#so you either trade something you have or you do them a favor. like delivering something for free or spreading the word about them

[veunho]

Playing Nor Gloom Of Night when absolutely nobody ever has uploaded their own experience with the game so every step I take I'm like am I doing this shit right;;;

[wambsgansshoelaces]

heyy love, i love your fics so muchhh!! if ur requests are open, i was wondering if you could write this fun lil oneshot i thought of<3

(didn't really think much of the details but i imagined something like the episode with the pierce family, or u could change to what feels nice to u)

reader is like super hot/crazy attractive and the siblings are instantly interested. kendall and roman, being their idiot selves, start competing for her attention and trying to get her to accept going out etc. turns out, at the end of the day, shiv gets the girl, as she was the one reader wanted all along (gagged them)

Girls Get Girls

Siobhan Roy x fem!Reader

not gonna lie anon I feel like I didn’t do this too well so I’m so so sorry :( I still hope you enjoy even though I don’t really deliver x

btw I literally love you anon keep requesting

im so gay

Word Count: 2.893k

Mergers, acquisitions, stock, trade, liquidation. You couldn’t give a shit about any of it.

You’re not in the financial field at all, much to your parents’ disappointment. It’d brought you out of favor with them, brought your siblings closer to each other.

You usually don’t come to these things, but tonight it talk of selling the entire company. Leaving it all behind, cashing in the lotto, and fucking off. Your family had convinced you to come- despite your clear dislike for everything finance and business, you still hold stock and stake in the company. You were also going to get a pretty penny from your inheritance, so it would be wise to judge your potential buyer alongside your family.

You’re getting ready in your childhood bedroom, pacing the carpet as you put the finishing touches on your outfit. Your father had made it very clear: your job was to root out intention, then act accordingly. Regardless of whether you thought the Roys were worthy of the company or not is irrelevant at this moment. You need to be intimidating.

Intimidating, but also hot. Just for yourself.

A soft knock sounds at your door. “It’s me,” your cousin calls from the hall.

“Come in,” you call back.

She waltzes in, her blouse billowing behind her as she deposits herself on your bed. “Dad’s going to have an aneurysm.”

Even though you already know the answer, you ask, “Why?” You lean against your desk, facing her.

She snorts, knowing you’re trying to push her buttons. “He wants the company, dipshit. I still think all if this is to get on our nerves.”

“A chimp would do better as CEO than any of you,” you say, scoffing. What had started out as what you thought was joking was turning into something else.

“So why won’t you do it, then?” she asks, bitterly. “I don’t see why it has to be either you or someone out of the family entirely.”

“I’m not doing it because I don’t want to. My siblings also just… have no interest. We’re all off to bigger, better things.”

The two of you stare at each other until your father’s yelling draws you both from your trance.

“Up and at ’em,” he’s saying, pretty much to himself, once you’re downstairs. You brush imaginary dust from your sleeves as you make the awkward walk to the helipad. You and your brother share an exasperated look. Despite the fact that you’d been wedged apart over the years, you and your siblings share a lot of the same views and opinions.

“All this peacocking is fucking insane,” he mutters to you once you’re stopped a safe distance away from the pad.

“Just wait until you see them,” you mutter back.

Even though you weren’t involved in the business side of the company, you’d still been involved. You’d gone to dinners, conferences, galas. You were a bit of an outside source, as you held no real position in the company, but you knew you were vital.

At almost every event where someone with your last name was required to attend, there was also a Roy. You’d only ever seen them, never spoken to them

You hear the helicopter before you see it. Sunglasses perched on your nose, you look up. As it descends, your hair and jacket are blown vigorously back, and your hand goes to your scalp. The generated wind is aggressive, slicing over your skin, your clothing. The sound is now deafening, and you notice your sister clamping her hands over her ears. Your father gives her a look, something along the lines of don’t look weak, and your sister rolls her eyes in response, mouthing fuck you.

You have to suppress your smile. The helicopter’s landed, and people are starting to pile out.

“Logan, old friend,” your dad bellows jovially. While the two families had never met, never been close, you know your father and Logan Roy were actually the best of friends. You don’t know how they met. Your father spoke of Logan from as far back as undergrad university.

Your father steps forward, meeting Logan halfway as he leads the rest of his family towards yours. They envelope each other in a hug, and your brother snorts. He’s the only one who’s ever interacted with the Roys.

“It’s like he has a multiple personality disorder,” he’d told you the other day, talking about the enigma that was the head of the other family. “One second he’s laughing, then the minute Dad’s out the room, the guy’s raging over his kids or the people not doing enough work or whatever the fuck else is wrong with that stupid fucking company.”

He turns from your father to your mother, murmuring a warm greeting, then to the row of you, your sister, and your brother.

“Oh, look at the three of you! All grown and radiant,” he says heartily. So far, he doesn’t seem like the demon your younger brother had described him to be. But you know well enough that looks can be deceiving. He opens his arms out to you first, since you’re the eldest of the three. You give him an awkward hug, his hand clapping over your back in a friendly manner. “If only any of my children had the sense to get with you,” he mutters conspiratorially, earning a chuckle from you. He pats your shoulder, before moving on to your brother.

Logan’s wife is next. “Marcia,” she murmurs softly to you, taking you by the shoulders and air-kissing both your cheeks. You return the gesture as she does it, making sure to stay smiling. It’s all a flurry of names you’re sure you’re going to forget the second you need them. Connor, Gerri, Willa, Frank, Rhea. It’s really all just a bunch of letters bouncing around in your head.

Who you’re sure you will remember, though, are the siblings. The younger three. The important ones, your dad liked to call them.

As all of the ‘adults’ convened to chat amongst themselves, like they did when you were children, you and your sister are having a quiet conversation about your work. She’s in the middle of asking you to come out to her office to help you with something when you feel a hand settle on your shoulder. You turn, coming eye to eye with Kendall Roy.

“Hi,” he says carefully, small smile playing on his lips. “I don’t think we’ve met?”

“No, we haven’t,” you say back. “Y/N.” You offer him your hand to shake, like your father expects you to do with everyone.

“Kendall.”

“Yeah, I know,” you say awkwardly. He manages a laugh, withdrawing his hand, his eyes flitting over your face.

“I’m sorry it’s taken me this long, then, to, uh, put your name to your face.”

You’re not really sure what he means, but you don’t think you care that much.

“Move over, Kendall, you’re boring the shit out of her.” His brother comes over, bumping him with his hip. You have to stifle a laugh. “Roman.” You shake hands, offering him a polite smile. “He’s right, though. You’re a bit of a mystery to everyone.”

“Am I?” you ask, laughter seeping into your voice.

“Not to me.” Her voice is firm, clear. “I’m Shiv. I was at the conference you gave the Ethics presentation to. I know your work. My brothers are just stupid.”

You laugh for real this time. “Nice to meet you, Shiv. I’m familiar with your work, too. I’m just not so deep into the political sphere like you are.”

“I can help with that, you know,” she says, expression surprisingly soft. “I’ve been looking for someone that shares my opinions and… moral compass to work with. You need your rock, you know?”

The conglomerate of people slowly transitions inside. Roman and Kendall get roped into other conversations, your sister disappearing off to who knows where. You mill about in the dimly lit sitting room, watching everyone interact. Shiv’s still by your side.

“No offense, but I hate these things,” she says quietly, coming closer to you so you can hear.

You laugh lightly. “None taken.” You glance over at her to find that her eyes are already glued to you. You feel your face heat, her gaze flickering down your body before coming back up to your face. She has a sly smile on, but it’s quickly melting into one of real, soft emotion. You open your mouth to offer her something you’ll probably regret later, but are interrupted by your father clapping his hands together and waving everyone into the dining room. Instead, you give her an exasperated smile and follow the crowd.

Your father eyes you and your siblings as you all slip into your strategically chosen seats, making it so you’d all be surrounded by Roys. Your brother makes a face at you from the other side of the table. You ignore him, instead looking up at Shiv, who hovers by the chair at your left hand.

Almost shyly, she asks, “May I?”

“Please.”

A giddy smile spreads across her face as she sits, and you can’t help but mirror her expression. You look down into your plate, catching your sister’s gaze on you. Kendall takes the seat on your other side, Logan sitting directly across from you, right by your dad.

Roman and your brother are laughing over something as you get served the appetizer, your sister staring off into space while Connor talks at her rather than to her. Your mother speaks quietly with Marcia, and of course, your father and Logan are the loudest at the table, laughing and gesturing around.

Your cousin is on Kendall’s other side, overly-focused on her food. The conversation suddenly involves the entire table, Logan leaving forward. “What is it you do again, Y/N?”

You shrug lightly. “I work in media and risk analysis. Dabble a bit in economics.”

“So like Shiv?”

“Not really,” you and her say at the same time. You gesture with your fork, letting her continue.

“Our work certainly overlaps, and I’m glad it does,” she says, “but I’m more… political, she’s more… corporate.”

“If you dabbled in economics,” your cousin manages through gritted teeth, “we wouldn’t be here.”

“Neither would we if you did,” you retort calmly.

She scoffs. “I still don’t see why all of this is happening,” she says back, barely loud enough for everyone to hear. You look to your father, praying he’ll deal with it himself before she goes on some tirade, scaring off the buyer, but he makes no move. He simply glances at you, his gaze loaded.

Do it yourself.

You wait for a few moments, letting the tension strain the room. Maybe she’ll back off.

She doesn’t.

“The company is leaving family hands because of you, Y/N. It’s going to crash and burn because you refuse to fucking see what’s sitting in front of you.”

Logan’s lips press together into a thin line, and you know you have to recover. “I don’t want the company. Neither of my siblings want it. Don’t you think it’s a little telling you’re the only one lusting after it so loudly?”

“I don’t see what that has to say about me.”

“You want it, and you’re not getting it,” you say firmly. “You’re incompetent. The Roy name is not.”

Dinner is only silent for so much longer. Your brother, at his breaking point, asks loudly, “Why are you even here? You blew the Pierce deal. Fuck off.” Your father hisses something into your brother’s ear. He scoffs in response. “I’m sick of it, Dad. The three of us bust our asses to get this to go well for you and she gets to waltz in, do whatever the fuck she wants whenever the fuck she wants.” He quickly pushes back his chair from the table and makes his way out of the dining room.

Clearly, this is deeper than one stupid comment made at the dinner table. You throw a questioning glance at your sister. She gives a minute shake of her head. She doesn’t know.

Dramatically, your cousin follows your brother out. Roman is trying not to laugh, and all of a sudden, your father and Logan aren’t in the mood they were before.

You turn to Shiv, exasperated. She’s also stuffing a laugh down, and it’s contagious. “Is my juvenile family drama amusing to you?” you murmur to her questioningly, the soft clink of silverware and terse chatter filling the room.

“Yeah,” she says, nearly choking on a laugh. “This is so fucking stupid. How do you deal with it?”

“I never stay home.” You down the rest of the water in your glass.

“Hey, uh, Y/N,” Kendall begins, leaning towards you as you turn to face him. “I just wanted to say, I get how it feels.” He gestures vaguely around. “So if you want to, um, get some air after, I’d love to join you.”

You thank him sincerely, giving him a soft smile. Dessert finally comes out. You’re almost there. You turn back to Shiv, but she’s conversing with whoever’s on her other side, to your disappointment. You eat your cheesecake in silence, Roman catching your eye and giving you a wink. You didn’t know people actually did that, but he pulled it off nicely, you think.

When your father finally gets up, ushering everyone into the sitting room for drinks and chatter, you heave a sigh of relief. You trail behind the crowd, hoping to be able to slip away on your own.

You succeed. You sigh up at the high vaulted ceiling, padding towards the grand staircase up to your room.

“Hey, where’re you going?” comes a soft voice. You turn, Shiv, hurrying after you.

“Escaping,” you say jokingly, pausing on the stairs, letting her catch up to you.

“Can I come?”

“Yeah. You can.”

The sight of her sitting cross-legged on your bed does something to you. It sucks all the air from your body. But maybe that was just the sight of her.

"Your brother okay?" she asks, looking up at you.

"He'll be fine. Everyone's just a bit tense."

"Just so you know, your cousin's temper tantrum doesn't change anything."

"I'd hope it didn't."

"What would change things though," she tells you, "is whether you want to come on once we buy the company."

"Me?"

"Yes, you. I was serious when I was talking about how I need someone in my corner."

"What do you mean?"

"It's me. The company gets handed to me."

"Congratulations, Shiv. But really, I want nothing to do with it."

"I'd be running things. You'd just be my right hand woman. The very attractive right hand woman that I see every day."

You laugh, unable to suppress the grin splitting your face.

“My cousin’ll murder me,” you manage to say.

“So? Let her try. Not like you’ll go down or anything.” She smiles up at you. “I think that’s hot. You’re hot.”

Silence stretches between the two of you, both of you grinning at each other.

“You’re really pretty,” you breathe, believing she followed you for a reason.

“I’m glad you think so.” Her hands come to cup your jaw in the few instances it takes you to cross the room, slide onto your bed, and kiss her. “God, you’re so… so fucking gorgeous.”

“Yeah?” you ask against her lips, peppering gentle kisses onto them. “Stay the night.”

“I told everyone I went home,” she says, giggling.

Your hand flits to her hip, rubbing soothingly. Your kisses are slow, tender. You’re both enjoying yourselves. It feels so real. It feels like something more.

You slide off of her, off the bed, eliciting a whine from her pretty mouth. “Just locking the door, baby.”

You wake up, head buried in her chest. She’d borrowed some pajamas of yours, the shirt a soft cotton. Her breathing is light and airy, and it’s music to your ears. Her fingers are threaded in the hair at your scalp, her arm thrown over your back.

You drift in and out of consciousness until she wakes up, pressing kisses along your forehead. Shiv sits up, letting you stay settled in her lap. You press a hot kiss to her bare thigh, shorts hiked up her legs.

“You know,” she says, after a short while of silence, “Ken and Roman were drooling over you all night.”

You snort. “Were they?”

“I know them. They were. And here I am,” she says, satisfied with herself.

You let out an airy laugh. “Here you are.”

“I was drooling, too,” she admits.

“Can we stop talking about saliva?”

She pinches your ass, to which you don’t dignify with a reaction, instead smiling into her thigh. “I wanna keep seeing you.”

“I have to fly out to Italy for some work. Maybe I want you to come with me.”

“God, I love women.” Her hand cards through your hair. “Mind if I take a picture? I want to send it to my brothers.”

“Perv,” you mutter, but nod anyway. You smile at the camera from her thigh, pressing a searing kiss to the place where her leg meets her hip the moment she hits the button.

It captures her beautiful face in an ecstatic smile, yours in soft affection as you look up at her, not the camera.

[anthonybialy]

Feeling Sicko

The return of virus hysteria is an even worse throwback than the New Kids on the Block reunion.  Some things should remain disbanded.  Government commandeering decisions is a success if teaching everyone what gaslighting means counts.  A movie not starring a Marvel character is as rare these days as not having existence itself dictated by those least qualified.  Old souls favor sadly antiquated notions like plot and autonomy.

Processing 2020 more than halfway through 2023 is just another endless symptom.  Struggling to breathe wasn’t merely literal.  Interdictions are designed to show us who’s in control.  As with providing your insurance, those with enough awareness to recognize what’s sinister notice who claims they provide everything.

The implication that our gods could confiscate necessities is just so you remember to worship fervently.  Remember the casualness with which those who know what’s best for you made your rights disappear to be appreciative for the littlest bits of autonomy.

Lie blatantly if you’d like to protect seized power.  I didn’t say they were clever.  One doesn’t need to invent a convincing excuse when it’s easier to shrug and inquire what the oppressed plan to do about it.  The ruling class is so ridiculous in boldness that you can’t believe someone would fib that openly.  Dealing with sociopaths who think they know what’s best for you is the best endorsement of limited government possible.  Unfortunately, telling people what to do continues to take precedent.

It turns out things running smoothly needs a lack of supervision.  Government ruining everything offers a helpful reminder, and you didn’t even thank your overlords for the interventions.  Making you appreciate life by interfering with it will have to suffice as gratitude.  We don’t notice what a supply chain is until Joe Biden breaks the links.  Bureaucrats ruining what they run is reminiscent of how people used to be able to walk down streets without being mugged.  Fighting crime is now considered elitist, as poor thieves need to cope with the Democratic economy.

Nothing gets demonized by autocrats and their traitorous sycophants like making stuff.  Scoffing at independence comes naturally to useless types who can’t imagine anyone else creating something valuable, either.  The utter lack of empathy seals it.  Trading work for currency is so bourgeoisie.

You lost your ability to make luxury decadent kulak indulgences like decisions.  But at least the virus rampaged.  The prototypical example of authorities not really being in charges created the best of both worlds otherwise.

Lingering side effects should serve as a lesson to any gentle dupes who believe government can and should care for us.  Civics scores are bound to plummet when kids who were locked out of school see politicians enabling themselves to do as they please by shrieking about an emergency while scoffing at free exchange.

It’s bad enough to cede total control of reality.  The worst part is how they totally suck at it.  Couldn’t professional fibbers learn to deliver better ones?  An inability to keep trains choo-chooing matches fecklessness in stopping illness.  A ghastly example from which to learn is the most heartening news in a rather heartless world.

Contempt for your trifling liberty isn’t an exception.  Remnants of restrictions show how they see everything else.  Treating rights as privileges is a given with which you’re not allowed to dissent.

Those who just know they should be in charge substitute arrogance for competence.  The curious swap is reminiscent of how they replace prosperity with free money.  Your self-appointed superiors condescendingly scoffed at peasants who demanded to maintain decadent luxuries like commerce and earning.  Ensuing ceaseless woe taught them a lesson about the economy, namely that prosperity results from trading so people can make what others want and not printing currency.

Unfortunately and as usual, everyone got punished for a fundamental misunderstanding of our world by the ruling class.  When they announce we’re all in this together, they mean everyone suffers for their foolishness.  Authorities are nice enough to let you keep some of their money and utter occasional blasphemous statements about individual freedom.

The crisis is not over.  Sure, the virus seems to have gotten bored enough to dissipate.  But the innately pushy who think they know what’s best for you want to perpetuate the crisis so they can keep making your decisions.  It’s sure uncanny how every solution to nonstop red alerts involves not getting to think for ourselves.  Egypt is a piker when it comes to endless emergency infringements.

The infection of capricious statism still spreads rampantly.  Doing whenever they please is the chief indicator.  There’s bound to be another reason to get nervous.  Freaking is mandated.  You always felt this panicked.  Believe it by order.

[rowansparrow]

Juke Box Hero: A Rose Story

This is SO STUPID LMAO But I hope you guys like it anyway. I’m back on my bullshit and I am here to provide you with a little story based off THIS POST. Anon, thank you for your service, because this was very, very fun. 

This snippet takes place during Chapter Seven of BAON, during the flashback when Reader is meeting Rex for the first time and Rose and Co. are stuck cleaning up the barracks. You don’t necessarily have to have read it for this to make sense, but the right context might be neat. 

Also, for timeline purposes/in BAON, Tup and Dogma technically never met Rose, as they weren’t part of the 501st before he died, but I’m including them in this because I make the rules and I wanted to. 

Also Denal’s here because I think he’s a funky dude and deserves more content.

The clones deserve to dance and have fun and who’s gonna write them doing that if it ain’t me? 

Rating: Mature-ish? There are some dirty jokes and swearing but mostly it’s Just fun shenanigans with Rose and Bros. 

(Also I spent a TON of time picking everyone’s songs so pls tell me what you think of my selections lmao).

I’m tagging everyone from the BAON tag list in case you’re interested. Enjoy!

In retrospect, perhaps Rose should have put a stop to the loth cat situation – or as Hardcase called it, Operation: P.U.S.S.Y. He claimed it was an abbreviation for “Petting Unusually Sweet Strays, Yeah!”

“You have to call it something else.” Rose had said at the time, staring at the loth cat cradled protectively in Hardcase’s arms.

“But you’re not saying no?” Hardcase prompted eagerly, already bouncing lightly on his heels.

“Just…” Rose pinched the bridge of his nose. “Just… clean up after it? And if it breaks anything, it’s on you, and for the love of Force, don’t get caught.”

Now, as the Lieutenant surveyed the disarray that had befallen the barracks, and the company of very disgruntled subordinates, he was reconsidering his earlier leniency.

“I feel as the acting SIC, you’re the one who should be taking the flak for this, not the entire company.” Jesse grumbled, glaring at Lieutenant Rose over his shoulder as he scrubbed at the floor of the barracks.

“Don’t look at me. I’m not the one who brought a pregnant loth-cat into the barracks in the first place.” Rose replied, straightening up for a moment where he’d been hunched over, his back cracking as he moved.

“Well, you didn’t fight me very hard on it!” Hardcase protested. “And I didn’t know Beans was pregnant at the time! I didn’t even know she was a girl!”

His explanation only earned him several slugs to the arm from nearby vode.

“And just because I’m second-in-command does not make me exempt from the Captain’s wrath.” Rose added. “You didn’t get the dressing-down, you just have to carry out the punishment with me.”

“Hang on, I thought we agreed the cat’s name was going to be Road Rash?” Coric asked.

“That’s unladylike.” Said Denal. “And rude. She can’t help her scars.”

“And Beans is ladylike?” Jesse raised an eyebrow.

“She likes it! And her kits looked like beans when they came out too!”

Rose shook his head fondly at his men as they bickered. At least they weren’t complaining anymore.

In truth, he was surprised the situation had been managed as long as it had been. They’d lasted almost a full three weeks without anyone figuring out they were hiding a cat in the barracks. Of course, the kittens made it much harder, and they could only hide them in overturned helmets during inspections for so many days before the helmets started to mewl.

And once Beans threw a tantrum over not having her kits with her, it was game over. She’d knocked over an entire can of armor paint in her wrath, and blue pawprints and large paint puddles coated the durasteel of the barracks, and a few of the bunks had claw and bite marks in the fabric.

“It’ll take us an hour, maybe more, to clean this whole mess up.” Fives complained, looking around the barracks forlornly. He had a nasty scratch just under his eye from finally snatching Beans up in her rampage. “Kriff. I was excited to go out tonight.”

“Not to mention after we finish here the Captain said we had to go take over latrine and canteen detail from other battalions.”

“Then I guess you better get scrubbing.” Kix said absently, thumbing through medical requisition forms on his datapad and sitting cross-legged on one of the few bunks that didn’t have blue paw prints streaked across it.

“Why aren’t you helping? You’re part of the company too.” Echo said. “Fives and I are ARC troopers, if anyone here should be exempt from company-wide punishments, it’s us.”

“I’m not helping because I didn’t participate.” Kix replied, not looking up from his ‘pad.

“The kark you didn’t, you delivered the kits!” Fives snapped.

“Well, Captain Rex didn’t catch me, so.”

“That’s because you went and hid in the medbay and didn’t warn the rest of us he was coming.” Tup muttered under his breath.

“Not true. I sent Jesse a comm.” Kix said, finally looking up only to shrug and return to his work. “Which he didn’t check, and that’s not my fault.”

“It doesn’t matter who was involved and who wasn’t involved.” Dogma piped up. “Clearly, because if it did, I wouldn’t be here either.”

“We know.” Said Jesse and Fives in unison.

Rose sighed, his eyes drifting forlornly to his bunk. He spotted his footlocker sticking halfway out from underneath the durasteel, and he lit up. He opened it quickly, pulling out a beat-up radio he’d gotten at a market stall during one of his first deployments. He’d had to trade a droid popper and half his rations for it – Rex had not been pleased about it when he found out – but it was worth the two-day latrine rotation he’d gotten as punishment.

He’d already downloaded several songs off the HoloNet, along with a few channel recordings of past BoloBall games. Even if he knew who won them, it was still something to listen to on long stints on cruisers.

“What’cha doing, Lieutenant?” Tup asked, peeking around the corner as Rose straightened back up, fumbling with the little radio for a moment and propping it up on one of the bunks so the music could fill the whole room.

“No. NO! No.” Jesse jabbed a finger at the Lieutenant as he saw him set up the radio. “No. Absolutely not. I have had enough of your osik-brained, Force-forsaken, whack-ass music to last me a lifetime.”

