#there are two women doing a lesson in the arena RIGHT NEXT TO HIM and they do nothing

[loptrcoptr]

Guess who has two thumbs and got kicked out of her barn? 👍👍

So two weeks ago I ran into this woman at the barn as she was taking her horses out of the arena and I was taking one in to ride. I know her, her barn is right across from a) the barn with the horse I currently ride and b) the barn just next to it, where I worked for seven months. Seven. And I still occasionally work at the barn where I currently ride. Following me?

Well. She completely forgot who I was and that we had met quite a few times, actually, over the past two years. I said hello as I passed her and she gave me that very specific look middle-aged white women give you that’s somewhere between “are you a criminal” and “you don’t even go here”. She said “are you Lena? [daughter of the people whose horse I ride]” I said “uh, nope”, weirded out by the fact I’m so easily forgotten. She then says “we’ll, are you related to [this horse’s owners]?” I again said no, and “I just ride this guy.” Gave the horse a pat, tried to keep walking. At this point she went full school marm and said “are you on file with the stable committee office??” As in… have u signed all the hold harmless paperwork that everyone has to sign in order to do anything with horses at any barn anywhere. Again… I have worked and ridden at this damn barn for two years right across from this woman’s barn.

So I said “yup, I’m on file, I’m totally legal! I’ve done all the paperwork”. She immediately changed tone and laughed and said “oh you know, I just have to check!” And I fake laughed and said “yep! Ok!” And told her to have a nice day. And it sat in my craw for days and I couldn’t shake the feeling she was going to contact the horse’s owner and “report me” or something.

Fast forward to yesterday morning. I get a text from the guy whose horse I ride and he says that this bitch (not how he referred to her, of course) has been made head of the stable committee. And she has decided that no one is allowed to ride a horse they don’t own, regardless of waiver status, unless the owner is present to supervise. in summary I, a non-wealthy young person, am not allowed to ride at the stables unless the horse’s owner agrees to come out and babysit me like I’m a child.

Also, I am definitely not a worse rider than most of the horse owners at this place (not the ones I ride for) who know nothing about horses and never ride, (which is why they hire me and people like me to take care of their horses for them)! But that’s not the point, the point is this woman has cited “insurance liability” as the reason for banning non-owners from barn activity. She has taken over from the previous committee head, who is an actual lawyer, and decided that the paperwork the actual lawyer prepared isn’t good enough to ensure the barn’s interests are protected… even though it has been doing exactly that for at least five years without incident. This is the same woman who used barn funds to put up a slew of cross country jumps all over the bridle path even though there’s only one (!) other eventer in the entire stables, so no one uses them. It’s utter nonsense.

The worst part is that because I’m not an owner I’m not privy to the stable committee meetings, so I don’t actually know that this is a real new policy, or if she simply told this specific horse owner it was for his, and my, benefit. If my name was somehow brought up at this month’s meeting, my former “friend” who hates my guts now would absolutely have started throwing shade and making up crazy shit. By now most people at the barn know she’s crazy, but too few know me well enough to have a dispute. So I can’t even say for certain, because horse people Are Like That, that this is even a riel now and not just something they brought up for me specifically, without having a better reason to boot me out. Less drama this way, you see. Knowing this woman loves control (turning the entire bridle path into her own personal playground!), I’d like to believe it’s just a whole rule now, but I don’t know for certain.

Anyway… as soon as I read that text message I was like *stares in Tired Horse Bitch*. I was lucky that these folks allowed me to ride their horse, and I had other people offer too, when the family I worked for retired their horses and I was out of options. And it chaps my entire ass that after all the work I’ve done and all the connections I’ve made, the owners didn’t even get the right to tell me when to stop. They can’t even make that decision now. And it has lit a fire under me to just stop lurking on horse boards and checking out boarding barns and commit to horse shopping, because I cannot deal with being beholden to the whims of random old crones any longer. I need a horse of my own that no one can tell me what to do with. Do I currently have the budget I was hoping I’d have? Nope. Am I going to start looking at horses anyway? Yep.

[mudhornchronicles]

maroon | din djarin

gif posted by sledposting 

pairing: din djarin x f!reader

warnings: all the fluff, soft!din but then i said sike... angst, mentions of death and violence, also mentions of... sexual encounters?

a/n: lowkey wanna make into a series, but idk if someone has done this. if so, i do apologize. 

masterlist

“You best learn how to weave, girl. A husband wouldn’t be caught dead wearing tattered clothing, let alone a Mandalorian riduur.”

“You must wear much more layered clothing. A Mandalorian riduur wants a respectable woman at his side.”

“Learn these recipes and maybe you’ll find yourself a Mandalorian riduur.”

You’ve grown tired of hearing this every day, but you sit back and simply nod. Mandalore may have not been your birth planet, but they took care of you after your father and brother both fell valiantly in battle. You were on your own after that. Your mother was not a Mandalorian, she was originally from Naboo. When your father was called back to Mandalore to assist in the ceremonial trials, your mother decided it was time she left. She said she was promised a tranquil life with the clan of four on Naboo, but the creed had to be followed. You have not heard from her since you were 7 years old.

Now as you’ve come to an age of maturity, you were being trained to… be a wife? 

You sat back and obeyed the elders wishes, but you knew that their rants were not true - not in the slightest. Your father never depended on your mother to do anything for him. Because of that, he taught you how to defend yourself and be independent. Although your father was devoted to The Way, he did not want you to swear the creed. Not because you were incapable, but because he did not want you to go through life with the restrictions that the creed entails. Even if you wanted to rebel against your loving father’s wishes, you were not able to be properly trained nor swear the creed at such a late age. So, you were content with being a member of the Mandalorian culture as a civilian.

You sat at a table that the elders reserved for the women who taught young ladies how to sew, heal, cook, and take care of the warriors in training. Whether it was a torn cape or a sparring injury, you were there to help. You always believed you didn’t need to be there as you already knew how to do it all, but the view made up for it. The table was set up on the outer boundaries of the sand pit they called a sparring arena. You got to see young Mandalorians train their bodies and minds by lessons taught by the elders. As many Mandalorians came and went, your eyes were always set on a specific foundling you met many years ago. You sympathized with that warrior when you first noticed his colored armor. You had a crafted bracelet in a similar color – a deep red, a maroon to be precise.

All Mandalorian armor was painted, but each general color had deeper meaning. For example, blue represented the reliability of the warrior, green represented duty, black represented justice, and grey or silver represented mourning.

Red represented the honoring of a parent or leader.

You watched as the two warriors, one in green armor and yours in the maroon, sparred while the other Mandalorians watched and rallied around their fighting brothers. After 10 minutes, the maroon pinned the green down and was declared the winner. The elders at your table clapped and you can’t help but smile and cheer along.

As the noise settles down, you ask to be excused from the table and wait for their approval. Once the oldest member examines your finished shawl, she excuses you for the day. You clean up your yarn and needles, place them and your newly knitted shawl in your basket, and thank them for the day’s lesson. You turn and notice the maroon armored figure standing with his brothers as a new pair of Mandalorians prepare for their turn at combat.

You walk over and stand next to him, basket in your left hand and proceed to place your right hand on his pauldron. He looks over at you and tilts his helmet as he acknowledges you. You mouth a simple hi and a small wave, not wanting to distract him from the scene in front of him.

“Hello, cyar’ika.”

You smile as he turns and holds your right hand in his left. “How was today’s lesson?”

You shrug, rolling your eyes and letting out a small laugh. “Oh you know, learning what I already know. The usual.”

He chuckles at your visible annoyance at the uniformed program you’re practically forced to attend. “Are you finished or are the elders letting you breathe?”

You just can’t help but always smile at every word that comes out of his mouth. “I’m very much finished for the day. Are you?”

“Yes, Paz and I were just asked to demonstrate a sparring technique. Would you like to go for a walk?”

You nod excitedly. He gives your hand a light squeeze and asks you to stay where you are. You watch him as he strides over to one of the elders watching over the training session to what you assume is asking for permission to leave. The elder simply nods and goes back to observing the trainees.

Your Mandalorian leads you to an escarpment not far from the main town – not far by speeder bike that is. You both called it our place. As far as you both knew, no one had known about the place. The ground is scattered with sand and cracks, but the pair are protected from unwanted visitors by an oddly bent acacia tree and nothing beats the view. The capital can be seen far out in the distance, seeming small and faded. You looked down from the cliff to the ground below. You took notice that the ground had small traces of grass while the trees began to dry and then to your luck, you spotted a strill dragging the corpse of a fanned rawl back to its pack. 

You step back from the edge and walk back to the tree. Your beloved unclips his cape and places it on the ground for you both to sit on – despite your countless protest about getting it dirty and tears. He proceeds to take a seat in the middle of his cape and places his hands on your waist. You take the hint and take a seat on his lap. He wraps his arms around your body and lay on him and he leans back on the thick trunk of the tree.

You quietly stay like this for what feels like hours, just holding onto each other. You two rarely get alone time anymore as his training has begun to be much more advanced. More advanced means longer training hours and longer training hours mean less time with you. Mandalore has nineteen hour days and the elders now have him train for six which means you barely get to talk to him and he barely gets to breathe. 

You change positions to lay on the ground with your head on his thighs. He starts to play with your hair, but suddenly lets the strand of hair go. He leans over to grab your hand. He begins to play with your fingers and places his palm straight onto yours just to feel how different his hands are from your own. He did always say he loved your hands – soft and caring.

He loves holding your hand. He loves caressing it. He loves playing with them. He loves how they look when in his.

When you’re in the safety of your home, he blindfolds you and  loves it when you play with his hair.

When you make love, he loves when you run your hands down his chest and on his biceps as he thrusts up into you. He loves when you grip his arms while you’re riding him and he brings you close to euphoria or when his body is over yours and your hands press down on his back to beg for him to go deeper.

He’s gone a long time without having gentle hands touch him. You were the first person he let touch his bare hands since his parents died. 

His helmet tilts over to you and you look up to him. He sits and stares at you and you unsuccessfully stifle a laugh. “What? Why are you staring at me?”

“Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum, ner kar’ta.” He says quietly. So quietly you feel as if it wasn’t meant for your ears.

You situate yourself onto your knees and cradle the side of his helmet in one hand and hold his own hand in the other. “I love you too, Din. More than anything in the entire galaxy.”

You’ve been in a romantic relationship with Din for five years and you’ve heard those words a total of seven times. You savor every time he speaks them as it sounds like utter bliss to you.

“Ner kar’ta, I- I’d like to gift something to you, but I must know something first.”

“You can ask me anything, cyare.”

“I know I don’t tend to express my feelings and you may be thinking this is going to be a negative talk, but I promise it’s not.”

“I know it isn’t, my love. Even if it was, you’re not going anywhere.”

He chuckles at this and he nods. You know this is serious when his visor isn’t on your face.

“Mesh’la… Do you wa- Are you sure you…” he stops and clears his throat. “Cyare, do you plan on wanting to be stay? With me? I know we never talked about this, but I just thought it was time to bring it up.”

“Are you asking me if I want to stay by your side for the rest of my life, Din?”

He nods.

“Din, love, of course I want to be with you. We’ve only touched the surface. There’s so much left to do. You still haven’t given me a piece of your armor, we haven’t done a riduurok, and we haven’t raised warriors! You aren’t getting rid of me!” you joke.

He stays silent and you begin to think you may have gone too far. He opens one of his pouches on his belt. Your mind is saying he pulled out the blindfold he always carries for you to kiss you, but your heart wishes it’s something else.

Your heart wins.

He offers you a necklace. It consists of a maroon colored beskar ring clinging to a chain – his beskar. Before he can say anything, you jump on him and wrap your arms around him. He laughs and gives you a squeeze.

“I had a speech prepared, but I’d be very happy if I didn’t have to read it,” he sarcastically says. You can’t stop the tears running down your cheeks as you shake your head while you tell him he doesn’t have to. You know what he’s going to say and you know he’s going to stutter and shake. You know how much he loves you. You don’t need to hear him say it as his actions spoke volumes.

“I knew you didn’t lose your buckle to Paz! You rather lose me than your armor!”

“Don’t be dramatic. I’d rather lose my sponsorship then you.”

You playfully shove him. “Di’kut.” You grab your drink from your basket and take a swig from the cold liquid.

“Cyar’ika, w- would you like to marry me? Right now?”

You almost choke. You look at him with wide eyes. “What?”

“Is it too soon?”

You shake you head. “No, no it’s been five years. The elders probably think we’re crazy.” You both share a laugh. “But, if you’re ready Din, then yes. I’d love to marry you right now.”

He stands and helps you up. He grabs the chained ring and places it around your neck. You look down and the ring falls beautifully next to the other necklace you wear, a nexu signet - your father’s clan. You reach up and bring his head down to yours as you connect your foreheads together. As Mandalorian culture states, the warrior must begin the riduurok and every phrase must be said by each to be vowed.  

Din’s hands are shaking, you can feel them. He clears his voice, but it does little to stop it from cracking.

“Mhi solus tome, mhi solus d-dar’tome”

“Mhi solus tome, mhi solus dar’tome”

“M-Mhi me’dinui an”

“Mhi me’dinui an”

“mhi ba’juri ver-“

You feel his forehead leave yours and you open your eyes. You follow his gaze and your heart sinks. Far out in the distance you see imperial ships slowly coming through the clouds. You see bright red light coming from the capital and you begin to panic. You know he has to go fight. As much as you don’t want him to, there’s no debate. 

You both run to collect everything. He stops to look at you.

“Ni ceta, ner kar’ta. I promise that I-“ you stop him and bring his forehead down again.

“It is your duty to Mandalore, Din. I know you’ll protect us and you’ll come back to me. Promise me you’ll fight with everything in you. I can’t lose you too.”

“I promise.”

With that you pack the speeder and ride back into town, although as the war begins, you wished you had just taken Din away and ran.

Blaster shot after blaster shot. Dead body after another. The cries of children and the screaming of mothers trying to find their babies.

You hear a Mandalorian usher women and children into life-ships, each with two Mandalorians escorts. You get rushed closer and closer to one when you catch Din in the corner of your eye.

You run to him as you hear your name being called out by the other women. Din sees you and tackles you down. He pins you against a wall yelling at you to get into a ship and go. You put your hands on each side of his helmet. Both of you are crying wishing this was only a nightmare. 

“Din, please promise me you’ll find me. Promise me you’ll make it out of here and come back to me. I can’t live without you. Please promise me.”

His visor is trained on you as you hold onto each other tighter than ever. “I promise I’ll find you and when I do, we’ll properly marry and I’ll take you far away from here so we can start our own clan. Ner kar’ta, I promise you this with my entire being.”

A promise sealed with a keldabe kiss. He runs with you towards a ship. You both ask escorts where the ship is going. No one knows. You try running out of the ship, but Din only pushes you back in. You hear him tell you how much he loves you before he jumps off the ship right when the ramp starts to move. You sob as the ramp closes until the view of your maroon-clad love is completely gone.

Little did you know that the war zone you had just witnessed was the fall of Mandalore and the last time you’d see the love of your life for many years to come.

update (1.1.21): Part two to Maroon has been posted - Saguine

 mando’a translations:

riduur = spouse, husband, wife, partner

cyar’ika = darling, sweetheart

Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum = I love you

ner kar’ta = my heart

mesh’la = beautiful

riduurok = love bond, specifically between spouses - marriage agreement

cyare = beloved

di’kut = idiot

Mhi solus tome, mhi solus dar’tome, mhi me’dinui an, mhi ba’juri verde. = We are one whether we are together or apart, we will share everything and we will raise our children as warriors.

ni ceta = i’m sorry 

[unholyplumpprincess]

Winner Winner Porkchop Dinner

Cryptage commission for @trashyoctopus !

Summary: Crypto and Mirage are set up on a blind date, with neither knowing that it was each other. Rivalry COULD have gotten in the way, if Elliott wasn’t too fucking pretty for his own good.

(Older content)

Reblogs > Likes. It costs zero dollars to reblog the fics you like :D Minors and ageless blogs DNI or you will be blocked!

Relationship: Crypto/Mirage

Fandom: Apex legends

Warnings: R18+/NSFT, both Crypto and Mirage are cis, anal sex/fingering, Crypto being a bottom baby, tears, overstimulation, fucking on the floor

Words: 3.2K

_______________

Dating for legends was rather difficult. In a world that saw you as stars, people could become rather obsessive. Crypto was no stranger to the ‘starstruck’ vision upon seeing a legend. He had been one of the people who had set up the drones to broadcast them all fighting, after all. It was no different to him to pick and choose favorites.

Except now he WAS a legend. Walked among them the same way they walked with him. Partners or rivals, it didn’t matter.

Dating, again, for legends was rather difficult- and yet, Elliott Witt, better known as ‘Mirage’, famous trickster of the arena. Well, he got along just fine.

Or so he had made it seem.

~Rest under the cut~

Elliott talked a big game. Had a big mouth, for that matter. Talked about both men and women he could charm, even those who fit neither category. Last, of which, he boasted whilst making finger gun motions at Bloodhound who had waved him off with a ‘shoo’ motion as if he was a horny dog.

Something Crypto thought to be rather amusing when the flirty legend had pouted in response.

Being among them all, he’s learned they’re all much like a family. Romance could blossom between specific people within their circle, he’d seen it himself with Wraith eyeing Anita from across a room. Only to look away the second the woman’s eyes looked back at him and he’d pretended he’d never seen her looking.

Because loving while being part of this bloodied sport wasn’t an option. To stay available and don’t let feelings get in the way of how brutally they could kill each other. Only to wake up again like it never happened, except now you hold a grudge in your heart for the pain one caused you.

All for sport- entertainment.

Yet, the sponsors seemed to go crazy if they could see one of the legends being soft. The media loved it too. When someone like Wraith had seen her teammate, Bangalore, get knocked- normally she wouldn’t have thought twice about gunning down those around her and going back for the beacon. However, you could see her hesitate, flick her head back and run for her downed squad mate with an open portal to safety.

This is when Crypto truly began to get interested. Media where he was from- if someone was that popular, they would have been KILLED for daring to date someone. It wouldn’t have made them ‘available’ for minds all around. But, it seemed media across all planets alike delighted in the idea of love blossoming in war.

He’d watched it himself online. Different articles popping online. How Wraith would huff and throw a magazine across the legends’ lounge room or toss it at Elliott who’d playfully tease her about it.

It affected legends as well.

And when he’d picked up the magazine and looked at the headline, with a still of Wraith and Anita making eye contact whilst picking one another up, with the words ‘LOVE IN KINGS CANYON?’?

Well. Maybe he wouldn’t mind it if something like this affected him either.

It’s why he agrees to this stupid blind date thing. A mutual of his, someone he didn’t quite trust but she was at least a nice enough person, had a brilliant idea of a blind date. Said she knew someone who was JUST his type. There was no need for awkward ‘do you like girls or boys?’ conversations to happen, thankfully he knew it was at least a man he was meeting.

Crypto could only feel anxiety when he woke up that morning. Twisting in his stomach about who they could be. What did they look like? Would they mind if he was a quiet person? Would they worry and fret too much over him not talking the whole time? Would they be funny? Would they have curly hair- long hair- were they kind?

So many questions.  

