’s office, which might just be the warmest room in the entire base, if only because it’s the deepest underground and closest to the center of the base. Thank the Force for geothermal gradients, Poe thinks.

That evening, he discovers that someone had the bright idea to light a bunch of Meeswood trunks on fire in the mess hall, so Poe doesn’t even taste his dinner, and even BB-8 complains about him smelling of smoke. Worse, he ends up having to take a freezing shower before bed to rinse the stench off.

Day Finn minus two has a minor firefight that leaves Black One in need of mild repairs, and Poe has to try really hard to not stick his fingers under the welding beam because it looks so nicely warm.

He distracts himself with fantasizing about sticking his nose into Finn’s armpit while Finn pets his hair.

Day Finn minus one starts with Poe’s eyelashes sticking together because it’s so cold, and Beeb trills at him in worry while he slugs through his morning routine. He almost considers growing a beard to help keep him warm, or  never showering again so that he eventually builds up a layer of dirt to insulate him from the cold.

The kitchen is out of tea, so he drinks soup for breakfast and thinks of listening to Finn’s heartbeat.

Day Finn minus zero makes him wake up without Finn, go on his patrol without Finn, come back from his patrol without Finn, banter with BB-8 without Finn, try to stitch the rip in his only pair of gloves without Finn (and with cold-numb fingers), eat dinner without Finn, down some Vantan Fire without Finn (it makes his eyes water and he coughs for about ten minutes while his throat and stomach and tongue burn like a young sun, but it does warm him a little), and finally slip into bed without Finn, because of course his ship is late, having had to take a detour to potentially avoid a small fleet of First Order ships.

Beeb rolls to her charging station chattering sadly about the unfairness of the universe, because why isn’t Finn here to tell her a bedtime story? And Poe has to agree with that - he too could definitely make use of his boyfriend. No, not like that. All he wants are some cuddles to warm his frozen body.

He curls up under his mountain of blankets again, burrowing a mound into the pillow so his head is comfortable, closes his eyes and waits for himself to drift off and escape the permeating cold for a few blissful hours.

He wakes up what feels like half a year later to hissed curses in a dozen languages as someone stumbles around the dark room.

    “Finn?” Poe whispers roughly, voice breaking for a short moment.

    “Kriff, did I wake you up?” The mattress dips down and a warm hand finds Poe’s face.

    “Finn, hey, buddy, it is you!” Poe squawks and shoves the blankets aside to wrap himself around Finn, nevermind the cold air.

    “Yeah, it is. You gonna let me join you?”

    “Sure, sure!”

There’s a fair bit of shuffling, and then finally Poe’s wrapped in his boyfriend’s arms again, finally breathing in Finn’s smell again and feeling his heartbeat strong and steady in his chest and there are fingers in Poe’s hair.

    “Force, I missed you, buddy.” He squeezes Finn close, feeling his laugh in his bones.

    “Missed you too.” Finn presses his face into Poe’s hair and inhales deeply. “Mmh.”

    “How’s your scar?”

    “I’m back for five minutes and you already offer back scratches? You must’ve really missed me.”

    “Anything for you, Finn.” Poe slips his fingers under the back hem of Finn’s shirt. “You just gotta say the word.”

    “Please,” Finn sighs, and Poe’s fingers get to work.

Finn is out like a light within minutes, and Poe manages to stick his nose right where it’s supposed to go (aka the exact center of Finn’s chest), and then he too, is gone, finally warm.

BB-8 wakes them with shrieks and whirls and a song that has beeps more quickly than Poe can handle in the morning, but it’s about Finn being back, that much is clear, so Finn extracts himself from their embrace and rolls out of bed to greet the astromech cheerily.

Poe lets his head fall onto a pillow that finally smells like Finn again and smiles.

[breathinginthissilence]

Writers ask from @iinchicore part 2!

20. Post a snippet of a WIP you’re working on.

Ima post two mini snippets, because fuck you:

Sometimes, on the type of days that lasted forever, that bled into one another until there was no escape, Bono was like a caged animal stalking the studio, creating so much noise that eventually he had to implode, but not before finding a corner to burrow on into. There, he could recharge, regroup, and believe he had some semblance of control. That everything was going well, going fine -- the band, the album, life in general. All fine. All in control, the way Bono needed. Without it, he was like a soldier returned from war. Pretending until he just had to snap. Edge could see it coming for days.

Sometimes there was just so much noise.

***

At some point during the most recent blurring of days, Adam had slipped from the studio, leaving a shell-shocked Bono behind. When Larry had followed him out the door, Bono had turned to Edge with that look on his face. Searching for -- for what? Edge still wasn’t sure. He’d not had a single comforting thing to say. A part of him might even have seen things from Adam’s point of view. Just a part. All it took to sideline a car was one faulty part. Though it usually wasn’t enough to write off the car completely.

--both from Icarus, the angsty Berlin-era Bedgefic I’ll likely never complete

25. Linear or non-linear, and why?

I’m a tart for both tbh, but you gotta pick the right fics for non-linear otherwise they just will not work. It’s real fun and different for the more experimental fics, and I like fucking around with timelines and shit, but I would never write a long piece of non-linear because it just would be too much and I need structure in those sorts of pieces. Though suddenly I’m remembering that Pictures of Matchstick Men was non-linear and that was a longish piece and I should shut up. 29. Who do you write for?