Kix chuckled, rolling his eyes at the other trooper. “You listen exclusively to electronic dance music. Even when we aren’t at 79s. You have no room to talk.”

“This is better than that.” Rose promised, dialing up the volume. “This is the kind of stuff you’d find on the jukebox at Dex’s Diner.” He grinned. Dex was personal friends with General Kenobi, and was one of the few Coruscant establishments that was friendly to clones, as long as they behaved themselves. Rose had gone there with his brothers a handful of times, and even Anakin had dragged his Padawan Ahsoka, Rose, and Rex along once.

“You have a radio?” Dogma frowned. “Isn’t that contraband, sir?”

“Relax, it’s an old prewar-era radio, it’s not hurting anything.” Fives drawled, knocking Dogma lightly on the shoulder. “What’re you gonna play, sir?”

“Let’s see…” Rose filtered through his downloads, and grinned wider, pressing play.

Immediately, soft music rang through the barracks, and Jesse smacked his head against the bunk, groaning loudly.

“I’m begging you, Lieutenant.” Jesse said. “I’m begging.”

Rose was already swaying his hips, bending over to grab Jesse by the chin.

“On a dark desert highway, cool wind in my hair, warm smell of colitas, rising up through the air.” Rose serenaded him.

Jesse swatted Rose’s hand away, and Rose turned, swinging around on the side of the bunk and pointing to Fives this time. “Up ahead in the distance, I saw a shimmering light. My head grew heavy and my sight grew dim, I had to stop for the night.”

Fives grinned, joining in even as he stumbled slightly over the words.

“There she stood in the doorway. I heard the mission bell and I was thinking to myself, this could be Heaven or this could be Hell.”

Kix was drumming his fingers on his datapad, nodding along and singing under his breath.

“Then she lit up a candle and she showed me the way. There were voices down the corridor, I thought I heard them say…”

“This is too slow.” Echo griped, rising to his feet and stepping over Dogma, who was still stubbornly scrubbing away at the barrack floors and refusing to engage even as the rest of the clones began quietly singing along with the chorus.

The ARC Trooper fiddled with the dial for a moment, scrolling through Rose’s music and selecting another song, already grinning as the chanting started through the speakers and eventually rippled through the ranks of the 501st.

“STOP.” Jesse barked, trying to kick Fives as the other ARC trooper hopped to his feet, stomping his feet and chanting along. “STOP, I HATE THIS ONE!”

Rose and Hardcase were chanting too, and Coric had started clapping his hands on an overturned bucket, a few shinies clapping their hands together as Echo shook his ass, kama swaying as he climbed up onto a nearby table. He scooped up a mop, pulling the handle to his mouth.

“I can’t stop this feeling, deep inside of me.” He pointed to Kix, grinding against the handle. “Girl, you just don’t realize what you do to me.”

Kix gave him the finger, and Echo pointed to Fives, who was still chanting with the others but was now holding up his helmet, recording the whole thing. Echo amped up his performance.

“When you hold me in your arms so tight, you let me know everything’s alright. I’m hooked on a feeling!”

Tup whooped from where he’d moved to sit on one of the bunks. Dogma shot him a nasty look, which he ignored in favor of watching Echo strut on the table.

“I’m high on believing that you’re in love with me. Lips as sweet as candy, its taste is on my mind. Girl you got me thirsty for another cup of wine.”

“Wait, wait, wait, I have a good one.” Fives shoved his helmet at Hardcase, letting him take over recording as he scrambled to the radio, quickly turning the dial once again and elbowing Echo off the table as fast, loud, angry guitars shredded through the barracks.

Jesse seemed to perk up just slightly, and any of the 501st troopers who were still trying to actually clean – save for Dogma – had abandoned their supplies and had elected to dance instead, crowding the table and forming a makeshift mosh pit.

Fives was nothing if not a showman, and when he snatched the mop from Echo, he performed.

“When I get high, I get high on speed. Top fuel funny car’s a drug for me, my heart! My heart! Kickstart my heart!”

He stomped his foot hard on the table, flipping his head back and running one hand messily through his hair.

“Always got the cops coming after me, custom-built bike doing 103, my heart! My heart! Kickstart my heart!”

Rose laughed, watching as Fives looked at the helmet Hardcase was hoisting up over the crowd, singing into the camera and rolling his shoulders back.

“Ooh, are ya ready, girls? Ooh, are you ready now? Woah, yeah! Kickstart my heart, baby give it a start. Woah, yeah! Baby! Kickstart my heart, hope it never stops. Woah, yeah, baby yeah!”

The clones joined him for the chorus, and then Fives dropped to his knees like he’d seen rockers do on the HoloNet, high fiving the nearest vode. Dogma was still stubbornly trying to clean up the barracks, but had moved on to one of the far corners, only giving the rest of his battalion the occasional side-eye.

“Skydive naked from an aeroplane, or a lady with a body from outer space, my heart. My heart! Kickstart my heart.” He wiggled his hips as he straightened back up, biting his lip through a grin and dropping his hand to his hips and shaking his fist obscenely, as though he was jerking himself off.

“Say I got trouble, trouble in my eyes, I’m just looking for another good time, my heart. My heart! Kickstart my heart!”

Before Fives could do something else profane – or possibly attempt to crowd-surf and give Rose a handful of incident reports to fill out, the music suddenly shifted, and all heads turned to the radio.

Kix was smirking. He’d divested himself of the top half of his armor, instead electing to shimmy his way up onto the table in just the upper half of his blacks and lower armor plates. Fives exited, rejoining the crowd as Kix leveled a sultry look at the camera for just a moment before turning his back on the crowd.

“Clean shirt, new shoes, and I don’t know where I am goin’ to. Silk suit, black tie, I don’t need a reason why.”

He spun quickly, switching his grip on the mop handle as though he was holding a woman in his arms, dipping it low towards the crowd as he sang.

“They come a runnin’ just as fast as they can, ‘cos every girl’s crazy ‘bout a sharp dressed man.”

Fives and Echo were howling with laughter, and Hardcase wolf-whistled loud enough that Rose’s ears rang. Even Jesse had finally joined in, nodding his head along to the music and trying to bite back a grin. Tup had left the crowd to instead attempt to pull Dogma in, and Denal had rounded up a few newer members and was trying to push them closer to the front.

Kix unzipped the top half of his blacks, doing a slow strip-tease in time with the music.

“Gold watch, diamond ring, I ain’t missin’, not a single thing. And cufflinks, stickpin, when I step out I’mma do you in.” Kix shrugged out of his blacks and rolled his hips along the mop handle, dropping his ass low and slowly dragging himself back up, grinding against the handle.

“They come a runnin’ just as fast as they can, ‘cos every girl’s crazy ‘bout a sharp dressed man.”

Fives actually pretended to faint, falling backwards into Echo, who was laughing so hard that he fell over with him.

“ALRIGHT!” Dogma shouted over the music, elbowing his way through the crowd with Tup following anxiously behind him. Dogma firmly stopped the music, hands on his hips as he turned to face the rest of his brothers, who’d begun to boo.

“We have orders,” Dogma reminded them. “This is a punishment, not a party. When we finish here, we’re supposed to clean the shower block, and then we’re supposed to report to the mess hall and take over the canteen cleanup shifts.”

“We know the orders, Dogma.” Rose said, putting a hand on the younger trooper’s shoulder. “There’s no harm in having fun while you work.”

“I’m the only one still working.” Dogma grumbled.

“Alright, alright, we’ll turn it low for now, and we’ll finish up in here, then we can bring the radio with us when we move to the refreshers and canteen. Fair?” He asked, turning to the rest of the men. There were a few muttered responses, and Rose raised an eyebrow.

“Sorry, I couldn’t quite make that out.” He said. “We are cleaning this mess up, correct gentlemen?”

“Sir yes sir!” They all answered quickly, hurrying back to work.

Rose chuckled, shifting the music to something a little calmer, the gentle piano wafting through the barracks as they continued to clean up.

Denal’s head perked up as soon as he heard the piano start, and while he didn’t climb up onto the table like his brothers had, he smiled to himself, turning back towards the spot he was scrubbing and singing to the durasteel floor.

“I'm sailing away. Set an open course for the Virgin Sea.”

Echo hummed, closing his eyes and rocking back on his heels for a moment, listening to his older vod croon.

“'Cause I've got to be free. Free to face the life that's ahead of me.” Denal continued, his voice soft but steady. “On board I'm the captain, so climb aboard. We'll search for tomorrow on every shore and I'll try, oh Lord I'll try… to carry on.”

Somebody whistled, a few scattered claps ringing through the barracks. Coric picked up where Denal left off.

“I look to the sea, reflections in the waves spark my memory. Some happy some sad.” He sang. “I think of childhood friends, and the dreams we had.”

Tup glanced to Dogma, who was practically seething as he scrubbed at the same spot on the floor that he’d been working on for the past several minutes. “You like this song, don’t you, Dogma?”

“No I don’t. Shut up.”

“Join in. They won’t mind.” Tup encouraged.

“No.”

“We live happily forever, so the story goes. But somehow we missed out on that pot of gold.” Sang Coric. “But we'll try best that we can to carry on!”

The music picked up, and Jesse shot Rose a look.

“This is a deceptively fast song.” He said.

“It sneaks up on ya.” Rose chuckled.

The barracks devolved into chaos once again, the clones all screaming along to the lyrics, even the ones who didn’t know the words picked it up quickly, encouraged by their brothers.

Despite the distractions, they finally finished cleaning the barracks, and Rose plucked the radio from where he’d stashed it, leading the way down the hallway towards the refreshers. The 501st were especially rowdy in the quiet halls – most of the barracks were empty, the clones who weren’t being punished for loth-cat related shenanigans were taking advantage of the shore leave.

When they opened the door to the shower block, they encountered a few members of the 212th already in there, cleaning up.

“Pack it in, lads.” Rose announced. “We’re taking over for you.”

“What? Why?” Boil asked, leaning on a mop and raising an eyebrow. “Did you get in trouble?”

“Yes.” Hardcase replied sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck.

“All of you?” Waxer poked his head out from inside one of the refresher stalls, Crys and Wooley pausing from where they were wiping down countertops.

“Yeah, it’s Hardcase’s fault. As usual.” Jesse said, strolling over to Boil and plucking the mop from his hands. “We’re supposed to take over your shifts.”

“Good, I was hoping to get to 79’s tonight before last call. I hear they’ve got purple spotchka.” Boil said excitedly, glancing at Waxer over his shoulder.

“We can help you finish.” Waxer said, immediately raining on his brother’s parade. “There isn’t much left to do anyway.”

“You sure?” Rose asked. “It’s technically a punishment -.”

“Nah, it’s fine, there really isn’t much left, aside from the toilets.” He grinned. “But you boys can handle those.”

“Fair enough.” Rose chuckled, nodding over his shoulder to his men. Fives, Echo, Jesse, and Hardcase were in a heated four-way battle of rock, flimsi, cutters in order to determine who had to clean the toilets first.

“What’s that?” One trooper Rose didn’t recognize asked, pointing to his hand.

“It’s a radio!” Rose said cheerfully. “I’m err… technically not supposed to have it. But we’ve been listening to music while we worked.” He set it up on the countertop. “Do you have a favorite song…?”

“Spitter.” The 212th trooper supplied helpfully.

“Spitter.” Rose repeated, chuckling to himself and wondering how the hell he’d earned that name. “Do you have a favorite song?”

“I don’t know the name of it.” The trooper admitted shyly. “But – but it’s the one they play on the hits channel all the time. I hear it playing in the admiral’s quarters on the Negotiator all the time.”

“I know that one!” Waxer said excitedly, nodding to Rose. “It’s the one Commander Cody likes. You were playing it in the hangar a few weeks ago when our flight detail overlapped.”

“I remember.” Rose smiled, and turned the song on.

Immediately, every head, including Dogma’s, perked up at the familiar tune. Fives clapped his hands together, getting them started.

“When I wake up, well I know I’m gonna be, I’m gonna be the man who wakes up next to you.”

The younger trooper, Spitter, lit up and followed it up.

“When I go out, yeah I know I’m gonna be, I’m gonna be the man who goes along with you.”

Waxer elbowed Boil, trying to get him to join in, but the other trooper shook his head and crossed his arms, rolling his eyes even as Waxer sang.

“If I get drunk, well I know I’m gonna be, I’m gonna be the man who gets drunk next to you.”

Their voices carried through the refresher’s tiled walls, and Jesse picked up where Waxer left off.

“And if I haver, yeah I know I’m gonna be, I’m gonna be the man who’s havering to you.”

When the chorus rolled around, everyone joined in, their voices bouncing off the walls around them.

“But I would walk five hundred miles, and I would walk five hundred more, just to be the man who walked a thousand miles to fall down at your door.”

“When I’m working,” Kix began, offering a hand to Wooley and giving him a playful spin. “Yes I know I’m gonna be, I’m gonna be the man who’s working hard for you.”

“And when the money comes in for the work I do, I’ll pass almost every penny on to you.” Wooley laughed, shoving Kix away with a grin.

“When I come home,” Tup piped up quickly, before someone else could. “Oh, I know I’m gonna be, I’m gonna be the man who comes back home to you.”

“And if I grow old,” Crys smirked, shaking his shoulders at Fives, who punched him playfully in the arms and joined in, singing the line in unison. “Well, I know I’m gonna be, I’m gonna be the man who’s growing old with you.”

The chorus returned, and they sang with even more feeling than before, dancing and tossing their heads back, shouting along to the words and nearly drowning out the music itself as they sang.

As the final verse approached, Waxer sidled up next to Boil, giving him a hopeful look. His brother sighed, scrubbing a hand bitterly over his face and reluctantly joined in.

“When I’m lonely, well I know I’m gonna be, I’m gonna be the man who’s lonely without you.” He sang.

“And when I’m dreaming,” Echo called. “Well I know I’m gonna dream, I’m gonna dream about the time when I’m with you.”

“And when I go out, well I know I’m gonna be, I’m gonna be the man who goes along with you.” Fives followed.

“And when I come home, yes I know I’m gonna be, I’m gonna be the man who comes back home with you.” Denal said.

Tup took a deep breath, preparing to finish off the verse, but he was cut off.

“I’m gonna be the man who’s coming home,” Dogma’s voice was shaky as all eyes turned to him, and he finished in a squeak. “With you.”

The room erupted in cheers, Fives catching Dogma under his arm and giving him a noogie as the chorus rang out once again, everyone shouting along to the lyrics together.

When the song ended, and the cleanup was done, the 212th parted ways with the 501st, the brothers patting one another on the back and jeering affectionately at one another now that the song and dance was done.

“If you finish with everything before final call, catch up with us at 79’s.” Boil called over his shoulder. “We can give the vode there a run for their money with our rendition of that song.”

“Count on it.” Rose chuckled, giving the other company a little salute before leading his men on towards the canteen.

The canteen, blessedly, was empty, and most of it was already clean. All they really had to do was wipe everything down, mop, and then make sure the kitchen was well-prepped for the next day.

“I didn’t know you had it in ya, Dogma.” Echo said affectionately, knocking his younger vod playfully in the shoulder as they walked.

“Let’s just get this over with.” Dogma muttered, his ears burning as he pushed into the canteen, grabbing the cleaning supplies from the nearby supply closet.

“Who’s turn was it for a solo?” Fives asked, watching as Rose started to set up the radio above one of the food windows so it could project into the entire cafeteria.

“I think Dogma should go.” Kix grinned. “Now that we know he’s got some pipes.”

“Absolutely not.” Dogma said immediately, not looking up from where he was wiping down tables.

“I can go first?” Tup offered, raising his hand sheepishly. Dogma shot him another stern look, but Tup was already wandering over to the radio, moving the dial and tentatively pressing play.

Upbeat music filled the canteen, and the other troopers cheered as Fives ushered Tup over to the nearest table, boosting him up on top of it and then thrusting a mop into his hands. Hardcase was already fumbling with the helmet again, trying to get a recording as Tup tapped his foot along with the beat, nodding his head as he found his rhythm.

“I get up in the evening, and I ain’t got nothing to say. I come home in the morning, I go to bed feeling the same way.”

Fives was leading other troopers in pounding the surrounding tables in time with the drumbeats while Echo was leading another group to clap in time.

“I ain’t nothing but tired! Man, I’m just tired and bored with myself.” Tup flashed the camera a grin, reaching up and pulling his hair tie out, shaking his wild curls loose around his head. “Hey there baby, I could use just a little help.”

Jesse whistled, and Dogma had stopped cleaning and was watching his brother, the slightest smile pulling at his lips.

“You can’t start a fire, can’t start a fire without a spark. This gun’s for hire, even if we’re just dancing in the dark.”

Tup shook his hair out of his eyes, tossing his head back and jerking his hips.

“Messages keep getting clearer, radio’s on and I’m moving ‘round my place. I check my look in the mirror, wanna change my clothes, my hair, my face!”

He swayed his hips again, and Hardcase shoved the camera at Kix instead so he could join in the clapping.

“Man, I ain’t getting nowhere, I’m just living in a dump like this. There’s something happening somewhere, baby I just know that there is.”

He hopped off the table, instead taking Dogma’s hand and dragging him towards the makeshift stage.

“You can’t start a fire, you can’t start a fire without a spark. This gun’s for hire, even if we’re just dancing in the dark.”

He pushed the mop into Dogma’s hands instead, beaming at him as he scurried off the table, sprinting over to the radio and quickly changing the song.

Immediately, slow guitar started but quickly escalated into heavy drums and fast riffs. Dogma’s cheeks turned a darker shade, and he looked frantically to Tup, trying to climb back down off the stage.

“No, no, come on!” Fives shouted, trying to body block Dogma from getting down. “Come on, you got this!”

The lyrics began, and Dogma sang along, his mouth barely moving, voice almost imperceptible.

“Another head hangs lowly, child is slowly taken… and the violence caused such silence, who are we mistaken?”

“Come on!” Tup called to him. “You LOVE this song! Let ‘em hear it!”

Dogma grit his teeth, his voice gaining strength. “But you see, it’s not me, it’s not my family, in your head, in your head they are fighting.”

He stomped his foot on the table, practically snarling out the words. “With their tanks, and their bombs, and their bombs, and their guns, in your head, in your head they are crying.”

He threw his head back, and for not the first time that night, the radio was drowned out by cheers.

“In your head! In your head! Zombie, Zombie, Zombie. What’s in your head? In your head? Zombie, Zombie, Zombie!”

Dogma climbed off the table quickly, his ears and cheeks burning but a small smile was on his face, even as he was smothered by Hardcase, Fives, Tup, and Echo swarming him with hugs and rubbing his head affectionately.

Jesse climbed up onto the table next, picking up the discarded mop and clearing his throat.

“I would just like to dedicate this song to the gorgeous woman I picked up at 79s last week.” He drawled, nodding once to Kix, who was hovering knowingly by the radio. He nodded once to the helmet, which was now stationed on a nearby table, still recording. “Darling, you had the best pair of tits I have ever seen in my entire life, and you had the mouth of an angel and the coochie of a devil.”

Fives whistled, and Coric snickered. Rose rolled his eyes.

“So, babygirl, this one is for you.”

Kix turned on the radio, and Jesse grinned.

“Shot through the heart, and you’re to blame. Darling, you give love a bad name.”

Guitar rang out through the mess hall, and Jesse bit his lip, rolling his hips as he leaned slightly off the edge of the table.

“An angel’s smile is what you sell, you promised me heaven then put me through hell. Chains of love got a hold on me, when passion’s a prison, you can’t break free.”

He dropped into a crouch, singing directly into the camera.

“Whoa, you’re a loaded gun, whoa, there’s nowhere to run, no one can save me, the damage is done!”

He jumped to his feet, the table shaking under him as he landed.

“Shot through the heart, and you’re to blame. You give love a bad name. I play my part and you play your game, you give love a bad name!” He turned his back on the crowd, dropping low again and slowly rising, shaking his ass. “Yeah you give love…”

He looked over his shoulder, tossing the camera a wink. “…a bad name.”

The music changed abruptly, and for a moment Jesse looked pissed. “What the hell, ‘Case?”

But his expression shifted as Hardcase rushed to the table, pushing his brother out of the way and taking the mop from him. The crowd cheered all over again as Jesse climbed down, brothers slapping him on the shoulders as Hardcase’s song started up.

“We finish strong, right vode?” He asked cheekily.

“We still have to finish cleaning!” Dogma called back.

Hardcase only smirked in response, and sang quickly to keep up with the lightning fast lyrics.

“Backstroking lover always hiding ‘neath the cover, can I talk to you, my daddy say. He said, you ain’t seen nothing ‘til you’re down on a muff and then you’re sure to be a-changin’ your ways.”

He cupped his codpiece, bucking his hips forward into his own hand.

“I met a cheerleader, was a real young bleeder, all the times I can reminisce. ‘Cos the best things of lovin’ with her sister and her cousin only started with a little kiss, like this!”

He swung his arms wide, shaking his ass in time with the music and stuck his tongue out, having the time of his life.

“See-saw swingin’ with the boys in the school and your feet flyin’ up in the air. Singin’ hey diddle diddle with your kitty in the middle of the swing like you didn’t care.”

He walked backwards along the table, rolling his shoulders back as he moved.

“So I took a big chance at the high school dance with a missy who was ready to play. Wasn’t me she was foolin’ ‘cos she knew what she was doin’, and I know love is here to stay when she told me to walk this way!”

The rest of the 501st joined in with him, repeating the chorus of “Walk this way! Walk this way! Walk this way!” over and over again, Hardcase taking over again as the next verse began.

“School girl sweetie was the sassy kinda classy, little skirt’s climbing way up her knees. There was three young ladies in the school gym locker when I noticed they was lookin’ at me.”

He ran his hands along his thigh, mimicking raising a skirt.

“I was a high school loser, never made it with a lady ‘til the boys told me something I missed. Then my next-door neighbor with a daughter had a favor so I gave her just a little kiss, like this!”

“Do you think he has any idea what he’s singing about?” Kix asked Rose, leaning back against the counter and chuckling.

He watched as Hardcase went back to grabbing his own crotch, dry-humping the air and hummed.

“I’d say most likely.”

“See-saw swingin’ with the boys in the school and your feet flyin’ up in the air. Singin’ hey diddle diddle with your kitty in the middle of the swing like you didn’t care.”

Hardcase grinned, and to both Kix and Rose’s utter chagrin, Hardcase actually did dive off the makeshift stage and attempt to crowd surf.

“So I took a big chance at the high school dance with a missy who was ready to play. Wasn’t me she was foolin’ ‘cos she knew what she was doin’, and I know love is here to stay when she told me to walk this way!”

“I’m not patching you up!” Kix shouted over the roar of the music. Rose chuckled, turning the volume nod down as the rest of the 501st shouted in protest.

“Alright, that’s enough for now.” The Lieutenant said, taking control once more. “We can listen to it quietly in the background, but we really do need to wrap up cleaning.”

“Why? Got a date tonight?” Jesse asked with a raised eyebrow. Rose punched him lightly in the arm, and they got back to work once again.

They worked in relative silence, the occasional voice humming or singing along to the music, but they remained productive right up until one of the final songs Rose had downloaded cut through the speaker. The piano wasn’t as rich-sounding as it was through a regular speaker, but even through the tinny cadence of the beat-up radio, every single trooper in the canteen bolted upright, eyebrows raised. Rose smiled knowingly, and turned up the volume once again.

Fives beamed, sitting down on top of one of the tables and laying back, one leg bent and the other stretched flat, a hand behind his head as he sang up at the ceiling.

“Just a small-town girl, living in a lonely world. She took the midnight train going anywhere.”

Jesse leaned back against the wall on the other side of the canteen, closing his eyes as he joined in.

“Just a city boy, born and raised in south Detroit. He took the midnight train going anywhere.”

Echo kept mopping, but was grinning as he picked up the next line. “A singer in a smoky room, the smell of wine and cheap perfume.”

Kix grinned. “For a smile, they can share the night, it goes on, and on, and on, and on.”

The rest of the 501st joined in together, their voices carrying in perfect harmony.

“Strangers, waiting. Up and down the boulevard, their shadows searching in the night. Streetlight people, living just to find emotion, hiding somewhere in the -.”