The unknown made him paranoid.

The woman leads him to a nice café. Crypto, for the date, adorned an oversized black hoodie that’s left unzipped, a lower black face mask with a filter on it, a low cut white shirt and ripped black skinny jeans. He felt more punk than anything, but it was casual for a setting like this. Except, perhaps, all of the jewelry he wore around his neck.

She guides him to the back to sit down, a nice little area while she excitedly chirps that she’ll be right back with his date.

Crypto’s on edge the entire three minutes and twenty two seconds she is gone. Fussing with a little fidget toy in his pocket to keep a hand busy and keeping his other resting on the table in case he needed to jab at someone.

Prepared, not paranoid.

The chatter of the café is quiet. The music is soft, and yet his shoulders are taut.

But then he sees her walking back over, someone behind her, taller, curly hair-

“Oh! Hey, buddy!” Comes from the man as he comes padding over excitedly like a dog, sitting in front of Crypto with a big, dimpled smile on his face.

Elliott Witt.

No fucking way.

Crypto’s eyes widen, and he looks up at their mutual friend who passes him a wink and a, “Have fun, boys!” Before she’s off.

“Fancy seeing you here,” Elliott continues with a bit of a laugh exhaling from him. Fiddling with his hands uncharacteristically in his lap. Nervous, it appeared, as Crypto’s eyes smooth over his frame. “S-so ya’ like coffee? No- no it was tea, right? I can order for us! Er, Wraith was saying sometimes you come out at night and make tea?” Definitely nervous.

He cleaned up well enough without wearing his sponsors or his gear for that matter. A v neckline on a black t-shirt that was form hugging, a yellow and black printed flannel with the sleeves rolled up just above his elbows to show strong, hairy forearms. Form fitting black jeans hugged him just as well and his hair was styled to the side. Curls looking washed and fresh with their fluffy texture.

He cleaned up extremely well.

Elliott is fussing again, nervously displaying his hands out on the table as he fusses with his hands. Crypto can’t help but think it’s kind of...endearing.

They’d been rivals on the battlefield ever since their first match together. Mark on the scoreboard, he supposed that may have been his fault for counting and rubbing it in Elliott’s face. But...

“Tea would be nice.” He finally speaks up, cutting Elliott off as he pulls his mask down to rest around his neck so he could prepare.

He watches Elliott’s eyes light up like an excited dog’s, nodding his head quickly as his curls move with the motions. “Yeah! Y-yeah, yeah of course, gimme a sec. Preference?”

And that’s how they spent that afternoon. Not as legends, or as rivals. But as two people set up on a blind date and enjoying one another’s company. Even laughed when Elliott had sputtered and quietly shout-whispered the question of ‘YOU HAVE A TONGUE PIERCING?!’ when Crypto had stuck his tongue out.

Crypto hated to admit it. But he had a great time.

And then an even better time the time after that, and then the next. Aaaand another.

Until the new headlines were now saying ‘LOVE BLOSSOMING IN NEW “MELTDOWN” ARENA?’ with their faces on it.

--

Their relationship was under wraps. No one knew, no one was allowed to know in full, but the media could speculate. That much Elliott allowed. Little teases to the public whilst Crypto preferred not to do interviews.

Their relationship blossoms from there. They become close- turns out they both had missing family members. Crypto opens up about his sister, Mila. While Elliott opens up about his brothers. He speculates they may have passed in war, but that he holds out hope. While Crypto opens up that he worries that she was killed, and that if she wasn’t, that she was not in agony.

There, they build their foundation on. Trust and love. Opening up to each other slowly. Elliott is much easier to open up about himself and his interests, Crypto is harder. He doesn’t talk anymore on his past from his sister or his mother, only bits and pieces. He allows Elliott into his life slowly, more and more until one another cannot stand to sleep alone.

Wraith teases Elliott nowadays on who is making goo-goo eyes now. Crypto over hears it through the walls and tries not to smile at their antics.

It’s in the ring they have to be more mindful. After the first guess of their relationship, Crypto had to explain to Elliott that though his partner may have loved the cameras, Crypto did not. The attention became too much, and Elliott immediately made that all die down. With his charming smile and a joke about how if he had chosen someone to settle down with, don’t you think he’d be all over them?

Oh, he was all over them. Crypto couldn’t go a day without hands jerking him close. Even if at first he had rolled his eyes and huffed at it, Elliott quickly found out that this tough cookie was just giving him a rough time. Especially when Crypto would give up the ruse and lean back into him.

No, it’s in the ring they have to be careful. Otherwise, anywhere else? Free game. Other legends could shut their lips.

Hence why this match was going rather roughly.

Mirage, Crypto, and Lifeline all on the same squad. Ajay makes a joke about ‘old times’ and how they should keep score again. Playfully bumping Crypto’s hip with her own and earning her a bit of a smirk before it’s turned to Elliott with a cocky look and a soft hum of, “I am sure that the old man has learned his lesson.”

Which earns him wide eyes, a gaped mouth, and, “Hey! Not that again!” Before Ajay is shoving them both off the dropship for round two.

The teasing in the ring could be seen as rivalry. They do count the kills, oh they do. Crypto keeps the lead by one point as Ajay keeps score. They bicker and huff the entire time, especially when Ajay takes down a newbie that was hanging in the back and trying to get a drop on them.

At some point they are under squad fire, a grenade heading their way and rolling on the ground. Ajay calls it out from afar, Crypto is the one who spots it.

His fingers twist in Elliott’s coat, yanking him close to his body and throwing their bodies to the side so it only can get a fraction of their shields.

The tension in the corner of the room with Crypto on top of him, both panting and looking into each other’s eyes. So close and so good-

Is their ultimate down fall when they’re shot in the back.

Ajay at least laughs about it in the med bay, saying that, “Ya looked like a proper married couple. Keep ya heads down, ya hear me?” With a tease.

And then a call back, “Oh! Crypto? Two points in the lead.”

--

There’s a gasp as Crypto’s back hits the door of Elliott’s dorm. Inside his room as Elliott fits a leg between his thighs, grabbing his chin and tilting it down ever so slighty so he could devour his mouth. They were about equal heights, with Crypto maybe being an inch taller. Something he took a bit of amusement in.  

But right now, that’s not on his mind. What is, is the pressure on his cock through his pants. How Elliott’s tongue licks into his mouth. Feeling over the piercing on Crypto’s tongue and groaning in reply when Crypto’s hands fists into his jacket and yank him closer.

Their mouths move in sync. Having kissed each other a hundred times over, they know their pace. Crypto presses, sinking his teeth into Elliott’s full lower lip just to hear him let out a shaky breath through his nose in response. His hands come up, fisting Elliott’s curls and tugging him closer with a growl.

The knee between Crypto’s thighs presses up, grinding until he’s pulling back with a whine, head thunking back against the door. This leaves him open for Elliott’s mouth to kiss at his exposed neck, mindful of where the cybernetics were most exposed and aiming for the sensitive wiring. His teeth lightly bite into the flesh feeling silicone, feeling Crypto yelp in reply with pleasure as his leg hitches around Elliott’s waist.

He’s biting his lip, keeping quiet and stubbornly trying to yank on Elliott’s hair. That won’t do.

“Think you can embarrass me like that in the ring, baby?” Elliott’s voice is steady in situations like this. His stutter maintained if he tried not to think about it too hard. His breath hot on the shell of Crypto’s ear as his tongue follows, just to feel him shudder against him.

He’s melting. He couldn’t stand being a brat for too long.

“T-think you just- ah- can't keep up.” Is Crypto’s haughty reply, followed by a huff when Elliott’s hand moves from caressing his cheek to his hair. Yanking on it to pull his head to the side to expose the other said of Crypto’s neck for another onslaught of kisses and hot bites. Pushing at his jacket with his other hand until it falls to the floor and Elliott can bite at the crook of his shoulder instead. Sucking a dark bruise there.

“Really?” Elliott breathily laughs. Tripping up Crypto behind his knee before pulling him by his hair to the floor. Watching him hit his knees almost too easy and looking up at Elliott with a dangerous gleam in his eyes. “Because from what I saw, you just about bent over for me in front of a camera.”

A sniper position, one so open that Crypto wouldn’t normally take. Lying prone to get a good shot- that's what he’d told Ajay. But he knew exactly what he was doing when he shifted his hips eeever so slightly for the trickster behind him.

He huffs through his nose, embarrassed at being caught, looking to the side. But, Elliott coos under his breath, catching his chin and dragging his gaze back up. “No, no, none of that. C’mon, kitten, you can make it up to me, can’t you?”

The nickname has Crypto’s cheeks flushing red to his ears. Surely spreading down over his chest as Elliott works on his own pants. Pulling out his cock, the head shiny with pre-cum when he smooths his hand over it a few times. Pumping to show how hard he was, pulling back foreskin and making Crypto’s mouth water.

He huffs again through his nose, followed by a whine. He about chokes when Elliott smirks, “Theeere’s my good boy. See? Can’t be mad at me for long.”

No, no, he couldn’t. Especially with his mouth stuffed full of cock and his fingers desperately pawing at Elliott’s hips not a few minutes later. Cryptos own clothing removed and his own cock aching as Elliott cradles his jaw, fingertips pressing lightly to feel the bulge in it every time he slides into his throat. Another appreciation for his piercing met every time he swipes it over the swollen head.

Crypto’s sure he’s drooling. Even by the time Elliott pulls out and is calling him a good boy. Even with the bed in the next room, Elliott can’t seem to wait. Lying Crypto down on the living room floor on his belly as he finds lube left behind on the coffee table from their LAST root around. Squirting a generous amount onto his fingers and working one into Crypto. Caressing his hip with his other hand and petting, telling him he’s a good boy, good baby.

Crypto hums in reply, cheek resting on his crossed arms under his head like a pillow. Cock jumping under his body, trapped and caged. By the time two fingers are in him, he’s sure he’s going to leave a stain on Elliott’s rug. Rocking his hips both into the rug for friction and back onto his fingers.

“Yeah, just like that. Keep it up, sweetheart.” Elliott is full of praise when he slips in a third finger. Making Crypto bite into his arm and shudder with each twist of fingers, scissoring them outwards and crooking them upwards.

A spurt of pre-cum leaves his cock and he can’t help the sob as his hips jump a bit as if stomping his foot. “Fuck me! Just- just fuck me, Elliott, I can’t take this!” Crypto hisses out, earning him a laugh from his boyfriend and an ‘alright, alright’.

He’s rolled onto his back. From there it’s a blur. The slow enter of Elliott leads to his legs around the trickster’s hips, arms around his neck and burying his face into his shoulder. No clothing between them, naked chest to naked chest, heartbeat to heartbeat.

Crypto’s cock is jostled with each thrust. Grinding up against Elliott’s slightly fuzzy abdomen and providing enough friction to keep him very much interested. Even if Elliott is hitting just right to where pleasure bubbles in his abdomen like butterflies.  

His teeth sink into Elliott’s shoulder just as Elliott begins fucking him harder. Whining into Crypto’s ear in response when the other tightens his hold around his waist. Biting at the shell of his ear, nuzzling at his hair, murmuring praise just below his ear where his lips brush and his stubble scratches pleasantly.

Crypto cums suddenly and without the warning of budding heat. It happens with a shock and his nails rake down Elliott’s back with a cry. “I love you- I love you I love you--” Escapes his lips in soft sobs as his hips buck upwards into Elliott’s abdomen. Smearing the cum there, which will make for a mess to clean up later.

Instead, Elliott only groans at the sudden tightness and whines back, “Fuck, I love you-” As his hips piston into his boyfriend beneath him.

It’s all too much. Crypto’s eyes are welling with tears from overstimulation. His legs tighten even further, giving Elliott not a lot of room to work with except grind. And even then it’s all too much.

He sobs as a dry orgasm wracks his frame, just in time to hear Elliott deliciously moan in his ear like a whore as he cums. Pressing a hard kiss to Crypto’s temple as they hold each other through it all on the floor.

With a satisfied sigh and tension leaving both their frames, Elliott carefully peels back to assess the damage. Looking down at Crypto splayed out, legs still locked around his hips but looser, his hands resting by his head and his head turned to the side. Face flushed, eyes teary, lips wet and swollen.

He looked beautiful.

Elliott says so too, with a soft sigh of, “Absolutely gorgeous.” As he cups Crypto’s chest with one hand. Running his thumb over a nipple just to watch him jerk and moan softly, smacking at his hand with a grumble.

He may have lost in the ring, but in the bedroom, Elliott ‘Mirage’ Witt always won.

Always.

[d3nt4l-d4m4g3]

Consider: The effeminists

Effeminist—(historical) A member of a male homosexual movement opposing prejudices against effeminate behaviour.  —Wikipedia

The next quote is from Jeanne Cordova’s When We Were Outlaws. She was a major figure in the lesbian feminist movement and created the most prominent lesbian newspaper of the time, The Lesbian Tide. This part of her autobiography is set when the lesbians employeed at the gay center (who created some of the first health care programs for women alcoholics, btw)  are shoved out of power. Most of the gay male employees at the GCSC were fine with what was clearly manipulative and misogynistic bullshit that would disempower an entire neighborhood of poor, lower-class women. However, one group of men stood by the lesbians:

“In recent weeks a handful of the gay male employees [at the Gay Community Services Center] had begun to support us, calling themselves “effeminists,” a term used by radical left wing of the gay movement. Effeminists glorified in the name “gay faeries” and understood that the straight world mocked them because they as (f-slur)  identified with women. They championed feminist principles like lesbian equality in the gay movement. They were usually feminine, rather than butch gay men, and they became our natural allies.” (Cordova 97-98)

The Effeminists’ 1973 Manifesto is below, transcribed from this archive:

The Effeminist Manifesto (1973) Steven Dansky, John Knoebel, Kenneth Pitchford

We, the undersigned Effeminists of Double-F hereby invite all like-minded men to join with us in making our declaration of independence from Gay Liberation and all other Male-Ideologies by unalterably asserting our stand of revolutionary commitment to the following Thirteen Principles that form the quintessential substance of our politics:

       On the oppression of women. 1. SEXISM. All women are oppressed by all men, including ourselves. This systematic oppression is called sexism. 2. MALE SUPREMACY. Sexism itself is the product of male supremacy, which produces all other forms of oppression that patriarchal societies exhibit: racism, classism, ageism, economic exploitation, ecological imbalance. 3. GYNARCHISM. Only that revolution which strikes at the root of all oppression can end any and all of its forms. That is why we are gynarchists; that is, we are among those who believe that women will seize power from the patriarchy and, thereby, totally change life on this planet as we know it. 4. WOMEN’S LEADERSHIP. Exactly how women will go about seizing power is no business of ours, being men. But as effeminate men oppressed by masculinist standards, we ourselves have a stake in the destruction of the patriarchy, and thus we must struggle with the dilemma of being partisans – as effeminists – of a revolution opposed to us – as men. To conceal our partisanship and remain inactive for fear of women’s leadership or to tamper with questions which women will decide would be no less despicable. Therefore, we have a duty to take sides, to struggle to change ourselves, to act.

       On the oppression of effeminate men. 5. MASCULINISM. Faggots and all effeminate men are oppressed by the patriarchy’s systematic enforcement of masculinist standards, whether these standards are expressed as physical, mental, emotional, or sexual stereotypes of what is desirable in a man. 6. EFFEMINISM. Our purpose is to urge all such men as ourselves (whether celibate, homosexual, or heterosexual) to become traitors to the class of men by uniting in a movement of Revolutionary Effeminism so that collectively we can struggle to change ourselves from non-masculinists into anti-masculinists and begin attacking those aspects of the patriarchal system that most directly oppress us. 7. PREVIOUS MALE-IDEOLOGIES. Three previous attempts by men to create a politics of fighting oppression have failed because of their incomplete analysis: the Male Left, Male Liberation, and Gay Liberation. These and other formations, such as sexual libertarianism and the counter-culture, are all tactics for preserving power in men’s hands by pretending to struggle for change. We specifically reject a hands by pretending to struggle for change. We specifically reject a carry-over from one or more of these earlier ideologies – the damaging combination of ultra-egalitarianism, anti-leadership, anti-technology, and downward mobility. All are based on a politics of guilt and a hypocritical attitude towards power which prevents us from developing skills urgently needed in our struggle and which confuses the competence needed for revolutionary work with the careerism of those who seek personal accommodation within the patriarchal system. 8. COLLABORATORS AND CAMP FOLLOWERS. Even we effeminate men are given an option by the patriarchy: to become collaborators in the task of keeping women in their place. Faggots, especially, are offered a subculture by the patriarchy which is designed to keep us oppressed and also increase the oppression of women. This subculture includes a combination of anti-women mimicry and self-mockery known as camp which, to its trivializing effect, would deny us any chance of awakening to our own suffering, the expression of which can be recognized as revolutionary sanity by the oppressed. 9.SADO-MASCULINITY: ROLE PLAYING AND OBJECTIFICATION. The Male Principle, as exhibited in the last ten thousand years, is chiefly characterized by an appetite for objectification, role-playing, and sadism. First, the masculine preference for thinking as opposed to feeling encourages men to regard other people as things, and to use them accordingly. Second, inflicting pain upon people and animals has come to be deemed a mark of manhood, thereby explaining the well-known proclivity for rape and torture. Finally, a lust for power-dominance is rewarded in the playing out of that ultimate role, The Man, whose rapacity is amply displayed in witch-hunts, lynchings, pogroms, and episodes of genocide, not to mention the day-to-day (often life-long) subservience that he exacts from those closest to him. Masculine bias, thus, appears in our behavior whenever we act out the following categories, regardless of which element in each pair we are most drawn to at any moment: subject/object; dominant/submissive; master/slave; butch/femme. All of these false dichotomies are inherently sexist, since they express the desire to be masculine or to possess the masculine in someone else. The racism of white faggots often reveals the same set of polarities, regardless of whether they choose to act out the dominant or submissive role with black or third-world men. In all cases, only by rejecting the very terms of these categories can we become effeminists. This means explicitly rejecting, as well, the objectification of people based on such things as age; body; build; color; size or shape of facial features, eyes, hair, genitals; ethnicity or race; physical and mental handicap; life-style; sex. We must therefore strive to detect and expose every embodiment of The Male Principle, no matter how and where it may be enshrined and glorified, including those arenas of faggot objectification (baths, bars, docks, parks) where power-dominance, as it operates in the selecting of roles and objects, is known as “cruising.” 10. MASOCH-EONISM. Among those aspects of our oppression which The Man has foisted upon us, two male heterosexual perversions, in particular, are popularly thought of as being “acceptable” behavior for effeminate men: eonism (that is, male transvestitism) and masochism. Just as sadism and masculinism, by merging into one identity, tend to become indistinguishable one from the other, so masochism and eonism are born of an identical impulse to mock subservience in men, as a way to project intense anti-women feelings and also to pressure women into conformity by providing those degrading stereotypes most appealing to the sado-masculinist. Certainly, sado-masoch-eonism is in all its forms the very anti-thesis of effeminism. Both the masochist and the eonist are particularly an insult to women since they overtly parody female oppression and pose as object lessons in servility. 11. LIFE-STYLE: APPEARANCE AND REALITY. We must learn to discover and value The Female Principle in men as something inherent, beyond roles or superficial decoration, and thus beyond definition by any one particular life-style (such as the recent androgeny fad, transsexuality, or other purely personal solutions). Therefore, we do not automatically support or condemn faggots or effeminists who live alone, who live together in couples, who live together in all-male collectives, who live with women, or who live in any other way – since all these modes of living in and of themselves can be sexist but also can conceivably come to function as bases for anti-sexist struggle. Even as we learn to affirm in ourselves the cooperative impulse and to admire in each other what is tender and gentle, what is aesthetic, considerate, affectionate, lyrical, sweet, we should not confuse our own time with that post-revolutionary world when our effeminist natures will be free to express themselves openly without fear or punishment or danger of oppressing others. Above all, we must remember that it is not merely a change of appearance that we seek, but a change in reality. 12. TACTICS. We mean to support, defend and promote effeminism in all men everywhere by any means except those inherently male supremacist or those in conflict with the goals of feminists intent on seizing power. We hope to find militant ways for fighting our oppression that will meet these requirements. Obviously, we do not seek the legalization of faggotry, quotas, or civil-rights for faggots or other measures designed to reform the patriarchy. Practically, we see three phases of activity: naming our enemies to start with, next confronting them, and ultimately divesting them of their power. This means both the Cock Rocker and the Drag Rocker among counter-cultist heroes, both the Radical Therapist and the Faggot-Torturer among effemiphobic psychiatrists, both the creators of beefcake pornography and of eonistic travesties. It also means all branches of the patriarchy that institutionalize the persecution of faggots (schools, church, army, prison, asylum, old-age home). But whatever the immediate target, we would be wise to prepare for all forms of sabotage and rebellion which women might ask of us, since it is not as pacifists that we can expect to serve in the emerging world-wide anti-gender revolution. We must also constantly ask ourselves and each other for a greater measure of risk and commitment than we may have dreamt was possible yesterday. Above all, our joining in this struggle must discover in us a new respect for women, a new ability to love each other as effeminists, both of which have previously been denied us by our misogyny and effemiphobia, so that our bonding until now has been the traditional male solidarity that is always inimical to the interests of women and pernicious of our own sense of effeminist self-hood. 13. DRUDGERY AND CHILDCARE: RE-DEFINING GENDER. Our first and most important step, however, must be to take upon ourselves at least our own share of the day-to-day life-sustaining drudgery that is usually consigned to women alone. To be useful in this way can release women to do other work of their choosing and can also begin to re-define gender for the next generation. Of paramount concern here, we ask to be included in the time-consuming work of raising and caring for children, as a duty, right and privilege.