Myself, my readers, and Bono and Edge *sends a kiss towards Dublin or France or LA or wherever the hell they might be at this very moment* Their latent desires for one another must be expressed somehow, and if it is not to happen in real life, then at least I can make it happen in my own way...usually when they’re in Berlin tbh. 

30. Favorite line you’ve ever written.

...EVER? I have been writing for more than half my life, and you want me to figure this one out? Oh god oh man oh god oh man. Okay, let me think. Can I select a few? Because there are a few that are my real-real faves for various reasons, and I have a lot of shit I need to do tonight but am much preferring procrastinating on all my old fics. Ima pick a few (but not delve too far into the past):

Bono shouting  “This house puts mine to shame, and I won’t allow it!” --from The Party, because it felt like such a Bono line and I was proud of it so much.

Adam telling Edge  “Does it matter? Larry and I do not really play an important part in this narrative, after all.” -- from For The World is Hollow and I Have Touched The Sky (this is one of my most fave fics I’ve ever written tbh)

The night moved quickly, and Bono was back and forth, laughing fast, shouting and singing Bowie, a high pitched angel that went on and turned into Lola, L-O-L-A Lola, the glass in his hand a constant until he moved onto shots, drinking like he was on a mission from God. -- from Pictures of Matchstick Men

Of course, at first glance that damage appeared to remain completely internalized. A closer look, however, revealed exit wounds in the most obvious of places, hurts that Bono might have thought he could hide from the world, and maybe he could, and maybe he had, again and again, but he could never hide them from Edge. -- from Nexus, chapter 13

“No, let me take care of you.” Bono’s voice was soothing, a wide smile gracing his face as his palm sought out the thump of Edge’s heart. “Tell me where it hurts and I’ll make it worth your while.” -- from Breaking the Waves, because Christ, Bono, you’re an actual disaster (in context)

And, of course, the best final line I have ever written in my entire life, one that I want printed on my resume somewhere, from my cracky Metallica hooker fic , Streetwalking (it makes sense in context, I swear):

“Fucking buy it yourself, I got no money.” James looks down at Lars, cheeks still streaked with black and eyes both amused and sated and he has to add, “Some cunt just ripped me off.”

44. Best piece of feedback you’ve ever gotten.

Okay, honestly I have no brain tonight and I cannot think of a piece of feedback that REALLY was the best, or helped me grow or whatever. So Ima just post the latest feedback that really gave me a confidence boost and made me feel pretty damn fabulous actually, which was this (I nearly cried. But then I often do that when reading comments, I love you all so much):

I love how your writing sounds like it comes in long breaths. It’s so winding and beautiful, I get lost in it.

53. What does writing mean to you?

Everything. It’s an escape, a form of torture, and the best way I know of expressing myself. It’s a form of breathing for me.

54. Any writing advice you want to share?

The only way to get confidence in your writing is to keep writing, even if you think you’re no good. You will become more confident. You will become a better writer. Even the best writers are still learning. Everyone has to start somewhere, everyone has to suck for a while. Insert a few other heartfelt and inspirational pieces of advice here.

 THANK BAE, I know this is huge but you know what I’m like, and also you wanted it, YOU DID

[romaniassexdungeon]

Who fortune could not save

Pairing: LadKug

Summary: As his relationship with the eccentric Franz Edelstein grows, Lars Oxenstjärna contemplates how little he knows of the man's past, why that could possibly be, and how much of his own past is worth revealing.

Notes: Well, this is the first in a series of one-shots involving APH ships based on various Pogues songs that are all pretty sad and melancholy because most Pogues songs are depressing as fuck. This one's LadKug and although it could be argued most of these stories take place in the same universe (with the exception of the RoBul and aph Australia ones), the two that are definitely linked to this are the AusHun and SuFin stories, so please look out for those. A lot of these stories are epistolary too, because that's something I want to explore more and I like using them for historical fics.

This particular song is based on 'Thousands are Sailing' and parts of this song also inspired the SuFin and AusHun ones, though they get their own songs too.

Read on AO3

...

"In manhattan's desert twilight In the death of afternoon We stepped hand in hand on broadway Like the first man on the moon"

...

Franz - Kugelmugel Lars - Ladonia

...

18th October, 1952

Franz, my dearest friend,

You said you do not have anyone to send letters to. Well now you have me! I mean, you already had me but now you have me and a letter to read whenever you please. Maybe I can even write to you about things my stupid mouth refuses to say aloud. Or, you know, about the important things. Or about you. Or all three?

For example, I wish I knew what to say about so many things. I wish you were less alone. Where are your parents? Do you not have brothers or sisters? I cannot even believe you came to this country alone. Were you scared? You travelled to England as a child. To live? Your parents let you live on your own like that? Like a grown up? You were so lucky!

I did not mean to make this a letter prying into your personal life. Tell me when you want to.

The truth is, I have no idea what to put in a letter. We see each other every week. I suppose I could complain about Peter, but I do that in person already. Is there anywhere you would like us to go? I feel there is still so much of this city we have yet to explore – and I have lived here since I was three!