“Night!” Hardcase shouted, straining every muscle in his chest and neck as he struggled to reach the high note.

Tup picked up the next verse, climbing onto one of the tables and dragging Dogma up with him once again.

“Working hard to get my fill, everybody wants the thrill. Paying anything to roll the dice just one more time.”

Dogma smiled, nodding his head along to the music. “Some will win, some will lose.”

Tup threw his arm around his brother, and the two of them sang together. “Some were born to sing the blues!”

Rose’s voice carried from over by the radio. “Oh the movie never ends, it goes on and on, and on and on!”

“Strangers waiting, up and down the boulevard, their shadows searching in the night. Streetlight people, living just to find emotion, hiding somewhere in the -.”

“NIGHT!” This time, it was Dogma, of all people, who rang out with the high note, and the explosion of shouts and cheers was deafening. They were screaming along to the lyrics, dancing and jumping and shouting and swaying in time with the song.

“Don’t stop believin’! Hold on to that feeling. Streetlight people! Don’t stop believin’, hold on-”

“WHAT IS GOING ON IN HERE?!”

The booming voice was so powerful, it could be heard even over the shouts of all the clones. Echo was closest to the radio, and quickly shut it off as the song and dance stopped immediately, every clone scrambling to stand at attention.

The Jedi that filled the doorway was massive, an imposing shadow in the entrance to the canteen. He zeroed in on Tup and Dogma, who had been standing closest to the entrance, and stormed towards them.

“Who is your commanding officer?!”

“Me, sir.”

The Besalisk Jedi turned, spinning on Rose immediately. He stalked over to the Lieutenant, jabbing a meaty finger into his chest, hard enough to send him stumbling backwards.

“What is the meaning of this?” He snarled.

“Sir, we were assigned cleaning detail.” He explained. “We were just finishing up.”

The Jedi bared his teeth. “Doesn’t look like much cleaning was taking place to me.”

He surveyed the rest of the troopers, but turned his head back to Rose.

“What is your designation?”

“CT-7673.” Rose recited immediately, keeping his back ramrod straight at attention, even though the Jedi was deep in his personal space. He knew this man. General Krell had quite the reputation through the GAR, and Rose had no clue what he was doing outside of the Jedi Temple this late at night.

“Who is your commanding officer?”

“Captain Rex, sir.”

“Not a clone! Is there a malfunction in your design?!” The Jedi bellowed. A few feet behind him, Hardcase flinched at the sudden loud sound, but Rose held still. “Your general, CT-7673! Who is your Commanding Officer!?”

“General Skywalker, sir.” Rose said instead. The canteen was so quiet, you could hear a pin drop.

He turned his head, noticing the little radio on the table and picked it up, the device small in his massive hands, raising an eyebrow at Rose. “Contraband, disturbance of the peace, behavior unbecoming of an officer, insubordination.” He hissed. “That’s plenty of grounds for a court martial, Lieutenant.”

“Sir.” Fives spoke up, taking a step towards them. “Proper chain of command designates General Skywalker as the one to hand down a court martial order, sir.”

He narrowed his eyes, his voice dripping with contempt. “With all due respect, sir, you do not command this battalion, and cannot order a court martial on the Lieutenant.”

“Fives.” Rose snapped, whipping his head around to face Fives. “Stand down. Now.”

The ARC Trooper shrank back, his hands curled into fists at his sides, and the General turned back to Rose.

“Be that as it may,” he began icily. “You can rest assured this breach of conduct will not go unreported.”

“Yes sir.” Rose replied stiffly.

General Krell pulled back at last, surveying the battalion. “I want this canteen spotless, and not a word out of you in the meantime!” He ordered. “And I don’t think you’ll be needing this anymore.”

With one quick motion, he smashed the radio in his hands. Rose heard a soft, hurt sound somewhere behind him, but ignored it. He didn’t look away from the General.

“Dismissed.” Krell growled, turning and stalking towards the doors. “And as for you,” He turned, jabbing one large finger at Fives. “I’ll be mentioning you in my report as well. Pray our paths do not cross again, clone.”

And with those words, he left the canteen.

Rose relaxed, but only minimally so. The silence hung heavy over the 501st, and everyone quietly shuffled back to work.

Rose gripped the mop handle tightly as he worked, his knuckles turning white. His chest burned, a tight, constricting feeling wrapped around his insides. It was a feeling he’d never felt before – anger, sadness, humiliation, resignation – all rolled into one hateful ball, coiled in his gut.

“Finished with the kitchen, sir.” Came Tup’s small voice. He’d put his hair back up, the tight bun back to regulation standards. Dogma was standing stiff beside him, still not entirely relaxed yet. “And the um – the canteen area’s just about wrapped up as well.”

“Very good.” Rose said with a small nod. “I’ll report back to Captain Rex, let him know we’ve finished for the night.”

“Sorry about your radio, sir.” Hardcase murmured, rubbing the back of his neck.

“It’s alright, ‘Case.” Rose smiled, but his eyes were sad. “It was – it was old, anyway. Just a silly thing.”

Fives bristled, his jaw setting as he tossed the bucket he’d been holding back into the supply closet with far more force than necessary.

“We aren’t supposed to leave base for the rest of the night, right?” Denal asked, arms folded across his chest as they finished the last of the cleanup. “Guess we could play Sabacc or something back in the barracks?”

There were a few murmured agreements, and the 501st shuffled back towards the barracks. Rose was still thinking about the General, and had a bitter taste in his mouth. They hadn’t been doing anything wrong, really.

Was it such a crime to enjoy oneself? To simply exist?

Fives and Echo fell into step on either side of Rose, the ARC Troopers bracketing their Lieutenant. “I bet Echo and I could rebuild the radio.” Fives offered. “Might take a little bit, but even if we can’t, Kix is real good at bartering stuff down in the markets. Remember when he got us those HoloDisc movies for just a tube of bacta?”

“We could find another radio for you?” Echo suggested hopefully. “Or maybe,” he lowered his voice slightly. “Maybe Y/N could find you one?”

“Let it go.” Rose said, picking up the pace and pulling away from the ARC Troopers. They reentered the now far tidier barracks, and Rose gravitated back to his footlocker, starting to close it up and push it back under his bed. The metal clacked slightly against the edge of the bunk, and he paused, the tinny sound echoing in his ears.

He knocked the footlocker against the bunk again, listening to the little noise again.

Kark it. He was more than just a mindless flesh-droid. He was a person. A human being. And he liked music.

And he wasn’t about to let anybody take that away from him.

“I never got to do a song.” He announced, straightening up and putting his hands on his hips.

“You can’t be serious, sir.” Dogma said, shaking his head at him. “Haven’t we gotten in enough trouble?”

“I’m sure the General’s slithered back to the Temple by now, where he belongs.” Jesse replied, turning back to the Lieutenant. “We don’t have a radio anymore, sir.”

“We don’t need one.” Rose said, pulling his footlocker back out and propping up one leg on it. He tapped his foot against the metal, the rhythm settling, nodding his head along. He took a deep breath.

“Standing in the rain, with his head hung low. Couldn't get a ticket, it was a sold out show.”

Fives recognized the song, and started tapping his foot along, drumming his hands on an overturned weapons crate.

“Heard the roar of the crowd, he could picture the scene. Put his ear to the wall, then like a distant scream.” Rose climbed up onto the table. “He heard one guitar!”

Jesse slammed a bucket from earlier down against the supports of a bunk, the loud clang mimicking the strum of a guitar.

“Just blew him away. He saw stars in his eyes, and the very next day, bought a beat up six string in a secondhand store. Didn’t know how to play it, but he knew for sure, that one guitar!”

Another clang, this time from Kix repeating Jesse’s motion, and Echo, Denal, Coric and Fives were all drumming on overturned buckets and crates.

“Felt good in his hands! Didn’t take long to understand, just one guitar, slung way down low, was a one way ticket, only one way to go.”

Tup and Hardcase had picked up a brush – typically used for scrubbing their blasters and armor down – and were knocking it against the durasteel wall. Dogma had rounded up the others, a look of sheer determination on his face as they clamored around the bunks and tables, smacking their fists in rhythm with anything they could get their hands on.

“So he started rockin', ain't never gonna stop. Gotta keep on rockin', someday gonna make it to the top!”

Rose stomped his feet, and the rest of the 501st joined him for the chorus.

“And be a juke box hero, got stars in his eyes. He's a juke box hero!”

“He took one guitar,” Rose sang, while the rest of the battalion echoed “juke box hero, stars in his eyes” around him. “Juke box hero, he’ll come alive tonight.”

The singing quieted down, listening for a moment to see if anyone was coming, and Rose grinned, starting again and pitching his voice low.

“In a town without a name, in a heavy downpour, thought he passed his own shadow, by the backstage door.”

The clones took position, preparing to resume their makeshift instruments as Rose picked up in volume.

“Like a trip through the past, to that day in the rain. And that one guitar, made his whole life change! Now he needs to keep on rockin', he just can't stop! Gotta keep on rockin', that boy has got to stay on top!”

Once again, shouts rang out as his brothers joined him for the chorus, their voices louder and more determined than ever, refusing to be silenced.

“And be a juke box hero, got stars in his eyes. He's a juke box hero, got stars in his eyes. Yeah, juke box hero, stars in his eyes. With that one guitar, he'll come alive, come alive tonight.”

As they finished the song, Rose panted softly, glancing down at his commlink again. He decided he was going to go off base after all. He wanted to see you, and nobody, not his Captain’s orders, and definitely not some karking General like Krell, was going to stop him.

“Dismissed.” He said curtly, and took off out the door without another word.

~

SONGS USED (because they’re all bangers and you should listen to them): 

The 501st (introduction): Hotel California Echo: Hooked on a Feeling  Fives: Kickstart My Heart Kix: Sharp Dressed Man Jesse: You Give Love a Bad Name Coric and Denal: Come Sail Away Dogma: Zombie Tup: Dancing in the Dark Hardcase: Walk This Way The 212th and 501st: I’m Gonna Be (500 Miles) The 501st (Canteen finale): Don’t Stop Believin’ Rose and the 501st: Juke Box Hero

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[veliseraptor]

So this is in NO WAY PRESSURING, get to this whenever you're bored and have nothing better to do, but I (have still not watched The Untamed) would love to hear any disorganized rambles around your fic 'Punitive Measures', like your thoughts while writing it, how you view Xue Yang's fight/flight/freeze instinct, and/or where you would take the plot if you ever came back to it (again, not pressuring, I'm not asking for a sequel, I'm asking for director's commentary. Also I know the mysterious flute was implying Wei Wuxian, I know that much and not much more.) It's a really fun, quick fic that I enjoy reading through while I keep circling around your longer, more intimidating stories. I aspire to write like you.

oh boy, well, I don't know that I ever have nothing to do but here I am answering this ask anyway, because I like talking about my fic even if I get self-conscious about it.

this entire fic falls solidly into the genre of fic I write that is legitimately just “I’m gonna fuck up this character I love because it’ll be fun and I love to do that” and then just kinda...went for it. actually harder than I was initially planning! my vague sense of what I was going to do with this fic didn’t have Xue Yang down an eye at the end of it.

but when inspiration strikes, what’s a girl to do, etc.

I actually thought recently about writing a sequel to this fic (or, well, continuing into the AU it started, more like) because the concept of Wei Wuxian and Xue Yang being bloodthirsty vengeance brethren is a very good one for me, personally, and at the point their paths would be intersecting in this AU a more plausible one than it would be at pretty much any other time (I would argue, at least in CQLverse). And that’s where I think this would be going. Because Xue Yang would see Wei Wuxian, in his bloodiest frame of mind, powered up with a gorgeous flute of bad vibes and go “fuck yes” even if he wasn’t in a place where he really needed the help.

The question I had was whether Wei Wuxian would be interested in accepting company, and I feel like Xue Yang on that front could be convincing. And the way that the latter would both enable and egg on all the former’s darkest fantasies and impulses...I’m just saying, Wen Chao and everyone he has ever known is in for a very bad time, possibly even worse than they already were.

I invite you to picture in this AU the part where Jiang Cheng and Lan Wangji find not just darker and edgier Wei Wuxian at the end of their scavenger hunt but darker and edgier Wei Wuxian with a friend. A familiar friend! Now down an eye and practically picking his teeth with Wen Chao’s finger bones. :D

since you asked for disorganized rambling I went back to reread and I’ll give you some director’s commentary on a few things

And he’d kind of hoped Wen Ruohan would be too busy figuring out how to deal with his brewing war to dedicate much attention to looking for one absent retainer. And even if he did, Xue Yang had sort of figured that finding him would fall to Wen Chao, who’d probably struggle to find his own ass with two hands.

kicking off this director’s commentary with Xue Yang’s brutal assessment of the competency of Wen Chao.

tbh one of my favorite things about CQL’s involving Xue Yang in the whole Sunshot storyline, despite the merry hell it plays with timeline stuff later, is how obviously little regard Xue Yang has for the Wens, even when they’re at the height of their power. He shows Wen Ruohan himself very little respect, and I can’t imagine anyone else getting more (except maybe Wen Qing, because Wen Qing is competent and if nothing else Xue Yang can respect competency).

and he just like. ditches them. walks out! promises to deliver very powerful magical artifact, and then gets what he wants and is like “smell ya later, peace” and they never catch him.

that’s just a kind of gutsiness and casual disregard for very powerful people that I really both love and respect about Xue Yang. and also that he has in common with Xiao Xingchen, tbh. and Song Lan (though him I think to a slightly lesser degree, partly because he has a little more tact and sense of societal norms as something relevant to be thinking about)! they can all vibe on that.

They took Jiangzai. Well. One of the Wen disciples took Jiangzai in the stomach and Xue Yang didn’t get it back.

this isn’t an important line or anything. I just like it a lot.

Wen Chao gestured again and he went down in a hail of fists and feet. Xue Yang tucked his chin down to protect his throat, curled his hands into his chest, and drew up his knees to guard his stomach.

He knew how this worked. Sure, it’d been a while since someone had beat him like this, but the lessons stuck. It was almost boring, really. If Wen Chao was going to play torture games then he could at least do Xue Yang the favor of trying to be creative.

He checked out the part of his brain that registered pain as anything other than a thing that was happening and focused instead on opportunities. Weaknesses in his assailants. Escape routes. Getting away would be the first thing. Nice if he could take a piece of Wen Chao with him on the way out - arm, or maybe even a head - but the priority was freedom and survival.

okay, this I feel like cuts into some of what you were talking about regarding Xue Yang’s fight/flight instinct, and also a lot of what if, I was feeling pretentious, I feel like this fic is digging into on a level under “what if I just tortured Xue Yang a whole bunch,” which is something about the relationship Xue Yang has to (a) pain and (b) his own body. Specifically, the relative indifference he has toward both. Or...not indifference, exactly, because it’s not like he’s enjoying himself, it still hurts. It’s just...expected.

unremarkable.

which is a lot of what I was trying to convey with Xue Yang’s narration during the whole torture sequence, with the commentary on methodology and how things are mundane or boring, because the suffering itself is mundane! as far as Xue Yang is concerned that’s exactly what suffering is! other peoples’, for sure, which is part of why it doesn’t matter, but also his own.

the world hurts and that’s just how it is and you learn how to cope with that. pain as...a thing that [is] happening.

I also, since you mentioned the fight/flight instinct, think a lot about how Xue Yang is, while he’s very proud and very stubborn, absolutely not someone to pick fights (in general) that he knows he can’t win. Xue Yang will almost always be on the side of “run and come back another day” over “stand and fight when all is lost.” survival, first and foremost.

which feeds into the weird paradox that I kind of hint toward at the end of this fic about Xue Yang as someone who has a definite death drive, who is profoundly obsessed with his own death in a lot of ways, and simultaneously is attached to staying alive above pretty much all else.

“Snap and snarl all you want,” he said. “You’re not going anywhere. And the only part of you I need intact is your tongue, so you can tell me where you hid the Yin Metal you promised. Everything else is optional.”

A prickle of fear rolled down Xue Yang’s spine and he flicked it away, baring his teeth.

I actually do think that, even before they get around to hand-specific trauma, permanent mutilation is one of those things that still scares Xue Yang. which is a short list! there isn’t much that actually either gets to or scares him, but I think the prospect of (further) mutilation does, because I think Xue Yang is very...acutely aware of the fact that his physical capability is a major factor in what has kept him alive and what, in all likelihood, is going to keep him alive moving forward. anything that threatens that capability, that limits him in terms of strength or mobility or otherwise has a disabling effect, is consequently going to be a short road to death, and Xue Yang would much rather die painfully fighting than die as a consequence of not being able to take care of himself.

for Xue Yang, the idea of a return to the kind of helplessness that is tied to his trauma is one of the worst possible prospects to contemplate. in my head this is exacerbated further by the fact that I figure Xue Yang didn’t get much if any medical care post hand incident, meaning that the recovery period was absolutely nightmarish and a whole stretch of time beyond the event itself where Xue Yang was struggling to survive because he’d been damaged.

in some ways I think that period of time probably did more to shape Xue Yang than the moment itself.

Wen Chao grabbed one of the branding irons from a disciple’s belt and pressed it to his stomach. That hurt. More. He clamped his back teeth together so he didn’t make any sound, absorbed the burn, owned it. His. You only hurt if you were alive. And anything you survived made you stronger.

Not that this was actually going to make him stronger. It was probably just going to make him dead. But then again, the worse this went the more resentment he’d have built up. He could use that. Would.

Dead didn’t have to mean finished.

obviously this is pulled almost direct from what Wei Wuxian himself says to Wen Chao. deliberate echoes based on character parallels! we love those.

and yeah, again here about Xue Yang and his relationship to pain, but in a less mundane way this time where it’s about pain as a tool, pain as something he can use. which is another thing about coping, I think - when pain and suffering are a regular part of your life, one way to deal with that can be to convert it into having some kind of purpose or benefit.

which in this case it definitely can. Xue Yang is definitely someone who, I think, has thought a lot about trying to arrange it so he becomes a ghost after he dies. or at least has thought a lot about what he’d do after dying to the person who killed him. 

and when you’re a necromancer by trade death really isn’t the end of the line anymore, just the start of a something new. Xue Yang’s relationship to life itself: about as jacked up as his relationships in general.

He felt the snap of bone in his teeth. Pain shooting up the side of his hand, all the way to his wrist, and Xue Yang couldn’t keep himself still enough not to try to wrench himself away. He swallowed his scream and turned it into a laugh. It was funny, wasn’t it? Funny, that he was back here, again. It wasn’t as bad, though. He knew how to take pain, how to breathe it in, make it part of himself, later turn it outwards magnified tenfold. They were old friends. Practically lovers. 

two things here:

1. the thread throughout this fic of Xue Yang making things funny so he can deal with them, here brought to you by reliving trauma! because it’s funny! right? laugh about it! just fucking hilarious.

I have a thing about characters basically deciding for themselves to make very unfunny situations funny because it makes them less awful.

2. and look, now he can deal with it better this time! he’s Learned. :) :) :)

Everything splintered. Splintered like bones under a wheel, and first thing he tried to struggle to get away but that just hurt worse and then old old old instincts kicked in and he went still, limp, dead.

“Did he faint?”

Someone nudged him with their foot. One part of him roared to grab that foot and rip it off along with the leg it was attached to. Immediately the same thing that’d made him play dead told him to wait.

at an end point where fighting is impossible and running is also impossible, the only thing left to do is play dead and wait it out. this is very much, in my head, a reversion to a tactic Xue Yang hasn’t used in a very long time and does not want to be using now, because it is absolutely the recourse of the extraordinarily helpless with no way out.

which he has been! and is now, but he really really really doesn’t want to be. Xue Yang has built his life around not being that, ever again.

but here it’s not a move he makes planning to turn it around the way he does, not at first. he gets there, but when he first does it I think it is literally just instinct that goes enough is enough and shuts down.

Wen Chao, Wen Chao, Xue Yang thought. My body’s going to give out before I do.

someone should remind me at some point maybe (or not) to write something coherent about my Xue Yang vs. his own body thoughts. specifically the way that, while Xue Yang is very physical and very grounded, I think he has a somewhat antagonistic relationship with his own body, actually. not completely! he definitely respects what it can do for him! but I think he also treats it a little as a slightly separate entity that’s capable of betraying him rather than as a fully integrated part of himself.

not always! but it’s a little bit there. this idea that sometimes his body, and its capacity to be hurt or damaged, is a weakness that he’d like to be able to forgo entirely, if only it wouldn’t mean losing all the good things about having a body. and that’s present here in this line, for me, where he thinks about himself and his body as slightly separate, and his body as something weaker than its Xue Yang core.

[staywritten]

Phobia│Bang Chan

Phobia │Bang Chan

Synopsis: Relationships were about give and take. Putting in effort and compromising, but there was only so much you could do when he stopped trying. Based on Phobia by Stray Kids

Genre: IdolAu, One shot, Angst, Romance, Hurt/Comfort, Song Fic? 

Word Count: 4444

Masterlist 

Six weeks.

It had been six weeks since you’d actually seen Chan. Normally you’d be understanding he was a very busy man. Songwriter, singer, producer, rapper, and leader he was in high demand especially these days. He was working a full length album for Stray Kids and even assisting in the production of fellow label mates, but six weeks was just too long to go without actually seeing your boyfriend. It wasn’t as if he was on tour or promoting he was just a few blocks away at the studio that he basically barricaded himself in.

Chan being a workaholic was pretty normal. Him not sleeping and spending hours or days in the studio wasn’t unusual. But once in a while, around album time it got bad.

You made sure that you brought food, and clothes and just dropped them off for him. Occasionally you’d get Felix to deliver something since you knew he’d have a slightly easier chance of getting Chan to actually eat something instead of continuing to work himself to death.

Normally it wouldn’t be this bad, you had a life of your own so you understood keeping a healthy distance from one another and that was part of your relationship that worked so well. You both loved each other, but you valued alone time. You worked full time at an office and it was pretty daunting, and having some time to yourself was nice. It allowed you to go and visit your mom, and to spend some time with friends, even indulge in your hobbies. 

Dating Chan for three years had gotten you used to his routines and how he got when it was album time. However six weeks started to make you wonder if you were even still in a relationship. He’d call occasionally here and there for a few minutes, but he hadn’t been home in over a month. 

If it wasn’t for his weekly vlives for Stays, you wouldn’t even get to see him. On a particular night you caught one. Him going live at an unsettling 4am. In your defense you were also awake but him not being home in your bed had made sleep hard to come by.

He put on that beautiful smile for Stays. Entertained, gave warm words of comfort, shared his favorite songs and listened to their suggestions. Although he smiled the entire time. He looked so tired. His skin, paler than usual. He was always pale but you never thought he looked sickly. His skin wasn’t as bright, slight bags noticeable under his eyes. His hair, not as shiny and bouncy as it normally was. He looked so physically exhausted. He hid it well, to not worry Stays but you knew. 

At the very end of his broadcast he wished Stays goodnight, gazing at the camera and for a whole moment it was like he was all yours again. 

I'm stuck with a phobia

Although I want to stay with you

I'm stuck with a phobia

I can't go there, where you are

I can't approach you

It was like he could prioritize you, because you were a Stay and he loved his Stays. “Big hug” he smiled, going in to hug his camera, wrapping his arms around it. And the moment he came in close, the screen filling with his chest your body tensed as if you were actually being embraced. A soft smile grazing your face because that was the warmest you felt in six weeks. That was the most attention he’d given you in six weeks and you shared it with thousands of others. 

You had the day off and you were determined to get Chan out of that studio even if it was only for a few hours to have a good lunch. He needed fresh hair, he needed the break. You managed to get a little done up today. Your comfortable jeans traded in a favor of a light sundress that hugged your form in the right places. Your hair down, neatly styled, framing your face. Your make up topped off with a nice glossy red that complimented your skin tone.

The walk to the studio was nice, the weather had been pretty amazing the past few days and it would have been a shame to let it go to waste. Walking into the JYP studio you waved to the receptionist, who had once again given you a small smile. She had gotten used to your visit and she would do her best to try and get Chan to at least come out but it wasn’t her fault your boyfriend was a workaholic.