Attested to this twenty-seventh day of Teves and first day of January, in the year of our falthering Judeo-Christian Patriarchy, 5733 and 1973, by Steven Dansky, John Knoebel, and Kenneth Pitchford.

[starrybethany]

Clayton Keller: Part 4

Word count: 2450

I wake up for the third time, sighing in frustration at the fact that I’ve been awoken from my slumber. Clayton woke me up twice during the night by kicking me- I don’t know why this man can’t let me have my space considering it’s a California-king sized bed, but for whatever reason he needs to be pressed up against me at all times.

I close my eyelids, planning on going back to sleep for a couple more hours before deciding to start my day. But something brushes against my nose. And then there’s a poke. I open my eyelids, and as much as I know that the adoring smile that’s on Clayton’s face should warm my heart, I narrow my eyes into a glare.

How dare he wake me up.

“Oh good, you’re up,” his husky, morning voice says. Butterflies fill my stomach but I make my eyes narrow even more at his words, still upset that he woke me up. He rolls his eyes like he knows why I’m upset and rests his head back down on the pillow, not taking his eyes off of me. “You’ll get over it.”

“What time is it?” I ask through a yawn.

“Nine o'clock.”

I groan. “My body still thinks it’s five o’clock. But maybe that’s because you woke me up several times last night.” I reach my foot over to kick his thigh and he grabs it, just holding onto my ankle.

“I did? Sorry about that.”

I don’t respond, resting my head back on the pillow and closing my eyes. I just want a few minutes of peace before I have to get up and start my day. Clayton begins to laugh so I open an eye, looking over at him.

“What are you laughing at?”

“You stayed over last night.” He reaches over, lacing his fingers through mine. “And I didn’t have to convince you too.”

“More like force,” I mumble. He makes a smart remark to that but I’m too busy thinking about his words.

Shit, I did stay over last night without a second thought. In fact, I cuddled him to sleep. Is that part of this arrangement? I thought this arrangement was mainly about sex but there seems to be more of an emotional connection than sex.

I feel like I’m in a relationship again and I’m not ready for that at this point in my life. That’s the whole reason why I rejected Clayton, I feel like I’m not ready emotionally to support someone else. Even just thinking about it almost gives me a panic attack.

“So does this mean that I don’t have to hold the contract over your head anymore?”

I snap out of my thoughts, looking over at Clayton. “What?”

“Now you can just hang out with me because you want to, not because I’m forcing you to. You proved it last night,” he points out.

“I stayed with you because I knew you would say something if I tried to leave,” I half-lie, reverting my gaze to the ceiling.

“That’s bullshit and we both know it.”

“Is it? Because I tried to leave that one night and you told me that I had to stay, so why would this time be so different?” I snap, turning back to glare at him. I don’t like the direction this conversation is headed in.

“Not a morning person, I see,” he murmurs.

I scoff, throwing my feet over the side of the bed to stand up.

“Where are you going?” He inquires.

“Home.” I grab my phone from his bedside table and head out of his bedroom and to the entrance. I’m pulling my shoes onto my feet when he makes an appearance, leaning against the wall like I’m boring him.

“Come on, you’re really going to leave because of a little teasing?” He raises his eyebrows.

“I just want to go home, Clayton.” I check to make sure my Uber’s arrived before yanking open his front door.

“Dang, I didn’t know you were this dramatic when I first started seeing you.”

I freeze at the words, anger flowing through my veins, before deciding to keep my mouth shut for once. I do slam the door for effect on my way out, fuming on the ride home.

I don’t have all day to think about how annoying Clayton is because I eventually have classes to go to, and honestly, it’s the perfect distraction. The girl next to me was confused about the lesson so I explain it to her in simpler terms than the professor used as we make our way to the parking lot where Betsy’s car that I borrowed is waiting.

I glance towards the direction of where I parked the car, freezing when I see a familiar person leaning against the vehicle.

“Y/N? You okay?” The girl asks.

“Yeah,” I respond distantly. Clayton noticed that I’ve seen him and stands up straight, his famous smirk spread across his face. “Um, does that make more sense?”

“Yeah, it does,” she nods. “Thanks for your help.”

“Anytime. See you next week,” I bid, hesitantly making my way to my friend’s car. “What are you doing here?”

“Felt bad after this morning so I decided to surprise you,” he shrugs like it’s no big deal but I can tell from his tone that he’s watching me closely for a reaction.

“How did you even know where I go to school?”

“I saw your shirt once and it had the school mascot on it. And I drive past here on my way to the rink every day so I’ve seen you a couple of times,” he admits.

I nod, crossing my arms over my chest and make eye contact with him. I don’t know why I’m giving him such a hard time, it’s not like our argument was that big of a deal. He was just pointing out that I stayed the night without a protest, but I guess I don’t like that I even did that so I’m punishing him for it. I know it’s not his fault and I know it’s petty of me to be acting like this, but I want to keep the upper hand in this relationship or whatever it is.

I feel like most of our rules favor him, so if I can win minor battles like this then I feel like we’re more equals.

“So I got you an apology present.” He pulls his hands out from behind his back and presents a small, square box to me.

I give him a questioning look but he nods towards the gift, so I take it into my own hands, brushing my fingers against his, and open the top of it. A bracelet with a thin gold chain with crystals around the chain lays in the box. It’s stunning. I’m not usually the type of person to wear bracelets, but I know once I put this bracelet on I won’t be able to take it off.

“Clayton it’s gorgeous,” I murmur, unable to take my eyes off of the bracelet. I know he has a smug look on his face from my reaction but I ignore it, setting the box on the hood to pick up the bracelet.

“Let me help,” he orders, taking the bracelet from my hands gently. I hold my wrist out to him and he wraps the bracelet around my wrist, the cold metal touching my skin. He clasps it but holds my wrist in his hands for a couple more moments.

I let him.

His hands drop and he takes a step back but his eyes tell me that he doesn’t want to.

“What are you doing tomorrow night?” He asks, rubbing the back of his neck shyly. It’s his tell that he’s about to ask me something important but wants to disguise it as unimportant, so I pay attention closely.

“I might go to the club with some friends but we haven’t planned anything concrete yet. Why?” Betsy said that she wanted to have a one night stand this weekend but I don’t know if she wanted Tyler and I to be her wingmans or if it was something that she was just going to do off of Tinder.

“We have a game tomorrow night and you should come.” I give him a look of uncertainty and he laughs. “Would it make you feel better if I used the deal against you?” I nod and he laughs again. “Rule three.”

“I forgot what rule three is,” I admit.

“You have to do romantic things with me. And going to my game is romantic,” he responds, leaning against the car.

I resist the urge to yell at him that he’s going to scratch Betsy’s paint, a fear of mine since she’s letting me borrow her property for free. “You think that me watching people beat you up and you beating other people up is romantic?”

“In an odd way, yes.”

“What time is it?” I tilt my head.

He raises his arm to look at his watch. “It’s two o’clock right now-””No, dumbass, what time is your game?” I giggle.

“Oh,” he blushes in embarrassment. “It’s at seven o’clock against the Winnipeg Jets.”

I raise my eyebrows. “Am I supposed to have any clue who that is?”

He cracks a smile. “Just know that you’re supposed to be cheering for the guys in red. I’ll leave you a ticket and an arena pass at the ticket window, just make sure you have your ID on you.”

I nod, watching as he walks towards his jeep. “Oh, and Clayton?” He turns around to face me, walking backwards. “Don’t lean against the car again.”

A cheeky grin covers his face as he turns back around and I try my best to ignore my blush as I get into Betsy’s Honda.

~

The usher leads me down to my seat and I’m surprised to see that there are already a few women and children in the seats next to mine. I smile politely at them as I sit down but make no effort to talk to them, instead pulling out my phone.

They talk in hushed voices to each other, trying their best to keep their words quiet but I can still hear some of what they’re saying.

“... Clayton can get a girl so pretty. No, really, aren’t you surprised, Ashley?”

“Say something to her!”

“But Clayton told us not to talk to her otherwise we’ll scare her off.”

Oh, so they know Clayton. How do they know Clayton? They’re gorgeous girls, don’t get me wrong, but they can’t be his hookups. He wouldn’t be as disrespectful to sit me next to his hookups, right? And they wouldn’t be friends if he was with all of them.

“Since when does Clayton control us, Rachel?”

“Fine, then you say something to her.”

“Hi.” At the word my head snaps up and I turn to see the brunette in the group is the one who’s talking to me. The two blondes are watching our conversation. “You’re with Clayton, right?”

“Something like that.”

She nods like she understands. “I’m Abby, Nick Schmaltz’s girlfriend, he plays on the team with Clayton. This is Rachel, Taylor Hall’s girlfriend and Ashley, Jordan Oesterle’s fiance.”

They look at each other excitedly, which I assume means they’re freshly engaged.

“So tell us more about yourself,” Rachel encourages, “Do you go to school?”

“Um, yeah, I go to a college not far from here.”

“Cool, what are you studying?”

I’m trying to be polite but this just feels weird to me. With the situation that Clayton and I are in, I’m not sure why he would invite me to his game and knowingly seat me next to some of the WAGs. It seems like something too intimate, something that a girlfriend would do and not a sugar baby.

I understand if he wants me to go to his games but to introduce me to people like I’m staying around for a while strikes me as odd.

We chat for a while before the game starts, then the conversation kind of dies down as we all focus on the game. I know hockey a little bit but I don’t know all of the rules so the girls explain some things for me when I rarely ask questions. I don’t want them to think that I’m dumb, even though I don’t know why I care what they think of me, so I keep most of my questions to myself and remain clueless.

I guess the Coyotes lose because the stadium is quiet as the game comes to an end.

“Are you coming to the locker room with us?” Abby asks as they stand up and collect their things.

“Oh, um, I’m not sure if Clayton would like that,” I confess.

“Well you have an arena pass so I’m assuming that he wants you to,” Rachel answers, motioning to the lanyard that I forgot was around my neck.

I follow them down to the locker room as they chat about the game, only answering questions when they direct them to me.

I wait awkwardly as all of these big men leave the locker room, approaching their WAG and greeting them before leaving with a friendly smile.

Abby, Rachel, and Ashley introduce me to their partners who exchange some kind words with me before leaving. All three girls make sure to get my phone number, promising me pedicures and a coffee.

I’m overwhelmed by the time Clayton exits the locker room and approaches me with a teammate in tow.

“So I heard that you lost,” I blurt out, unsure of what to say.

He smiles and the friend behind him laughs loudly and I quickly apologize at my words.

“So how did you like the game?” Clayton inquires.

“It was good,” I nod.

“Oh, um, Y/N this is my roommate and teammate, Christian. Christian, this is the girl that I was telling you about, Y/N,” the brunette introduces us and I reach out to shake his roommate’s hand.

What does ‘this is the girl that I was telling you about’ supposed to mean? What has he told him about me? Has he told him about our deal? Damn, I should’ve included a non-disclosure rule in the contract.

“Come back to our house with me,” Clayton demands. I roll my eyes but nod, knowing there’s not much place for argument.

And somehow I end up in his bed again.

“If I fall asleep here, wake me up,” I order, already feeling my eyes droop.

He doesn’t take me seriously because once again, I wake up in his bed.

[hutchhitched]

Social Commentary on The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes, Part II

I made it through Part 2 before I attempted to go to bed last night. I didn’t end up sleeping, so apologies for any half-baked (pun intended) ideas and commentary. Admittedly, I don’t have as much on this part, but it’s certainly not because I don’t love every speck of this book. It’s so good, and it’s brilliantly woven and presented to us. If you want to read my commentary on Part 1, it’s here.

Spoilers below:

 It didn’t take long into Part 2 for the third book title to appear. Lucy Gray mentions mockingjays, and Snow seems lost. It’s convenient that she can’t explain what she means because I’m positive that’s going to come up again in the next part, and I’m sure it’s going to have a very important role. Otherwise, Snow wouldn’t be so put off by and intrigued by one (Katniss) in the original trilogy.

 One thing that stuck out for me in Part 2 is the December 15 date, a sort of Memorial Day for fallen military heroes mentioned in chapter 12 (National Heroes Day). The date itself didn’t ring any bells for me, but I know by now that Collins doesn’t do anything without it having a meaning, so I googled…wait for it…the date of the Sandy Hook Massacre. December 14. The next day is December 15, when Panem honors the fallen and delivers a gift basket full of luxury items to the families who lost loved ones. A gift basket full of “thoughts and prayers” would do just about as much good as we memorialize the dead in the days following a mass shooting but then allow the war to keep raging. The same could be said for the way we say “Thank you for your service” to military vets but do a terrible job of helping them with PTSD and re-entry into society. I do love the turkey story, though. At least Snow got some food out of the deal.

 I really love that we know now where the muttations come from in this world. Dr. Gaul is absolutely wacko, and I can’t quite figure out how much power she has. In fact, I can’t really figure out how much power anyone has. The President is remarkably absent. Dr. Gaul is there and seems to like Snow, but there’s no sense that she can protect him from Dean Highbottom, who seems to have the most direct influence over Snow. I just can’t figure out why. What kind of connections does Highbottom have that allow him to manipulate Snow’s life so completely? Clearly, there’s some bad blood between Snow’s father and Highbottom, and I’m waiting anxiously for that reveal. Also, that wasn’t a throwaway in Part 1 when we find out Highbottom was the one who came up with the idea of the Games in the first place. That’s got to factor in again. He’s hiding something, and Snow’s father is most likely a Very Bad Man.

 Dr. Gaul’s name is fabulous, too, although I’m sure there’s a lot of symbolism I’m not really getting about it. Gaul was a Roman province during the Empire—basically where the country of France is today. Gaul sacked a Roman city or two and embarrassed Rome, and Rome retaliated by conquering Gaul for the next few hundred years. I’ve oversimplified it, but that’s the gist. Why does Dr. Gaul have that name? Not sure, but maybe that’s coming in Part 3. I love that she’s a woman, too. Suzanne Collins doesn’t have time for that BS about women being naturally more nurturing and good than men.

 Which brings us to Lucy Gray. That snake charming thing she had going on was absolutely amazing. Lucky Gray is manipulative and charming and a performer and hiding something, and I am here for it. She’s smart, and she uses all the weapons at her disposal to survive while still retaining some humanity by caring for Jessup after his demise. I do not think she’s a hero. I’m not even sure she’s a flawed hero. I don’t trust her at all, but I admire her plucky spirit. She’s got levels I haven’t seen yet.

 And Snow loves her, which is just…I’m waiting for the climax. I think Lucy Gray is playing him, and I’ve felt that way since she first met him. There’s a connection there, yes, but Snow’s proven many times in this book that the world doesn’t work the way he thinks it should. He’s been surprised too many times. He’s tried to hold on and control things, but events happen that he doesn’t want, and all he can do is respond to them as best he can. He’s not doing very well at that. At all.

 The Games take second place for me in this book, which I think is pretty deliberate. This is Snow’s story, after all, and he’s not in the Hunger Games. Except he is because Dr. Gaul sends him into the arena (and Highbottom says they’re all in the Games, which is another throwaway that will come back, I’m sure). She wants to teach him a lesson and then gives him a homework assignment on it. It’s telling that he admits he wanted to kill the tributes. Not for self-defense but because they’re a perceived threat. He admits he wanted to kill them even after he’s back to safety, which shows his slide. And the homework assignment of having to write about Chaos, Contract, and Control, which he can’t do. And his attempt to extort money from the Plinths that he can’t execute and simply accepts their thanks and food. And his resolve to stop cheating and win the right way, his examination of the slippery slope and his justifications and so on. Because we’ve all been there. Justifying something and saying “no more!” and then messing up again. It could be any of us. It really could.

 Random things before I stop:

 The Capitol citizens are not the vapid, materialistic, soulless people we see in the original trilogy. Sure, there’s some of that there, but it’s nothing like it will be 64 years later.

 The development of the Games is interesting. The drones and betting and sponsors and the first intervention with the snakes and lack of cameras are all things that develop over time. The Tenth Games are a completely different world than the ones Katniss and Peeta experience.

 Snow really, really, really cannot convince people that Sejanus is not his friend. Ever felt like you’ve screamed something into the void a million times and no one takes it seriously? Yeah, I hear him on that one. Perception, not reality, is everything, in this case.

 After the housing crisis of 2008, I can understand the fear Snow has of losing his home. The war destroyed his family’s fortune and will result in losing their home and status. That (and really bad deregulation of industry and a lot of mismanagement and corruption) did that for a lot of people when the housing market crashed.