All the best,

Your good friend Lars

19th October, 1952

Dear diary,

Trying to recall my earliest memories reminds me of drowning. Like I am surrounded by inky water and clawing my way towards the light. It is like staring at a half-finished painting. Or an abstract work of art whose meaning you have not quite yet grasped.

Trying to put dates and time spans to these memories would be like tearing the pages of this diary out and throwing them on the floor, only to spend days putting them back in order.

This is how I feel trying to remember my papa.

I have one memory of his face. His living face, that is. Warm. Stern, but kind. He was proud of me, I think. Maybe I had taken my first steps? Or fed myself? But he was overjoyed. Was it back in Sweden? Maybe that is my only memory of Sweden, but I have long forgotten everything in the image that was not papa.

In my other memories, he is a corpse.

I remember wondering why papa was sleeping on the table. Why was the blanket covering his face? I was never allowed to hide under the covers – Mr Tino said I might suffocate in the night. He always worried about things like that.

He was crying. I wondered if it was because papa was sleeping under the covers. And on the table.

Papa was a strange man, or so I have since been told.

They put him in a box and buried him in the ground. I tried to climb in after him, wake him up and get him out of there or he’d be scared when he woke up. Mr Tino cried and pulled me out. I thought he might get angry, shout at me and tell me to stop playing, but he never; he just cuddled me as I screamed to get papa out of there.

He didn’t like the dark. What were they doing?

Peter threw flowers into the hole after him. I remember little else.

I have yet to think of the reason I write all this down. Why would I want to document such an event? Then again, these are the only memories of papa I have.

Mr Tino told me to call him Isi. He said he was our new papa, that our real papa had asked him to look after us as if we were his own children. It was something we accepted without much thought, and something I will always accept.

Lucky I have more memories of Isi. He truly was my second father and I only wish Franz could meet him too. They would get along, most likely, travelling all the way from Europe.

I think I now accept I cannot remember a thing about Sweden.

28th October, 1952

My own dearest friend,

I feel there are many things I have never explained to you, things I felt I did not need to and things I did not want to speak of. Not right now. I have told no one for thirteen years and will do at some point, but I want to know I can trust you with such information. Do not speak of Kindertransport again until I am ready to explain, or do your own research for the time being and think of what you truly wish to ask.

Regardless, I agree with your wish to be less alone. I have had no one, really. Not in a good while.

Prying aside, I did enjoy your letter. I have not had post in a long time – even my foster family in England have moved on – but now I not only have a beautiful letter but something of you I can hold and keep with me! Thank you.

Yours faithfully,

Franz Edelstein

31st December, 1952

My diary,

I should invite Franz over. We always go to his apartment and he cooks for me and fusses over me so much. I love it but sometimes I feel bad that he does so much work. I mean, he has that job at the theatre and still makes time to care for me like we are married?

I will cook for him! I will make him something Swedish – he likes Swedish, so he was telling me. No, wait, I don't get paid for a few more days... cupboard leftovers it is, I'm afraid. Sorry, Franz.

I will make sure Peter is on his best behaviour too. Or, preferably, not home at all. Is there not someone he can go out drinking with? He certainly is going nowhere near the kitchen.

I wish I had somewhere more impressive to bring you, Franz. A one-room apartment… what to do? The tour would be rather a disappointment:

“So this is where I sleep, and I eat in that chair with the creaky leg, and that dark stain on the ceiling is from where my adoptive father blew his brains out.”

No! We will have a good time! I just have to believe in my abilities as an entertainer.

1st January, 1953

Dear diary,

So I burnt dinner.

Franz tried his best to spare my feelings and eat a lump of spam and chips that I blamed on Peter – yes of course he cooked and left just before you showed up, it is completely his fault that they burnt – but, soon enough, I could see your gourmet stomach was aching.

So we went out to a bar, not the same bar I’d convinced Peter to go it, no, one to more our… tastes. After getting something to eat, of course.

I hope Franz doesn’t think I’m here for his money, though it was lovely sitting in a top-class restaurant, with rich, expensive food and wine. I would love Franz if he wasn’t an actor. He could be homeless and I’d love him all the same. After all, he loves me though I sweep roads for a living.

We stayed at the bar until last year rolled into this, holding each other close and dancing like we were the last two people on earth. Honestly, the way things are headed, we could find wake up and find ourselves the last two people on earth, or that we’ve become nothing but dust and ash, so why not grab every opportunity to live our lives and go out with no regrets? I sang louder and danced harder and held Franz closer at the thought.

A strange way to go about life: both living for the moment and be damned with the consequences; and secrecy mixed with caution because as much as I want to say to hell with everything, there is still a chance of life ahead and I don’t want that life to be spent in prison.

Or, more importantly, I couldn’t bear to see Franz in prison.

Why am I talking about this? I’m here to talk about the best night of my life!

When Franz and I eventually stumbled into the street, it was still night. Morning couldn’t have been far off though and things had an otherworldly magic to them. Or maybe I was too tired and plonked to see properly, but a drunk artist is still an artist, after all. Few cars were about, even as we walked along Broadway, holding each other up and laughing and at some point we danced. Stupid, lively dancing. No music, but no matter.