You smiled brightly seeing a familiar face walk down the hall. “Hey How are you!” you chimed waving to Changbin. You met Chan through Changbin a few years back. You’d been a close family friend and it was a meeting that was merely by chance but you and Chan hit it off and the rest was history. It only brought you and Changbin closer, and he'd been a welcomed constant in your life, acting more so as a surrogate brother. 

He brought you into a big hug, squeezing just a bit and patting your head. “Long time no see, you look beautiful.” he looked at you proudly. ”

“It’s been a while” your mood seemed to brighten greatly as soon as you saw him. “How’s Chris?”

His smile faltered for a bit. “Honestly…he's in one of those moods…he finished his new track weeks ago but..he just hasn’t been able to record it properly…you know how he gets…expecting absolute perfection…” he sighed. “It’s wearing all of us out, him and Jisung keep getting into it”

“He hasn’t been home in over a month…” you looked down.

“I figured as much…His studio basically became an apartment…He won’t even go back to the dorm” he crossed his arms over his chest “He’s being way too hard on himself. If a studio is supposed to represent your mind then his is just a mess right now…I don’t think he’ll ever get the song perfectly if he doesn’t take a break.”

“I was hoping to get him to take a break today…ya know have a lunch date. Go for a walk, enjoy the weather” you gave him a hopeful smile. “Wishful thinking?”

He chuckled “I think that’d be amazing for everybody.” he whispered “He’s been driving the staff absolutely crazy.” he gave you his studio key and a small wink. “Good luck, I’m gonna go grab a drink” he walked down the hallway back to the lobby.

You unlocked the door to the studio and was floored to see just how cluttered it was. Chan wasn’t exactly the tidiest person in the world but this was beyond ridiculous. Clothes, blankets and pillows covered the couch, the garbage can was overflowing. You were grateful that he wasn’t one for alcohol, energy drinks or caffeine but there was an alarming amount of juice bottles. The sugar probably being the only thing keeping him wired.

Chan turned around hearing the door open. “Changbin, I need you to run your rap through one more time something’s just not-” he stopped and furrowed his brows seeing your face. 

A soft smile formed on his face, he really did miss you. Your beautiful smile, your bright energy always made you his haven, but right now it was a distraction. He needed to finish this song. Seeing you was supposed to be his reward for finishing everything. He wanted you to be proud of him the next time you saw him.

He wanted to be able to present to you his hard work. But right now he had nothing. He had about seven unfinished songs and nothing he was proud of. He didn’t want you to think his hard work was for nothing. He’d been working non stop for six weeks and had nothing to show for it.

“Chris...” you stepped into the room and moved closer to him.

He stood up and pulled you into a hug, kissing the top of your head. “Babe…what are you doing here?” He sighed happily feeling how you fit so perfect against him. How with just the feeling of your small arms around him his anxiety was lifting.

I want to hold you in my arms so bad

Even if I treasure you

You're so precious it isn't enough

You're radiant

The more you shine, the more I tremble as I get closer

“I missed you so much.” You leaned your chin on his chest. “I wanted to go out to lunch…” You missed his warmth, how safe you felt in his strong arms, the way the lul of his heart instantly calmed you. Your eyes softened as he caressed your cheek, running his thumb against your cheek.

“I missed you too, but I’ll take you out when I finish the song.” He kissed your forehead. He intended to pull away but he couldn’t. His lips found your mouth as he pulled you into a sweet, and tender kiss. Your lips moved against his lovingly as he gripped his shirt. It was the most intimate contact either of you had in a long while. He cupped your face, pulling away softly. That would be enough to hold him over. You just had to wait for him. 

 “I’m sorry Babe but there’s still so much I have to do” he reluctantly let you go and moved to sit back at his desk. “I would love to goof off but the guys are counting on me” he slipped his headphones back on and turned his attention back to his laptop.

You gasped, feeling him pull away so suddenly. “Chris…” Watching him get back to work as if you weren’t even there broke your heart. Six weeks of not seeing each other and you got a hug, and an ‘I miss you’ before he just dismissed you. Did he really miss you? Did he even care? You turned away, biting your lip and keeping your tears at bay. It was just so frustrating.

He had already slipped his headphones on and got back to work. You didn’t want your visit for be for nothing. You were hoping to help him in some way. You wanted to get him to take a break but he made it very clear he had no intention of leaving.

You cleaned up the blankets, folding it neatly on the couch and frowned seeing all of your notes and letters you wrote him for encouragement just crumbled in the trash. They were just tossed aside, like they were nothing. 

Like you were nothing. 

You’d seen how he so carefully took care of his letters from Stay’s each one saved and delicately handled. Preserved in a box to later act as motivation for him. And yours just crumbled like they were trash.

Then it hit you. Why were you even doing this?

At the thought of me making you smile

This shaking becomes in a little happiness

Don't know why I'm like this

Even if I pretend to not be bothered

My heart is racing like it'll burst

He turned around and saw that you were still standing there staring at the garbage. “Baby I really need to work, why are you still here?”

“What is this…” you mumbled, your fist tightened. You turned around, tears threatening to spill out. “What are we even doing?”

“What are you talking about?”

“I…we haven’t even seen each other in weeks and you don’t even care.”

“Don’t start this, we agreed that work comes first.”

“I agreed not to guilt trip you when you have concerts and tours, and you agree to understand when I have to work over time but this isn’t the same thing Chris…you’re just refusing to come home…what about me? where do I fall in your priorities?”

“Is that what this is about? I don’t need this right now! I need to finish the album!” You flinched hearing him raise his voice. He was known to have a bit of a temper but he almost never raised his voice to you. “The guys, the company, JYP, Stays, everyone is expecting me to put out the next big hit. The comeback is in a few weeks and I’m not ready! I don’t have time for you to sit here and just bitch about it!”

“A bitch? is that what I’m being….” you whispered. “I just wanted to see my boyfriend…” tears streamed down your face as you stepped closer to him. “I always support you…I make you food, and bring you clothes, and always encourage you. I’ve always been your biggest fan, but you’re not taking care of yourself… You’re making yourself go mad sitting in the studio all day, you’re pushing yourself too hard and-”

“The only thing making me go mad right now is you! So why don’t you do me a favor and leave!” He kicked over the chair and yelled. “Do us both a favor and get the fuck out! I don’t need this!”

You bit your lip and shook your head “Y-You don’t mean that…” you stepped closer slowly. “Chris…you’re just mad…Let’s just calm down…and we can-”

“Leave! Why are you still here!?” In his fit of anger his hand swung out hitting the can on his desk causing it to fling at you. It flailed past you, hitting the wall.

You screamed from the sudden movement and shielded your face feeling it splash on you. Even though it didn’t hurt you, it scared you enough. All in one day Chan yelled and threw something, he’d never done something like that before and for the first time you can say that you were genuinely afraid of him.

The second it hit the wall it was like his anger began to dissipate. Seeing the fear in your eyes he stepped closer but you stepped back and let out a yelp, cringing as he lifted his hand toward you. He just meant to caress your face, but you wouldn’t let him get that close. You couldn’t look at him, you were almost frozen in fear, you just couldn’t bring yourself to make eye contact.

He called out your name in a soft desperate whisper, but you shook your head. “I’m…I’m sorry, it was an accident...”

There was a loud bang on the door which only caused you to scream again. “It’s just me” Changbin opened the door and let himself in “I heard yelling what-” he looked down at your small shaking form. Tears streaming down your face, you were literally shaking, something splattered on your sundress. ”What the hell happened? Are you ok?”

You pushed past him, sniffling as you ran out of the building. He stared at Chan in disbelief. “What did you do?”

You hurried home going as fast as your feet would carry you. Honestly you should have taken the scenic route, there was nothing to rush home to. Your apartment, far too large holding nothing for you. You sighed looking down, you had been ignoring the pestering feeling that this wasn’t a home anymore. It lacked warmth, life, him. All the memories that you once cherished were nothing but photos on the wall.

You just couldn’t do this anymore. 

You couldn’t be the only one trying.

You packed up your largest suitcase, filling it with as much of your clothes as you could. Anything that couldn’t fit in the suitcase was stuffed in boxes, books, photos, anything that you contributed to this shared apartment. It would have been easier just to pack up Chan’s things since he had a lot less things as you did, but you couldn’t bring yourself to touch his stuff or to stay here a moment longer. The apartment looked much colder without your touch. It was as empty as you felt.

Stay with me

Don't hesitate no more (Don't hesitate)

There's no point in speaking

As long as I'm in front of you

Back at the studio Changbin grabbed Chan by his collar. “Chris what the hell was that?!” his grip tightened.

Chan looked down. He regretted the whole situation. He never meant for it to escalate so much, he just didn’t understand why you couldn’t just leave him alone and let him do this for work. He was also aware that the situation looked a lot worse than it was. “I didn’t hit her…” he felt the need to clear it up.

Changbin scoffed. “Do you think that you’d still be standing if I thought for a second that you laid a hand on her?” He wasn’t usually this aggressive, but he had gotten so close to you, and loved you very much. If you were to get hurt because of someone he introduced you to he’d never forgive himself.

“I just…lost my temper…” He grunted pulling away from Changbin. “Why can’t she just let me work?”

“Because she loves you! She wants you to be healthy and happy and sane!” Changbin crossed his arms over his chest. “Because she doesn’t want you to end up making yourself sick”

“She wasn't understanding at all!”

“Oh no the girl that goes out of her way every day to drop off clothes and food for her boyfriend. The girl that understands that you have to go away for weeks or months on end for work and never complains about it. The girl that understands that you get annoyed when she comes to see you but she still wants you to have a good meal so she sends Felix to deliver it. That girl? Are we talking about the same girl? The girl that came all the way down here just because she wanted a little lunch date. Could you really not give her that? A few hours to show that you still love her.” Changbin scoffed. “She’s way too good for you…”

Chan looked down and clenched his fist. He never realised how good you were being to him, how kind. He just got spoiled by your understanding nature. He took advantage of the situation. “I messed up…I really fucked up…I yelled at her…I scared her….” he looked at Changbin. “She was really scared of me.”

“You’re going to lose her…” He sighed “And since I care about her well being that doesn’t actually sound like a bad idea.” He turned away. “Either fix it, or sit here sitting in you own self pitty..I can’t fight your battle…not this one.”

It still took another two days before he made it back home. Somehow he did manage to finish the title track, up to his standard. Jisung and Changbin were going to work on his guide for some of the B-sides and he was going to take some time off. 

He picked up a bouquet of your favorite flowers, and a teddy bear to apologize on the way. Unlocking the door he sighed “Babe…I’m home.” he announced as he slipped off his shoes. As he walked into the apartment he looked around frantically. The walls were bare. All of the photos you had were removed, the little plants that you decorated the apartment with were gone, his bookshelf that you filled with all of your favorites was now empty. He dropped the flowers and bear and ran into the bedroom. The bed was neatly made but all of your clothes were gone, half the closet stripped bare. It was like you were never there. As if you completely lifted out of his life.

I'm stuck with a phobia

Although I want to stay with you

I'm stuck with a phobia

I can't go there, where you are

I can't approach you

A week had passed and he was unable to reach you. You refused to answer his phone calls, your friends, and family refused to tell him where you were. It wasn’t until he caught you leaving your office building that he finally saw you.

You had worked overtime that night just to finish off your workload that you were slacking on. You’d been staying at an airbnb for an extended stay while you looked for an apartment. The rest of your things in storage at your parents place. It wasn’t permanent, but this transitional period felt good. Like you were finally doing something to take back your life. You froze hearing your name being called, knowing the voice all too well. He grabbed your wrist softly, pleading for your attention. He turned you to face him. He looked so sad, you just weren’t prepared to see his face like that. “Chris let me go…”

“Why’d you leave?”

“I’m surprised you noticed”

“I came home and you weren’t there…”

“You told me to leave.” You yanked your hand back from him.

“Leave the studio. Not my life.” He looked down. “I missed you…I didn’t know where you were… if you were safe… I was so worried.”

You sighed. “It only took me leaving for you to get that….All the nights I spent alone…you didn’t even care. When you were locked away in the studio you didn’t know if I was home safe, and you know what Chris? You didn’t care”

“I care!” he groaned, not meaning to yell at you. “I care…I always care…I’m so in love with you… please…just give me a chance to explain everything …please…even if it’s the last chance please…just…give me this..”

Every time I meet you

I shake, shake

Your voice echoes loudly in my head

Saying I can do even better

I boldly shout

I know too well that chances only come once

I'll do anything for you

*So that you can believe in me*

You sighed deeply before leading him back inside your office, borrowing one of the empty meeting rooms giving you two some privacy. This wasn’t the kind of talk you wanted to have publicly and you’ll be damned if you ever returned to that apartment again. Sitting across the table from him you gave him the coldest look you could muster. Arms crossed over your chest as you glanced at your watch. “Talk”

He looked down, trying to find the courage to speak.  “I’m sorry…it’s just…you’re so good to me…you’re beautiful…and kind…and you love me more than I deserve…” he sighed. “Changbin’s right…he’s always been right about you being too good for me..but I figured if I worked hard then maybe one day I’ll be good enough for you too.” He buried his face in his hands. “I”m not good with relationships…I’m fucking horrible at them…You’re the only one to ever put up with me this long…I was just so scared of disappointing you..scared that you’d realize that I’m not good enough”

Your eyes softened hearing him pour his heart out to you. This was new, he never opened up this much. He just bottled things up, put on a happy face for the sake of others. This was deep rooted and he never addressed it before.

“I…I figured if I stayed busy…I could never get into a fight with you…we would appreciate the time we had together…no fighting, no anger, just happiness…If I stayed in the studio and work hard then I’ll have something to prove to you that I’m good enough...Make a new album and get wins… it’s not just for you but for Stays, the guys… I have to prove to all of you...”

Placing your hand on the table, you leaned closer. Not touching him, but the gesture was huge. It showed that you were more open to him. “Why…why do you think you have to do this? There’s not a single person that doesn’t think you’re good enough. Stays...The guys...I...we all love you more than you can imagine”

He gazed up sadly. “Because…when you gusy realize I’m not good enough you’ll all leave me too...I fuck up everything good in my life…and you’re the best thing that’s happened…and you stayed…And then you left...” he slowly reached out and tried to take your hand, only if you were accepting. Seeing how you didn’t pull away he held your hand. “I wanted to beg for you back…but then I realised how better off you are without me…that if you truly love someone you let them go…a good man would let you go.”

Your eyes softened hearing that. You could feel his grip slipping on yours. You opened your mouth to say something, but you could find the words. His hand lingered on yours, not quite wanting to let you go, and to be honest. You didn’t want him to. You wanted him to fight for you, that’s all you ever wanted.

You needed him to try.

“I’m not a good man…I’m a selfish man…a man that loves you and can’t be without you..” He took your hand in his again before pressing his lips to it. “I promise…I’ll treat you better next time…no more tears…I’ll work less…I’ll cherish you better…I’ll be the man that deserves you…I” he stopped himself taking a deep breath, holding on to your hand for dear life. “I don’t know if I can be perfect but I’ll try-I’m trying”

“Chris…this can’t happen again…I love you…I really do…but…I love myself too much to let you hurt me that much again…”

“I promise! I won’t ever hurt you again…I know I’m a fuck up…but with you…I can be more than that…you make me better…I need you.”

You leaned closer taking his cheeks into your hands, forcing him to look at you. “Listen to me…you are not a fuck up. You are good enough…I love you.”

“I love you more” he leaned in pulling you into a kiss. “Come home please…” he whispered against your lips.

“Then make it feel like a home again…” you whispered back, pressing your forehead against his.

“I will…for you I’ll do anything..” he smiled softly leaning against your touch just enjoying your feeling. The feeling that made him feel whole again. He had always put his music first, it was about time he started prioritizing the very person he does all of this for. His motivation, his love, his inspiration. It all came from you, and he was going to prove how important you were to him, even if it took him a lifetime. 

Because you were worth it.

I'm stuck with a phobia

Although I want to stay with you

I'm stuck with a phobia

End.

You guys ever think about your ult and they’re just so perfect you make yourself sad over imaginary situations? Ok cool, I’m not alone. 

Also please  forgive any mistakes, or typos it’s 3am and I have to be up for work in three hours, so I’ll edit it later

Also If anyone wants to be part of my permanent tag list let me know, you’ll get alerted any time I post a new story. As of right now I’m only a Skz writer so if that’s your vibe lemme know~

Once again this is another fic I wrote like 5yrs ago and re-wrote it for this

∘Tags List:

@skzsprinkles @tophuphu @hugs4chan @channieboyo

[strawberrylemonz]

Team With Me

Part 5

Part 6 [CURRENT]

Part 7

DT: @bargledblocks @snapdragonfirefly @artistconk @lil-ladylynn

“My stuff! My humble abode!”

Tommy pulled out his communicator, anger filling him as he messaged the server’s general chat.

“Who was it?! WHO WAS IT?!”

Chat screamed different names as they clucked, pouring out of the chicks in order to travel with ease. Floating around the child, they all wailed as they rushed to see the messages that Punz sent him. Anger and annoyance filled him the moment he read Sapnap’s name log into the server’s communication link. Flipping through his communicator, he clicked on Sapnap’s name and dialed him.

“SAPNAP!”

“Haha, TOMMY!”

“Don’t do your little American “I’m from Texas” laugh at me! Where are you, dick?!”

“Sapnap! Why are you stealing from a child?”

“Karl, it was for a good reason.”

“Bro, the dude is nine.”

“You know, wording it like that is making my good reason sound less good.”

Kristin shook her head as she listened into the conversation, obviously not pleased where the conversation was going. Leaving the fiances to their conversation, she turned to examine everyone else.

“Tommy was very proud of those, you know.”

“Really?”

Tubbo hummed as he smiled up at Ranboo, nodding. 

“Yeah! Believe it or not, but Tommy used to be one of the richest people on the server.”

“Wha- wow, did not see that coming.”

“Use your eyes, bossman.”

“Rude.”

“L.”

“You must be my ally.”

“Give me back my things.”

“Be my ally.”

“Why?”

“Because a civil war is about to break out.”

“War?!”

The panic that Tommy felt filled everyone as another memory formed before them.

-

Tommy hummed as he sat around the cottage, alone. He frowned as he half-heartedly ate the deformed pancakes he had managed to make for himself. Scattered across the table were opened letters addressed to him, the names of his family on them. According to them, the political status of SMPEarth was starting to “lean towards their favor”, whatever that meant. He could care less about governments and politics, but he made an effort since it was deemed so important to his brothers and dad. 

“Important enough to leave you.”

“Fuck off.”

Tommy frowned as he waved his hand through the air, turning the spirit to mist. It would take a while for that voice to return, something he was grateful for. He was so tired of this lonely and boring routine. He wanted something fresh and new. Well, it was either that or to finally have his family back, but he knew better than to hope for the latter.

“Whatever, I’m fine on my own.”

Just as he went to take another bite, the sound of clucking caught his attention. One of his hens, Clara’s, came up to him, papers in her beak. Stroking her head and giving his thanks, he examined the mail that was delivered for the day. 

“Summer solstice invite, trading deals, town market fliers, server invit- huh? Dream SMP?”

Tommy examined the envelope, interest filling him. Deciding that it was legit, he shrugged as he shoved it in his inventory. It wouldn’t hurt to keep it around, just in case. Continuing to flip through the mail, he felt his hope diminish. It wasn’t until he got to the final envelope that he grew excited. Wilbur had sent a letter! Running to the couch, the boy got comfortable as he tore it open. His big brother’s words always comforted him when he got too lonely, and he definitely needed comforting at the moment. Eyes scanning the letter, however, brought no comfort at all. The excitement that once filled him had disapperated as he held the letter close, extremely upset.

His family was at war, conquering nations in the process. World domination, as Wilbur had said.

-

“Give me them first, Sapnap.”

“I need you to be on my side-”

“Sapnap, I need my things back. I’m getting- I’m getting anxiety! I’m getting anxiety!”

Everyone didn’t know what to do with themselves as panic and anxiety filled them. Some tried to make themselves smaller, others began to ramble. Watching the memory, they could make out Tommy freaking out, his knees locking in and out of place as Sapnap screamed at the child that he needed to be on his side.

“I can- I can’t work with this until you-”

“Look, you can have this for now.”

Sapnap tossed the child his netherite sword, the boy happily grabbing his. Taking a deep breath, the two exchanged words as Tommy demanded for his chestplate back. Sapnap eventually gave the kid the chestplate back, promising to kill him if he ran. After Tommy calmed down, he walked with Sapnap as the man offered to team up, wanting to work together to become the most powerful in the land. Tommy just rolled his eyes as he half-heartedly listened in. That is, until Ponk was mentioned. Listening as Sapnap recounted the events, Tommy made quick comments as the man worked to convince him to join him.

“You’re asking a child to ally with you for war?!”

“Things were different then, Puffy.”

“Like hell! You can’t just-”

“Hush! Guys, Tubbo and Punz are there!”

“Aye, Tubbo.”

“Aye, Tommy.”

“Why have you shown up at my house?”

“I heard there was a fight! I wanted to see, I brought popcorn and everything.”

“You brought popcorn?”

“Things were simpler then. Things were quiet, and that was the entertainment at the time!”

“Um, Tommy?”

“Yes?”

“Uh, Tommy, I think you stole one of my diamonds.”

Tommy stood there, a panicked expression as Alyssa’s voice crackled through his communicator. 

“Yeah Tommy, what do you have to say-”

-

Tommy stumbled with his words as he talked to Tubbo through the communicator, the two talking about Tubbo’s second-hand communicator. Midway through the conversation, Tommy spotted Alyssa and Ponk walking to him on the path. Trying to maintain composure, he took deep breaths as he silently watched them. He said nothing as Tubbo’s voice came through.

“Hello? Why are you breathing so heav- it’s just a communicator name, dude, chill.”

Confusion filled the child as Ponk through items at him, not uttering a word as he did so. Then, without a sound, Alyssa set the child on fire before running off with Ponk, both watching the boy as they escaped his property. The child silently put out the fire, twitching as he waited for the fire to stop burning him. Hanging up on Tubbo, he quietly dialed a different person.

“Sapnap.”

“Hello?”

���I’M ON YOUR SIDE!”

[maxwell-grant]

So, any thoughts on The Green Lama (who unexpectedly became one of my faves), the Pulp Hero who is also a Superhero?

Much like other pulp heroes of the time, The Green Lama had multiple secret identities and a massive supporting cast aiding him in his quest for justice. Unlike his contemporaries, The Green Lama eschewed guns in favor of radioactive salts, magic, and sleight of hand. He rarely, if ever, killed his enemies. His tales also had an advanced sense of continuity, with characters growing and changing over time, plot points introduced in one story paying off several tales later. The Green Lama is a character of contradictions, driven forward by a faith he is forced to betray. It makes him flawed and imperfect, and in that way, one of the most human of all pulp heroes - The Green Lama: Scions

While not the "only" example of a pulp hero who is a superhero, The Green Lama is arguably the one who leans the most into the superhero aspect out of all the classic 30s pulp heroes that usually get brought up. I would argue that The Green Lama is the most direct answer to the question "what happens when you combine The Shadow and Superman together", considering he was modeled extensively after both in his forays into pulp, radio and comic books, and has also grown into his own character.

He's got the unique skills bordering on superpowers (that eventually became outright superpowers). He's got pretty much The Spectre's costume, except of course he came first. He's an urban costumed crimefighter wh deals with gangsters and criminal masterminds, and yet has an extremely strong stance against killing and carrying guns under any circumstance, even saying they would make him no better than the criminals he fights, which makes him by default the pulp hero that Batman would get along best with. The comics took it way further even turning the “Om Ma-ne Pad-me Hum” chant into a Shazam! transformation cry (Shazam came first, although the two debuted in the same year).

He's got a suitably punchy and dramatic origin: guy spends 10 years in Tibet and returns to America intend on spreading Buddhism's pacifist doutrine, only to witness the murder of children at the hands of mobsters the literal second he steps off the boat, and after spending restless days in the police station to see if they would find the culprit, he sees the killer walk out of the commissioner's office free, which convinces him he needs to take up crimefighting because the police are useless, and he outright calls the police "incompetent" in a letter to the papers that he uses to introduce himself to the world, which is not something you find often in 30s/40s fiction even if's an implicit part of the pulp hero/superhero fantasy.