 Snow hopes for so much as the Games wind down. He wants Lucy Gray back (as his girlfriend? as a possession? as someone who finally “gets” him?), and what he gets is a peacekeeper position instead of the Plinth Prize and a relationship. I’m positive his interaction with Lucy Gray isn’t over. Perhaps he’s shipped off to District 12 where she breaks his heart all over again? The Covey’s coming, isn’t it?

 There’s so much to cover in Part 3. Onward!

 (PS, I don’t like Snow, by the way. I don’t think he’s evil in this book, but he’s no angel. He’s reacting poorly to circumstances and making bad choices, but he’s also trying to hold things together just like any person does. Nothing excuses his later behavior, but he’s becoming a villain, not born one.)

[puckngrind]

Skating lessons part 1

Summary: You are the mom of a 4 year old hockey lover who meets Josh Anderson during a public skate.

Warnings: None

Word count: 1781

Series Masterlist

“Momma, Momma, Momma!” Your excited preschooler comes skating up to where you were perched on boards near the bench.  “Did you see that?”  Mason was already sweating from being on the ice for a little over half an hour during the open skate.  You were in your typical Blue Jacket sweatshirt and gloves but still cold.  

“Yes baby!  I did.”  you leaned over the boards to give your sweet baby boy a kiss before he skated off.  You never would have guessed you would be a hockey mom.  Your dad got Mason on the ice when he was really little and he took off.  You loved when there were open skates at the Ice Haus, next to the arena because you could get to the bench without having to get on the ice.  You were not a skater by most standards.  While you could skate without having a death grip on the wall, you didn’t trust your ankle which took too much abuse over the years of playing sports.  You much preferred watching you kid skate his heart out from the comforts of the bench or behind the plexiglass.

Mason skated over to you again asking you to show him how to do a rocking horse.  Showing him the back and forth motions with your hands he still wasn’t getting it.  Then you pulled out your phone to look up a video.  “Hold on sweetie,  I’ll look up a video for you to see, okay?”  As you type away, you hear a voice coming up the ramp behind you.

“Hey bud, what is it that you want to learn how to do?”  You glance up to see a man dressed in what looks like practice gear striding towards the ice and looking straight at your son.  Mason just froze there staring up at the giant who was now on the ice with him.  

“He wants to know how to do the rocking horse.”  You interjected drawing the man’s attention to you.  He was wearing a helmet but it wasn’t really on his head correctly.  He was too tall even with you standing up in front of the bench to see what number was on it if there was one.  What you couldn’t get past were the piercing blue eyes which seemed to be reading you like a book.

“Oh bud, that’s easy.   Want to head to the center of the ice and I’ll show you.”  The man said while reaching out for Mason’s hockey gloved hand.  The two skated to the center and he showed Mason how to rock back and forth on his skates then showed him how to use the move while playing.  The man leaned down to Mason after about 10 minutes.  Pointed to the other end and Mason went skating off.  The man then skated back towards were you were standing there.  “How old is he?”  

“He’s almost 5 but has been skating since he was 2.”  You said while trying not to get lost in his eyes.

“He’s a natural for sure.  Reminds me of how excited I was when I would get on the ice at his age.  Is he in classes?”  He paused waiting for you to answer and when you didn’t say anything the man continued, “I’m Josh by the way.  And are you are Mason’s mom?”  There was a smirk on his face when he took off his glove and reached out his hand.

“Oh, yes, yes.  I’m (y/n).  Nice to meet you.  And yes, Mason is playing hockey this fall since he’s old enough.  So, are you a...”  pointing to the emblem on his practice jersey.

Josh quickly cut you off, “Yeah, I play for the Jackets, we have an optional skate after the open skate.  I just came out early when I saw you and Mason.  Do you go to games?” Gesturing to your sweatshirt.

“Not really.  My parents take Mason. I’m sure he knew exactly who you were.  He knows all the players.  I know your names and numbers but don’t really get to watch watch the games.”  You laugh nervously as Josh leans on the boards just turning slightly to see Mason still practicing the moves he showed him.  

“Yeah, he asked me if I was friends with Seth.  Way to knock a guy down.”  Josh threw back his head and laughed.  Of course you child asked about Seth Jones.  He wanted to BE Seth Jones.  Seth was about the only player you would be able to recognize his face because Mason had several posters thanks to your dad.

“Oh, I’m so sorry.  Preschoolers don’t really come with filters.”  You tugged at the pocket of your hoodie as Josh leaned closer to you.

“It’s okay.  I told him Seth was my favorite player too.”  Josh smiled at you again and you know you are blushing by this point.  “I could help him.  Not really coach him but we have open ice times that no one really uses.  He can come and we can skate. You can even get out there too.”  Josh looks down your body at your feet were there are chucks and not skates.

“Uh, yeah.  I mean, YES!  That would be great for Mason but I do much better on the bench cheering from the sidelines.”  You met his smile with one of your own.  One that reached your eyes, which you know hasn’t happened in awhile.

“Nope, If I’m going to use the ice to help Mason you are getting on it too.  At least a few times.  I’ll let you sit there with your coffee of choice a few times but (y/n), you are going to have to get out here too.”

“Fine, fine.  You have a deal.”  Mason had skated over to you by this point as open skate was over.  You exchanged numbers with Josh and went to get Mason out of his skates to head home.

A few days later you get a text:

Josh: What size shoe are you?

You: 9.5 in women's...why?

Josh: Thanks!  See you tomorrow at 7 ⛸

You: Um, okay.  Yes, 7 

Josh: And your favorite coffee? ☕️

You: are we playing 20 questions?  Caramel latte

Josh: maybe....thx 🧐

You didn’t know exactly what to make of your texts with Josh.  You figured he would use your number to plan ice time for Mason or cancel if something came up for the team.  Now he was asking questions about your shoe size and coffee likings.  A professional hockey player.  Asking YOU these things.  You brushed it off and finished getting ready for the day.

Mason practically jumped out of the car when you arrived in the arena district.  He had his hockey back in tow and wasn’t exactly excited he had to hold your hand to cross the street.  Josh was in the lobby when you walked in.  This time with Blue Jackets sweats on, his skates already on, and a coffee in hand.

“Mason, my dude!  Are you ready?”  Mason fist bumps Josh and runs over to a bench to start getting ready with what he can put on himself.  Josh turns his attention to you.  “And this is for you...” as he hands you the caramel latte “and so are these.”  He slides over a box that was sitting on the counter.  You put down the coffee, looked up at him, then opened the box. Inside were navy ice skates and a pair of blue jackets socks sticking out of the top.  “So I assumed you didn’t have skates and you didn’t seem to have long socks on the other day...so...I fixed that.” He had his hand on his neck and you noticed his cheeks were flushed.  Were they like that before?  You couldn’t remember.

“Oh, Josh, you shouldn’t have.  But thank you.”  You pulled out the socks and the skates.

“Already sharpened and ready to go.”  He was already bending down to help Mason with his skates while you sat down next to him.

You followed Josh and Mason towards the ice.  Mason practically runs when he gets to the door.  He is mid-ice before you even make it there.  Josh skates onto the ice with so much grace it makes you over think the whole idea of getting on the ice.  As you step on the ice, you can feel your brain getting in the way.  Josh turns to make sure you were behind him.  You go to skate towards him and then it happens.  You try to catch yourself but it makes things worse.  Josh goes to steady you but your momentum was too much.  You land on top of Josh.  On TOP of Josh Anderson.  

“Oh, my.  I’m sorry.” As you attempt to pick yourself up.  Your face the same color as the lines under the ice.

“I’m not.”  You hear him say under his breath as you finally get to your knees and off of him.  He quickly stands and helps you up off the ice.

“Do you two need a room?”  you hear a voice coming from the doorway.  And a squeal coming from center ice.  You turn to see Seth Jones smiling at you and Josh.   You don’t even get a chance to respond as Mason skates past you and Josh right in front of his idol.

“I asked Seth to come by to see Mason.  Hope you don’t mind.”  Josh pulls you to his side as he leans down to whisper to you.  “Seth wanted to see what kid put me in my place.”  You look up at Josh very aware of how many points of contact your bodies had and you quickly made some room between you.

“Seriously, thank you.  I don’t know how to repay you for this?” You finally had the courage to look up at Josh after watching Mason interact with Seth.

“Dinner?”  Josh’s face mirrored yours in color and you could swear you could get lost in the ocean of his eyes if you looked long enough.

“Huh?  What?  You want to have dinner with me?  And Mason?”  You clarified trying not to jump to conclusions.

“I meant just you but if you don’t have anyone to watch Mason...I guess...” “Yes.” You cut him off before he could invite Mason to dinner.  “My parents love keeping him and my dad will say yes after he finds out it’s with you.”  

“Okay.  I’ll text you to arrange and maybe pick up our 20 questions game.  Now let’s get you skating, okay?  Go ahead and take my hand that way we don’t both end up on the ice again.” Josh grabbed your hand before you could even answer and started to skate. 

[krreader]

BTS reacting to their pregnant wife doing something dangerous.

pairing: bts x reader fandom: bts warnings: language genre: crack ; fluff ; hints of angst

a/n: did you know that taking a bath is dangerous for pregnant women? I didn’t include that but I thought it was super interesting lol (#fact of the daaaay). enjoy this babes

ask box | masterlist | masterlist for original stories | fandoms | faq

kim seokjin

You and Jin were walking through the city when someone from his company called.

He was so focused on the call, that he didn't notice your hand slipping from his. It was only when a car honked, that he dropped his phone, took three large steps towards you and pulled you back just in time, before it could have hit you.

“(Y/N), what the hell? Oh my god, what the hell, it almost hit you!” he instantly checked whether or not you were hurt, even though he knew he had pulled you back before anything could have happened.

“I.. I didn't see it,” you mumbled, staring after the car and pointing towards the baby shop on the other side of the street, “They sell Disney jumpers there.”

Jin let out a sigh and pulled you towards him, gently running his hand up and down your back, “You need to be more careful, Jagi.. please..-” “I'm sorry,” you whispered against his neck, “I will be, I promise.”

min yoongi

You wanted to support your husband for his concert, but then you had forgotten your VIP pass at home and the security at the door wouldn't let you in because they were new and didn't know you yet. So the only person you did know was at the regular front door, who let you in right away.. with a shit ton of other fans, who were all pushing to get the best spots in the arena.

That's when Yoongi called you.

“Where the hell are you?!”

“Uh.. in the middle of your..- ouch! Fans. I'm trying to push through.”

For a moment he was silent, before whispering, “Are you telling me you went in through the front door, even though you’re eight months pregnant?!”

“Well, they wouldn't let me in through the back entrance, what was I supposed to do?!”

“Fucking hell, (Y/N). Go wait somewhere at the side, I'll come and get you.”

He wouldn't let you go all the way into the arena with his fans. He knew how pushy people could be and he was too scared something might happen to you or the baby.

jung hoseok

Hoseok was super busy these days and because your kid was expected to arrive relatively soon, you had decided to be the man in the house and finish the nursery yourself.

Basically, nothing was set up yet.

Hoseok had told you he'd do it eventually, but then so many things came up and now the boxes were just standing around like they had arrived months ago.

And so when he came home that night and found you furiously hammering on.. something, he immediately grabbed your wrist and stopped you.

“Don't do that!”

“Well, someone has to! You're not here to do it, and I don't want our baby to be born without having a proper room.”

Your husband let out a sigh and crouched down next to you, “I told you.. I'd do it, it's just.. a lot right now.”

“I know. And I don't mind doing this, really.”

“But you shouldn't be doing it. You need to rest, not build a nursery,” he would have to figure out a way to get a few days off, so that you wouldn't build it yourself.

Which you would, he knew that.

kim namjoon

“Namjoooooon,” you whined, “Your child wants cookies.”

“You want cookies,” he said simply, continuing to write in his notebook, “Go get them if you want them, I can't right now.”

“Fine,” you huffed, getting out of bed and waddling into the kitchen.

It was only about three minutes later that Namjoon remembered where he had stored the cookies. And that's when he dashed into the kitchen and found you balancing on a chair, desperately trying to reach the cookies.

“Are you fucking insane?!”

“Well, you didn't want to get them for me!”

“Just..- just get down from there, okay?”

Easier said than done. He realized that too when he spent the next five minutes trying to get you down that chair.

Lesson learned. Whatever his wife wanted, his wife would get. A good life lesson, according to you.

park jimin

Jimin appreciated what you were trying to do here, accompanying him to an important charity event. But see, the first hour or two, everyone was merely standing around and greeting each other or introducing one person to the other.

And with how far along you were, he didn't like it that you were standing this long. Because you refused to go inside and sit somewhere, since you came here to support your husband.

“Please, jagi.. just go inside.”

“No. I'll go when you go.”

“I don't know when I'll go,” he put one hand on your belly, “You need to sit down. I'll try to be inside as quickly as I can, I promise.”

“No.”

Why the hell were you so stubborn?!

“Excuse me?” a guy, maybe around 19, who seemed to be working for the event suddenly stood next to you and your husband with a chair, a small smile on his face, “I was wondering if you might want this?”

“Bless you,” Jimin smiled from ear to ear and took the chair out of his hand, “Here. You can still be with me but you can sit. Is that a deal?”

Fucking finally. Your feet were killing you. Not that you'd ever tell him that.

kim taehyung

“Hey, hey, hey, hold on,” Taehyung got up from the couch and ran in front of you to stop you from walking any further.. in those heels, “Why are you wearing these?!”

“Because we're going to an award show and I don't want to look like a trash bag.”

“(Y/N), you..-” he sighed, rubbing his temples, “Just.. get out of those, please. I don't want you to wear heels when you're this far along. I don't want you to fall or something like that.”

“They're just heels, Taehyung..”

“Just.. please. Please, wear something else. Anything else.”

If he hadn't looked so determined you would have shrugged it off. But honestly, your ankles were already hurting anyways, and some flats sounded good right about now.

“Fine. But if one person says something bad about me, because I'm not wearing heels..-”

“I'll personally kick their asses,” your husband chuckled and helped you take them off a moment later.

jeon jeongguk

Your husband had invited the rest of the boys over for a barbecue, but because the boys were all too busy doing god knows what and your baby wanted to eat, it was time for you to take matters into your own hands and be the chef for today.

And when Jeongguk walked outside with a beer, he fell out of all clouds when he saw you handling a fucking grill, with your huge ass baby bump.

“What are you doing?” he immediately grabbed your shoulders and pulled you back, inspecting you for any wounds.

“Making myself dinner, because you and your friends are too busy drinking,” you shrugged and wanted to return to the task at hand, but Jeongguk gently pushed you back into the house.

“Absolutely not. Go inside, sit down and I'll finish this for you.”

There was no way he'd let you out of his sight again for the duration of this pregnancy, that was for sure.

[crqstalite]

SHADOW OF THE SITH, Ch. 10

oh god this took a whole weekend to write. and it’s reigning champ at 12.3k words, the most i’ve EVER written, especially since most of this chapter isn’t a dialogue dump. have fun my friends, for this is the finale of the shadow arc. and probably the last chapter that’ll work on tri’ama, theron, and naji for a while, because there are more characters arriving once we hit ziost!

-

TRI'AMA._DROMOUND_KAAS

"Get up!" The feminine voice yells loudly as she hits the roughly ground again, and something comes loose out of her mouth and she coughs hard as it scrapes the back of her throat.

Tri'ama is really beginning to hate dueling with her siblings.

Hell, she's beginning to hate fighting in general.

Wasn't like she ever had a chance.

She just barely picks herself up off the durasteel ground, blood pooling out of her mouth and spitting out a tooth as pain comparable to fire races up her arm. It's a back one, she can tell from it's shape as it falls from her mouth, coated in the iron red substance, so she's not overly concerned about her appearance to anyone after she leaves the training room. Still, it stings as she runs a tongue over it and her attention darts to the overlook, where Raegia, Scorvs and Kadasha stand. Her younger sister looks visibly terrified with a finger nervously twirling a strand of dark hair around it, while Scorvs looks indifferent with his arms crossed behind the two women. Raegia, or Rage-ia as she likes to deem her, is blazing with her fury written all over her face.

The pureblood matriarch is frustrated with her, Tri'ama can feel it through the Force. This always happened whenever she couldn't match the skillset that Typarnk had, and she often retaliated in a way that humiliated her.

Tri'ama wondered if she ever registered that she was her adopted daughter, not a trained arena brawler that could simply do whatever she wanted to whenever she ordered it. She was a child no less. Sith or not, Tri'ama wasn't meant for this.

"Typarnk isn't even pushing you hard, Tri'ama. There's a warrior buried in you, and I did not bring you here for you to continue to fail!" Lightning jumps from the woman's fingertips in the midst of her annoyance, and the two children closest to her back away her routinely, "Typarnk, push the attack. Give Tri'ama a challenge, maybe she'll push back when faced with the reality of real injury."

She wants to scream, she wants to yell.  What she wants to do is force choke Raegia (she was entirely capable of force choking at this age, but it was difficult to regulate and took a lot out of her), maybe even run out of the training arena entirely. Tri'ama wants to be everywhere but here, a nine year old girl pitted against her thirteen year old brother. Curiously, she wonders what every other nine year old girl is up to today, something normal perhaps. With friends, with family, maybe down in the forum. Blazes, anything else than being beaten down over and over again by someone older, wiser and stronger than them. No one elses' guardians had to be like this, it had to just be the Amarillis' that took her in, instead of someone sane. Tri'ama throws a pleading glance to her brother, and his vermillion red eyes soften at her broken form, "Mother, she's clearly had enough. She's been hit hard, I don't know what lesson you're trying to get across but people are going to assume you're abusing her -- or worse that you've taken a child for a slave."

Ouch, that one stung a bit. Yes, she was human, compared to the pureblooded Amarillis family, but having slaves wasn't above the Amarillis legacy in the slightest. She already suffered enough at the hands of other children when she was allowed off the estate property and the bruises were not assisting her reputation in the slightest, "She's nine, not nineteen. Pale skin doesn't hide bruises well either., as I'm sure you're beginning to realize."

Tri'ama tries not to smile. At least he's standing up for her at all, he could throw her into a wall and be praised for it, but instead he tries to protect her at the risk of rebuttal from their guardian.

"Are you talking back to me, Typarnk Amarillis?" She hisses loudly, and Typarnk lowers his gaze from the balcony at the scolding, Tri'ama by extension of the yelling, "Do tell, did you become all powerful because I thought you didn't need to be trained at her age because the galaxy is all hunky-dory? Coruscant has just been sacked, and as pitiful as the Republic is, they will retaliate. I will not watch my legacy fall to a bunch of force-wielding toddlers!" She rubs her temples as Kadasha shrinks back into her brother's strong form in mild fear, and turns her attention back to the field, "Typarnk, I asked you specifically to assist me in training her. I did not say be merciful, I said prepare her for war. Am I clear?"

"Yes, mother." A grimace crosses his face as he considers his blade, lower his head as his black hair falls in his face in defeat. He's nothing more than a teenager, a young one at that. He can't stop what was already coming. Tri'ama strains to resummon her own thrown blade to her hands with the Force, and takes up a defensive stance in Shii-cho. She doesn't want to continue to fight Typarnk/ Raegia and Yusaits had been less than loving to all four of them (she can name a few times she was convinced her family hated her), but her older brother had always tried to protect her from the worst of it. Not to say she'd even be able to wound him with her current set of abilities, but if a show is what Raegia wants, Tri'ama can't continue to deliver without something giving. There just isn't enough that she knows, and not enough power to harness properly. Raegia has made it clear that just because she is human doesn't mean she will be treated any differently than the rest of the brood, and while at one point she was grateful for this acceptance in her adoptive family, she's beginning to resist what the woman is doing. At first, all she'd wanted was to belong. But now, she wishes whoever her real parents were had taken her with them instead of giving her to literal psychopaths.