Lucky for us, Franz’s hair is so long, and he’s so small compared to me. That mess of blond was tied into a ponytail, swishing everywhere and whacking me in the face as he spun. His coat ballooned like a pleated skirt, and he took his hand in mine, leading me in a waltz.

Neon lights overhead were our spotlights, the distant rumbling of cars our cheering audience. He even climbed a lamppost as he sang singing in the rain.

He kissed me before we parted at the end of the night. He caressed my face before disappearing with a wink, wishing myself and the city a good night.

When I got home, I may have cried.

24th May, 1953

Meine Liebe,

I shall give you this letter personally and you in turn will promise to keep it safe and hidden. Written word removes the risk of unwanted ears hearing what I have to say, but creates cold, hard proof that I love you. There, a man condemned. I love you, Lars Birghir Oxenstjärna. What of it, world?

I would ask you to destroy this letter after reading, but I suspect you would like to keep it. After all, I worked hard on making it aesthetically pleasing. Cherish this, but hide it.

Keep it next to your heart, next to me.

You’ve changed my life, you know? You’ve filled it to the top and made it better than I could ever hope for. The colour you brought into this world saved my artist lungs and soul, and it's is starting to push back the tide of grey. It's no longer everywhere I see. I can love the twinkles of light all around me, like I'm walking in a fairy wonderland. I now notice the headlamps of cars that dance across puddles in the road. There is magic in this city and in you, please remember that.

I believe we will last forever, that the love of an artist can never be killed, not truly. We may not see it now, but our relationship will leave its mark on the world.

Until we meet again tomorrow and I can tell you all this in person,

Your dear Franz xx

1st August, 1953

Dear diary,

Franz is the best thing to ever happen to me.

Yes, everything about our relationship must remain a secret, but I’m still so happy to have this gentle, loving man in my life, to caress and hold and swear to protect. We have pockets of moments, between work and trying to sell my paintings. We have nights and whispers and kisses and he tells me he doesn't mind quiet, secret. He hates being exposed, out in the open with everyone knowing everything, like they could use it against him. He is a whirlwind too, but he has his limits.

Franz does look after me, maybe a little too much – I am supposed to be a grown man – but I have promised that nothing bad will happen to him either, not if I can help it. Something tells me he just needs a break in life.

I love his hair so much. It's a wave of ice but the softest things. And his eyes! They look like little jewels and he has a mole on his cheek that is so cute. Anywhere I put my hands is soft, smooth, perfect. Every smile he gives is so genuine I cannot believe I can make a human look at me in such a way! He is an expressive man, must be to work on stage, but every emotion he rides, even the ones he would rather avoid.

Sometimes, at night when he is awake and I'm almost asleep, he looks like he will cry.

I still don’t know much of his past. I don’t know about the kindertransport or the Shoah or any of those words he hesitates in telling me, hesitates more before saying now isn't the time. I understand, I think.

Something evil happened.

I asked Peter, but he knows nothing. Typical. He told me to go to the library, and I suppose, if I have no other option, then I could see what a few hours reading can tell me.

I’ve heard to talk about the Shoah a lot, now that I think of it, not with me, but with older people, other immigrants with haunted looks and old scars. Franz doesn't share the look, but rather one of loss, fear. It ages him before me, and I want to know what was taken from him. If I cannot get it back, I could avenge Franz, right?

I need to know. I have to know what hurt him! I have to be able to protect him properly so he doesn't become like those other people. Is that a possibility?

That’s it! I should ask them instead! Then I will know what to say to Franz, and how to talk to him without causing him to, well, clam up. Maybe I can help?

2nd August, 1953

I understand now. Oh God, I understand now.

[rock-bands-bands-bands]

My Danish God - Lars Ulrich

Hey guys so this is my first time posting my writing. This is a Lars Ulrich fic i wrote for the wonderful @jessyulrich Sorry it took me so long to post it and I really hope you enjoy it lovely :) If anyone wants we to write something like this for them or wants me to start posting short fics message me and let me know.

(Sorry if this isn’t great guys like I said it’s my first time posting my writing and I also am really bad at proofreading, plus I know the formatting is horrible and the story isn't spaced out at all but I apologize😬)