He had a stronger sense of continuity than most pulp heroes were usually afforded. He has a lot of the pulp hero stock and trade like the assistants and the pseudo-science and the odd radio gadgets and of course the Orientalism that we'll get into, but remixed in a pretty cool way that allows him to stand out from his inspiration. He's got incredibly weird aspects to him like the fact that he gets enhanced abilities from crystallized salt or even becoming radioactive (which could be interesting to explore considering "radiation" became the go-to origin for superpowers in the 60s). He's got an allright supporting cast and Magga, while ultimately a deus ex machina, is a very interesting addition to it and I wish her mystery was played up more often in subsequent stories past the original run. There's a lot about The Green Lama that really works, he was incredibly successful at the time and he's managed to thrive over the years lot more than most of his contemporaries

Despite all the powers he wielded he felt impotent, nothing more than a rich boy playing the games of gods. He had chosen the path of the Bodhisattva, sacrificing himself for the good of all sentient beings, but even so the weight of responsibility, the lives of so many in his hands, threatened to crush him. It was tempting to turn away, to deny his calling, but the life of a Bodhisattva demanded more; and it was only recently that he had begun to realize how much it truly required.

The main problem with The Green Lama, and by problem I mean "the character works fine for his time but this is seriously holding him back from becoming sustainable again", is the fact that he's a white rich man who fights crime by going as hard into Orientalism tropes as possible, which is inescapably baked into the premise.

Now, I will argue that The Green Lama was, for his time, a progressive character. The Buddhist aspects of his character weren't just backstory fodder or an excuse for his superpowers as they were to pretty much every other character at the time, Jethro was a practicing Buddhist, who fought crime informed by his beliefs, trying to respect them (and not exactly succeeding) and offering a wholly positive perspective of Buddhism. Nowadays, it creates a problem, but at the time, it made the character stand out from every other hero who had "traveled to Tibet" checked out, because Tibet and Buddhism were heavily incorporated into the character. The Lama may have been born merely out of a desire to cash in on The Shadow's newfound radio popularity, but Crossen took it much more seriously than his contemporaries and made it an effort to instill admiration in his readers towards what he was referencing, which he was pulling from books about the subject and the Pali language. Is research the bare minimum? Yes. But it’s a bare minimum that even today’s writers don’t do even having an infinitely bigger wealth of information at their disposal. 

To further cement my point: There's a particular Green Lama comic story called The Four Freedoms, which is about the Lama receiving a letter from a fan in the army who's worried about a racist private who keeps insulting the black privates while crowing about racial superiority, and so the Lama kidnaps the private and takes him on a tour through Germany so he can witness firsthand how his talk aligns with Nazi ideology, even specifically referring to Jim Crow's laws, criticizing how easily Americans fall for racial war rhetoric, and pointing out the idea of racism as a tool of tyrants to divide and conquer. It's not my place to champion this as some great representation and that's not what I'm doing, but if this all seems passe or simplistic or even problematic to you, trust me, this was still the era of Slap-A-Jap Superman, stories like this were absolutely not the norm at the time, even in other stories where superheroes dealt with racial discrimination.

He even caps off the story by stating that punching or ending Hitler is not the solution (although he lets Jones take a couple of swings) because Hitler is just one part of a much bigger problem that needs to be fought on all of it's forms. It's all very much afterschool special/anti-racism PSA, sure, but it's easier to mock those in our time. You find me a Golden Age superhero comic that shits on Jim Crow specifically while the hero tells the reader that Hitler is not the ultimate evil but merely "a cog in the wheel", part of a problem that's deeply entrenched in America's own shores (really, do, I'm genuinely curious if more of them did anything like this).

Does any part of what I said negates the fact that, at the end of the day, he's still a white man using Orientalism mysticism to fight crime? No, it doesn't. And if Iron Fist can't get away with it, if Dr Strange only just barely does, the Green Lama sure as hell can't. And you cannot downplay those aspects either lest you end up with a completely different character. It's a bit of a conundrum that makes the character tricky to approach from a revival perspective.

I completely agree with what you said here, Green Lama would benefit from a Legacy Hero approach very strongly. And Green Lama: Scions opens up an interesting possibility of Jethro Dumont not being quite what he seems, backed up by the fact that he wore disguise make-up in the original stories:

They had a lot of names for him in the papers—the Verdant Avenger, the Mysterious Man of Strength—but Reynolds had always been partial to “Buddhist Bastard.” No one had ever seen his face or, at the very least, the same face. Seemed like everyone had a different story. The Green Lama was white, he was black, he was asian, he was old, and he was young. You could fill a room of witnesses and no two would describe the same person.

Really I think if you just got rid of that one thing that holds the Lama back the most from catching on in modern times, I think he's the kind of character that lends itself a lot to long-term sustainability. He's already fairly popular as is, definitely an indispensable inclusion of any shared pulp hero or Golden Age superhero universe and definitely one of my favorites among the 30s American pulp heroes. And there’s ways to make the concept more interesting and workable.

Maybe The Green Lama is just a title that's been going on for generations, with Jethro being one of many to fill in. Maybe Magga used to be it, maybe the tulku that instructed Jethro did, maybe there's a new character with it. Maybe Jethro is just an identity used by an Asian-American adventurer to operate safely in the US, or maybe Jethro has a sort of Lamont Cranston arrangement going on. Maybe he's part of the reason why Tibet was the superpower capital of the world in the 30s or 40s, or part of the reason why radiation started granting so many heroes superpowers in the 60s.

The character's skillset has been fairly "anything goes" ever since his author made him a flying superman for the comics, and really he already started out being able to deliver electric shocks through his fingers by guzzling radioactive salts. He's a very weird character, and I will always argue that weird is what works best for the pulp heroes.

[askkrenko]

Krenko’s Guide to Pokemon: Aerodactyl

Do you think original Aerodactyl was a rock type, or is that part of the revival process?

DESIGN:

Aerodactyl is a Pterodactyl with… uhh… a longer tail? While at first Aerodactyl just seems like a Pterodactyl with minimum alterations, its stone typing and coloration, spaded tail, head horns, and back spikes remind me of gargoyles. I’m not sure if this was intentional or just the result of making it look ‘cooler,’ but I can absolutely see an Aerodactyl perched on an old stone building, blending in, and then diving down to attack its prey just as easily as I can see it flying down on prehistoric creatures.

Also, real Pterodactyls didn’t actually look like that. The image comes from fossil recreations back when people thought Pterosaurs were flying lizards, but the real creature was more like a bird.

Mega Aerodactyl looks like crap. It just has a bunch of stone spikes added on haphazardly, seemingly without thought as to what might be useful or even cool. It no longer has hands, and the dark stone against its face looks like facial hair, making it look less ferocious and more like it desperately needs to shave.

What’s interesting to me about Mega Aerodactyl, though, is how at odds its Pokedex entries are. Its Sun, Ultra Moon, and Let’s Go Pokedex entries suggest that Mega Aerodactyl is the ‘correct’ Aerodactyl, and that the fossil revived Aerodactyl is a weakened shadow of what it’s supposed to be. On the other hand, its Moon and Ultra Sun entries suggest that Mega Evolution is a painful burden on its body that’s driving it mad. Considering a lot of Mega Evolution entries are like this, I’m going to assume that Mega Aerodactyl is an abomination, and not how Aerodactyl ‘should’ be. Especially because Mega Aerodactyl doesn’t have hands, and hands are super useful. I’m actually using my hands right now.

TYPING: 

Aerodactyl is a Flying Rock which is frankly pretty impressive just in concept. Defensively, it winds up pretty well, with equal weaknesses and resistances, plus an immunity to Ground, though it does have the disadvantage of some of its weaknesses being more common. 

Offensively, this gives Aerodactyl super effective STAB options against six types, with the usual culprit of Steel being the only type to resist both Flying and Rock. 

Art by LindseyWArt

STATS: 

130 Speed, 105 Attack.

That’s enough. And Aerodactyl’s not even total glass canon territory. Its physical defense is a bit low at 65, but HP and Special Defense are comfortably average.  Its Special Attack is low, which is to be expected, and while normally I’d say the secondary attack stat doesn’t matter, Aerodactyl’s flying type attacks are pretty lacking, and its inability to make full use of Hurricane is an issue only because it can’t learn Brave Bird.

Mega Aerodactyl just takes these stats to the peak. 150 speed is only outsped by a handful of Pokemon, and 135 Attack is generally speaking plenty. Its defenses still aren’t anything special, but both jump 20 points on Mega Evolution which is certainly helpful.

Art by BonnyJohn

ABILITIES:

 Aerodactyl gets Rock Head, making it immune to recoil damage… but doesn’t get Brave Bird. Or Head Smash. Sure, it gets Double Edge, but 120 Normal power is the same as 80 Rock or Flying, so who cares?

Pressure is basically a dead ability in most games. It can be a pain in dungeons, but actual battles generally start with all moves at full PP, and in competitive matches both players have gotten their PP Maxes. Unless a Pokemon is absurdly tanky, Pressure is a waste of space.

So Aerodactyl uses its Hidden Ability, Unnerve. Unnerver prevents opponents from eating berries. I’m not going to say this never matters, because of course it can, but it’s hardly what I’d call impressive.

Mega Aerodactyl trades whatever ability it had for Tough Claws, which is just outright absurdly powerful. Tough Claws increases the damage of Contact moves by 30% which is most physical attacks. And Mega Aerodactyl is a Physical Attacker. … But you know what doesn’t make contact? Stone Edge. So here we have Mega Aerodactyl with a 100 Power STAB attack, and an ability that, while good, doesn’t work on it. In fact, Tough Claws doesn’t work on ANY of Aerodactyl’s Rock attacks. It is helpful for some of its flying attacks, and of course some of its other attacks, but the fact is that Mega Aerodactyl’s primary attack form is Stone Edge, and Tough Claws doesn’t help there.

Art by nganlamsong

MOVES:

Stone Edge is 100 Power STAB, and even though it doesn’t benefit from Tough Claws, nothing else Aerodactyl has can beat that without taking two turns.I simply cannot comprehend the thought process of an Aerodactyl build without Stone Edge.

For Flying, Aerodactyl has a few options. Dual Wingbeat, available as of Sword and Shield, is easily the strongest option for Aerodactyl in its base form… But it doesn’t benefit from Tough Claws, so as Mega Aerodactyl, Aerial Ace winds up being almost as powerful with the benefit of perfect accuracy. But even then, Aerial Ace is 60 base x 1.5 STAB, for a total of 90 power before Tough Claws… meaning a Mega Aerodactyl build is likely to eschew Flying attacks entirely in favor of an off-type attack with comparable base damage that DOES benefit from Tough Claws.

And then there’s Earthquake. It’s not getting Tough Claws either, but base 100 power with 100 accuracy just makes it one of the strongest attacks. It also has the benefit of being super effective against Steel types.

Aerodactyl has a wide variety of type coverage depending on what you want to fight. Crunch, Pursuit, Fire Fang, Ice Fang, Thunder Fang, Iron Head, Psychic Fang, and Dragon Claw all provide additional coverage options to help round out your team, and all of them make contact to benefit from Tough Claws. 

With Aerodactyl’s high speed, it’s entirely reasonable to just pick four attacks and hope to be able to go first and hit the opponent with something super-effective.

But Aerodactyl DOES have some decent non-attacking moves. Stealth Rock is a classic, for plenty of good reasons,  Roost allows Aerodactyl to heal, Tailwind helps the rest of your party, and sometimes you just want something with high speed and Defog.  These moves, combined with abilities like Taunt and Wide Guard, give it reasonable options in 2v2 battles or when used as a support Pokemon.

Art by Hemmerson

OVERALL:

Aerodactyl is great. I like the way it looks (until it goes Mega,) it has solid stats, its moveset is really wide, and it’s strong enough to be competitive. It does have a serious ability issue, though, and I’d love to see that remedied. Honestly, I think Unnerve needs a buff overall, or Berries need a buff. They’re just not competitive with other held items most of the time, and NPCs never use them. I don’t need Aerodactyl to get some super powerful ability- it’s mostly fine as is-  but it can’t make full use of Rock Head, Unnerve and Pressure are useless, and Tough Claws doesn’t work with its best attacks. 

Two of those abilities could be fixed by giving it Head Smash, but honestly that might be too much of a buff. Of course, Mega Aerodactyl probably couldn’t survive delivering more than one Tough Claws Head Smashes anyway… So it’d probably be fine.

Art by Methusalah-Alchemist

[osakaso5]

La Danse Macabre

Episode 40-2: Unheard Voices, Delivered Voices

Chapter Index

Three Years Later

Cura: Uuuugh!!!

Cura: Damn, I'm tired! These fights just won't end.

Rebellion Fighter: C'mon, Cura, there's no need to get mad.

Cura: I know. I just wish we had more people around here.

Cura: Nerve's been acting real suspicious lately. I have no idea what they're planning.

[Door opens]

Reue: Yawn... Now that was a good nap.

Cura: ........

Reue: Lately, I've been feeling just awful right before and after waking up. Maybe my age is starting to get the best of me.

Rebellion Fighter: G-good morning, sir.

Reue: Mornin'.

Cura: You DO realize that you're technically our second highest ranking member?

Reue: Well, if it isn't Mr. Top Dog. Hard at work as always, I see.

Cura: You should give working a chance yourself, Reue.

Reue: No thanks~. Libel promised me a job that requires as little effort as possible.

Cura: Ugh... You mean the asshole who went and died, right after making promises he didn't have to keep..?

Reue: Hahaha, you're such a jokester.

Rebellion Fighter: Cura! The transportation team from District 4 has run into a Unity Order patrol! They're requesting immediate backup!

Cura: What, seriously? Let's get 'em on the monitor.

Cura: This looks bad... Do we have any free squads nearby..?

Reue: Ah, I think we've got it covered.

Cura: Huh?

Reue: I thought this might happen, so I already sent over a certain someone. 

- - - -

Unity Order Troop: For the Church of Nerve... For Master Misericorde...

Rebellion Fighter: Crap... They've got us surrounded...

Unity Order Troop: For the Church of Nerve... For Master Misericorde...

Rebellion Fighter: I've sent an emergency signal to the base! But...

Rebellion Fighter: I don't think we're gonna make it...

Leiden: Hold up!!!

Rebellion Fighters: ......!?

Leiden: I came to save your asses!

Rebellion Fighter: ...Leiden!

Unity Order Troop: That's...

Unity Order Troop: One of the traitors...

Leiden: Hmm.

Leiden: ...Traitor, huh? Sure, I guess I am...

Leiden: And that's just fine by me. I've really thought this through, even with my empty head.

Unity Order Troop: Stay on guard...

Unity Order Troop: We all strike at the same time..! For the Church of Nerve!

Leiden: Yeah, come at me! I fight for myself!

Leiden: Because I'm Rebellion's Leiden!

Leiden: Don't you forget that!!!

- - - -

Cura: Oh, Leiden's going there. That's a relief...

Reue: Isn't it?

Cura: Fine, I guess you helped. ...But could you at least let me know  when you send out more troops?

Reue: Hahaha. When I notice an oversight in your orders, I can't help but want to fix it.

Cura: You sly old man...

Reue: Come to think of it, it's been around three years since Eternea died and Misericorde took over as the ruler of the church.

Reue: And because of Misericorde, the Unity Order is even more deeply tied to the church now.

Reue: Eternea must've been holding the church back.

Reue: The current Ark follows Misericorde's orders like a hive mind.

Reue: It'll be tough to bring them down. They've never been quite this fanatical before.

Cura: Yeah, they may not have a Celestial right now, but there's still an obvious gap between our technology and theirs.

Cura: Geez... It's gonna be a while before we overthrow them...

Reue: But we'll do it anyway, won't we? Create a world without Celestials.

Cura: Yep, that's what Libel would've wanted. And I decided to stick by him when we were both kids.

Reue: ...You've been doing well. The Surface's forces are concentrated around Rebellion more and more these days.

Reue: We've gotten new members too, haven't we? I'd say you've achieved more than plenty, for such a young man.

Cura: This much is nothing. I'm not nearly as charismatic as our old leader.

Reue: You're too humble. The world is already changing, and I'm sure it's for the better.

Cura: I sure hope so. Especially for all those of us who died for this change.

Horca: Hey... it's not healthy to let yourself be tied down by dead people. We're here for the living.

Reue: Oh, you came to visit, Mr. Merchant?

Cura: Done with your negotiations?

Horca: Yep, thanks so much. I'll be on my way now.

Cura: You're not ripping us off, are you?

Horca: ...Maybe I am, maybe not. Have a little faith in your subordinates, will you.

Cura: Well, for an old enemy, you sure have been a reliable business partner.

Reue: Right. I hear you even trade with Nerve these days.

Horca: I don't give a damn about the past. I'm just doing whatever I can to live a fun, free life.

Horca: I don't wanna hold myself back. That's not why I was born into this world, nor is it why I've survived this far.

Cura: ...I guess that's the life for you, then.

Horca: You guys have nothing to worry about. My motto is to sell everything at the same price, no matter who's buying.

Horca: I'm not making favors to any side. If I did, my old friends would just laugh at me.

Horca: ...I guess I'm tied down by the dead in my own way, too.

Cura: ...Nah. Neither of us are being tied down.

Cura: I'm doing this for Libel and Fuga because I want to.

Horca: ...That so. Well, either way, I’m  looking forward to this new world of yours.

Horca: Make sure that it’s a place  where even people like my old crew  can live.

Reue: ...Haha. Everyone's put their expectations on you.

Cura: What a pain. It's not like I asked for any of this.

Reue: It's the duty of those of us who lived.

Cura: ........

Cura: Oh, it's almost time. ...Get ready, people.

Reue: Oh, it is? I've been waiting for this.

Cura: Yeah, you better have. The kid's our ray of hope.

 - - - -

Qual: Arme. It's almost time. Are you good to go?

Arme: Yes, Qual. I'm ready.

Qual: ...You're not lonely? You haven't been around other people for quite the while now.

Arme: Hm? I'm fine. I have you... And Kabane and the others come see me every now and then.

Arme: Hmm, though I'd be lying if I said I didn't feel even a little bit lonely...

Arme: Cura and his troops are fighting their own fight, and I'm fighting mine.

Qual: I see...

Arme: For as long as I live, a new Celestial can't be born.

Arme: That grants Rebellion more than enough time to win us the world Libel longed for.

Qual: You've grown so strong.

Arme: Strong...

Arme: Qual, listen to me. I've decided something.

Arme: I want to help everyone live their lives.

Arme: However, I can't reach out to or help them in person.

Arme: Still, there may be those who would gain courage from me, even from afar.

Qual: ...Right, living on the Surface has made one thing very clear to me. Those who live in this world need something to believe in.  

Qual: The Surface is free. And that's why its people are afraid. They're anxious about the path they've chosen.

Qual: We could all use something to light up that path.

Arme: Right...

Arme: Libel said I'd bring everyone hope.

Qual: Yes, he did...

Arme: I was the Celestial. The symbol of everyone's faith. But no one saw me for who I truly am.

Arme: ...The truth is, I'm completely  useless. I'm weak, cowardly, naive,  and not very good at reading social  situations, or so I’ve been told. 

Arme: Which is why I'm not fit to lead a religion. I'm not some perfect idol.

Arme: I need others to help me. I need others to keep me from feeling down.

Arme: And in turn, I'll do whatever I can for them.

Arme: Anything to help others live their life to the fullest.

Arme: I want to be the light that shines upon this world.

[Beep]

Cura: Arme, you ready? I'm jacking into the Surface's radio signal. We’re  counting on you, as usual...

Arme: Yes, I'm ready as can be.

Cura: People were pretty suspicious about this at first, but you've gained kind of a fanbase as of late.

Arme: Ooh, really!?

Arme: Actually, I was thinking of learning how to sing and dance.

Cura: Hahaha, sounds good to me. I'm sure everyone will love it.

Cura: ...Just do your best, kid. And...

Cura: Make sure you enjoy this more than anyone else, alright?

Arme: Yes, I will! I'll have so much fun! 

- - - -

Horca: ...Doing it because you want to, huh.

Horca: Ugh, Cura's starting to rub off on me. And so, here I am... Visiting a grave.

Horca: ...It's my first time coming here since I left.

Horca: The Underworld... It really isn't a big deal at all. Just a huge, dumb hole.

Horca: ........

Horca: Ah. Vida, Placer. Is it okay if I just... pretend you're in there?

Horca: I...

Horca: Wanted to apologize. For not coming here sooner.

Horca: All I ever did was make fun of you for being bound to the dead.

Horca: ...But I was wrong. It's not a bad thing that I keep you guys in my memories.

Horca: It's not wrong of me to do something I think would make you happy.

Horca: ...Then again, I can't hear the dead.

Horca: You guys won't mind if I just assume you're happy that I'm still alive, will you?

Horca: ........

Horca: ...Well, you'd better not.

Horca: One of the perks to being alive is I get to pretend your souls in the afterlife agree with everything I do.

Horca: Hah... And if that's a problem, you'll just have to speak up.

[Bzzt]

Arme: Ah, ah.

Horca: Uagh!?

Horca: That scared the crap out of me... I really thought the dead were gonna talk for a second...

Horca: Huh? There's something coming from my transmitter..? Who is that..?

Arme: Cura? Can they hear me yet?

Horca: Whuh? 

- - - -

Arme: Ah, ah. Testing, testing.

Konoe: Oh, I've got a signal! It's starting, Master Kuon!

Kuon: Ah, how exciting.

Konoe: Kabane! Come over and listen with us!

Kabane: ...No. I can hear just fine from where I am.

Konoe: Darn!

Konoe: He's still acting distant... I thought you finally made up, after all these years?

Kuon: Ahaha. Kabane still has some trouble being around me.

Kuon: ...But he can take his time changing. We have an eternity ahead of us, after all. 

- - - -

Arme: Ahem.

Arme: All of you living your lives on the Surface, can you hear me?

Arme: My name is Arme.

Arme: Today, well...

Arme: Why don't I tell you how I met a dear friend, who changed my life? 

The End.

[zelenacat]

When We Were Young- Chapter 24- An Obitine Story

Lunch was served in the main hall, but Satine did not attend. Instead, she sent Korkie, Khaami, Parna, and Hera in her place. Parna had returned with multiple copies of the audio, which were hidden all over the palace. Tristan and Tyra were engaged in espionage activities, so Satine ate her lunch in silence and then slept. Her night up with the twins had suddenly hit her and in the moment she could barely keep her eyes open.

“Your Grace?”

The Duchess groaned.

“Please, Lady Mother,” Tyra whispered, “I have news from the Council.”

Satine rolled over to find Khaami and Parna preparing a new outfit.

“What-”

“Almost dinner,” Tyra pulled her mother up, “and we have much to discuss.”

The Duchess was wearing one of her favorite gowns, the one she wore to meet Padme all those years ago when she was Queen of Naboo. It was blue and purple ombre with the Mandalorian star system embroidered on it.

“You look glorious, Lady Mother.” Tyra clapped.

Satine snorted, “Thank you, darling, but this girdle feels less than glorious.”

Parna laughed.

Khaami raised an eyebrow but couldn’t stop herself from smiling, “The news, Tyra.”

“Right,” Satine noticed her daughter was already dressed, “there was an ancient Sith who is believed to hide a powerful relic here, they say it’s on Concordia.”

The Duchess huffed.

“There’s more,” Tyra frowned sympathetically, “the Jedi believe he wanted to frame you for the creation of Death Watch to turn the people against you.”

Satine shook her head, “I hate those same old tricks.”

“Finally,” Tyra continued, “Mara and Boba have captured a couple criminals and are holding them in the cellar.”

The Duchess’ eyes went wide, “All this happened while I was asleep?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” Khaami answered, fastening a ring of pearls around the Duchess’ neck, “Tristan is currently dressed as a regular servant and has been delivering the Count’s necessities.”

“Oh, poor Tristan.” Satine frowned.

“He’s doing well,” Parna assured, “we hope he’ll overhear something.”