Every other nine year old isn't worried about what kind of abuse would come next from their guardians -- their parents, that would be doled out by a sibling ten times stronger than you.

The hum of Typarnk's golden training blade becomes louder and louder as he makes to swing at her. Due to her continued losses against her stronger brothers, her fighting style has become uniquely defensive against them. Parry here, a block there, a barely resisted force push there. Tri'ama is notorious among the Amarillis family to be a slippery one to catch (that admittedly was rather easy to disable if someone gained on her strategy and took her out that way), and she prizes herself on that. Typarnk clearly isn't looking to actually inflict any of thedamage as Raegia requests, so she tries to regain her breath as she bolts around the training arena. No fancy saber throws, no unsolicited force choking, nothing that could seriously wound her. It was part of an agreement between brother and sister, and so far it had yet to be broken. The tooth was only the fifth transgression of hundreds of battles. She can trust him.

He's one of the few people on this blasted planet that she can even begin to trust. This was all she'd ever known, yes, but that didn't mean she had to like it. It meant she had to roll over and take it, but it didn't mean she had be completely complacent about it.

It isn't until she's on her knees again, this time with a nasty headache pounding behind her eyes that is making her see double does she begin to consider she's not cut out to be Sith. Korriban is used to weed out the weak among the prospects, and she's half afraid that she won't last a week on the red dustball when Raegia eventually sent her there for her trials. Typarnk is very clearly apologetic for the brute force he'd used after clocking her good on the back of her skull with the butt of his saber hilt, and deactivates the training sabers electricity to bend down and tip her head up to inspect for lasting and immediate injuries, "Nasty bruise you've got there, right on your nose. Your nose may be broken, but I'm sure mother would like to put 'Dasha's meager skills to use here." Tri'ama winces at the thought as he presses the pad of his thumb on her cheek, wiping away a tear that is surely biting through the dirt, blood and grime on her face, "You can do this, I know you can. Don't let her get to you, a couple years from now you'll be the only one of us to disown yourself from the family and not be scorned for it."

She wants to hug him, hell she wants to run away with him as far as she can. Kadasha was too young to understand the pain she went through, having an affinity for lightning like their father and working with him at the Sanctum most of the time, and Scorvs was much too apathetic to truly even care about what Tri'ama is going through. She wasn't sure there was anything her other older brother knew about, other than his own research into the Sith military forces. Kadasha had yet to endure what she had, but she has her own concerns about the little girl and her training. The six year old would suffer one day as she was, and Tri'ama didn't want to see her cry.

Why her guardians couldn't they find two seconds out of their day to maybe consider that their adopted daughter would respond better to less violent measures of training, years later the answer still alluded her. Praise from Baras was what propelled her to do better and better on her given assignments, Sith thrived on passion. This was simply stifling.

They simply didn't care, often was one she pondered on for ages at a time. Sith did as they pleased, no matter how others reacted.

"Mother stop!" Kadasha is screaming in a tiny voice, and turning her head painfully from Typarnk's face to the doors on the other side of the arena, she can see the two of the little girl racing after her mother's long stride as her vision only blurs further. Raegia isn't happy, and Tri'ama is nearly shrinking into herself as she realizes why she's down here. Raegia rarely came down onto the training field herself unless she had an ulterior motive and, or, had something intended for the fighters on the field, "Mother!"

Typarnk stands protectively in front of her, wanting to say something to his mother, maybe even to fight back against her punishment, but is quickly shoved away by a force blast before he can do anything. He skids to the ground with a groan, a mop of black hair covering his eyes as she quickly swivels her head back to face Raegia. Her callused hand slaps her cheek hard, Tri'ama not even expecting it initially, and on accident, maybe even on purpose her long, sharp nails dig into her skin. She can already feel the blood dribbling down and out of the large cut, and bites down on her bottom lip to keep from crying, the metallic liquid seeping into her mouth, "I don't think I have to even try to explain why you deserved that, whelp."

The high accent is disturbingly annoying to hear now, reminding Tri'ama that Raegia is high and mighty, and will always be that way, "Yes, Raegia." She whispers, sweat still dripping down her forehead in rivers.

"You are Sith, and you carry the Amarillis name. You may not be my child by birth, but you are by my choosing. Becoming Sith is not an attainable status for those that refuse to work for it, and you will not continue to disappoint me or you will die in your near future from your own mistakes, Tri'ama. Is that understood?" Raegia questions, tipping her head up to look at her directly. She groans inaudibly, and nods. These may very well be the kindest words she's said to her to date, actually recognizing her as an Amarillis, and the woman releases her less than gentle hold on her chin before turning over her shoulder to look at the balcony, "Scorvs, you good for nothing akk pup, get down here and get your sister some kolto. Kadasha, you're to return with me for your meditation this afternoon. Typarnk, make yourself useful and see whether your father needs you for anything. And you, whelp, when you've gotten yourself stable, see to beginning your records for the day. Hopefully you'll learn something this time and not successfully lay yourself out like a welcome mat tomorrow."

And with that, the imposing woman (mother somehow) is gone, her cape fluttering behind her in the wind. Out of her sight now, Tri'ama slumps against her brother's form, heading pounding and sweat dribbling down her forehead. Kadasha's gaze lingers over her, and she looks at her hands longingly. Raegia is right, the girl has been learning the necessary components to begin to force heal, but it would be nowhere near powerful enough to render the need for kolto obsolete, "Go on ahead, Dasha. Wouldn't want Raegia mad at you too." Tri'ama rasps to her younger sister, vision swimming.

Kadasha is clearly conflicted for the moment, but hugs her older sister tightly anyways before running off after their guardian and following her out of the building. True to her words, Scorvs lazily makes his way down to the training area with an assorted medical box as Typarnk helps her up. Yusaits will have words for her later, before healing whatever is making her see double of both brothers. That would be a conversation that she did not want to be having now.

The kolto numbs away the pain for the time being, but the scars never go away. The bruises are ugly, blue and purple on her cheeks for days, and the dazed feeling doesn't vacate her head until the third day afterwards. Yusaits' healing numbs her alright, but it's because of the pain of Sith healing is why she doesn't feel it. She's successfully out for three days because of it, swimming through a pool of tears and pain. It's as if she's in a coma, without the loss of complete consciousness. She can feel it in her very bones -- her very soul every time that she moves, cries erupting from her throat that's on fire every moment of the day. She can barely speak those days.

That day alone is one of the final nails in the coffin. Raegia's abuse disguised as constructive criticism for years on end is the reason she goes through with becoming Sith, if only to prove that she was wrong about her.

And prove she does.

When she returns to the Amarillis estate as the Emperor's Wrath shortly before being recruited by Arkous to deal with the Revanites, it's Typarnk on the ground before her, bleeding from multiple cuts and a bruise blooming on his arm. It is Scorvs who lays unmoving yards away from her, after being pushed away into a wall. It is Kadasha who has to always be on the defensive, parrying ever too slowly and ending up hurt. Amber eyes begging her to stop, but she continues on without mercy. It is her who stands at the end, looking down upon her siblings with a gaze akin to that of a bloodthirsty predator.

And it is Raegia who begs her to stop, when it is all too much as she watches her children continue to be steamrolled underneath her power.

The scar underneath her eye that the Amarillis matriarch dealt her all those years ago remains as an ugly reminder to why she stands for what she does within the Empire. She stands for strength, and won't fall in the face of an adversary, no matter who they are to her.

She is Darth Amarillis-Quinn. She is the Emperor's Wrath. She is no one's whelp any longer.

-

TRI’AMA._YAVIN_IV.

The day starts off rather normally, a little too normally if she's being honest. Not with everything looming, should it be so peaceful. The wildlife is, for once, quiet though. There is no chittering of the birds today, as she cracks open one eye and then the other. No nightmares or odd omens the night prior, and she sits up without any pain in her lower back.

Tri'ama wakes up alone.

The constant thumping of small drops on the tent's roof signals to her that it's raining, as it seems to always be on Yavin. After so long of being off Dromound Kaas, Tri'ama is beginning to readjust to the weather patterns of the Emperor's planets. It never let up before, but as they grow closer and closer to the battle against Revan, the air is charged with an electricity she can only pinpoint as that of the Emperor's influence. It only reminds her of their goal, and why the mission is so important. He'd been weakened considerably by the Hero of Tython, she can't help but be annoyed that he couldn't finish the job outright. She wouldn't be here if he had. She wouldn't have bandages wrapped around her once, twice, three times, soaked through with dry blood or a nearly broken wrist if he did.

Tri'ama changes them out skillfully, still managing to nearly crush her bad wrist before rolling it around a few times. She inhales shakily, trying to remember how Quinn had applied bandages before and attempting to copy the motions herself with unsteady hands. The application is uneven at best, but it would have to do for now. Infections didn't matter if she were dead.

Vette had retrieved her armor from the Fury the night prior, and looking upon the red, white and black armor, she runs a pale hand over the durasteel. It's nothing like the Sith guards would wear, not nearly as heavy nor as much coverage. But, it would do better than the primarily fabric armor she'd worn during the entire excursion through Rishi and their missions through the jungle planet. It isn't extremely light either, she finds as she slips it on over the undersuit she wears. Whether it will protect her from a lightsaber or well-placed bolt of lightning would have to be seen, but she places her fate and trust in it for now. Agility mattered most, for someone that could not be caught could not be realistically killed. Tightening the straps around the breast plate, she finds a sense of security in the Imperial insignia emblazoned in a small corner of the metal, and fingers over it before hooking her sabers on her belt and equipping the other pieces of her armor.

As much as she wishes she had someone beside her, maybe Vette to make sarcastic comments on her choice of armor (Vette had something against her being in full Imperial suits, so Tri'ama didn't make it a habit to wear anything that screamed Sith), or Pierce's apathy over her decision (Pierce didn't have the same eye for fashion that she and their Twi'lek companion did, but was good company), or even Jaesa to inquire over more Sith teachings while she got dressed(Jaesa didn't care for fashion in the slightest, though she and Vette were getting closer to changing her taste in clothes), she knows it was dangerous already. All three of them, four if you counted Broonmark, were ready to haul jets at the first sign of trouble, though they'd all argued against her very sound and very well-thought out contigency plan. Somehow, some way, she'd made such an impact on them over the years that none of them were willing to leave her behind if the Emperor had his way and destroyed Yavin, and that alone was terrifying. What had made them stick around so long if not only for the benefits of her being Sith? It wasn't as they weren't well off with her, no one wanted for much because of the allowance they received from her. So much so that Vette had been visibly frustrated at the idea of her leaving them to their own devices -- permanently that she made her promise to come back to them, or so help her she would be coming down guns blazing and kicking the Emperor's arse into the next millenia.

Oh how Tri'ama loved her adopted sister. Only she would threaten using her two holdout blasters to kill an ancient evil, and make light of the situation at the exact same time. Jaesa and Pierce had readily agreed at the proposition, and not even a considerable sum of money would turn them from her service. Given, they weren't in a joking mood about Revan either, and it reminded her that she did have essentially a death squad riding around with her.

I don't want them crying at my grave when I die, I want them to continue on with their lives. Get revenge if they're so inclined, really. It'd be a fun show to watch down in hell.

I'm no God.

It's becoming increasingly difficult to get much of anything done this morning, she realizes, and she's still sleepy as she steps out of her tent. Usually, she's an early riser and didn't typically struggle to get going like this. Her first thought is the conversation she'd had with Malavai the evening prior messing with her emotional state, and then the cool night she'd spent out on the surely now busy taxi pad. But instead, it's as if the Force itself doesn't want her awake, as much as she lets the cool rain splash her directly in the face. There's a softness, numbing over the sharp edges of her mind, and it makes her want to lay down on the grass and close her eyes, though physically nothing other than her sore, dry eyes scream out to her that she's tired. Last night's sleeping period had been so quick, but that couldn't have been it.

Tri'ama remains exhausted as she continues to train vigorously in her own small place near her tent. It wasn't a horrible type of exhausted, so she's able to get up and get going, but her sluggish movements are only making her grow more frustrated with the situation entirely. It isn't until she grows so angry with being unable to hit the imaginary Revan in her mind, that she gives up with a growl in her throat and a broken pair of gauntlets on the ground next to her, her force strength also effectively tearing and twisting the durasteel pieces in two, and a piece of her tent coming crashing down as the pole snapped clean in half. Another piece of armor that saw the rage she could fly into at any given moment, and she'd have to acquire a new pair if she ever returned to Vaiken spacedock. The destructive usage of the Force seems to be what sets off the numbing action of the Force and allows her to see clearly, hatred flowing back into her like a roiling river and subsequently filling her with power. Tri'ama is in control once more, and a tight-lipped grin crosses her face as she hooks both blade hilts back onto her belt. She'd question it later, but she's wound up enough as it is. It's as if a ball of string has taken hold of her, and won't let her go. The anxiety continues to build as she packs up her small camp, and there's so much to get done before it's all over. A sense of finality washes over her as she throws the pack over her back, and turns her back on the small patch and heading back towards the main base, where the coalition forces' preparations are in full swing. People are running about here and there, speeders and transports are taking off all around her. People are saying their goodbyes, people are dueling with one another.

Mission reports that would be finalized and then inserted into their Intelligence archives, she reminds herself as she sees people running around with assorted datapads. Perhaps in preparation for most of the factions departure later in the day, some things she was sure Nox and Marr would keep their delicate hands on and stash away from the Republic 's watchful eyes under the pretenses they were only keeping the Empire intact after everything the Emperor had caused since the Revanites had risen. Because she wasn't technically part of the Council (as the Wrath, she was above the Council anyways, but assisted with the military Sphere considerably, but still didn't legally hold a seat) she didn't often have an opinion on how information should be handled or shared. Not one that would be listened to as it was. It wasn't as if the Republic wasn't going to do the same with their share of the information anyway. She was sure there would always be secrets she'd never learn from the Republic's excursion here on Yavin, though Intelligence would try their hardest to do so and acquire it from their former allies.

She's uneasy about it all. There's too much to be done in-between then and now, and it seems as if it all is impossible. As if it's all one big fever dream, and that they're all going to wake up to an apoctalyptic galaxy tomorrow. Tri'ama always had her reservations fighting impossible odds like this, and with how many deaths had been reported in the past few days fighting Revanites, people she was sure that assorted soldiers knew, she now knows why.

She would go as far as to believe it's the Emperor himself trying to cloud her mind, but it's too specific for him to be doing so, and not nearly strong enough to keep her from getting anything done. It's a curious matter she'd investigate soon enough, as it still leaves her mind sharp but a certain anxiety lifted off her shoulders for that very moment. To say the least, it's at least somewhat welcome.

Tri'ama isn't the last one to arrive at the war terminal, as both Nox, Grace and Lana remain missing from current company. Master Iresso lifts her head from where she'd been focusing on the terminal, maybe sensing her arrival, blue-grey eyes peering out of her hood curiously. She's changed into some sort of Jedi robe, dark brown and armored with grey plates. It's out of place for her, as she'd been running around in simply grey pants, boots and a sleeveless top for the last few days. It's nearly a 180 from her previous days with her, she realizes as she takes her place next to Marr. Just as quickly, Naji looks back down again, and whispers quietly back to Satele. No amiable smile, just the face of a worn battlemaster hoping to get through the day.

Tri'ama wasn't the only one who had realized just how much was on the line for this mission alone. She isn't the only one realizing that this was not a normal mission, that this was the end all be all.

As the others begin to trickle in, Theron seems momentarily surprised by her choice of armor once he takes notice after a break in the conversation. Though, he throws her a friendly half-smile that's barely covered by Master Grace's less than cheery arrival, which she reciprocates quickly before picking up the plan of attack again with Lana. Among all the X's and O's and possibilities and things that could go wrong and surely would, she's not hugely sure what had spurred her on so late at night to respond to the odd quote, but she couldn't keep herself from doing so. It was as if she was moving on autopilot as she was unsticking the wet clothes from herself, laying awake until she couldn't anymore. His name kept slipping into her thoughts as she tried to sleep. The way he looked at her on the Fury. It was such a distraction, but sadly, not an unwelcome one. The yearning was nearly painful at this point, feeling phantom fingers running through her hair, a ghost of hand on the small of her back.

Subconsciously, she wonders what he thought of it all. What he actually thought of her. What he saw her as, more than just the Wrath she figures.

She hopes.

She hadn't received a response from the Republic agent when she'd woken up this morning if there had been one, and she's curious if she's said something wrong to put him off.

You're probably breaking about six different cultural rules and another fifteen of your own personal moral code. What you said is the least of your concern.

"Finally, there can be trust between us -- and not a moment too soon." Marr begins, and Tri'ama pulls her attention from that concern, "As we speak, our forces are working with the Republic to end the Revanite threat and take the temple." As if to punctuate his words, another Imperial ship takes off and flies into the distance, a slight breeze blowing everyone's loose clothing and hair this way and that. And then another, and another. There must've been thousands of soldiers flying above them now, and she's in awe so many would work so closely with those of the opposite faction.

"In spite of our differences -- and the fact we're at war -- the four of you were able to inspire a sort of cooperation I never imagined possible." Satele says, a hint of an impressed tone underneath her calm attitude, "Credit where it's due: you succeeded where Darth Marr and I failed."

"But we aren't finished yet. There is one element even our combined militaries will be unable to stop." Darth Marr undercuts this with an ominious response, and Tri'ama's heart begins beating faster before the words can reach her lips, filling in the obvious blank.

"Revan." Whyatt says in a quiet voice, barely loud enough to carry across the meeting area. For at least the third or fourth time on this trip, she wonders if he's really qualified to be here, head down at the holoterminal and hands in a tight fist, dark knuckles nearly white. He's terrified, and even Tri'ama can't deny that she feels bad for him.

He's a Jedi, missing Master or not, it's not your job to feel bad. He's a Master, so of course he'd be able to protect himself.

"Given his failure, he'll try to escape, to regroup. That cannot be allowed to happen." Darth Marr says, and if this wasn't already set in hard stone, it is now. There isn't a single friendly face in the area that isn't ready for war, and Tri'ama readjusts her respirator. Naji gently bumps against the young Jedi appearing to be entirely on accident,  and moving to give Theron a datapad. It isn't very well hidden that all she wanted to do was comfort him, and by his meek presence change, it's well-received.

"Consider it taken care of." Nox answers proudly. There's a gold glow to her eyes, and her presence radiates confidence, as if they aren't walking into a predetermined death. A strange smirk falls over her face, eyes narrowing. She's battle-ready, ready to leave everything behind. Knowing the woman, she would be happy to deal the final blow to the living myth, "Revan will fall by nightfall."

That's it.

That would be all.

That was all.