**this takes place during the load era *warning* this contains smut and unprotected sex

————————————————

Jessica took one last look at herself in the mirror making sure she looked absolutely perfect. It was her first Metallica concert and she had been waiting so incredibly long to see them. She had passes to go and meet them afterwards making the night even more amazing than it already would be. Something was in the air…she could feel it, this was going to be the greatest night of her life. In the large crowd Jessica felt herself being pushed from all sides as she giddily waited for the 4 legends to take the stage. She couldn’t help but think about how amazing lars was. Since she could remember he had always meant so much to her he was, in her opinion, the best in the band. Not to mention he was insanely sexy, especially with his tight leather pants and dark eyeliner. Just watching how into it he got while playing made her want him. Everything about Lars made him seem like a complete god to Jessica. She was awoken from her trance suddenly by a group rowdy guys pushing around her, before she could say anything she heard a loud voice “ hey fockheads be more careful, you’re pushing this gorgeous little lady here all over,” As she looked up Jessica came face to face with her danish god, mr. Lars Ulrich whom she hadn’t even seen get on stage. “ Th-thank you m-mr. Ulrich,” Jessica couldn’t help but stutter as she staring helplessly at her favorite person. He smiled sweetly at her before James nudged him to keep moving as the rest of the band swarmed the stage. Jessica was still in shock as the band started playing creeping death All through the concert she had her eyes on lars. It wasn’t until they started devils dance that he looked back. It was as if time froze as they stared at each other, only breaking eye contact when Kirk walked between them blocking her view. She couldn’t believe she would be meeting them in just under an hour. What would she say to him?…what if he wouldn’t even want to talk to her? So many different thoughts raced around in her mind that she didn’t even realize they were onto their final song before the encore. She decided to try to catch his attention once more before she got to meet the man she had always wanted. The guys ended their set and walked around the stage acknowledging all the fans. Jessica look right up into the face of Lars handing her one of his drumsticks, she smiled and bit her lip nervously. As he watched her do this lars smirked and threw her a wink. Just watching him do that little gesture made Jessica weak in the knees and even more turned on than before. They finally walked off stage and the large crowd of people started thinning out but still Jessica stayed where she was. She needed to collect herself before heading back to meet these Godly creatures. She stood in the thick line of amped up fans just waiting to meet the guys, this wasn’t really what she had hoped for but at least she was meeting them. Screams of excitement erupted from the front of the line as the guys started signing things and taking pictures with fans. It was almost Jessica’s turn when she made eye contact with Kirk just a little ways ahead. “ Dude, thats her that’s the girl lars was going on about,” he realized hitting Jason who then got lars’ attention. He immediately made his way over to her, there was a second where they both just stood looking at each other mesmerized. Jessica spoke first, she mustered up her courage “ Lars you’re an amazing drummer i love how into the songs you are when your playing, would you mind singing this?” She handed him the drum stick he had given her earlier. He quickly grabbed it and signed it with a little message before handing it back to her “ Of course my darling, after you meet the other guys go to that guard over there and show him this…he’ll know what it means and what to do,” He kissed her hand looking her up and down before moving to the other fans and practically running to his dressing room. Jessica walked over to the guard still in shock that she met the band that had meant so much to her for so long. Once she found him she simply smiled and handed him the drumstick, he just smirked and brought her down a long hallway until she reached a door with a picture of a drum set that had “Ulrich” written under It. The guard pushed the door open and pushed her in after. Once inside jess took a look at the nice couch and many chairs they had set up in the dressing room. As she eyed the chairs she spotted the sexy drummer sitting in a comfortable looking arm chair with his legs crossed drinking a beer. “ Well hello my love I’ve been waiting for you, That rough crowd didn’t hurt you did they beautiful?” His voice seemed deeper and sexier than normal. Dumbfounded by his words Jessica simply shook her head no watching and he slowly stood up from him seat. “ Good, I wouldn’t want anything to happen to you, what’s your name sweetheart?” He smiled pushing Jessica’s back to the door closing it at the same time and looking deep into her eyes. “Jessica, my name is Jessica” She smiled and took a deep breath staring into his deep, dark lined eyes, they quickly flicked down to her lips as she chewed on them nervously. He slowly leaned in even closer just inches away now. “ Don’t be nervous my love I’ll take care of you alright…” Jessica barely even had time to think before his perfect lips were upon her own. She nearly forgot to kiss him back for a second but quickly snapped away from her trance. She was kissing the man of her dreams in his dressing room…it was actually happening. Before she knew it he had swiftly moved them to his large couch. As they continued to make out she felt his hardened member press against her leg, she felt her becoming even wetter and moaned into his mouth feeling him smile against her lips. Lars reached down and cupped her bottom, squeezing and smacking it lightly. Jessica reached down and palmed him erection through his tight leather pants, this time it was his turn to moan into the kiss. He started traveling down her neck leaving sloppy wet kisses before stopping to suck and nip at her collar bone. He quickly slipped his hand into her lose fitting jean shorts feeling the wetness pooled down there. “ Well fock Jessica if I had known you wanted me this bad I could’ve just found us a nice room by the meeting area instead of making you wait…” She moaned as he ran his fingers over her slick center. He bit his lip as he started to slowly rub her clit making her moans louder. She leaned in close to his ear whispering “ i want you…no I need you to fuck me…right here right now baby,” That was the only cue he needed before he practice ripped off both their shirts and her shorts before she started working on his right leather pants. Once the had rid themselves of all their clothing he positioned himself at her entrance and pushed himself inside her agonizingly slowly. He bent down and caught her lips as he started to move himself and pick up pace. “ Fock Jess you feel so good baby…” He groaned as she cried out with pleasure arching her back. He smirked and started sucking and nipping at her exposed collar bone and breasts once again. She felt her core tighten as she cried out. “ oh fuck…fuck Lars…shit yes baby…keep going I’m goin-” He cut her off by kissing her once more quickly trying to get his mind off wanting to let himself release. “ Yes jess…Fock…cum for me baby…let go, c'mon..” He groaned out as he felt her tighten around his cock. Jessica started crying out louder as Lars reached down to rub her clit as she reached her climax. Her orgasm washed over her whole body as she writhed underneath lars. As soon as she released herself on him he knew he couldn’t hold it any longer…lars pounded himself into her once more before letting himself go as well. Panting sweaty messes, he pulled out of her and laid next to Jessica wrapping her in his arms. There were only two thoughts in her mind…the first being that she couldn’t believe this had actually happened but the second being that she was suddenly very self conscious of how she was compared to others he’s had. He left gentle kissed along her cheek and jawline before sighing. “ That was amazing my princess…it’s never been that good, maybe I’ll try to see if we can have you come around with us,” He chuckled lightly stroking up and down your sides as you two snuggled closer together and began drifting off to a peaceful sleep. “ Goodnight my sexy princess,” That was the last thing Jessica heard before she slipped into a slumber as well. “ Goodnight my danish god,” She managed to mumble her response as he pulled her closer to his chest. She was right…this certainly had been the best night of her life and she knew she would never forget this as long as she lived.