Satine nodded, picking up her pearl-drop tiara.

“I want to see these vagrants before lunch,” she turned to Tyra, “please take me.”

The dungeon was a place Satine rarely was, and the last time had been because she was betrayed once again, so she was not looking forward to it. Fortunately, Mara and Boba clearly didn’t feel the same way.

“Mara,” Tyra gasped at the scene before them, “what is this!”

Sheepish, Mara extracted herself from Boba’s grip, “Hi, Tyra.”

“We’re dating,” Boba grinned, giving the Duchess a polite nod, “took Mara long enough.”

Satine raised an eyebrow, Tyra squealed.

“The criminals?” the Duchess prodded.

“Yes,” Mara blushed, “I’ll take you, Tyra must have special duties to attend to.”

Tyra turned to her mother, who nodded.

“We shall discuss this, Mara.” Tyra warned, wagging her finger before leaving.

Boba gave Mara a look, and she giggled.

“The criminals?” Satine asked again.

“Down the hall,” Mara pointed, “we’ll take you.”

As they approached the cells, Boba warned them not to get too close to the shields, but when Satine saw who was in jail, she took a step closer.

“Viceroy Gunray?”

The man’s head snapped up.

“Duchess Satine,” his voice made her skin curdle, “there clearly has been a mistake.”

“Certainly,” the Duchess agreed, “you were most certainly not invited, unless of course, you happen to be allied with the Separatists and are here to stir up trouble among the Mandalorian people?”

“I assure you, Your Grace-”

“Are you aware of what I am accusing you of, Viceroy,” Satine asked, a harsh edge to her voice, “will you answer my questions?”

Gunray sneered, “The Mandalorians are a peaceful people.”

“But we do not take kindly to nefarious acts that brew discord in our system,” Satine countered, “you can be sure Mandalore’s heritage is still dear to many of us.”

“You would not risk war.” the Viceroy stated.

“With who,” Satine questioned, “the Trading Federation? You have no army of your own.”

“No,” Gunray narrowed his eyes, “but Count Dooku-”

“Is courting me,” the Duchess interjected, “so, you see, I have nothing to lose if you’re threatening me with people whom I curry favor.”

Boba Fett cracked his knuckles.

The Viceroy frowned, “You can’t keep me here.”

“I can keep you as long as I want,” Satine raised an eyebrow, “but if you are friendly with the Separatists, perhaps you would like to explain that to the Republic Senate?”

“You couldn’t-”

Satine pressed her comm and a small form of Padme appeared.

“Senator Amidala?”

Padme turned.

“I hate to bother you, Padme, you do look quite busy,” Satine began, “but Viceroy Gunray has been sneaking around Mandalore on the word and protection of Separatists, and I think you’d like to talk to him.”

Padme frowned and turned to face the Viceroy, “Yes, I most certainly would, although perhaps this should be done with more Senators present.”

The Duchess nodded, “I will schedule a meeting.”

Satine turned to Mara and nodded, she curtsied and went off.

“Friends with criminals,” Gunray observed, “your reputation clearly needs revisiting, Duchess.”

“Apparently,” Satine countered, “so does yours.”

With that, she beckoned to Boba Fett and left.

“Any other important ones?” Satine asked.

“A few,” the bounty Hunter nodded, “your guards and I will question them.”

“Thank you,” the Duchess nodded, “and do look after Mara for me.”

Boba Fett’s eyes narrowed, “She has a pin, you know, with your house colors on it.”

Satine only nodded.

“I work with your sister-in-law,” Boba added, “she’d love to meet you.”

The Duchess smirked, “Tell her to learn some manners first.”

Parna met Satine at the entrance to the dungeons.

“The meeting is scheduled,” she stated, bending to clean off the Duchess’ dress, “and the Count is waiting for you.”

“Thank you, Parna.”

“Also,” the lady stood and lowered her voice, “the Jedi are sending an expedition team to Concordia.”

“Thank you,” the Duchess repeated, “I shall keep that in mind.”

Satine met the Count at the breakfast table, her full retinue already there to entertain him.

“Ah, Duchess,” Dooku smiled, “you look lovely.”

“Your Excellency is most kind,” Satine replied coolly.

The Count raised an eyebrow, “Still tired I imagine?”

It took everything Satine had in her not to reveal what she knew of his deceit.

“You make for a very trying guest, Your Excellency.”

A couple noblewomen around the table laughed. At that moment, Tyra and Hera entered, bearing platters of traditional Mandalorian cuisine along with other servants. Dooku’s eyes lingered on Tyra too long for her liking.

“I don’t believe I’ve met these ladies.” the Count observed.

“My maids,” Satine gestured, “Tyra and Hera.”

Both curtsied.

“So young.” Dooku added.

“Certainly you wouldn’t object to training the young early?” Satine asked, bitterness in her tone.

Count Dooku smiled, “I most certainly would not.”

And so, breakfast began. The older Countesses, Bralor, Eldar, and Saxon, made a point of judging Dooku openly.

“And what makes you think you are worthy of Mandalore, Your Excellency.” Countess Saxon had the audacity to ask.

Satine grinned.

The Count shrugged, “An ancient empire needs a modern one to ally with.”

Ursa Wren ground her teeth. Currently, she wasn’t talking to Satine since Sabine had been discovered as a spy and sent to a special school for rebellious children. The Duchess wasn’t pleased with the Count’s answer either, however, and decided to go on the offensive.

“At least the Republic’s army is alive.”

“Yes,” Dooku smirked into his soup, “alive.”

Satine made a mental note to ask Obi-Wan about that statement.

“I didn’t know you were friendly with the Master Jedi.”

The Duchess practically growled, “It is impolite to intrude on personal boundaries, Count, I suppose as you weren’t born nobility you wouldn’t know that.”

Dooku’s frown set deeper.

“Yara,” Satine smiled politely, “what do you think of my new sister-in-law?”

Countess Eldar grinned, “I should’ve known you’d heard.”

The Duchess gave a pleasant giggle, “Oh, I hear everything.”

“I think it’s quite like your sister to match herself like that.” Ursa commented.

“Very true,” Satine turned to the Count, “tell me of your former apprentice, Your Excellency, do you think we should invite her and my sister to court?”

Now it was the Count’s turn to grind his teeth, “I think that decision is best left up to Your Grace.”

Satine nodded, pretending like she didn’t already know this.

Lunch was finished, and the Duchess invited the Count on a stroll through the gardens, he accepted.

“Parna, Khaami,” she announced, “you will trail us.”

Satine made a point to focus on specifically Mandalorian details of the garden, then, seemingly out of nowhere, asked if it would be seen as a traditional alignment to support enemies of the Jedi.

Dooku actually smiled, “I think many would view it that way, yes.”

“But my people must choose,” Satine’s face darkened, “Padme and I agreed on that.”

“You did, did you?” the Count tilted his head.

Satine nodded, hoping he couldn’t hear her heartbeat. Was that a force user power?

“Well, I suppose you can be friends,” he sighed, “until we marry.”

“You presume to know me.” Satine snapped.

“I know you don’t care for me.”

The Duchess turned to look at the Count.

“Our union, however,” Dooku began, carefully choosing his words, “would be very beneficial.”

“You seem to think so.”

Count Dooku grabbed Satine’s arm, “I’ve seen them, no one has to know about your bastards that smell like Master Kenobi.”

The Duchess froze, her limbs cold.

“Ah yes, I know.”

Satine began to shake.

“Marry me and no one will know.” the Count offered.

“I’ll play my part,” Satine told Dooku, gritting her teeth, “but expect a long courtship.”

Count Dooku left early, he said it was business. It did, however, kiss Satine’s cheek upon departing, which caused quite the stir on Mandalore. Now, it was evening.

“He seems awful.” Korkie mused as the Duchess and her children waited.

“Terribly,” Mara agreed, “but he knows about our father.”

As she said this, Satine noticed a ship wading through the dark sky.

“What do you know, Tristan?” the Duchess asked, sensing his unease.

“Many of my classmates are slightly horrified, or aggressive.”

“He will have to prove himself ‘worthy of Mandalore’.” Tyra added.

The ship got closer, and Satine told Mara and Tristan to wait in her personal parlor. 

“Lady Mother,” Korkie whispered, “I’m worried for you.”

“So am I.” Tyra agreed.

“Thank you, children,” Satine squeezed her children’s hands, “I appreciate your concern.”

Master Aayla Secura got off the ship and Satine counted herself surprised, then Ahsoka disembarked and the Duchess was put at ease.

“I wasn’t aware I would be having such distinguished guests.” Satine told Master Secura.

“After such a famous visitor you mean?” the Jedi questioned.

“I’m just glad he’s gone.” Satine replied honestly.

“Hey, Kork, whaddup?”

“The sky, Ahsoka,” Korkie smirked, “not that you would know that.”

The Padawan feigned offense, “Dear me, what a burn.”

Tyra snorted.

“Padawan Tyra,” Master Secura nodded, “you have been very helpful.”

“Wow really? That’s a first!”

Master Secura smirked, “I hope the Duchess appreciated your enthusiasm.”

“This Padawan is certainly a handful.”

“Master Vos would agree.”

Satine gave Obi-Wan a smile resplendent of the sun.

“And did he tell you as such?”

“I know her well enough.”

Aayla cleared her throat.

“Korkie, Tyra,” Satine turned, “be a good host and show our guests to their rooms.”

The Duchess watched happily as her children moved through the palace with ease, and she grinned to herself.

“Dead!”

Satine jumped. Out of the shadows slithered Asajj Ventress, with Bo-Katan behind her. The Duchess frowned.

“Interesting,” Ventress grinned, “I didn’t know you were Mrs. Kenobi.”

The Duchess opened her mouth to defend herself.

“Everybody knows now, Satine,” Bo-Katan waved dismissively, “after a moment like that I’m surprised there aren’t riots.”

Trying to suppress her blush, the Duchess asked if they planned to stay.

“We didn’t get a chance to capture the Count,” Ventress frowned, “he left early.”

“There was no time to-”

Ventress reached out and shoved Satine, who stumbled backwards onto the pavement.

“Excuses are useless with me,” the witch warned, “do not use them.”

Shocked, Satine remained on the floor.

“Get up, sister,” Bo-Katan huffed, “you look like a fish.”

“Satine!”

Suddenly, Obi-Wan was beside her.

“How-”

Reaching out with the force, Obi-Wan threw Ventress into a mass of sculpted hedges.

“Are you well, darling?” the Jedi asked, picking her up.

“Ben,” Satine blushed, “how heroic.”

“Ugh,” Bo-Katan spat on the ground, “spare me.”

“Your manners have worsened, Obi-Wan.” Ventress called.

“They may have,” Obi-Wan admitted, “but I thought matrilineal cultures praised women who just gave birth.”

A beat of silence.

“Satine,” Bo-Katan sighed, “no.”

“You’ll never see them, Bo,” Satine promised, “they won’t bother you.”

Ventress smirked, “A family man, Obi-Wan, how interesting.”

“I could say the same about you,” the Jedi countered, “you’re married.”

Bo-Katan raised an eyebrow, “And you’re not?”

Satine looked down and blushed.

“Oh, sister,” Bo-Katan clapped, “you have bastards!”

“That’s not true,” Satine huffed, face still red, “my children are royalty.”

“How many children do you have?” Ventress asked after a pause.

Satine bit her lip.

“Six.” Obi-Wan answered.

Ventress’ jaw dropped.

“Oh, Satine,” Bo-Katan whined, “I thought you were better than that.”

The Duchess was about to answer when Tristan called down from above.

“The Jedi are asking for you, Lady Mother!”

Bo-Katan blanched, “Is that Tristan Wren?”

“I’ll be right up, Tristan!” Satine called.

Ventress clicked her tongue and shook her head.

Satine fluttered her eyelashes, “Carry me, Obi?”

“Of course, my angel.”

Bo-Katan groaned, but Satine paid her sister no mind. Instead, she squealed and grabbed onto Obi-Wan as he jumped impossibly high and landed on Satine’s balcony.

“Wow, Dad,” Mara snorted, “be more chivalrous will you?”

“That’s a big word, Mara.” Tristan teased.

“I learned it from Lady Mother’s library.” 

Obi-Wan placed Satine down.

“Ben, this is Tristan, and this is Mara,” she gestured, “our second set of twins.”

The Jedi’s eyes glowed as he hugged both his children.

“How old are you?” he asked.

“Sixteen now,” Tristan answered, “and I’m older than Mara.”

Mara huffed.

“Your Grace,” Jaym’s voice accompanied a knock, “the Jedi are asking for you.”

“I’ll be right out.” Satine promised.

The Duchess turned to her children.

“Behave yourselves.”

The twins looked at each other, then giggled. After an exaggerated sigh, Satine left to find Master Secura and Ahsoka.

The Padawan saw her first, “Momdalore!”

Satine smiled, “You all asked to see me.”

Master Secura shot Ahsoka a look.

“Remember your manners, Padawan.” Aayla frowned.

Ahsoka grinned, “Of course, Master Secura.”

“Duchess,” the Jedi Master turned, “we’re here to search for spyware or anything the Count might’ve left behind.”

“I’ll take you to where his quarters were,” Satine gestured, “although I don’t know what you’ll find.”

Satine sent Tyra and Korkie to her personal parlor while she allowed Aayla and Ahsoka to search. 

“Be polite to your father.” the Duchess whispered.

Tyra winked.

“Momdalore,” Ahsoka piped up, crawling on the floor, “why didn’t you let Death Watch capture Count Dooku?”

“He left early,” Satine responded, “there was no time to warn my sister and have it not be suspicious.”

“He kissed your cheek.” Aayla pointed out.

“I was there,” Satine nodded, “I remember.”

Ahsoka snorted.

“Duchess Satine,” Master Secura, sighed, “the Council needs your assistance with a secret.”

The Duchess raised an eyebrow.

“Master Anakin Skywalker is married to Senator Padme Amidala.”

Satine laughed, she certainly wasn’t expecting to hear that. Even Ahsoka joined in.

“You knew?”

The Duchess hesitated, “Yes.”

“Your Grace,” Master Secura frowned, “this is a great offense against the Jedi code.”

“Senator Amidala is my friend, Master Jedi.” Satine countered.

Aayla nodded, “I understand, but I tell you this to warn you.”

The Duchess frowned, “Warm me?”

“Master Kenobi wants to leave the Jedi Order after the war,” Master Secura stated, “he confessed it was because he loved you.”

Ahsoka gasped, Satine had forgotten she was there. In a burst of emotion, the Duchess collapsed onto a chaise lounge with a sob and let tears of joy roll down her face.

“Oh, Momdalore,”  Ahsoka stroked Satine’s head, “it’s alright.”

“Are you pleased?”

Trying to collect herself, Satine nodded.

“I advise Your Grace to be careful then,” Master Secura’s face softened, “it seems you’ve already picked your side.”

“Thank you,” Satine dabbed at her eyes, “Master Jedi.”

“Please,” the Jedi helped her up, “call me Aayla.”

Satine thanked Aayla and excused herself, when she arrived in her personal parlor, her children and their father were happily chatting, exchanging jokes and funny stories. Satine paused for a moment to admire the beauty of the scene, it was really all she’d ever wanted.

“Satine,” Obi-Wan smiled, “come in.”

The Duchess tripped as she made her way to Obi-Wan, who caught her in his arms.

“I knew you loved me.”

“If six children didn’t tell you that,” Satine grinned, lifting her head, “I don’t know what will.”

Obi-Wan scooped up the Duchess and placed her in his lap.

“Now, tell me children-”

At that moment, Bo-Katan and Ventress appeared on the balcony. Obi-Wan growled, Satine put a hand to his chest to hush him. Bo-Katan gaped.

“Wow, Obi-Wan,” Ventress remarked, “you have quite a large amount of offspring, but there only seems to be four of six.”

Bo-Katan recovered her senses, “Satine, are you out of your mind!”

“Bo-”

“A Jedi,” her sister asked, “I mean, I knew you hated tradition, but really?”

“Bo-”

“I’m not done,” Bo-Katan announced, “what would our parents say?”

“To be fair,” Obi-Wan interjected, “your parents were the ones who requested Jedi protection all those years ago.”

Bo-Katan blinked, “Oh, as if that’s an excuse.”

“I didn’t know the Duke of Sundari was yours though, Obi-Wan,” Ventress grinned, “a real fan of monarchies are you?”

Satine flinched.

“You lied,” Bo-Katan frowned, “you created a false brother and sullied our father’s name to hide your own transgressions, you lied?”

“Bo,” Satine held up her hands, “I can explain.”

“What is there to explain-”

“Bo-”

The door burst open and Gorg ran in with Jaym. Satine clamored out of her Jedi’s arms.

“Escort them out,” Satine ordered.

Bo-Katan snarled, “We’re not done here.”

Mara stood, “How dare you speak to my mother like that.”

Bo-Katan raised an eyebrow.

“It’s awfully rude of you.” Tyra agreed, assuming a fighting stance.

Ventress tensed.

“The Duchess of Mandalore should be treated with respect.” Tristan added.

Bo-Katan turned to Korkie.

“I’m sorry, Auntie Bo,” he stood, “but what my Lady Mother did was right.”

At this time, Ahsoka and Aayla appeared in the doorway with Jaym,

“Ventress,” Obi-Wan stood, hands out, “I suggest you follow the Duchess’ orders.”

Bo-Katan was fuming.

“Come on, Babe,” Ventress growled, “we should teach these self entitled brats a lesson.”

“It’s a foolish fight,” Bo-Katan glared at Satine, “you can’t fight someone who cheats, we’ll get them later.”

“Bo,” the Duchess begged, “you will get a chance to capture him.”

“You lie.” her sister spat.

“No,” Ventress stated, everyone paused, “he’s proposed to you.”

Obi-Wan turned to her, Satine swallowed. 

“I’ve accepted.”

Pandemonium erupted. Bo-Katan lunged at Satine, but Tyra threw her out of the way. Ventress then ignited her lightsaber, but so did Obi-Wan.

“What is this?”

Satine, who had stumbled backward, stood to face Master Secura.

“There is much to discuss,” the Duchess stated, “but my sister and her wife decided to pay us a visit.”

Ventress snarled.

“We were just leaving,” Bo-Katan announced, “tell us when the wedding is.”

[terramythos]

TerraMythos 2021 Reading Challenge - Book 23 of 26

Title: Stories of the Raksura, Volume Two (2015)

Author: Martha Wells

Genre/Tags: Fantasy, Adventure, Short Story Collection, Third-Person, LGBT Protagonist, Female Protagonist

Rating: 8/10 (note: this is an average)

Date Began: 8/30/2021

Date Finished: 9/8/2021

Stories of the Raksura, Volume Two is the second of two short story/novella collections that take place in the Books of the Raksura universe. As before, I recommend reading the original trilogy if you’re interested in this series— otherwise you will be pretty confused. You can check out my review of The Cloud Roads here. 

Of the two novellas and three short stories in this volume, my favorites were “The Dead City” and “The Dark Earth Below”, both of which got a 9/10 from me.

Individual ratings, content warnings, and minor series spoilers below the cut.

Content warnings for the book: Suicidal ideation, graphic violence, gore, death, parental disownment, childbirth.  

#1 - The Dead City (9/10)

Fleeing from the ruins of Saraseil, Moon attempts to process his trauma. After wandering aimlessly, he stumbles upon a small village troubled by a rash of strange disappearances. Moon resolves to uncover a mysterious threat and save the locals— but he must hide his true identity lest they turn on him.

He was tired of looking at dead groundlings, tired of feeling sorry for them. The Fell had hunted them through the streets of Saraseil, dug through the walls of their houses. There was a raw lump of emotion in his chest, boiling and expanding until it felt as if it was going to burst through his scales.

He wanted to make somebody else feel sorry.

This story really clicked with me; it’s more emotionally intense than many stories in this series. It’s also one of the few glimpses we get of Moon before discovering the Raksura, and the difference between this painfully lonely version of him and the version we get throughout the series is quite striking. Things gets better, Moon, I swear! The prose is also on point and very entertaining to read. I found the monsters in this story pretty creepy; basically a Three Worlds take on zombies.

Even so, I had trouble understanding why I liked this story so much, but then I realized— it’s a freaking Murderbot plot. Hyper competent, emotionally stunted loner stumbles upon a bunch of strangers in need, and decides they must help said strangers without being able to articulate why… all while hiding their secret identity. Cue a bunch of badass action scenes spliced together with emotionally charged self-reflection. This is in no way a criticism, because I LOVE that plot, and it’s kind of funny to see a Murderbot prototype in the Raksura universe.

#2 - Mimesis (8/10)

Jade is on a diplomatic mission with a small contingent of warriors. When one of the younger ones disappears, she searches the nearby forest to find him. But she soon discovers much more than she bargained for.  

Of course, the lesson might be that instead of the court losing one warrior it was about to lose a warrior and a sister queen, just because Jade didn’t want to look like a coward. And maybe a predator’s burrow wasn’t a good place for an inner debate about responsibility and leadership.

This is a very short story, about the length of a standard chapter. But I did enjoy it; it’s nice to have a story from Jade’s POV. The monster here is maybe the creepiest one in the series? I like how its whole deal ties into the title. Other than that, not a whole lot to say about this one.

#3 - Trading Lesson (7/10)

A group of wandering traders visit the Indigo Cloud colony tree. Moon notices one attempting to swindle a Raksura, and promptly puts a stop to it.

Moon’s attempt to appear innocent and only mildly interested was clearly failing, so he said, “I like amber fine. I don’t like traders that take advantage of people.” Iglen wasn’t obligated to play fairly. But Moon wasn’t obligated to let him get away with it, either.

If “Mimesis” seemed short, this one is really only a few pages long. It’s basically a slice-of-life scene at Indigo Cloud. It’s some fun bonus content if you want to see a fragment of daily life among the Raksura, but not much else.

#4 - The Almost Last Voyage of the Wind-Ship Escarpment (8/10)

Jai is the captain of a small wind-ship with a tight-knit crew. Their newest member is a young man named Flaren, recently disowned and left for dead by his family. Jai feels an especially strong kinship with him— but when Flaren’s father offers her crew a job to deliver ransom in an active hostage situation, Flaren sees it as an opportunity to regain favor with his family.

Not only would they be rescuing people who were badly in need of rescuing, stuck-up Issilan nobles though they were, but the rest of the payment Canon Hain had promised was so large they couldn’t afford to pass it up. “The pirates want their ransom, we want their hostages and our payment for freeing them. If it goes well, everyone gets what they want.”

Everyone nodded, reassured, and Jai felt the tension ease. Then Shiri had to say darkly, “You hope that’s all they want.”

Honestly, I’ve always wanted to see a story that takes place in the Three Worlds, but doesn’t have anything to do with the Raksura. This is one such story, and I found it entertaining! I liked the themes of found family— specifically that love shouldn’t be conditional. It’s a cute story with some good action scenes.

#5 - The Dark Earth Below (9/10)

Jade is pregnant and close to giving birth, sending Moon into an anxious spiral. At the worst possible time, the Indigo Cloud colony finds itself the target of trouble. A small party of groundling explorers are found poisoned and near death along the forest floor. Moon finds both himself and the colony stalked by an invisible threat; but figuring out what it is and what it wants proves to be a challenge.

Stone growled and rubbed his face in frustration. Moon sympathized. He added, “I know, this doesn’t make sense.”

“It makes sense,” Stone countered. “We just don’t know why yet.”

This novella is the longest story in this collection; roughly half the book. “The Dark Earth Below” feels different than many Raksura stories. It’s a mix of domestic everyday life and a tense suspense plot. These might seem contradictory, but it totally works. It’s nice to see Moon and Jade interact as a bickering couple, a dimension of their relationship we don’t see much of in the main series. There’s some major catharsis seeing Moon at a point where he’s finally happy, a far cry from his character in “The Dead City”. At the same time, the suspense story (plus creepy monster; a running theme of this collection) is gripping. There’s something about an invisible threat stalking the main characters that really gets to me— and its final reveal sure is something.

Closing Thoughts

I ended up liking this collection a little more than the first one! These anthologies are great for anyone looking for more Raksura content after reading the main series. But I can’t recommend them if you’re not already familiar with at least the original trilogy. If you do end up reading the Raksura books, let me know what you think!