That would be the last time she'd see any of these people in the same space again, and she takes in the scene. Three Jedi, an SIS agent, three Sith and herself. There's a sense of something powerful here, and what they've created over the last few weeks...Tri'ama would admit she was proud of. As much as she had her differences with the Jedi and her fellow Sith along the way, she had found that she, Nox and inadvertently, Naji had learned to rely on each other. If not without their own reservations, but it is fascinating.

As if they had not all been at each other's throats only weeks ago.

How would the war effort ever continue, with the Emperor temporarily disposed of and secrets easily being leaked between the two factions during their time here on Yavin? Surely it would be easy to gain access to the the other faction's safehouses and plans after all that had occurred. Warfare would be brutal in the coming months, and many civillians would end up losing their lives in a war they didn't sign up for. Would it be a stalemate for years, or would the Republic finally come out on top due to the loss of the Emperor? Would the Empire rise again, seeking vengeance for the loss of their God?

How would her own life continue, after meeting someone that respected her and was willing to challenge her and then losing him all over again? Knowing Quinn would always only be a holocom call away, that Pierce was only a few doors down? Knowing she would fall back on old habits anyways, sets a cold feeling within her that she can't shake. Everything is going to go back the way that she didn't want it to, the way she wanted to leave behind.

She's getting worse and worse and worse at trying to let go. Let go of this fantasy she's crafted in her head.

Tri'ama tries to catch Theron's eyes again before they leave, but he's already gone another direction than she has with the Barsen'thor, Master Grace and the Grand Master. Running a hand through her hair in frustration, she's halfway to screaming at her own indecisiveness and inability to even begin to admit her feelings. Nox yanks her along by a sleeve roughly though, and any thought of getting in contact with him before they fight Revan is replaced by annoyance for the older Sith Lord. The woman had the audacity to tow her along as if she were little more than a child, and the worse to be in little more than her typical light robes, and she wonders if she should tell her the prognosis wasn't good with her current fashion sense in mind. There may be armor underneath the black and gold fabric, but Tri'ama wasn't holding her breath that there was any. Nox was known for her beautiful outfits and even more over the top fights against Sith and Republic alike, but Revan would target her first if he knew this information.

They take a transport ship over to the Temple, a skilled Republic pilot at the helm. Tri'ama doesn't know their name, and intentionally doesn't ever mean to learn it. Leaning against the durasteel of the wall, she tries to distract herself from what was coming next. Naji sits quietly nearby, glowing dimly as she meditates, her force presence completely shut off. Not a single emotion is able to be felt from the Jedi, and considering everything going on around them, she is the eye of the storm within the whirlwind of other reactions she can dimly sense of everyone else aboard the ship. Nox rolls her eyes when she glances over to the Barsen'thor, picking dirt out from underneath her nails and fixing her pristine braid bun. Nox is never worried about any major battle ever anyways, and her subconscious scoffs at the idea of talking to her about the issue. Master Grace is with Satele and Theron in the cockpit, surely to calm him down or at least curb the worst of his anxiety. Marr is pacing nearby, seething his own hatred beneath the armor in preparation to expel it all in less than half an hour. Lana is on the ground between the seats, kneeling with a red aura about her. The Sith have been preparing for war, and here it is.

It's time to show Revan what galaxy he's threatened. Which people he will fall to.

She can't stop her racing thoughts, her racing heart. The ship creaks every once and a while, shaking in the airspace as the wind throws them about, rain thrashing in sheets against the hull. Tri'ama is trembling herself, though not enough to garner the attention of anyone else. She flexes and unflexes her hands, and the calming Force has dwindled away considerably. All of her senses are sharper, too sharp. Her anxieties are coming back in full force, and without the helping presence within her, there's not much she can do to keep it from bubbling up and out. She tries to focus on an arbitrary screw somewhere in the room, with her vision swimming as her lungs feel as if they're only getting smaller. As if at any given time, someone could shove a lightsaber right through her sternum and end it all there.

That thought only makes it worse, until she sits down on the opposite side of the bench from Nox. She can't stand now, it only feels as if the ship is getting smaller around her. The edges of her sight are darkening, her pulse loud in her ears.

"Don't think about everything that can go wrong. Think about everything that can go right." Yusaits had once told her a late evening in the spring rotation of Dromound Kaas, "That is the foundation of a strong attack, making an opponent believe you have the upper hand on them. You will just as easily crumble if you allow them to do it to you."

There's nothing that can go right here, even with the most optimistic outlook on it all. Something will have to give, and Tri'ama prays it won't be one of her people's lives that she loses in the midst of battle. Not that she was the most friendly person anyone would ever meet, but it would be a loss to the Empire should any of them lose to Revan.

The Jedi weren't exactly expendable, and if they died the Republic would have the four Sith's heads on sticks, but it would be hard for life to go on if Marr died, if Lana died, if Nox died. Two seats would be rendered empty and up for grabs from anyone who was put into the chair, opening up opportunity for a coup. Defense of the Empire and Ancient Knowledge, while small, had powers that Marr and Nox had yet to exploit. She could only imagine what would occur if someone else took the seats. Lana was only just now living on the promise that she'd get some sort of normal life back after all of this. Three children would be eternally waiting for their mother to come home to them, and have to live on knowing she died for a cause.

Tri'ama wasn't sure if she'd feel guilty for their deaths. She's conflicted, as the Empire is often about power first, not always alliances. Sometimes they fell into place by circumstance, like with Lana and Theron, sometimes they were after you had to admit your power wasn't that of another's, she bitterly remembers that's why Nox had even joined the coalition, because of a request made on her behalf. Sometimes it was sheer coincedence, like with Whyatt, or by fate, with the Barsen'thor. She would miss Nox, as frustrating as she was at the best of times, she would miss Lana. She didn't have a real opinion on Satele or Marr (and likely wouldn't ever), and it would be highly regrettable if Masters Grace and Iresso weren't around any longer to continue to defend the galaxy.

She'd be more than disraught if Revan killed Theron. He would never be safe from her wrath, no matter how far he ran. If she let him run, that was.

In the end, it was their decision to do this. To fight a power not many knew much about. To go up against fate itself, knowing (or denying) this may be their last fight. Ever. No going back, not backspace. This was it.

The ship hits something just as she finishes that thought.

Hard.

Tri'ama slides out of her seat and hits the end of the ship violently, rubbing the back of her head as Naji just nearly meets a similar fate. Lana has been surprised, evidently, and gets a Force hold on something first, Marr doing the same. The ship slows, righting itself as everyone gains their bearings again. A moment later, the door separating them from the cockpit slides open, and the Twi'lek who was at the helm is visibly displeased, lifting their goggles up onto their forehead, "Sorry for the rough landin' m'lords. Nearly would've gotten us all fried if we hadn't swerved like that."

"Nice to know the Emperor is trying to kill us before we even land to fight his precious champion." Nox groans, pulling herself up and dusting off her shoulders. Her hair has come out in strands around her bun, making her look more like the savage woman that Tri'ama knew her as, "Any opposing forces, Twi'lek?" She asks, a grimace on her face.

"Not any that I saw, m'lord. Given it's a kriffin' hell of a storm out there, but I have half a mind to to think we would've been shot down by now if there was someone out there with any rockets." They scratch the back of their head before sighing defeatedly, green eyes full of fear against their blue skin, "Two minute hike up there to the main part of the temple. Close as I could get you before I'd end up just landing on the temple itself and gettin' blasted to bits. Good luck, ground team."

"Thank you." Naji says, nodding to them as the blast door opens. The Twi'lek wasn't kidding about the storm, rain pounding down and lightning crackling in the not-so-far distance. Another lightning strike hits, closer this time, and she can see everyone awash with bright white light for just a moment. Naji moves closer to them, wrapping her arms around them hugging tightly, "Get back to base safely, Reese."

"You don't gotta tell me twice, Barsen'thor. Hope I can get back in before they shut things up, with the storm on the way and all. You and your crew always got a place at Carrick with me when you make it outta here." The Twi'lek bids the woman a hurried goodbye as the others leave the ship in various states of surprise, and Reese takes off again.

"Check your equipment, for I am sure this is the last time we will have the chance to do so before Revan wreaks havoc on us all." Marr says, his own lightsaber hilt in his hand. Tri'ama had dutifully done so enough times the night prior, almost to the point of staying up all night unassembling and then reassembling the parts of her lightsaber, but after the rough landing she was sure something was damaged. The armor had defused most of the damage she would've taken had she been in light armor, and she struggles not to hiss in sympathetic pain when she can see a deep purple bruise beginning to bloom on Nox's ghastly right arm as she checks her double saber.

Well, Nox thrived off pain. Hopefully it would serve her well now.

"If we fail on this mission, I wish for you all to know that you have been honorable allies." Satele says, reclipping her own lightsaber to her belt, "The Empire and the Republic have struggled to ally themselves for years, but today we have proven it is not impossible. This truce will not last forever, but I thank you all for your assistance while you were her."

"You needn't worry, Grand Master. We will not balk in the face of danger." Lana responds calmly in a parade rest, as if this was a normal occurrence for her, "Revan will fall."

"Glad we're all so optimistic." Theron says almost sarcastically, and if she weren't oddly observant right now, she wouldn't have caught Satele's near-perfect eye raise at her son's response. His eyes land on her, with a sad sort of determination behind them, "Barsen'thor, Wrath. Whenever you're ready."

She nods, hoping that he can figure she means more than well. The Barsen'thor is apprehensive to begin. Her hood can't hide her fear, and her presence is deafening to Tri'ama, setting in another second sense of anxiety within her. Is it this loud to everyone else? Overpowering and nearly throwing her off balance. Her nearly identical, troubled grey eyes won't meet her's, and Tri'ama decides it is no longer time for arbitrary truces.

It is time for action. She is ready to remind Revan who the Sith are and why they are among the most powerful in the galaxy.

It's harder to stalk her way through the rain and wind as if everything isn't bothering her and her heart is about to beat out her chest. At some point, the Barsen'thor catches up to her. Her hood has blown back, blonde hair blowing a whirlwind behind her. Her eyes are steeled ahead, a woman on a mission. The others would follow them in soon enough, but because Revan had already encountered them both before on Rishi, they'd lead the charge for the time being, in case they could get the drop on him or talk him out of whatever he was doing. The Jedi's idea, not hers.

Tri'ama would stab him through with a lightsaber before she even let him get close enough to talk. She did not reason with cult leaders. She did not reason with insanity.

The storm lets up rather suddenly when they arrive to the main part of the temple, and it's like walking through a curtain. It's only drizzling as the pair walk up the steps, and Tri'ama's heart nearly stops as they both pause at the top. The man is in all black, with a mask that covers his whole face. He wields a singular purple lightsaber, aiming for them both.

"It's over, Revan." She starts, struggling not to grab her own lightsaber at this point, and not throw at him as she would anyone else. This was not only the man who'd taken Theron from them, but also the one who had been tormenting her for months on end. Eating away at not only the Republic, but also her home, the Empire. Watching him fall would be her triumph, and it would be sweet to put an end to him, "You can't win."

"You've been at my heels for too long, Wrath." He answers, a gravelly voice from beyond the mask as he addresses her, "I knew the Rishi plan was a longshot, but I had to try. Had to make it legitimate. I needed to lure you both here." He pauses again, lowering his lightsaber for moment, "You were supposed to stay busy on Rishi long enough for me to finish here. But no, you couldn't do that, could you?"

"This has all been one big deception, hasn't it? You aren't even the man you claim to be." Naji finds her voice, and responds, stepping forward herself, "Don't try to deny it, you and I both know that."

"You don't know what you're talking about." He trails off, and Tri'ama reaches for her lightsaber as he turns from them, disigniting his own saber. Naji holds up a hand to pause her, and begrudgingly she drops her hand back down to her side. The Wrath isn't sure what Revan is about to pull, but the Force is at her disposal should she need it. When he does eventually face them again, he's removed his mask.

Who does he claim to be, if not Revan? If not the living body of the ghost they met in the cave, then who were they really fighting? The same scars run along his face, the same build, the same nearly soulless eyes. He's a carbon copy of the ghost, all without being see-through, and much less agreeable than the version they'd met before.

It's terrifying.

"I spent three hundred years in lock step with the Emperor's mind. I know what he's become, and what he wants." He declares, and she can only imagine the torture he went through years and years before she was born. It doesn't change that she still wants him dead, but she wonders if he's an omen to what she would become if she stayed loyal to the Emperor.

If that was the case, it only solidified her decision further. She was no Wrath of his any longer.

"The Emperor must be destroyed completely or he will return and consume every last thing! There is no cost too great. If I have to snuff out every life on this world by hand to draw the Emperor out, then so be it!"

"If you're Revan, then who did I speak to outside the temple?" Tri'ama asks, successfully ending his tirade. She's determined to get the answers before she kills him, even though Naji throws her an odd look. This will not go on as a mystery after she's gone.

"Of course, it's so obvious now. You have no idea what I am, what I've become." He responds, effectively skirting the question without even an answer, "I was a Dark Lord of the Sith. I was the Prodigal Knight. I was powerful -- but I was also weak. Not anymore."

"Now I'm pure. Unburdened. I can finally have revenge on my jailer and save the galaxy doing it!" That resonates a little too close to home, lightning crackling somewhere beyond them all and thunder clapping. At the very least, she, the coalition and Revan all have the same goal. But instead of dealing with it as they were, he started a whole cult to finish him off that backfired on him, "I have the power -- and you have nothing!"

She can hear the sounds of assorted boots behind her, and she allows herself a small smirk beneath her respirator at the noise. This was where they began their last stand, and their small fighting force has arrived.

"You are wrong, Revan." Marr declared. She can't see them just yet, but she knows that the others have arrived. Each presence is unique, but all scream in resistance, "They have powerful allies."

"Both Sith, and Jedi." Satele's softer but just as commanding voice adds.

"Allies from all corners of the galaxy." Lana audibly draws her saber and ignites it, the comforting hum of an ignited kyber crystal filling her ears. A few more are ignited behind her, and she can see the blue of Satele's, the green of Naji's and the red of Marr's beside her.

"They won't ever be alone." Confident as ever, Nox's lavender double blade is lit and pointed directly at him, "We've got you now, Revan."

What she first mistakes for thunder is the sound of a jetpack, and she lifts her head for just a moment to find a Mandalorian landing only a few feet from her. It takes her a moment to recognize the armor, and C2-D4 asks the question before she can, "Shae Vizla?"

"Heard the fight to end all fights was going down. What sorry kind of Mando would I be if I missed out?" She asks, a certain amount of humor in her voice. Though, Tri'ama isn't stupid enough to mistake it for idiocy. Unexpected, but her arrival was appreciated. It wasn't the Force, but Mandalorians packed a lot of firepower, and that was all they really needed against him.

"You were saying?" Tri'ama asks, finally pulling both sabers off her belt, the buzz of an ignited lightsaber welcome in her hands. Adrenaline is beginning to run through her veins, "This is your end, Revan."

"I don't care how many of you there are. I won't be denied my destiny! I am Revan!" He starts to cast something, and Tri'ama takes a defensive stance to try and block it. A blast knocks them all backwards, and she can just barely steel herself against the brunt of the attack, being thrown against a stone pillar. The wind is easily knocked out of her, but she gets to her feet easily enough. A quick scan of her allies finds them all in various reactions to the force blast, but they aren't too shaken from what she can see, picking themselves up and redrawing their weapons.

Surprisingly enough, she isn't the first to attack the man. An arc of lightning shoots across her path, Nox's hands outstretched with a maddening grin on her face. Revan shoves her back, an audible slam against another ruin as she crumples. She's able to get back to her feet with the help of the Barsen'thor, who'd been near her before previously. Both stand, Nox scowling with her red lipstick smeared across her face, ready whenever someone else attacks. With the break in his focus, Tri'ama leaps with a battle cry and Revan is forced to turn his attention to parry both of her blades with his own. With that, the battle is unleashed upon the ruins as she dodges lightning, blaster bolts and chunks of rock, trying to get a hit in here and there. He's good, she'll admit that. After three hundred years, he had plenty of time to cultivate an insane amount of skill. But she was wrath personified, rage in a human form.

Marr and Master Grace follow her attack, the Sith Lord and Jedi Knight leaping in after her in a haze of red and blue lightsabers in the fight. Revan dodges here and there, and they aren't exactly in sync. There are a few time she's sure she'd end up falling not to Revan, but to Master Grace's attack style instead. Not that it wasn't effective, but it was a far cry from her and Marr's Juyo form, one she recognized later as Makashi instead.

The battle wanes on for a long while, attack patterns ever-changing as cover fire rains down upon the former Sith Lord, the Barsen'thor and Satele making short work of any serious injuries anyone endured, Nox striking a few times herself after she gets bored of attempting to shock the man, the lavender blade not as easily parried as the other three force user's melee attacks. Maybe out of concern, maybe out of pure stupidity she keeps a tab on Theron, blocking the worst attacks from his position. It distracts her a few times, Revan's red blade keeping her on her feet.

They're winning, she can see as they press their attack. They will win. He's one man, they are ten highly-trained and powerful people people who are here to make sure he doesn't return again.

It isn't until he's clearly losing to the assaulting fighting force that he force chokes her nearly out of nowhere and lifts her off her feet for the time being. A strong grip on her throat and windpipe being crushed, she sputters to get a gasp of air in or out her lungs. Tri'ama struggles, vision blurring as her hands go up instinctively to claw at her throat. He focuses on her for a moment, maybe curious after throwing Grace and Nox back only moments prior. A few blaster shots ricochet harmlessly off his armor at that moment, but then it is over as soon as Marr attempts to get a hit in and she's thrown back with a powerful force throw against the outer wall nearby that nearly knocks her out entirely. Cotton and static fill her ears as she attempts to re-register her surroundings. A voice screams out her title, maybe? A shrill "Wrath!" by most likely the Barsen'thor by the tone of voice. Blasters continue to fire further away from her, lightning crackles and strikes in the distance.

And here she is, laid out by an ancient evil and curling in on her side where she'd hit the rock the hardest. Her head is pounding behind her eyes, surely from after hitting it so hard on her fall. Everything is too bright, and even through the impaired hearing, it's also too loud. Concussed, most likely, but she'd die before she let a mere concussion keep her down.She'd like to say that her life flashes before her eyes, but it doesn't. Instead, stabbing pain shoots up her side as she crawls to her feet, struggling to get her perception of the world back, and she finds that her balance is heavily distorted. Rubbing beneath her nose, she finds it comes away with blood.

The warm feeling envelops her again as she resummons the blade hilts to her hands, stalking back towards the fighting, but like before it leaves her senses sharp. The imbalance of her perception is rendered obsolete for the most part, and she's able to make the leap back to Revan with red lightsabers in hand. Tri'ama can only imagine she looks horribly mad, hair wet and all over her head, blood dripping from her nose and surely her head as well. Revan's strength was already faltering by the assault, as Lana had also given up her long-distance attack after she'd fallen. He very clearly doesn't expect her to come back, eyes widening as she slashes at his side in his moment of weakness. Lana slams him away with a well placed force shove as he falls, and he skids to a stop a few feet away. Tri'ama doesn't bother trusting that he's met death yet, and keeps her right saber ignited before marching over to him.