[belladonnaandulriched]

amped and wired, part two | chapter ten: angel eyes

“Oh. Oh—my God.”

It had been twenty minutes since Danny showed up with the prototype, and another five minutes before Mrs. Hamilton returned to my place with Lars. I stood over Danny and the prototype as they took their seat there on my couch. She had leaned back against the couch with her hands rested in her lap, and her thighs were separated apart by just a few inches. She looked like she was about to vanish into the couch cushions.

“How'd you find her?” I asked Danny.

“More like—she found me,” he confessed. “After the place burned down, I tried to run down the block to call my wife but I got turned around when I went to go find a pay phone. Something hit me in the head and knocked me out. When I woke up, she stood over me and actually tried to get me to wake up. I asked her who she was and she told me she was a prototype.”

“Like she explained to you the whole thing with the clones?” Lars followed along as he strode into the room.

“Yeah.” Danny tucked a lock of hair behind his ear. “She and I have walked the streets together for a couple of days, too. It's so fucking weird down there in New York City, with all the webby shit all over the sidewalk.”

“How'd you get out of there?” I asked him.

“We got to the edge of Manhattan and she and I were able to hitch a ride on a subway—the subways, by the way, are totally vacant. They're driven by ghosts—or corpses. I have no idea, but every part of the subways is fucked up right now. Fucked up and haunted as all hell.”

“The sidewalks are steak and the subways are a graveyard,” Lars concluded with a glance over at me.

“What're you lookin' at me for?” I asked him.

He didn't answer.

“I should also add, that Maya and I couldn't exactly get to Manhattan very quickly because I needed to watch over her a bit,” Danny continued. “She wasn't walking very quickly and she kept wanting to rest every so often.”

“And I would think you guys didn't have much to lay upon, either,” I figured.

“There wasn't, no!”

“Nowhere to lay or sit...” Lars' voice trailed off. He still didn't answer me, but Mrs. Hamilton did from the kitchen.

“Joey?” she called out. I turned my head and leaned forward.

“Yeah?”

“Come in here for a second.”

I raised a finger to Lars and he nodded in response. I made my way into the kitchen to find her holding that final little bunch of cherries in one hand. She used her other hand to gesture for me to come closer to her. I hesitated in front of her, and she brought her lips to the side of my head.

“I was thinking about what you said earlier before I left,” she said; each word, she lowered her voice closer and closer to a whisper. “I wanna overcome the silence between us. I've enjoyed it—but now I want something more from it.”

“Okay,” I slowly said.

“Have a seat, baby,” she whispered into my ear.

“At the table?” I asked her as I felt the butterflies in the pit of my stomach. She smiled at me, with those lips are big and lush as those cherries in that hand.

“Have—a—seat,” she repeated. I swallowed down the nervous feeling within me, especially when she used her eyes to gesture down to the floor beneath the sink. I sank down in front of the cabinet under the sink and stayed on my knees. She held the cherries before her face with that smile still plastered on her face.

“These cherries are so ripe,” she remarked.

“They really are,” I agreed with her as I set my hands on my stomach.

“And you didn't finish them, either.”

“I couldn't,” I confessed.

“Aw, that's too bad. I promised a little round of fun if you finished these.”

“I know, I know, but I'm too full, though.”

“I'm sure you've got some more room in there,” she taunted me.

“I don't think there is,” I insisted.

She stooped down to put those cherries right in my face. I looked past her face to find her coat zipped down a bit. Some bare skin even in the face of the cold. She brought her other hand to my stomach and I almost fell backwards.

“Let me feel,” she insisted. “Let me feel you.”

“Mrs. Hamilton, please—”

“I'm going to make you eat more fresh fruit, baby boy.”

“No—God, Mrs. Hamilton, I can't—”

She set the cherries themselves on the counter next to my head, and then she set her hands on either side of my face. She pressed her lips to my forehead, then she dropped them down to the tip of my nose, and then my lips.

“Gwen's right—you are sexy,” she whispered to me; in the next room I could hear Lars, Danny, and Maya conversing with each other about something. I wish I knew what they were saying. “Really sexy indeed.”

I looked over at the cherries on the counter. I didn't want to eat anymore for a little bit; I wanted my stomach to rest for a minute.

But then she reached down below her waist for the band of her leggings.

Oh, that was what she meant.