[lordrethandus]

Daily Writing Challenge 2021 Day 10

Sleepless ( @daily-writing-challenge​ )

World: Warcraft

The gangway stretched out over the pier before dropping onto the wooden platform with a heavy smack. A chorus of footsteps rocked the old galleon as a hundred Kaldorei stepped out from the darkness. Still covered in the ashes of their beloved home, and kin, they shuffled down the gangway with barely a word spoken among them. Stormwind residents gathered to stare at the latest batch of Teldrassil survivors corralled down the docks. Displaced, starving, and in mourning, the Night Elves kept their eyes on the ground, their voices in hushed whispers, and their faces soaked with dirty tears. All but the Tideclaws.

Sayuune looked no better off than the rest of them, but she kept her head held high. A month at sea didn't do her any favors; it had been days since she had access to drinkable water, and nearly a week since she had something solid to eat. Her exhausted eyes were bright with hard headed determination, and her face was as still as stone, yet she staggered and stumbled with every other step.

Her daughter Nodas was faring better, but not by much; her stomach growled loudly and often, while her hungry gaze was fixed on the bands of mercenaries and sellswords who otherwise ignored the flood of incoming refugees. They went about their business in gilded armor and glimmering steel, with swollen coin purses swinging freely from their waists. Surely a few of them wouldn't notice if some of their riches went missing.

"Hello! Hello hello!" Humans descended upon the shuffling crowd pushing or pulling large empty carts. One such creature approached Sayuune and Nodas with an uncomfortable twinkle in his grin. The opulent rings adorning his hands could only mean one thing - merchants seizing an opportunity to prey on the less fortunate. "You need gold! I need moon elf items my collection! We trade be happy!" His Darnassian was awful, but clear enough to understand. Sayuune saw other refugees trading in what little rags they had for copper and silver coins, desperate for a bite to eat and drinkable water.

The last thing Sayuune wanted to part with was her bramblestaff; not only was it a priceless family heirloom, it was one of the only things she had left of her husband. Reluctantly she raised the staff for the merchant to inspect. "How much will this get me?"

"Mom?!" Nodas hissed, her eyes flaring. "What are you doing?!" She squeezed her daughter's hand to get her to quiet down.

"We need food."

Unsurprisingly he ripped them off. A staff easily worth thirty thousand gold was traded for less than three. "What choice do I have…" When they reached the front of the line, Nodas was relieved to find a fellow Kaldorei sitting behind the desk, but Sayuune wasn't so easily pleased.

"Ishnu-alah, sisters." His dull yellow eyes scanned them both with a most unusual scrutiny. "My name is Lieutenant Armin Ashquiver. I'll need your names."

"Sayuune Tideclaw and Nodas Tideclaw." The mother proudly stated; they could take her home, her belongings, even her family, but their names would forever be theirs. He scribbled down their names in silence, adding them to the long list of poor displaced souls now forced to live in this strange and hostile city.

"There's a soup kitchen at the camps you'll be staying in. Courtesy of His Majesty. That should hold you over for the night... but don’t expect much. Most of the crops are headed straight to the warfront." He looked up at Sayuune. "Plenty of jobs out there for a steady income, but they're filling up fast. I know you're tired, but I'd recommend looking before nightfall." He pulled out a piece of paper and planted a red stamp on the bottom. "Enjoy your stay in Stormwind City."

The goopy slop poorly masquerading as soup was a grievous insult to the Kaldorei people, but it was still the best meal she's had since Teldrassil. Nodas ate more than her fair share and fell asleep before their tent was even made, but that hardly mattered to her mother; she was just happy her daughter was finally resting. Sayuune, however, couldn’t rest. Once the tent was built around her snoozing daughter, she departed to the streets of Stormwind to find work.

Shop by shop, street by street, she was hit with disappointment again, and again, and again. Day in, day out, sunset to sunset.

"Sorry we're not looking for applicants right now!"

"I'd love to give you a job but I'm full already!"

"I can't hire you right off the street!"

"A buddy of mine across the city might be interested in extra help."

"Sorry, but we can't - what will my wife think hiring a woman like you?"

"Can't hire an elf around here. I got my reputation to uphold… you understand, right?"

"Yeah babe I can hire you, heheh… how much for the night?"

"You're filthy! Beat it vagrant!"

Two weeks of searching. Two weeks of asking. Two weeks of nothing.

Every time she was turned away, the fake smile and forced persona was whittled down. Nightfall came and went, leaving her exhausted in the Mage Quarter courtyard. Her feet were screaming for rest and she could no longer ignore them; she found the nearest bench and almost collapsed onto it with a well-earned sigh of relief. The gold she earned selling her most prized possession was almost all gone; determination was turning into desperation, and if she didn’t find work soon, her daughter would begin to starve. For now her search would have to be put on hold until the shops reopened in the morning.

A woman eased herself down onto the bench beside Sayuune. Her fragrance was alluring but she couldn't recognize the scent, her silk clothes looked as expensive as the jewelry covering her hands and fingers; her painted nails were quite long, almost impractically so. She made Sayuune feel like a vagrant more than anyone else she's met in this abysmal city. "Hard time finding work?" The stranger asked with a seductively soothing voice. Sayuune was compelled to meet her gaze, but her words caught in her throat the moment she was confronted by her striking beauty; if she wasn't a Highborne, she could fool Sayuune.

"I…" Her timid mutter stirred the stranger to smile, her dark purple lips grinning from ear to ear.

Sayuune didn't notice the woman's hand until her nails traced the base of her chin. "Stunning, aren't I? There isn't a man alive that can resist my delectable charm. The dead ones aren't immune to it either." Sayuune wanted to pull away from her grip, but she felt paralyzed… mesmerized. "But look at you… these high cheekbones… these full lips… these glimmering eyes. You're quite the looker yourself, honey. How long do you plan on wandering these streets like a beggar when you can rule the underground scene like a queen?"

"What… do you…" It was difficult to speak when she gazed into her eyes, almost feeling like she was lost in a sea of swirling quicksilver.

The stranger's smile only grew. "I want to help you get back on your feet. I help run a little organization that's in serious need of gorgeous and flexible women like us. Interested?"

"An escort service?" That was enough to pull Sayuune out of her trance to rise to her throbbing feet. "I can't do that. To even approach me like… I can't. I have a husband I'm waiting on to return from the war… a daughter that looks up to me…"

"A shame." Her tone suddenly changed, as did the frigid expression on her face. "While you wait on your doting man, you and your daughter starve." She rose, towering over Sayuune in her jade heels. "Should you come to your senses, seek out the ugliest worgen you come across in Old Town." An uncomfortable grin spread across her lips. "Tell them Momma sent you." Before Sayuune could speak, Momma tossed a coin purse at her chest. "That's how much my girls can earn in a night. Sleep on it."

Sayuune watched as the elegant woman turned and strode off, presumably to another potential recruit. She waited until she was gone before opening the coin purse. "Impossible!" Her eyes went wide. "Three hundred gold?! She's lying…!" With that kind of income most of her problems would be over. Her and her daughter would eat better than they ever did; her husband would bring back two to three grand every two months… she could out earn that within weeks! Within days!

"No…" Sayuune closed her eyes and shuddered. "To betray Vilaron like this… I couldn't! How could I look him in the eyes if I… sold my body...?"

The journey back to the refugee camps was unbearably long. Her imagination played cruel games by asking her questions she didn't want the answers to. "What if Vilaron doesn't make it back in time before we starve to death? What if this woman already approached Nodas? What if she is being used by one of her 'clients' at this very moment?! What if she refused and they killed her?!"

Sayuune ignored the burning ache in her feet from sprinting back to the camps, darting through alleyways and ducking through corridors to get back to her daughter as quickly as possible. The soft glowing campfires down the hill only hastened her steps until she was almost gliding down the path to reach her tent.

She swung open the drape with an audible gasp, and her fears were put to rest; Nodas stirred in her hammock and mumbled under her breath, her feet blackened and calloused from wandering the streets as well -- yet her face was still wet with tears from crying herself to sleep. As Sayuune caught her breath and quietly approached her, she noticed the crumbled scroll still in her grip. Gently she wiggled it free from Nodas' hand, pulled it taut between her fingers, and read the distinct Darnassian letters neatly sprawled across the parchment.

To Sayuune Tideclaw and Nodas Tideclaw,

I regret to inform you the Sentinels recovered the body of your husband/father Vilaron Tideclaw. He will be delivered within the month so you can send him off properly.

Elune will grant us justice.

-L. Armin Ashquiver

Sayuune only made it halfway through the letter before she was blinded by her tears. The shock of this news hit her in waves, crashing against her composure like the tide against the cliffside; she wanted to scream at the top of her lungs, wishing he left with them when Teldrassil burned. Wishing she could go back in time and save him.

Wishing she was dead.

Yet Sayuune endured - she had to. With a sharp inhale and a weak sniffle, she swallowed her anguish for her daughter's sake, stepped out of the tent, and wrapped her arms around herself. Others receiving similar news took it worse than she did; their screams carried across the farmland and over the pointed tents, filling the air with sorrow so palpable she could taste it every time she licked her lips.

Nodas is all she has left of her beloved Vilaron. She is willing to die for her, now more than ever; if she can lay down her life for her daughter, surely she could lay down her dignity as well. What choice did she have? “What choice do I have...” Every day she spends wasting her time looking for honest work, her daughter goes hungry. "For Nodas… no price is too great…"

With a slight grimace on her face and a shiver up her spine, Sayuune braced herself for the hardship she would endure in the unknowable future.

[fallen029]

In the Know

“I like it when you smile like that.”

And those words, immediately, brought the atypical lifting of the man’s lips back down as his face turned more into a scowl and the man found himself asking, “What do you mean? ‘Like that’?”

“I mean,” Mirajane said with a bright grin as she lingered for a moment before the man’s table, a tray of empty mugs balanced on one hand while the other reached out to ghost just over his scarred eye,”that I like how soft and genuine it looks. When you smile like that?”

Snorting, Laxus remarked, “What’s there to smile about? Huh? Sitting in this dusty old place?”

“Well, I dunno,” Mira remarked, glancing around the hall in question, fighting herself to not take offense to the implication that building she worked so hard to maintain might be viewed as dusty. Still, eyes alight, she insisted, “Must be something.”

“Hardly,” he retorted and, as she continued on with a bit of a shrug, the man only took to hunching up his own shoulders and glared down, instead, into his beer.

Freed, Evergreen, and Bickslow, who’d been uncomfortably observing this interaction as they sat at the table in silent contemplation. It wasn’t exactly unknown, the fact the demon and slayer was something of friends, but it was odd, to say the least, to see the two of them do more than trade general conversation. The slight grin on the man’s face hadn’t been lost of them either, Bickslow having assumed it was for the humorous aside he was conveying so well while Freed thought it was due to the adventure the trio had just returned from, framing the story the seith was relaying.

Evergreen however was hardly as slow on the uptake as her male counterparts.

She’d followed Laxus’ gaze more than once in the past few months and found it, frequently, glued to the head barmaid. This was hardly anything new for most of the male (and some female) populous of the guild. Though it might pain her to admit it, Evergreen was aware of just how attractive the other woman was and the certain hold she had over others. Surely, there were many beauties in Fairy Tail, but in certain ways, Mirajane seemed to reign supreme.

She checked all the boxes for most of the miscreants that found themselves sporting them emblem desired. She was cute, overly kind, served them cold beer and warm food all while plastering a smile on her face that fooled them just enough into opening their wallets perhaps a bit too much.

Evergreen could dislike the woman in some regards while still admitting her game was nearly flawless.

But Laxus was hardly one of the men to be fooled into the fantastical beginnings of a relationship with the barmaid. He respected her, fine, and seemed to view her as a more worthy ally. And fine, yes, men could be stupid at times, fanciful in ways comparable to women, with ideas of relationships or, well, at least relations.

Men could be stupid.

Most of the time.

She felt something had changed though, recently, and it wasn’t readily visible to those who didn’t know the man as well as she. Because she did know him well, Laxus. In a way, perhaps, only the two other members of the Thunder Legion could counter.

Evergreen was far from in love with Laxus, at least in the way that mattered most (he wasn’t nearly...muscular enough for her, as it were), but she did spend a considerable amount of time hanging on the man’s every word and this had more than given her an insight into his psyche.

As the slayer glared down into his ale, she only eyed the woman, across the bar now, refilling mugs and chatting with her sister, seemingly nonchalant over the interaction that had just taken place. Laxus seemed uninterested himself, in mentioning it again that evening, merely finishing one more beer for taking off for the night.

But he’d be back, the next day, something that in times past wouldn’t be the case. Laxus was known to hang around the hall very infrequently, just long enough to drink for a night and grab a job to last him for the next few. He was hardly a barfly and mostly seemed to see his presence in the hall as, while more pleasant than in years past, hardly a common occurrence.

He’d changed in that regard as well, the last month or two, and the Thunder Legion was right there with him, drinking and goofing off some, on Bickslow’s end at least, as he creeped on some of the women in the guild. All in good fun, he assured Freed, who frequently sighed and buried his head in his hands, when his best friend crossed the line more than once. Ever, however, had split intentions that day, spending the majority of it needling Elfman Strauss into all sorts of knots as he attempted to navigate the impossible conversations she was throwing down, but also keeping an eye out for the man’s oldest sister.

Or, at least, as she related to Laxus.

It happened much the same as the other day. Very minimal conversation between the two of them, the demon and slayer, with her delivering him booze the same as she would any other and him replying in well enough satisfaction with the action. It was boring shit, to be honest, and after a few drinks herself, Ever was far more interested in her own romantic entanglements and, through listening to Elfman’s droning on about something stupid, she just about missed it, when Laxus and Mira’s interaction altered a bit.

“There it is. Back again.”

Mirajane was leaning over the table this time, her face nearly in the slayers, and it seemed that this moment was beyond most everyone else, who were distracted by a loud argument Natsu and Gray were getting into on the other side of the bar, but Evergreen caught the woman’s words over the commotion.

Laxus was grinning into the barmaid’s eyes, his head resting in one of his palms as he seemed unconcerned with the finger the woman was sticking out now, no longer ghosting, but truly tracing over his scarred eye. He shut it, instinctively, and she pressed down harder, zigging and zagging over his flesh.

“When you smile like that,” Mira offered as she lifted her finger and he blinked into her own grin, “it almost looks like you’re winking at me.”

“What do I gotta smile about?” he asked, much as he had the previous day. “Huh?’

Mira wasn’t given a chance to answer. At the exact moment she was forming her mouth to, there was a stray, empty mug tossed at her head, thrown by the just drunk enough to miss Gray by a mile Natsu. There was a pause after this, as everyone glanced Mira’s way and, though it had been a shock to be hit and would no doubt leave something a lump, the panic that ran through her was more related to all the gazes she and the slayer had in that moment. There had always been something fun about it, flaunting in front of the others something that they didn’t know, but now, so close to being outted, Mira looked just as stricken as the rising lump on her head.

Tensing, Laxus was less concerned with that and felt something close to possessiveness as, while Mira more than could hold her own, even against the fucking Salamander, the woman he was not so clearly involved with had just been slighted and he was rather inclined to defend her. But that too felt as if it would be a blatant step in the direction of revealing more than they were willing and as he stood, glaring over at Natsu, it was hard a hard debate, whether or not he should pummel the man into the ground.

Though it seemed to last many, the moment was in fact fleeting and, as Laxus and Mira seemed stuck on what to do next, Evergreen decided, on a whim, to help them out.

“Elfman!” And she slapped at his arm. “Natsu just hurt your sister. What are you going to do about it?”

A lot.

And as the now enraged oaf turned his heavy gaze away from Mira and Laxus and instead onto the guild’s favorite fire mage who bucked up immediately at the chance of tangling with his best friend’s older brother.

The whole guild joined into the fight, quickly, as Elfman tossed more than a few others out of his way to get at the Salamander and it was all good fun, or at least would be, when the day was looked back on, but it was a full-blown brawl that night. Which was a good thing, for the demon and slayer, the former quickly attempting to calm the tensions in the bar while the latter made his escape, tossing some jewels on the table before leaving quickly through the thick front doors, mostly undetected. Even Bickslow and Freed were caught up, at least momentarily, in scuffles of their own, and Evergreen might have taken time out to either participate or judge, but instead she found herself quickly heading after her idol, only calling out to him only once they were both safely off the Fairy tail grounds, outside the guild’s wrought iron gates.

“Yeah?” he grumbled a bit at the sound of his name, turning merely because the voice it belonged to was one of his closest friends. Still, his tone was less than friendly and his cheeks even looked a bit tinted, perhaps rosy from the freezing temps outside (or maybe something else entirely), as he griped, “What do you want?”

Evergreen felt her own cheeks heating up and couldn’t quite meet the man’s eyes as she wasn’t really sure what she wanted to say to him. What had happened back in the bar felt like the final confirmation she needed as to the hidden relationship’s actuality. Still, to confront Laxus with it, the man who she so admired and revered, felt odd.

In what was was there any shame in it? Being with the oldest Strauss sibling? Evergreen could think of a few reasons, personally, but she doubted most others would agree with them, and it felt odd to call him out on something that he so clearly wanted to keep private.

And yet…

It was a hard fought thing between the trio of the Thunder Legion, as they attempted to not only win the favor of the man, but also be more in the know about all of the secrecy by which the slayer shielded himself. To know something that the other two didn’t, even if she was the only one aware of her insider info, well…

Well…

“A thanks,” Evergreen decided to remark, “would be nice.”

“A thanks?” Laxus snorted. “What are you talking about?”

“You know…”

“I know what?”

And the man was never known for making things easy on others.

“Just that…I get it.” Ever sighed and she was able, finally, to meet the man’s eyes as, on some level, she felt they were equals, at least in this very specific thing. “The Strausses are...weird, but… There’s something special about them too, I guess. Don’t you think?”

At her last word, the woman took to winking, quite heavily and obviously, quite pleased with herself it seemed...until she noticed how strangely Laxus began staring at her.

“Uh,” he began, taking a bit of a step back, “do you have something in your eye? Or something?”

“N-No!” Frowning then, she took a step back as she defended, “I was winking. At you. Laxus.”

“Why?”

“Because…” And she couldn't tell if it was put on or not, the man’s confusion. If he was truly spending time with the eldest Strauss, then it stood to reason he might pick up on her skills at coyness. “I just meant… When you smile a certain way, it kinda looks like you’re winking. You can see your whole scar. The lightning. It’s nice.”

He didn’t wink for her. Or smile. Only narrowed his eyes some before taking a step towards the woman and saying, “I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about, Ever. And neither do you. So go back to sniffing around Elfman’s drunken ass and I’ll forget this ever happened. Alright?”

She wanted to turn back then. Head into the guildhall and do as he said. Drink with the others and pretend all of this had never happened. Save face. Go back to observing, if even that, from afar.

Stop Laxus from potentially being angry with her.

But there was something inside of her that felt like this was an important moment. One that if she let slip away now would never found itself coming back around again. The idea that she had something socially in common with the man, something neither Bickslow nor Freed could boast, yet Laxus was denying her the right to claim it…

“I’m not going to tell anyone, Laxus,” she assured the man softly, staring up into his eyes while her own remained round. “At all.”

And he was challenged then, at least somewhat, as the woman stood her ground. Usually this would be met with some blowing of his top, but perhaps the demon was having some sort of affect on the man as, after a deep breath, he didn’t choose to further argue, but instead be the one to take a step back.

Huffing, Laxus said simply, “I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about. And I’m headed outta town, so tell the other two that I won’t be around for training in the morning. Got that?”

She nodded, Ever did, softly and somewhat sadly as he was forcing it to pass, the moment, whether she consented or not. The slayer turned his back and went to walk on, fluffy coat fluttering in the wind. That would be the end of it, the woman of stone was certain, but just as she reached up tot toy with her glasses and collect herself once more, Laxus did pause.

But just like the scene back inside the bar, it was only for a moment.

With a glance over his shoulder, he did manage to grumble out, “Thank you. Evergreen.”

Her chest swelled and she saw stars, but this unfortunately caused her to miss her opportunity to remark anything back to him. By the time she regained the ability, it seemed to have passed her by, with Laxus too far down the street to call out to, headed around a corner now, and maybe it was for the best.

She shouldn’t press her luck.

Back inside the bar, the brawl was calming down and while the more injured were looked over by the less, Evergreen found Elfman over by the bar, helping Mirajane ice a growing knot atop her head.

“He got you one good, sis,” Elfman grumbled softly, as if he spoke too loudly, surely the fighting would all recommence, “but I sure socked him one just as good.”

“Mmm,” Mira sighed, distracted it seemed, as she held a baggie of ice to her head, more focused on scanning around the guildhall than anything else. Looking for someone. But he was long gone by now. “I’m sure Natsu didn’t mean to, you know, Elfman.”

“A real man,” her brother retorted, “only does exactly what he means.”

“I’m not sure what that means,” Mira admitted, but Elfman only nodded at this.

“Well,” he assured her, “you’re not a man, so-”

“Nice going, Elfman,” Evergreen intervened, seemingly tired of listening to the two bumbling siblings speak. As the pair glanced at her, she only narrowed her eyes at the younger, remarking, “You scared off Laxus.”

He frowned at the woman for her complaint before shrugging and muttering, “Good.”

But as Ever was ready to rebuke him for this, Mira took to sighing loudly, cutting off the other woman’s reply.

“He left?” she asked with a frown.

“Skipped out on his bill, I’d bet,” Elfman kept up because Ever had snapped at him, multiple times that day, and that meant that he had to hit her where it hurt the most; insult Laxus.

But she didn’t seem too concerned with the man’s antics that day, instead focusing an odd amount of energy on his sister, watching the woman silent for a minute before something odd settled in her stomach. Something that Evergreen wasn’t quite used to.

Was this pity?

Or something more?

It was rare that she felt exceptionally close to other women (it was difficult for her, most of the time, to even interact with them), but something about the slight look of disappointment on Mirajane’s face, stemming from a supposed love, really made it difficult for the typical woman of stone not to crack, if only slightly.

She’d been there before.

Not with Elfman. He was rather easy to drag around without any threat of self-harm. But she’d been with other men, not unlike Laxus. Ones who would leave you in the dust over the smallest of things, running off to find new adventures in the wake of any little argument.

You weren’t important to them.

And Evergreen, while she knew Laxus treated women much the same, was slightly unnerved to find out that even the highly coveted Mirajane Strauss wasn’t enough to tie the man down.

“I’m sure he’ll be back soon,” she offered softly and Mirajane turned her gaze to the other woman then, smiling sweetly as she could only shrug.

“Oh, I’m not worried,” she assured Ever. “I’m sure he left enough jewels for his tab. And if not, I’ll catch him next time.”

Ever only continued to stare though, hard, as if hoping to catch the woman breaking. But it didn’t occur. And soon enough, Freed and Bickslow were done with their standard back and forths and now needed her to add in her own sentiments. Plus, Elfman would not be ignored for long.

Not to mention, it was about time for more wine.

So it was easy for her to forget all about Mira and Laxus’ supposed romance; for the moment. It would all come back to her, of course, the next morning and days following, as she considered if she’d truly observed what she thought and if it meant more, even, than she surmised, or if she was wildly off base and only fueling unfounded delusions.

But Mirajane didn’t have to wait weeks for the slayer to return to find out exactly what had gone on. Rather, it was that exact night, well after closing, once the head barmaid had sent her younger sister and Kinana home, leaving herself to clean up all alone.

She was hardly alone for long however.

The hour was late when the guildhall doors creaked open softly. Mirajane, busy counting out the register for the night, didn’t even glance up, call out to come back tomorrow. No. Mira knew exactly who it was that was slinking in that night and she didn’t hide it as well now, all alone, just the two of them, as a smile spread across her face.

Laxus had sobered up the past few hours it seemed and his eyes felt more concentrated, as they smoldered on the woman. As he strode into the bar, his coat hung loosely from his arms, and he felt much the same as the woman, even if he was still, even alone, hiding it.