"In defeating me, you've let the real enemy linger on. You... you doom the galaxy!" Revan says breathlessly, pushing himself up onto his side as she aims her own lightsaber to his crumpled form.

"Had you been successful, had you brought the Emperor back, you would have made the galaxy's destruction all but a certainty." Tri'ama can barely form her words properly, breathing hard as pain shoots through her lung. Lifting her saber, she's ready to end it here and now.

"She's right, you know." A disembodied voice sends a shock of mild panic through her, but she can almost tell it isn't the Emperor. A moment later, the ghost of Revan appears before them all.

"No. Not you." His eyes widen in surprise at the new arruvals, and Tri'ama steps aside for the ghost to approach him.

"You've been blinded by your unchecked rage, your thirst for vengeance, that you could not see the truth." The ghost says, "Now that your power has subsided, I may finally confront you. I only hope you will listen."

"You're both Revan..." Naji notes curiously, approaching with the rest of the team. Easily, she's voicing one of about thirteen million questions that Tri'ama has in that very moment.

"Yes, though neither of us is truly Revan." The ghost of Revan admits, "When I died, I had come to terms. I was ready to become one with the Force. But I soon realized that was only what part of me wanted.

"I cast you out! It was the only way to go on -- to remain and finish what we started! You were holding me back!" The physical version shouts. Two versions? Two Revans? Tri'ama can't imagine how this might have come about, though disignites her lightsaber and hooking it on her belt.

"You think you're stronger this way, but you're not. Neither of us is. We're broken, we can't go on like this."

"I won't stop. Not until I conjure the Emperor. I have to face him." As if intended, or an ominous laugh sounds. Not a chuckle, but a menacing cackle. It's all around them, and yet sourcing from no where.

The Emperor.

"You wanted my return. You did not need to destroy whole fleets or turn a living world barren for that..." The Emperor says, a roar in his voice that Tri'ama would never begin to forget for as long as she lived, "You only had to point the Empire and Republic to a shared adversary, and let them do what they do naturally: make war. The scores of dead have nourished me. I am awakened. And I bring with me -- death!" Punctuating his words is a torrent of rain, lightning striking the temple in front of them. A purple light shoots into the sky, enveloping the building. Shaking erupts around them, and she falls to one knee, trying to ride out the earthquake. The wind picks up just afterwards, as she and her allies struggle to their feet.

"The Emperor was not as strong as he might have been had Revan succeeded, but he is strong enough." Satele says, as Revan turns away from them once more. An omen then, for what was coming.

They'd failed.

"No... he was supposed to face me...to..." He's struggling to even live at this point, Tri'ama can tell. As frustrated as he is, he knows that he's lost.

"You're too weak. You won't last." His ghost says, a sense of finality in his voice. Maybe she would read up on the history of Revan once she returns to the Fury, and she's rather curious how they were separated in the first place.

"I...if we unite, what I am -- won't it fade? Become diminished?"

"Wrath. Even I look in awe at your accelerated rise to power." Revan's ghost acknowledges her again, turning to face her as he ignores his physical form's questions, "You did not get where you are today through kindness or moderation. It had served you well. You make a fine example."

"I don't know if I'm ready." Revan's meek voice is too quiet to have been the same person they'd just fought off only moments ago, and the numbing power of the Force increases, numbing away the pain for just a bit longer.

"You have to be. We have to."

The next few moments are a blur that she attempts to process later. In a flash of light, the physical Revan is gone, armor falling to the floor in a heap. Only the ghost remains, "You've found your center." Naji says, voice straining to be heard.

"I have. For the first time in a long time." He nods in gratitude to the Barsen'thor, "Thank you -- for all you've done, and all you've shown me. Dark days lie ahead. The darkest days. If my error can't be undone, everyone will pay the price." Revan fades away in little more than just a flash of light blue light, "Brace for the worst..."

It's done.

It's over.

Rain pouring down, her adrenaline is sloping off. The pain is coming back in a wave. Though she has a reputation to uphold in front of everyone else, she attempts her best to follow after the rest of the team to meet Reese and leave for the staging area again. But her body betrays her in the worst kind of way, and her knees buckle beneath her, collapsing into a heap on the ground. The power of the Force can't save her from this, and even it can't numb away it all. Her vision swims before her, the Barsen'thor's robes the first thing she sees as she rolls onto her side. There's a flash of red and black, both Lana and Theron behind her. Tri'ama struggles to keep her eyes open long enough to respond to anyone, trying to push herself up with her now bad arm.

"Stars, Wrath." Naji groans softly, her own bloodied and bruised face looking down on her with her blonde hair plastered to the sides of her face. She's gently glowing, trying to do damage control on her assorted injuries. Warmth is pushed into her as Naji grimaces at the action, "You are going to have one hell of a headache in the morning."

"Given I wake in the morning." Tri'ama answers bluntly, slumping back down onto the floor in a heap. Naji nearly rolls her eyes before she's really beginning to lose her vision and perception of the world. Her eyes lift to Theron's form, blinking for a moment as his face becomes sharper. He's suffered, more scars added to the ones she had run her fingers over weeks earlier, some still bleeding. Everyone has.

They were supposed to end Revan. They were supposed to end the Emperor before he could wake again. She's flashing in and out of consciousness, as someone has picked her up bridal style to escort her back to the transport.

And then, the world goes black.

-

"So, I guess this is goodbye." A gruffer voice says as she wakes again. How long it's been that Tri'ama has been out, she's not sure. But as she comes to her senses, she has been taken out of the bigger pieces of her armor and left in her undersuit under a light blanket. Ships are taking off outside, and the lights are too bright for her to do much but crack open her eyes slowly. They've made it back to the staging area, and the tent flap closes back behind Lana. She can't do anything to acknowledge the other woman to let her know she's awake, so she just listens for the time being.

"I suppose so. It's been...an experience, Theron. Be well to yourself." Lana responds, standing to where he was sitting. She can feel Naji's presence somewhere, but nowhere in her immediate vincinity, which she finds odd. The woman must've left shortly before she woke up.

"Yeah. Yeah, you too Lana. Try not to get into too much trouble, all right?" The gruff voice grows a bit softer as her ears begin to unclog themselves, and she finds that it was Theron that she'd assumed Lana had been talking to. Why he'd been sitting with her, she's unsure. A warmth completely unattached to the Force fills her at the thought of Theron waiting on her, though she attempts to dismiss it.

"I'll try not to." Lana says, a smile in her voice. The Sith woman looks over to her surely broken form, a slight smile on her lips, "It's good to see you've recovered, Wrath."

"Recover may be too strong of a word." She groans, trying to push herself up against the pillows on the bed, and Theron pivots just out of sight to help her up. Not too quick to garner any suspicion, but his touch lingers just long enough to let her know it was more than just friendly, "We haven't won. But Revan is done for."

"As far as we know, yes." Lana says, coming to stand where she could see her. The woman had sustained some obvious injuries on her face, a cut that was sure to scar just above the collar of her armor, "The Empire is leaving very soon, and your crew will be landing in a few hours to collect you."

"According to the Barsen'thor, you suffered a concussion and a couple broken bones. Nothing she couldn't really handle, but we figured you'd be better off healing on your ship than passed out for a few days here." Theron fills in the blanks for her. He pinches the bridge of his nose, hazel eyes pinned on her, "You've been out for a couple hours, and she did the best to numb the worst of the pain until you could be moved."

"Oh wonderful. Surely not too much has happened since then?" Tri'ama questions her two companions. A couple hours here, anything could've happened before she woke.

"Nothing of note, no. Darth Marr would like to speak to you and Darth Nox when you return to the Fury for a minor debriefing though. Then, we all can go our separate ways." Lana answers. Her glance flickers to Theron for a moment, before the corners of her red lips curve upwards, "You've done well for yourself, Wrath. I have a few things to get done before I leave as well. If you ever need me, I'm only a holocom away."

Tri'ama nods, and Lana leaves. She'd been an honorable ally, and she dearly hopes she has the opportunity to fight alongside her again before either of them die.

Now, it is only her and Theron left. Frowning, she leans back into the pillows, trying to figure the best way to explain her feelings, explain anything before he leaves. He's got a bandage plastered to his face, and one of his implants is out, and she wants to reach out to touch him. Tri'ama doesn't want to leave him, she doesn't want him to leave.

She wants him to be hers.

But they haven't exchanged words since...nearly weeks ago.

"I-"

"I-"

They both try to start at the same time, and Tri'ama bites her lip before thinking to herself again.

"I'm sorry for my behavior, Theron. It wasn't fair to you." Is the first thing out of her mouth, and there's surprise behind his eyes and in his face, "I apologize if I lead you on for so long."

"No, I...I shouldn't have tried to get involved in something that didn't involve me. I should've been more careful with you." Theron says softly, and she lifts her head to meet his gaze, "This is my fault as much as yours."

"Theron. It isn't. I should've told you beforehand I was still married. There's no excuse for me not doing so other than petty fear. I'm sorry I ruined this." There's a pause between them, and he pushes a curl of hair behind her ear, his hand lingering on her jaw. Tri'ama leans into the touch, and he leans into her to kiss her gently. They stay like that for a moment, as she tries to savor the taste of him, knowing she'd have to let go soon. Stars, if she could just steal him back to the Empire, she would.

"What a ride, huh? If you'd told me when we met all the ups and downs we'd go through together, I'd have called you crazy." He says, after he pulls away from her longing gaze. His hand is only a few inches from her's as he sits on the cot, facing her, "Maybe I called you crazy anyways. I don't remember anymore. Between all my family fun with Revan and the Grand Master, and then, well, you..."

"How is it between you and Satele? Any better?" Tri'ama asks, trying to lighten the conversation. She is genuinely curious after offering him advice back on Rishi, and wonders if either party had succeeded in growing closer to the other.

"It's...look let's talk about that some other time, yeah?" Theron asks, expression dimming. Tri'ama wonders if she should tell him there won't be another time, but holds her tongue. This, she wants it to last as long as she can force it to, "Well, look, there isn't any easy way to say this, but...I mean, we both know this would have to end eventually. The Republic exonerated me, so I'm back in the fold. And they gave me a new job, a big one."

"That's quite a vote of confidence. You deserve it." She says softly, before placing her scarred hand over his. When it's not immediately denied, she intertwines his fingers with hers. A sad smile replaces his frown.

"Okay, that's...unexpected." He says, looking down at their hands before looking back up at her, sorrow written all over his face. This is hard for him, and she's making harder, just as she'd promised she wouldn't, "You know what this means right? Soon as we rejoin the fleet and make the jump to lightspeed, that's it. No more truce. You and I, we probably won't exchange another word ever again. No more unauthorized rides on the Fury, no more sneaking away from everyone else to have a few moments to ourselves. That's it."

She pauses, unsure how to respond as she tightens her grip on his hand. As if that'll make him stay any longer. Unlike Pierce, he really is unattainable. She can't have him long-term, and she'll never see him again. All she'll have are the memories of him on the Fury, with his fingers tangled in her hair, with his body pressed up against her's. There was no more star-crossed lovers written in the cards for her, and she hates that she has to accept it.

"I don't need words, Theron." She whispers, before painfully pushing herself forward to kiss him hard. As much passion that is running through her veins, she is sure Theron Shan has as well, "I only need you."

I don't love him, she reminds herself, taking a breath before pressing her lips against his again.

But you respect him. And you admire him.

Tri'ama isn't sure how long they spend together. Every moment she lays with him is another moment that someone could walk in, looking for one or the other. That only spurs her on though, kissing every inch of exposed skin that she can get her lips on. This was all they had left, and she doesn't want to let go. As much pain that courses through her body with every action, it's all worth it to have him to herself.

You don't love him, she reminds herself as he helps her off the cot, a strong arm around her waist.

You respect him for who he is, she reminds herself while he helps her replace all the of the durasteel armor that had been taken off her. It's slow going, kisses here and there. A bruise blooms on Theron's collarbone, another matching one on her neck.

And you admire him, she almost says aloud, once he's left after yet another bruising kiss. Their last. The son of a Jedi and a Republic Commander would never be hers, and she hopes that whoever does eventually lay claim on his heart fufills the hole she leaves.

She dials her holocall to find Vette and her crew once she's gathered all that she requires to leave.

But you don't love him.

You can't love him.

But blazes if it didn't mean that she didn't want to.

[leoninapelliolovesconchitawurst]

ENGLISH TRANSLATION ( Jeannette Nobbe)

VOLSKRANT.NL 31/01/20

by Mennon Pot

https://www.volkskrant.nl/cultuur-media/conchita-wurst-sorry-dat-ik-zo-n-wandelend-cliche-ben~b0477817/

(Conchita) Wurst: 'I'm sorry I'm a walking cliché'.

Above all we know Conchita Wurst as the bearded 'female 'singer who won the ESC in 2014. But we've moved on and are a bit wiser. It´s just Wurst now, but the beard is still there.

With light feathered steps, Thomas Neuwirth (31) enters the conference room of the hotel in Groningen where he is staying: black combat boots, black leather pants, tight black T-shirt, the black beard and the perfect short trimmed jet black hair..

He introduces himself as Tom. It's not difficult to recognise the bearded drag queen Conchita in him. (Kopenhagen, 2014, remember?) but the dress and wig are stowed away for a while. Conchita has a sort of sabbatical, so to speak.

Neuwirth is on tour as a man. Stage name: Wurst. Yesterday evening he performed in Groningen; the next concert will be 7 february at the Melkweg in Amsterdam. His new album 'Truth over Magnitude' also carries the artist´s name Wurst.

Let's get this straight: when the subject is Conchita Wurst, the word 'transgender' sometimes comes a long. Wrongly. Neuwirth is a man, ('but incredibly gay, of course'), who has a choice from now on: being on tour as a drag queen (Conchita) or as a man (Wurst) .

´a lot of fun, being a masculine stage persona', he says. Conchita will turn up again somewhere else.

Holland appreciated Conchita's 'Rise like a Phoenix' with the highest score, almost 6 years ago.

Neuwirth didn't forget: twelve points, douze points from Holland for the bearded diva from Austria.

Then hectic years followed. 'After the Song Contest I thought, I have to make the most of it now, build my fame and cash it in. So I surrounded myself with all kinds of experts, managers, stylists, make/up artists, the whole circus. After 3 years I was exhausted. I couldn´t do it anymore. I told my audience every nigh, be yourself, believe in yourself. But along the way, I forgot myself.´

He got rid of the experts’ circus and is having a relaxed tour now, with a small entourage. He feels good again, although in 2018 he had to announce he is infected with the HIV virus. His manager politely asks, almost in an humble manner, not to talk about that.

Tom doesn´t appear to be very worried about that. There has seldom been a star who starts an interview so cheerfully. ´A great photo shoot and after that talk about things I find beautiful and fun.

Terrific, I was already looking forward to it when I came out of bed.´

´Curriculum Vitae'

1988 – Born as Thomas Neuwirth in Gmunden, Austria

2007 – Candidate at the talentshow Starmania, and boyband Jetzt anders!

2011 – Debut as female persona Conchita Wurst, the debut single `I´ll be there´

2012 - Second place at the Austrian Songfestival

2014 – ESC winner with ´Rise like a Phoenix

2015 – First album ´Conchita´, co-presenter ESC

2018 – Second album ´From Vienna with Love´

2019 – Debut as male stage persona ´Wurst´, third album ´Truth over Magnitude´

2020 – Wurst ´Trust over Magnitude´ Sony Music

Wurst will be performing in the Melkweg in Amsterdam on February 7

SOUNDTRACK

Music from the Motion Picture Titanic ...1997

´My first CD. I was 9 years old when I bought it. `My heart will go on´’changed my life´. As it were, Céline Dion gave me permission to be utterly dramatic and to be over the top. When I came out of the closet, I heard that song in my head.

It was also a liberation for me as a singer. My mom always sang with a thin, high falsetto voice. I thought that was how it should be. Dion taught me, you may yell as hard as you can, with all the power you have in you. When you sing so loud, you can’t fake it. The sound you push out of your body, is the sound of your body, unique and by definition authentic. Céline Dion taught me that singing is something really physical.´

SERIES

The Crown ..Netflix..., 2016 until 2019

´For me it´s getting difficult to watch a movie to the end. I guess that´s because of all the series on Netflix and HBO. My favorite is `The Crown´.. ´the intro alone is so beautiful, that liquid gold that forms a crown, such art. I used to watch it twice. Ít says something about the fact that I can´t choose between the two women who play Elizabeth and the two men who play prince Philip. All the actors are great. The costumes, the stories, the palaces, it´s so delightful. The history also intrigues me, after every episode I checked on Wikipedia if it was really what had happened.

PARTIES

´At Christmas I always come back to Vienna. I love the lights, glitters and decorations, my inner Mariah Carey is looking forward to it every year. Christmas 2019 was extra special because it had been a long time since the whole family came together at my grandmother´s house.´

I would love it to be like that every year... A couple of days being together in one home. Talking, getting to really know my family. Maybe now you think, days on and on with uncles and aunts, such horror! It is easy to say that I don´t really have much in common with these people. But I do, Really. They all have a story and similarities with your stories. Ask them about your life and tell them about yours.´

That´s what Christmas is all about to me. To me, the birth of Jesus has not that much to do with it.´

ISLAND..

I have an agreement with my best friends to go on vacation at least once every two years. We have been to Mykonos a couple of times, THE especially gay island. I´m sorry I sound like a walking cliché.´

The sun, the sea, the beaches, the small streets, so cosy. We rent a house with a pool and for a week or two we live in our own little paradise, actually being a bit tipsy the whole time. Go shopping and cook.´

`What´s also very important, on Mykomos, the wind is always blowing the right way. I love to watch the women, because their dresses and their hair flutter so beautifully.´

STYLE ICON

Victoria Beckham

I was and still am a big Spice Girls fan and I especially admire Victoria Beckham, because she lives her life the way she wants. She appears in tabloids every day, but has survived a crisis in her relationship and has stayed happy with the love of her life and her family. I think that it´s really strong.´

In regard to her style, she can go from very classy to very trashy, I like that. One day she´s wearing a designer dress, the next she and David Beckham are walking in identical jogging suits. She couldn’t care less. I think that it´s inspiring.´

´I think she is utterly authentic, raging through the glamour. Although I have never met her, I´m sure that I could have a lot of fun with her. I´d love to drink some tequila with her for an afternoon or so.´

AGE

30

´I thought becoming 30 was really special, I lost my wild behaviour, came to be more restful. Some way or another I think a lot about some things my mother said: in my twenties, I ignored those lessons, but now I´m 30, I suddenly realised she was right for example how important family and friends are.

I´m 31 now, I have inner peace and my life in order, but I still feel young. I´m convinced that this the best period of my life´. My advise to everybody... be 30.´

ALBUM

Recomposed by Max Richter / The Four Seasons ..2012

I don´t play any instruments and until not too long ago, I didn´t really know much about music. I really found that a pity sometimes. Fortunately, my good friend Martin studies at the School of Musical Arts... !! He´s studying the history of music intensely and tells me about a lot of great composers. I learn a lot from that.´´I never understood classical music and didn´t really know anything about it, but thanks to the listening sessions with Martin I fell in love with Vivaldi..

The pop artist of the classical artists.