“Nice juicy apples, baby.” She stood upright and moved her hips closer to my face. “Eat with your hands if you'd like.”

I lowered my gaze to where she put her hands. She shoved her leggings down some more skin. She spread her legs just enough for me to slip tongue inside. I made out the sight of that delicate skin, still delicate even with her being as old as she was. I closed my eyes and clasped onto the sides of her bare thighs.

I stuck my tongue inside.

Right there in my kitchen. On my knees. With Lars, Danny, and Maya in the next room.

And yet I kept at it. I couldn't help it. Mrs. Hamilton gave me an offer I couldn't refuse.

“Mrs. Hamilton?”

I stopped and she rested a hand on the back of my head. She pressed my face right against her crotch.

“Do we have something in the car that can mop up a bit of blood?” he asked her.

“Tissues,” she said; her voice was muffled as if she stood on the other side of a wall, or I was inside of her. I kind of was inside of her, come to think of it.

“Okay—” Lars ducked out of the kitchen and out the front door without questioning what was going on in there. I looked up to the curvature on her belly; I kept looking to the underside of her breasts and that head of hair. She peered down at me with a grin on her face.

“Want a little cream?” she asked me in a soft husky whisper.

“Do you have any?” I asked her.

“Look—”

I did, and I could see that thin sliver of sheen on her lips.

“Every good boy deserves a sundae,” she whispered to me. I moved my tongue in further for a taste.

That was good. That was good!

I could feel my jeans growing tight by the feeling. The front door opened again. I took my tongue out as she moved her mouth back down to my forehead for a kiss in between my bangs. I caressed my face with the pads of her thumbs.

“Good boy,” she whispered. She then tugged her leggings back up her thighs and over her hips. I leaned back onto my legs and ran my tongue over my lips. I wanted a drink of water, and I wanted one especially as she walked by me. I let her walk into the next room, and then I clambered to my feet for a glass from the cupboard. I switched on the faucet and filled it up all the way.

I took a rather large swig from it over the sink. I then held it to my chest to catch my breath. I let out a long low whistle and then stepped out of the kitchen to face them. Danny, Maya, and Lars rounded out that comfy couch. Those two guys sat there with their thighs spread wide open, much like I usually sit myself.

“Somehow, even by looking at your jeans, I can learn about either of you guys' balls with a single glimpse,” said Maya.

“Speak my language, baby girl,” Mrs. Hamilton quipped. I swallowed and then took another swig of water. If it was any compliment to Maya herself, I knew it had to be part of her overcoming all that had happened to her and her sister. Mrs. Hamilton gave her a little toss of her hair back a bit and then she gestured to the recliner chair next to the phone and the couch.

“It's something to exemplify when talking about the beauty of their crotches,” she added; she flashed me a wink. I sighed through my nose and ambled across the floor to the recliner. I took my seat there and kept my eyes fixated on Maya.

To think Lars' wife had something to do with her. More than something. They were friends with each other. I held the glass of water to my chest.

“Lars tells me you're a singer,” she said to me in that soft voice laced with a gentle British accent.

“Me?” was something I actually answered her with.

Danny giggled at me, complete with his fingers pressed to his lips.

“Do you want me to give you a li'l sump'n?” I asked her as I brought the glass to my mouth again.

“Naturally she's curious, Joey,” Lars told me. “I played drums for her when my wife and I first met her.

“I am an artist after all—a writer—so my wish is to connect with other artists. So, please.”

I finished out the glass of water and then set it down on the small table next to my right elbow. I ran my tongue over my lips again: even though I had a mouthful of her just a few minutes before, I didn't have a single crumb of flavor of Mrs. Hamilton on my lips. I cleared my throat and took in a deep inhale of breath through my nose.

“I've seen it before,” I started out low and with my eyes closed, “it happens all the time... closing the door. You leave the world behind. You're digging for gold, yet throwing away, a fortune in feelings, but someday you'll pay.”

“Oh, man, Joe, I've missed your voice,” Danny remarked.

“It's only been a few days, though,” I pointed out.

“Still!”

“That was glorious,” Maya complimented me without changing her expression. “May I have a word with you in the hallway?”

“Me?” I asked her.

“Yes.”

“Go on, Joey,” Mrs. Hamilton coaxed me. I lifted my right wrist to fix my sleeve which tucked a tiny bit down the inside of my silver metal bracelet. I then stood to my feet to follow Maya into the hallway. The way in which she walked reminded me of a marionette puppet, given her knees pivoted a tiny bit with each step. Her feet almost shuffled across the carpet; I strode up next to her as we stepped away from their earshot.

Once we stood before the bathroom door, she turned to me in almost slow motion. I was thinking she still needed to rest again.

She breathed harder as if she had been running up a flight of stairs. Her skin looked even more pallid than before.

“You okay?” I asked her.

“Yes. But I wanted to bring you here is because I am hypnotized by your voice. It's so—so—it's the voice of an angel.”

“Me? An angel? No way.”

“I mean it,” she insisted. “It's so gorgeous. And you are gorgeous. I just want to rock with you.”

“Well, when Anthrax gets a chance, we'll put on a show for you,” I promised her. “I'll make sure you're given a good spot, too.” I flashed her a wink.