“Place was a mad house this morning,” he finally spoke as he didn’t come over to her at the bar, but rather, went to examine the job board. “Bunch’a nobodies doin’ nothing to make themselves somebodies.”

Looking back down at her last bit of jewels to count out, Mira replied simply, “You shouldn’t speak so ill of your fellow members, you know. Laxus.”

“I’ll speak however I want.” Still, he did roll his shoulders a bit, as if expecting some sort of rebuke for this. “Mira.”

One didn’t come though. Instead, only silence. And, after glancing over the last job, he finally glanced towards the woman, not shocked to find her done with the counting it seemed and instead heading over to him.

At his side, she didn’t comment on his snarky comments and instead only reached out to snag one of the two S-Class jobs hanging before them before, with a sigh, handing it over to him. Laxus, having already read over them, knew the distance this would put between them and only nodded, softly and solemnly, before pocketing it.

Sighing some, Mira offered him, “You must be pretty important, getting to come in here after hours and all. Take whatever job you want. Boarders on expulsion levels, I would think.”

“I’ve done worse.”

“You have.”

“And I am important,” he reminded her simply. “I’m Laxus Dreyar.”

Mira nodded before adding, “Yeah. But that’s not why you’re important.”

He broke.

Finally.

Turning slightly, he caught the woman’s eyes and as she blinked up at him, he only smiled, fully and uncharacteristically, bowing his head some to nuzzle it against the top of hers.

“Won’t be long,” he assured her though, as the one to file the job, she for certain knew this to be a lie. “Demon.”

“it never is,” she agreed though he was very aware, every second he spent away, just how lengthy each and every job was. “Dragon.”

A moment had more than come in went, perhaps quite a few of them, before he retreated some, shrugging as he remarked, “If I head out now, I can make a few towns before the sunrise. Catch a train and snooze for awhile.”

She nodded some, remarking absently, “I’m sure you won’t get much sleep. On a train and all.”

Briefly, he thought of the queasy feeling he could get at times, from the slightest of motions, and had to fully shake his head to free his mind of the thoughts.

“You’ll wait for me, won’t you?” he questioned then, having taken another step back, but still just staring at her, expectantly. “Mira?”

She pretended to think momentarily, tilting her head back as she brought a finger up to her lip, tapping it against the pink flesh before nodding her head, “I guess so. Laxus. What else can I do?”

A lot, he knew, and it frightened him every time.

Still, he only remarked, “Not much,” before winking at her, just slightly, now no one to be caught by, but the gesture brief all the same. As she grinned, he assured her, “I love you, you know.”

“Yeah.” Mira could still only nod though, slowly, her vision went back to the now empty spot, where an S-Class job once hung, now barren and leaving the other alone. “I know.”

[ladyblogger-margie]

The Sins You Can’t Outrun - Chapter 1

Pairing: Will “Ironhead” Miller x Santiago “Pope” Garcia (Triple Frontier)

Summary: When Will’s boyfriend Pope is kidnapped, Will must do the unthinkable to get him back. This is part 1 of a series. 

Word Count: 1347

Warnings: 18+ for violence/gore, (the series will eventually involved smut but not in this chapter)

a/n: This started as a prompt for Writer Wednesday organized by @autumnleaves1991-blog​ , (original post here) and I’m going to continue it as a series! Series details to come once I get that organized. 

MY MASTERLIST

When Pope promised Will he would start taking work closer to home, taking on the domestic drug trade was not exactly what Ironhead had in mind. 

But technically it did get Pope home by dinner, most nights at least, and he rarely was away for more than three days at a time, so Will worried silently and didn’t press the subject. He just continued with his routine, and worked on building a home for his former friend turned current boyfriend. 

Will was just so happy that the two had finally gotten together after years of secret hookups filled with shame and embarrassment and secrecy. Coming home from South America with no money and a dead friend had shifted their perspectives. Just grateful that they were both alive had opened the door for them to finally be something more. 

When Will returned, alone, he thought about when Pope had come to him with the proposition of the doomed mission in the first place. He thought about why he had said yes. Well technically he never did actually say yes, did he? No, he told Pope to talk to Tom. Will felt it was his fault that Tom was dead. 

It was Will’s fault because he got Tom involved. He thought he needed Tom’s perspective because he knew that around Pope, Will had no objectivity. Pope was like a blinding sun to him, alluring, attractive, blinding. Will knew he was going to follow Pope anywhere, would always follow Pope anywhere. 

Having survived the ordeal, Will thought it was a good a time as any to gain a little perspective for himself. Sure Pope was still the blinding sun, but Will didn’t mind. The sun was always warm, and leading, and strong. Will could use a little bit of sunshine. 

So when Pope came home eventually, Will marched right over to his place and put everything out on the table, and asked Pope to be his boyfriend. Three days, and many, many hours of passion later, Will walked out sun-kissed and in a relationship. 

The location of the money they threw off the mountain remained unspoken knowledge between the pair since they had gotten together. Will regretted telling Pope the coordinates, and he was afraid if he brought them up again it would drive Pope either to go collect.

He was also worried Pope was waiting for Will to bring up the location first and treat the conversation like permission. Will didn’t want him to go after it, so he just kept his mouth shut. 

But Will should have known Pope better by now, and he knows he shouldn’t have been so naïve. 

The first package arrived minutes before the first phone call. Will was coming back from a late night training session with Benny and was expecting the knock on the door to come from Pope for a late night booty call. 

Instead it was a bike messenger with a small box looking for Will’s signature. Will thought it was late for a delivery, but he didn’t question it. 

Will signed and closed the door, stepping into the front hall where he stood to open the package. He should have sat down first. 

He opened the package and found a bloody polaroid of a well-beaten Santiago Garcia. He stumbled back, bumping into the wall behind him and sliding to the floor. He looked through the box, flicking through other polaroid's of different angles of Pope’s face beaten, his hands tied, his shirt ripped with gashes on his back. The sight was sickening, but the polaroid's weren’t the only things sent to him. Also in the box were ten fingernails. The blood was sticky and not fully dry yet so Will knew they were fresh and he prayed that that meant Pope actually was still alive. 

Then the home phone rang and Will lunged at it. 

“Pope,” his voice was desperate, but rationally he knew it wasn’t Pope on the other end. 

“The abandoned gas station on route 12. Answer the payphone in 15 minutes, alone, or we send you a bigger piece of your boyfriend,” a gravelly voice on the other end commanded Will. 

“Let me talk to him,” Will commanded right back, “I need proof he’s still alive.”

Will heard the phone shuffle on the other side, then Pope’s voice came through the other end, pained and muffled. 

“Will,” was the only thing Pope said before the line went dead. 

Will looked at the watch on his wrist and it read 11:42. Then he rushed to the lock box in his closet and pulled out his gun, tucking it into the back of his pants before he put on a baseball hat and heavy coat to combat the heavy mist that had fallen in the night. 

He jumped in his truck and sped off, his mind racing a thousand miles a minute. He thought tactfully as he drove, racing through the mist covered town. The clock on his dashboard read ‘11:48’ ; it was nearly Friday already. 

There was no way to know exactly how long these guys have had Pope captive, but Will was fairly certain it had to have happened either when Pope was on his way home from work, at his house, or sometime on his way to Will’s - sometimes Pope was already in bed waiting for Will to come home from training. So Will figured they’ve had Pope about 7 hours at most. 

Clearly this wasn’t an assassination attempt against Pope, it was more personal than that. Then there was the fact that Will had been the one to receive the box and the instructions, so it definitely was personal - if it was professional it’s likely the box would have been sent to Pope’s job. 

Will sped through town, leaning on his instincts to guide him, his attention completely on what he was going to do about Pope. 

He thought about calling Benny and Frankie, but decided to wait. He was fairly confident that Pope wasn’t at the abandoned gas station, but he was sure these guys would have eyes on the site. If he showed up with backup, he’d be putting Pope at risk. 

They told him to answer the phone. They probably wanted to negotiate at a location where Will couldn’t possibly trace the source even if he did have that ability. They just wanted to scare him in an effort to increase their sense of power. 

Will was determined not to give them the satisfaction. Sure his whole body was trembling at the idea of Pope hurt like that, and all alone. He was in love with him and he hadn’t even told him yet. He was absolutely terrified, but he was going to do whatever possible to ensure he had the chance to say those special three words to Pope when they were both home safely. 

Will screeched to a stop in front of the phone booth at 11:56, one minute to spare. He stood still in front of the payphone and took stock of his surroundings. He seemed to be alone, there were very little sounds around him, certainly nothing like footsteps in the trees, or an approaching car. If someone was there, they posed him no threat - at least not before the phone call. 

Then the phone rang and Will answered immediately. 

“Punctual, good,” the voice on the other end of the phone mocked Will. 

Will gripped the phone tightly in his hands, “Where’s Santiago Garcia?”

“He’s here, he’ll survive,” the voice said casually, “Or at least, he will if you return what you’ve taken.”

Will’s stomach turned, Lorea, but he was dead, wasn’t he?

“Lorea?” Will breathed into the phone. 

“He’s dead, you and your goons took care of that,” the voice responded with malice, “But that didn’t give you any claim to what you stole, and we want it back.”

Will shook his head, “That’s impossible. We don’t have it. We left it behind in South America.”

“Then you better go get it,” the voice demanded, “I expect it hand delivered in 6 days.”

“Delivered where?” Will asked. 

“I’ll be in touch. Oh, and if you include the authorities in any way, I’ll mail you the pieces of him one by one and you’ll never be able to put him back together. If you don’t deliver the money, Garcia dies,” the voice finished and the line cut off. 

Will hung up the phone and rescanned the area. He was still alone, but he couldn’t shake that feeling he was being watched.  

Pope was alive, but he had to go get that money he had been trying desperately to forget. If he didn’t Pope was dead. 

He had to call Benny and Frankie and ask them for a cursed favor. 

To be continued...

Tags: @autumnleaves1991-blog​

[rosethornewrites]

Fic: this body yet survives, ch. 8

Relationship: Lán Zhàn | Lán Wàngjī/Wèi Yīng | Wèi Wúxiàn

Characters: Lán Zhàn | Lán Wàngjī, Lán Huàn | Lán Xīchén, Lán Qǐrén, Wèi Yīng | Wèi Wúxiàn, Jiāng Chéng | Jiāng Wǎnyín, Jiāng Yànlí, Su She | Su Minshan, Madam Jin, Jin Zixuan, Wen Qing

Tags: No War AU, Recovery, Trauma, Dissociation, Courtship, Courting Rituals, Near Death Experiences, Attempted Murder, Eventual Happy Ending, Panic Attacks, Vomiting, Siblings, Protective Siblings, Soup, Triggers, Protective Lan WangJi, Protective Lán Qǐrén, Yúnmèng Siblings Dynamics, Bad Parent Yú Zǐyuān, POV Third Person, POV Lan WangJi

Summary: Lan Qiren wakes them to let them know of Wen Qing's arrival and her desire to ensure Wei Wuxian's meridians are healing.

Notes: See end.

Warnings: Reference to poisoning, infanticide, assassination, and chronic illness in this chapter.

Parts 1 & 2

Chapter 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7

AO3 link

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Wangji woke, warm and comfortable, to the sound of shufu’s throat clearing, and sat up to find he had fallen asleep with Wei Ying curled close, both the Jiang siblings also asleep, Jiang Wanyin curled at the foot of the bed, Jiang Yanli seated on a chair, but with her upper body on the bed, one arm around Wei Ying.

He had the wherewithal to be careful extricating himself from Wei Ying so as not to disturb his much-needed sleep, and stood to bow to his uncle.

“Shufu, Wangji apologizes for his conduct.”

“No need,” Lan Qiren replied, looking uncomfortable. “Last night was fraught for you all.”

Jiang Wanyin was the next to stir at the conversation, and he also greeted shufu politely before moving to gently wake Jiang Yanli.

“Wen-zongzhu has arrived,” Lan Qiren informed them. “His niece would like to assess Wei Wuxian’s recovery. I did not… inform them of the stress that he has faced.”

“The healer said his meridians seemed unharmed,” Wangji said, troubled.

Shufu favored him with a gentle look, one likely meant to calm, but it raised his anxiety over Wei Ying’s condition.

“Likely they are correct,” he said. “But Wen Qing is the foremost medical cultivator and would be able to assess him with more expertise.”

Wangji felt frozen, uncertain as to whether he should wake Wei Ying, but Jiang Yanli decided the matter for him. She murmured softly to him, tousled his hair gently, easing it out of the braid she’d put it in the night before.

Wei Ying looked beautifully disheveled when he did sit up, eyes half-lidded as he murmured questioningly at his sworn sister, his words barely recognizable—something unsurprising after the late night.

When he saw shufu, he jerked awake more fully, attempting a bow that unbalanced him and would have sent him off the bed, had Jiang Wanyin not grabbed his arm.

“None of that, Wei Wuxian. Wen-daifu wishes to check on your progress while her uncle discusses trade matters with myself and Xichen. Aside from that, a day of rest is in order for you all. We are investigating matters.”

“Lan-xiansheng, do you know if Wen Ning came with?” Wei Ying asked, sounding hesitant. 

Though Wei Ying had befriended him at the competition at Nightless City, Wangji knew he hadn’t been able to see the boy since, with Wen Qionglin’s weak constitution. They had exchanged letters, prior to the incident at the Lotus Pier discussion conference. Wei Ying had not written, or at least sent, letters since his arrival at the Cloud Recesses, though.

“He was not fit to travel,” shufu told him softly. “But you can ask after him with Wen-daifu.”

Wei Ying nodded, disappointed. 

Shufu excused himself to see to Wen-zongzhu, letting them know Wen Qing would be by shortly. 

Wen Qionglin’s illness was well-known, the injury suffered when Wen-furen and her newborn, Wen Chao, were poisoned. Their firstborn, Wen Xu, had died under mysterious circumstances that had also left Wen-furen weak to the point of often being bedridden, and so Wen-zongzhu had called upon his cousins in a medical branch of the clan to attend her second pregnancy personally. 

As it had turned out, the firstborn had been murdered, Wen-furen’s illness the result of poison. Unfortunately, it was only discovered when Wen-furen, her newborn, and Wen Qionglin and Wen Qing’s parents were dead, little Wen Qionglin, barely a toddler at the time, himself poisoned. Wen Qing had been lucky, at a lesson at the time and thus untouched. 

It had obviously been foul play, and an investigation revealed that a secondary branch of the family had been behind it, seeking to usurp the sect leader through assassinating his heirs in infancy. 

After having the ringleaders executed for high treason, Wen Ruohan had exiled every man, woman, and child from that branch of the clan to Dongying. It had been considered mercy, as he could have instead determined justice could only be served through miezu. He had announced that he did not believe justice would be served by executing or enslaving children for the non-crime of being born to a family and did not believe creating more orphans by executing only the adults would be just, either. The alternative of exile had been graciously accepted by the secondary branch. 

He had never remarried, nor sought to have more children, instead taking the orphaned Wen Qing and Wen Qionglin into his household, naming the former his heir and ensuring her sibling received the best care available.

Wen Qionglin’s illness left him often bedridden and weak like his aunt had been, though he was quite kind and soft-spoken, and painfully shy. Wei Ying had met him on a rare day when he was feeling better and practicing archery, having gotten lost in the area around the tournament. He had given him tips and encouraged him to enter the tournament, at least to show his skill in the segment that involved stationary targets.

With his coaxing, the boy had scored several bullseyes in front of the crowd, increasing his standing among his peers despite his illness. Where previously the cultivation world had looked upon Wen Qionglin with pity, it was now impressed that someone with such a difficult chronic illness had become an accomplished archer. 

“I am sure Wen Qionglin would enjoy hearing from you again,” Wangji said softly. “Perhaps his sister can bring him a letter if you wish to write him before she leaves.”

Wei Ying nodded again, frowning slightly. 

“I’ve been a terrible friend.”

“Don’t be an idiot, Wei Wuxian,” someone said from the hallway, and Wen Qing entered the room a moment later. “You’ve been ill. A-Ning understands.”

That elicited a deeper frown from Wei Ying.

“I haven’t been sick,” he objected. 

Wen Qing snorted. 

“Maybe not physically, but I’ve been receiving regular updates from the healers here. You suffered a traumatic event, and it injured your mind. Illness comes in different forms.”

Wei Ying looked away, frowning—it seemed he hadn’t considered his struggles an illness, despite being treated by healers in the Cloud Recesses.

“Honestly, Wei Wuxian… A-Ning really understands. He misses your letters, but Lan-zongzhu and the healers have kept me apprised, so he knows you’ve had difficulty. Stop being so fucking hard on yourself.”

If Wangji hadn’t met her at several points during his life, her profanity might have surprised him, but instead he was simply glad it made Wei Ying smile.

“Ah, Wen Qing, your bedside manner is refreshing,” he said lightly, and she rolled her eyes in an exaggerated fashion.

“I overheard that there have been… issues,” she said after a moment.

Wei Ying’s jaw clenched, a slight tremor running through him at the reminder.

“Some asshole put lotuses in his quarters, and then ours,” Jiang Wanyin supplied. “On purpose.”

“That’s why A-Xian is in the infirmary,” Jiang Yanli added softly. “He was ill when he saw them.”

“And smelled them,” Wei Ying said, his voice catching.

“The healers were concerned about his meridians and… the possibility of qi deviation,” Wangji said, nearly choking on the last part.

He kept his eyes on Wei Ying so as to stave off the image of him bleeding from his eyes and nose and ears and mouth in the mud.

Wen Qing looked almost murderous for a brief moment before her face smoothed.

“They induced a flashback, I’m assuming, to what occurred,” she said, somehow managing to keep her voice level and calm. “Not surprising.”

“Seeing lotuses on clothing and ornaments, and in food, too,” Jiang Yanli offered. “A-Cheng intends to go through Wei Ying’s belongings to remove anything including the lotus.”

“A-Jie and I ordered clothing from Caiyi to be delivered when it’s complete, so he won’t have to see lotuses on our robes.”

Wei Ying looked surprised, gratitude and denial warring on his face. His eyes flitted to Jiang Wanyin’s crown, and Wangji’s followed. Instead of his typical silver lotus with amethyst stones that announced his station as Jiang sect heir, he was now wearing a simple unadorned jade guan. Jiang Yanli, who typically wore a lotus hairpin, had replaced it with a golden peony, clearly a courting gift from Jin Zixuan.

“You didn’t have to, A-Cheng. It’s stupid, just—”

“Is your fear of dogs stupid?” Wen Qing cut in brusquely. 

He flinched, and her voice gentled. She sat beside the bed in the chair vacated by Jiang Yanli. 

“Wei Wuxian, you’ve been through a trauma, just as you were when you were on the streets after your parents died. It’s not stupid. It’s your brain seeking to protect you.”

“But they’re just flowers,” Wei Wuxian muttered. 

“They remind you of fighting for your life, just as dogs do,” she said. “It’s a natural survival response, whether it’s rational or not.”

Wei Ying looked frustrated but nodded. 

“I know you hate it,” Wen Qing told him. “Maybe it’s a trauma that can be worked through. Same with dogs. The mind healers can help you when you’re ready, but it’s not easy work.”

She reached forward slowly and patted his shoulder, clearly giving him time to acclimate. Wangji knew he also hated that he sometimes panicked if he was touched without warning, as well. They all wished it was easy for him to go back to being relatively carefree. 

“I don’t need to use my needles to check your meridians for any disruption or damage,” Wen Qing said, breaking an uncomfortable silence that had fallen among them. “I may need to if you need treatment, but I’ll let you know, okay?”

Wei Ying simply nodded again in acknowledgement, and Wangji realized with a little bit of horror that he had grown accustomed to his quiet. He longed for the chatter and noise that had once accompanied him, but he had spent so much time locked in his own head in the last year, it would probably take more to break him of the habit. 

“Lie back and relax,” she ordered gently. “And tell me what you’ve been up to of late, so I can let A-Ning know.”

Once Wei Ying was situated, he spoke hesitantly, starting with Wangji writing him a song and feeling like a fog had lifted.

“I don’t really remember a lot before that,” he said. “It was like I was under… underwater.”

His voice broke at the word a little, as though he realized the implication of that word after what he’d suffered at the hands of Madam Yu, and Wen Qing’s movement checking his meridians hesitated slightly before she continued.  

At first it was just information, but by the time he reached their outing to Caiyi, the details were leaking in to make it a story. The purchase of Tang became a rescue, with perhaps unconscious undertones of Wei Ying’s own—unconscious because he didn’t seem aware of it, though the Jiang siblings exchanged heavy looks. 

He largely skimmed meeting Madam Jin, only commenting that she wanted to let him know she had dissolved her sworn sisterhood. He was taking her request for confidentiality seriously—Wangji didn’t know if he had told his siblings, even, though it was possible Jiang Yanli knew from Jin Zixuan. 

Wen Qing finished her examination before he was finished, but let him keep going, smiling when she learned of their betrothal, of his ribbon, of the swearing of brotherhood to make true in the eyes of the cultivation world what was already true in the hearts of Jiang Wanyin, Jiang Yanli, and Wei Ying. 

She sobered when he recounted returning to his rooms after having his sister’s newly-reformulated soup, and finding the lotuses inside. 

“And then A-Cheng went to their quarters later,” Wei Ying started, then stopped, his jaw tightening, his breathing quickened with distress.

“I heard what occurred,” Wen Qing said softly. “You have many people who wish to protect you, Wei Wuxian. Let them.”

“Is he… are his meridians okay?” Jiang Yanli asked, the words bursting from her as though she was no longer able to wait. 

Wen Qing nodded. 

“His pathways and meridians are much better than they were last I examined them. There is no lasting damage.”

The last time she had examined him had been shortly before they had undocked from Lotus Pier on the way to Gusu, but she was careful in her wording. 

“You had a panic attack last night,” she added. “Obviously staying calm and feeling safe is important moving forward, but your meridians and qi were not disrupted.”

“Thank you,” Wei Ying murmured. 

“Take it easy today, though. Doctor’s orders. You didn’t have a qi deviation, but panic attacks take a lot out of you.”

“I—I should greet Wen-zongzhu and thank him, though,” Wei Ying said as he sat up, sounding stressed at the very idea. 

Wen Qing snorted. 

“Nope. You don’t need the stress of having to greet anyone—you’ve had enough of that lately. My uncle understands, and you’re not expected to do anything but focus on your recovery.”

When he looked like he might argue she frowned at him. 

“Wei Wuxian, you aren’t to concern yourself with whatever idea of propriety you’ve got in your head you need to observe. It’s largely a bunch of bullshit, anyway. If you want to do anything, take a bit of time and write A-Ning a letter. He really wished he could come see you.”

That got a little smile from Wei Ying, likely happy that his friend wanted to hear from him. Wangji resolved to let him use his desk in the jingshi if he was uncomfortable returning to his quarters yet—chaperoned, of course.

“You need to return to a healthier weight,” Wen Qing said as she left. “I’ll arrange for breakfast to be sent.”

They took turns behind the screen dressing in the clothing retrieved the night before. Jiang Yanli insisted on combing Wei Ying’s hair, refreshing the citrus scent in it, before she tied his ribbon and arranged his crown with the gentian guan, his red ribbon, and the jade plum blossom hairstick.

The delivery of breakfast was accompanied by Jin Zixuan, who had brought his own tray to join them, and he was welcomed without fanfare in a way that implied he’d been accepted by Jiang Wanyin and Wei Ying. Likely, his honorable and kind conduct yesterday at both the banquet and after the lotus incident had helped matters.

Wangji hoped the day would be quieter and less stressful than the preceding one.

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灭族 (mièzú) is “family extermination” and was used as a collective punishment. There’s a lot of interesting meta on this in the fandom, regarding the extermination of the Wens not as genocide, but as an idea of retributive justice. There’s a wikipedia page on the nine familial exterminations; the children under a certain age would usually have been enslaved rather than killed, but not always (like, it isn’t light reading). There have been similar ideas of collective punishment in some Western cultures, as well. Famously, the Nazis used Sippenhaft.

I wanted to explore what might have prevented Wen Ruohan from becoming a megalomaniac at least briefly, and decided on this scenario. Tragedy changed him. I’m largely going with novel canon for this (not that it really matters since it’s a no war AU).