“I want to write about it, too,” she continued, “I never want to stop writing about it, either. You are so—underrated, I would say. I want to give you a window for the outside world to look into.”

“You're too kind,” I said to her as I felt my chest swell with excitement.

“It's my job, my dear Joey,” she assured me. I didn't know what to say to her: not long ago, I was sitting right in that chair in the next room with the phone to my ear and hearing Charlie break it to me. It was only a few days ago! But then there I was, just a few feet away and after having Scott vow to me credits and more of a say in the next album, it was followed by hearing this little writer swoon over me right to my face. It was like a dead weight had been lifted off of my shoulders.

I didn't know what to tell to her so I set a hand on her shoulder.

Something shocked me right inside of that silver flat bracelet on my wrist. I yanked back my hand and shook it about.

“Are you alright?” she asked me.

“Yeah. It's just—ouch. Ow.”

Another shock, that time right inside of my wrist.

“Ow!”

I wasn't going to let it get me. Not this time. I tried to pry off the bracelet but it felt like something had glued it onto my wrist. I tugged it off of my wrist bones and a hard static shock shot through my wrist. I threw it on the floor.

I rubbed my wrist and looked at her. Her eyes were huge and reminiscent of pools, or the sand baths back on the reservation. I could see glimmers of neon within those pupils, and I knew it wasn't my eyes playing tricks with me.

I thought back to when I first found that one clone on and the sidewalk, and Lars and I were trying to take her to the hospital. Her deceased body sent a shock through the metal and it was because she was a clone. I shook my head about. The dead weight was back on my shoulders and it stood right before me. I doubled back to the living room.

“Guys!” I called out. I almost ran right into Mrs. Hamilton.

“Joey! What's wrong? What's wrong!”

“She's a clone!” I yelped. Not once did Maya change her expression as she ambled at a slow, undulating pace up the hall to meet up with us. Her eyes were huge, like big ink droplets. Lars and Danny gasped.

She was about to malfunction at any second.

“I don't know what he's talking about,” she confessed.

“Look into her eyes,” I told them. “Look!”

“She's a fucking copy!” Lars exclaimed. “A copy that tried to pass off as the original!”

“Man, I'm an idiot...” Danny grumbled.

“It's not your fault, Dan—neither of us knew,” Lars assured him.

“Lars—it's all me,” Maya continued: her voice was so light and airy and yet it grated on the side of my mind.

“What the hell do we do?” Mrs. Hamilton demanded.

“Maya, come with me!” Lars advised her as he climbed to his feet.

“Where are we going?” Maya asked him; it sounded as though her voice had been pitch shifted a little bit. A little lower.

“Just come with me—” He took her by the hand and led her outside. I thought about when we were in the City and I saw Danny through the windshield, but I had no idea if he saw me at all. Lars guided Maya outside to the pouring rain. I had no idea where they headed but I turned to Danny.

“Did you see us down in the City the other night?” I asked him.

“No, I did see one of those clones eating some poor bastard, though,” he answered with a running of his fingers through his hair. “And she—that version of Maya—told me to keep on walking.”

“But you didn't see Mrs. Hamilton's car there, though?”

To which he shook his head. Lars then darted back into the apartment. He shut and locked the door behind him.

“Where'd you take her?” I asked him.

“Come back out here,” she shouted. “Help me!”

“Who wants coffee?” Mrs. Hamilton offered us.

“Help me! Help me! Help me! Help me! Help me!”

Her voice warped and morphed into something I couldn't even describe.

“Joey, sing something!” Lars declared.

“—why?” I sputtered.

“Because when you and Mrs. Hamilton were in the sewers you shrieked so loud that it killed all of those prototypes!”

“There are no bats here, Lars!” I pointed out.

“Help—me—help—me—help—me—help—me—help—me—help—me—help—me—help—me—help—me—help—me—help—me—help—me—help—” Her voice twisted and contorted into a blurred deep mess of nothing.

“Dan, did she eat anything before you brought her here?” Lars asked.

“No, I was just gonna ask Joe if he had sump'n to eat 'cause he's the only guy from Oswego I know,” Danny replied.

“—help—me—help—me—help—me—help—me—help—mehelpmhelmehelpmehelpmehelp—”

“Ate some poor bastard down in the City,” I said aloud.

Silence outside.

Lars turned around and peered out the peephole.

“Where'd you take her?” I asked him.

“A ways away from the front step and away from your front door,” he told me.

“By the way, I'd love a cup of coffee,” Danny piped up to Mrs. Hamilton.

“I'm still digestin' cherries and a big fat stack of pancakes,” I said.

“Let's go back to Black Orchid,” Mrs. Hamilton suggested. “See if the gang's alright at the moment.”

“And I'm lockin' the fuckin' door,” I said at a quick clip. We put on our coats and I swiped my keys—I also put my bracelet back on because I knew it would help us if given the chance. I locked the door but I knew if something happened, I had four ghosts there in the apartment to protect it.

Indeed, when we headed out, Maya had collapsed onto the sidewalk and melted into a huge puddle of blood and broken machinery that looked to be made of neon, a tiny bit of metal, and human skin and bones.

Not the prototype. Not the original.

Just another clone.

Which meant the prototype herself was still out there somewhere.

Hopefully.