´Max Richter interpreted Vivaldi´s Four Seasons and composed it in a modern fashion. It´s a modern, post minimalistic piece, completely different from the original one, but you still recognise it. Greatly done, at the moment it´s my favorite album.´

BOOK

Friedrich Schiller « Ueber die aesthetische Erziehung des Menschen ». About the aesthetic upbringing of the people..´

´A good friend advised me to read the philosophical letters from Friedrich Schiller ..Letters, 1794-1795)

That´s a hard job to do. Because of the old fashioned German I had to read some sentences 5 times. You always have to wrestle yourself through a thick layer of 18th century sexism.

´But further on you´ll find something beautiful. Schiller writes a lot about finding your inner beauty and your own truth. Dare to be yourself. Embrace your darker sides. Those are important as well.´

´At the same time he preaches self-perspective.. don´t take yourself too seriously, you´re not the center of the universe. That is very worthy to me. Namely because I DO think I´m the center of the universe, haha.

`Still it´s very wise of him, to send a message from 1795 to a 21st century queen with a Mariah Carey complex.´

CLUB

Circus in Vienna

´The Arena is a huge complex in Vienna, a concert building with a mega discotheque. A couple of times a year they organize Circus, my favorite gay club night. I always go there with my group of closest friends, but it´s actually a bit of a rule that we lose each other and disappear into the crowd.´

´I roam around all night- Every room, every floor has its own musical theme and decoration. I love the types of people I meet there, their clothes, their fetishisms, everything.´

….Arena Vienna, Baumgasse 80, Vienna

CITY

Amsterdam

´I live in Vienna, I love Vienna and I will always come back there, but the greatest city I´ve been to is Amsterdam – since then I traveled all over the world so I know what I´m talking about.

´Of all the cities I visited, Amsterdam is the only one where I would want to live a period of time. So that´s what I´m gonna do, this summer, for a few months to begin with.´

´I can see that Amsterdam also has the flagship stores from all known store chains. And a lot of tourists, like every special city. But I see all these small jewelry shops where they sell their self-made jewelry. Little bakeries. Cosy streets. And a lot of water. I love water. I love cities with lots of water.´

[evilsnowswan]

Summary: [Rumbelle Mermaid!AU] based on this prompt by repeatinglitanies: “In a world where people are aware of the existence of mermaids, Belle is a mermaid who lives in the world’s largest aquarium along with other sea creatures. She enjoys looking at the little humans who come to visit, especially a floofy haired boy who comes every week with his father….” An injured Belle is captured and brought to Gold and Milah’s aquarium. Gold is a marine biologist dedicated to protecting the creatures there, Milah wants to turn a profit, and their son has his own ideas about how to befriend a mermaid.

Rating: G/Teen Link to full story: [Read on AO3] Previous Chapters: [Coverart][Chapter 1][Chapter 2][Chapter 3][Chapter 4][Chapter 5][Chapter 6][Chapter 7][Chapter 8][Chapter 9][Chapter 10][Chapter 11][Chapter 12][Chapter 13][Chapter 14][Chapter 15][Chapter 16][Chapter 17]

Current Chapter: 18/? Chapter Summary: This one's of overprotective mermaids and blind airlings.

Chapter 18

“Just one more go.”

“No. That’s enough for today, Baelfire.” The boss lady was lounging on a towel near the usually empty lifeguard station, where Killian Jones was sitting in a tall chair that gave him a perfect view of more than just the action in the old show tank. As if to prove the point, Jones lowered his camera and glanced down at Mrs. Montgomery in her sleek black Speedo.

“Fine!” Bae hollered and dove for one last summersault.

From the deep end of the pool Ruby watched him get out of the water, dripping in his shark-print trunks as he headed for the showers. He rinsed quickly and then pulled off his swim cap, pulling and twisting it in his hands, and letting it snap loudly as he dragged his feet.

His mother was watching him like a hawk.

“Baelfire!” Her voice cut through the air like fins. The expensive kind on a custom-made board. “Leave it. You’ll wear it out. Come here!” She beckoned him over to the benches, indicating a folded towel beside her. “Quickly.”

She turned her head to look at Ruby. “Miss Lucas?!”

“My turn,” Ruby grinned at Indigo, who had just surfaced beside her, clutching one of the bright yellow toys. She beamed and handed it over. “You’re next. Today’s the day.”

Laughing at Indigo’s puzzled frown, Ruby gave back the toy, obediently kicked off, and crossed the pool in quick strokes to get within earshot of her boss, who, apparently, deemed it inappropriate to yell instructions at anyone but her son. 

“Yes?”

“Please, Ruby dear, would you be so kind as to wrap this up?” She asked, making a sweeping gesture that encompassed the tank and most of the sitting area. “We’re running a little late for Baelfire’s lesson and our visitors will be here soon.” She glanced at Bae, who sat with his legs stretched out in front of him, looking down at the wet flip flops dangling from his feet. He swung his legs listlessly, partially losing one flip flop. It slid forward and hung from a couple of toes.

“Not my fault,” he mumbled into his towel, letting the dangling flip flop fall to the ground. Then he let the other one go.

Mrs. Montgomery cleared her throat. 

“Sure thing,” Ruby said quickly. “No problem.” The boss lady had never called her ‘dear’ before and she wasn’t sure what to make of it. “Indigo’s staying?”

“Yes,” Mrs. Montgomery said slowly. “Yes, yes, I think that would be best. Would you–”

She didn’t get to finish her request. The sudden sound of heels on concrete had them both turn their heads. Mrs. Montgomery gasped. “Oh no.”

People were approaching, a woman and a man, David Nolan leading them straight to the benches. The woman was tall, even taller on her noisy heels, easily towering over the quickly-parting sea of white shirts and her black-clad companion. She was slim, but had a swimmer's back. Her kelly green dress and red hair stuck out like a sore thumb. Ruby smirked.

“Miss Lucas, keep the mermaid calm, will you?” With a hurried glance at her watch and a frazzled hand brushing her curls out of the way, Mrs. Montgomery stood, shrugging on a summer dress over her suit and slipping into black pumps that left her a few inches shorter than usual. She turned to Bae.

“Baelfire, please find your father and tell him he’s needed here asap.”

Bae looked at her, at the approaching newcomers, and back again. He cocked his head. “Why? Who’s–”

“Baelfire!”

“Oookay.” Bae rolled his eyes, but got up all the same. “Whatever you say, woman.”

Muttering, he kicked his flip flops ahead of him as he went. Ruby distinctly heard some of the Sailor-ese Bae’s father reserved for special occasions or very, very special people, and had to fight back a laugh.

Mrs. Montgomery must have heard it too, but chose to pretend she hadn’t.

“They are almost two hours early,” she hissed, tugging on her dress. “Now, seriously.” She bit her lip, then pulled her dress over her head and stepped back out of her shoes.

Ruby watched, bemused. The woman was wigging.

“You okay?” Jones made to leave his seat. “That them?”

Her face flushed, Mrs. Montgomery looked up at Jones, blinking against the sun. She shook her head, not gracing him with an answer to the obvious. She rummaged in her purse, withdrew a pocket mirror and lipstick, and carefully painted her lips her signature red.

“You meeting ‘em like that?” Back on the ground, Jones looked her over, his eyes lingering where they had no business being.

Mrs. Montgomery spun around to face him, turning her back on Ruby. Ruby didn’t have to see her face to know she was glaring. “Like what?”

Perhaps, it was natural, Ruby thought. Perfectly normal. Mrs. Montgomery was in good shape and the streamlined Speedo fit her like a glove, hugging her curves in all the right places. Eyes on the older woman’s butt for, maybe, half a beat too long, Ruby bit her tongue, her ears growing hot. Yep, perfectly fine.

Choosing to tune out the adults bickering, she took a deep breath and let herself sink to the bottom of the pool. She stayed there until her face no longer felt like it was melting off her bones, watching Indigo swim through Bae’s new underwater hoops, merrily entertaining herself.

When she came back up to draw a much-needed breath, Jones was gone and Mrs. Montgomery had moved away from the pool and the benches to greet the visitors. Ruby could see her talk animatedly and heard her laugh her professional laugh. Their early arrival may have forced the boss lady onto her back foot, but she wouldn’t go down without a fight. No matter how tall or flashy the opponent, Milah Montgomery would defend her home range – even if that meant entering the arena barefoot, in nothing but swimming gear and lipstick.

The man, all dressed in dark and gloomy colors, hung back, his eyes darting back and forth, taking in his surroundings. He didn’t seem remotely interested in the women’s conversation and didn’t join, not even to exchange fake pleasantries. He reminded Ruby of a lone wolf, a scout, sent to see if the new area was safe for the pack, or to explore new hunting grounds and carry word back to his alpha.

When their eyes met, Ruby felt a jolt go right through her and her skin pebbled, despite the warm pool water. The man held her gaze until Ruby looked away. When she looked back up, he had momentarily vanished, only to reappear somewhere to her left, so close to the pool, it made her start.

“Hello,” he said, his husky voice low. It sounded more like a growl than a word. “And you are?” He asked, his head tilted to one side. He didn’t seem to have to blink a normal amount, fixing Ruby with unblinking eyes and pinning her to the spot. His left eye was bright blue, like ice, the right brown, almost amber.

“R-Ruby,” she stammered. “Ruby Lucas.”

“Ruby,” he repeated, rolling the ‘R’ on his tongue like a smooth pebble. “Hello, Ruby.”

He gave her the creeps. “Hi,” she breathed, her heart rate quickening; her heart drumming up a fast beat that rose within her and threatened to block her ears. Internally laughing at herself, she took a shaky breath and attempted a smile to dispel the sinking feeling in her stomach.

She had just opened her mouth to ask the stranger for his name, when, unexpectedly, Indigo popped up between them like a jack-in-the-box. She shoved Ruby behind her, hissing at the man showing her teeth, and raised her fin out of the water menacingly.

Whoa. What–?

Ruby wanted to reach for her, put a calming hand on her shoulder, but Indigo quickly pushed her a little further back with her tail, before raising her fin high again, swinging it from side to side like a cat.

The stranger withdrew, apprehensive, his piercing eyes solely trained on Indigo. Ruby half expected him to snarl back, to bark maybe, but he merely smiled as he retreated slowly, showing off very white, slightly pointy teeth.

Indigo let her fin hit the water with a deafening splash.

Hadn’t he jumped back, the water would have hit him. With a grimace, he tugged his shabby leather jacket tighter around him and took another step back. With one hand, he reached into his pocket – Ruby held her breath – and pulled out a packet of Pixy Stix. He fished for a grape flavored one, ripped it open, and, throwing his head back, tipped the contents into his mouth.

Ruby stared at him over Indigo’s shoulder. What the–?

“Humbert! What are you doing?! Come here.” The woman’s voice was sharp and, to Ruby’s bewildered astonishment, the man’s head snapped up and around at once, before he trotted back to his original spot, right behind the tall red-head. Like a trained lapdog, she had brought him to heel, just like that.

Ruby couldn’t stop staring.

She wanted to move closer, get out of the water and join the adults and their conversation, or listen in from a safe-enough distance, and find out what exactly was going on, but before she could put the thought into action, Indigo had taken her by the hand and dragged her halfway across the pool, to the little island made from rocks in the middle.

Undeterred by Ruby’s spluttered protests, Indigo gently nudged her, and pushed and shoved, until Ruby had climbed on the closest rock. There she sat, panting and confused, her feet dangling in the water.

What had gotten into Indigo?

Before she could do or say anything else, Indigo had begun examining her feet, her legs, then moved on to her hands and arms until her own hands came to rest on Ruby’s shoulders, causing Ruby to bend double and almost topple back into the water under the weight of the frantic mermaid. Indigo studied her face closely, touched her forehead to Ruby’s.

Ruby kept very still, letting Indigo do as she liked, hoping to calm her down that way.

Indigo let go and hit the water with a small splash. She went under, but resurfaced almost at once, her cheeks puffed out.

Before Ruby could wonder or ask, Indigo spit water in her face.

“Hey!” Ruby threw her arms up. “Okay, stop. Stop!”

The mermaid was bonkers.

“What has gotten into you, hmm?!” Ruby asked, running a hand over her face. “What was that for?” She put her hands on her hips. “And, are you done?”

Indigo looked up at her, her face still clouded with whatever was going on in her pretty head.

“You got a few… starfish… loose in the top… reef,” Ruby snorted, giggles bubbling up deep in her throat and spilling from her mouth. “You know that? My, my.” She kept laughing, watching Indigo’s frown slowly morph into a smile and finally end in silent laughter. “He wasn’t that much of a creep, honestly. Just spooky eyes, that’s all.”

***

Jumper Girl was alright. Belle blew out a breath, her heart gradually slowing to a more relaxed pace. The… thing hadn’t gotten her.

Belle threw a quick glance over her shoulder, her eyes zooming in on the dark being that stood with the airling women. It looked like an airling, but didn’t smell like one, and, whatever it was, it was dangerous, and Belle didn’t like it. She didn’t like it one bit.

Thankfully, her little airling friend had already fled and was nowhere to be seen. That only left the airling women in danger. One of them, Belle didn’t know, and the other – yes, she had learnt by now – was her little friend’s mother; and she tolerated her presence for that very reason, but Belle hadn’t forgotten it had been she, who had held her down while the other male had attacked. Belle was living proof that children could grow up without their mothers and be just fine. He would still have his father and that was more than enough.

The predator did not attack. Perhaps, Belle mused, he could not swim, or simply wasn’t hungry. She kept him in sight at all times though, just to be safe. Keeping an eye on the predator also meant she no longer had time for their diving game, but since the little airling did not return and Jumper Girl seemed done playing as well, that wasn’t a problem.

She would watch the predator all day and all night, if she had to. He would grow tired, or bored, or return to where he had come from, eventually. Until then, he could not be left unsupervised.

He mostly kept to the strange airling woman with fiery hair like an odd pilot fish. As far as Belle could see, he did not, however, eat nasty parasites on his host, or small leftovers of her food. His food source seemed to come from somewhere inside his… skin.

He was a weird creature – not merling, not airling – some form of ‘other’ Belle hadn’t yet encountered, and she wondered, why he didn’t make the airling women nowhere as uneasy as he did her. Hadn’t her father once told her that airling senses were dulled from living above water for so long? That had to be it. They simply could not sense the danger. Belle almost pitied them. Almost. But the pilot predator didn’t seem interested in hurting them – not at the moment, anyway. He just followed them around, occasionally strayed to explore his surroundings, then returned to his host.

Belle, on her part, stuck to Jumper Girl like a merling-shaped sucker cluster. While in the water, she became her shadow, drifting right along, and, if on land, she always kept a close eye on her, hissing a low warning whenever the predator crept too close for her liking.

She preferred Jumper Girl safely in the water with her, where, if push came to splash, she could protect her; which was why she didn’t mind the silly game her friend wanted to play next.

Jumper Girl had brought odd yellow seaweed string in some sort of shell into the water with her. She pulled it out next to Belle’s arms and tail, along her fin, and wrapped it once around her middle and her tail – as if to measure her – then let the seaweed roll back into its shell like a mussel’s feeler. It tickled her skin, and Belle bit her lip not to laugh.

Perhaps, the objective of the game was indeed measuring her, since Jumper Girl kept shouting short bits at the mother airling, who jotted something, most likely the shouted information, down with a color on a small rectangle. Belle didn’t mind. She couldn’t see how her measurements could do any harm in the hands of the airling mother.

She was far more concerned about their unbidden guests – the fire-haired airling and her companion who kept watching their game with great interest – and had already put the measuring game from her mind, when the little airling and his father reappeared and the unknown airling and her predator finally left a short while later.

[idolizerp]

LOADING INFORMATION ON NEON’S LEAD RAP, LEAD VOCAL CHOI JAEIN...

IDOL DETAILS

STAGENAME: N/A CURRENT AGE: 22 DEBUT AGE: N/A TRAINEE SINCE AGE: 19 COMPANY: Midas SECONDARY SKILL: N/A

IDOL PROFILE

NICKNAME(S): JJ (jaejae); which is a simple play on her birth name. Various other affectionate varieties exist (jiji, nini, so on) MongJae; or “blank jae” for her expressionless face at rest. INSPIRATION: Jaein was, naturally, inspired by her older brother who debuted some years ago in the music industry. Her secondary inspiration is cited as being label mates Olympus and Titanium, as she found their engaging concepts and powerful choreography compelling. She rarely cites female idols as inspiration sources, though she is known to be a fan of BoA. SPECIAL TALENTS:

Cheerleading / she was a competitive cheerleader for a short time in high school, and has been instructed to keep a repertoire of her flashiest, most flexible, and more television spot friendly moves on deck in case they need to break them out.

Rap imitations / while she isn’t the best rapper to ever come onto the scene, she’s adept at humorously imitating the flow and style of hip hop artists the world over- from Eminem to Epik High. This perhaps stems from her complete lack of fear regarding appearing foolish.

Belly dancing / what began as an offhand fitness interest has become her latest variety primed talent, likely picked up on by management due to the fact she looks nice in crop tops and will inevitably be wearing a number of them.

NOTABLE FACTS:

Her older brother is an idol in another company, a fact she’ll be more than happy to bring up as much as necessary to ensure search rankings and fluff pieces.

She was (briefly) a competitive cheerleader in middle and early high school. She wasn’t particularly enamored with it, but it’s a fun fact for variety. She’s known for being quite athletic and graceful, able to pick up dances and sports/games well enough.

She often chose boy group songs to cover or perform for evaluations. She auditioned with Olympus’ Bad. She says her favorite songs are restrained, powerful, and alluring. As a result, she can do many, many boy group dances upon request. 

IDOL GOALS

SHORT-TERM GOALS:

jaein is here for the fame, along for the ride. she wants to debut, first and foremost, and to continue her budding modeling career. she has little interest in the trite cf deals the company throws her way but acknowledges one must regrettably start at the bottom, aside from the attention and income (and as a result certainly wouldn’t mind doing more) but finds the photo shoots quite appealing. her hope is to debut to glorious fanfare with a song that provides her a chance to look and feel amazing. she wants powerful choreography, a strong rap section, and a line distribution that gives her a decent amount to work with, or at the very least a lot of mv screen time. she’s here to play the game and get established, whatever that takes.

LONG-TERM GOALS:

jaein’s longterm goals are difficult to pin down. what does she really want? how can she know what her goals are, at all of twenty two, fresh faced and foolish? a long running career for neon is first on the list. she’d like to at least keep the power of the group going until their contracts are up. they can disband then, as long as her modelling and commercial careers are stable enough that she can keep her income generated. in a dream world she’d put out a solo someday, something restrained, powerful, poignant, and alluring. she’d establish herself as a versatile performer (she’s got no illusions about her singular prowess in any one arena) and would eventually tour the world. debuting in japan would be nice, an international career, the world at her feet- you know the deal.

IDOL IMAGE

“people do not see you, / they invent you and accuse you.”

this is the curse, perhaps, of all beautiful women in an industry like this. imagine the girl you’ve always wanted to be. effortlessly chic, delightfully cool, and generally rather compelling. it’s an easy gig for jaein to pull off, by virtue only of her appearance, in truth. thanks to that, she’s got a leg up on the whole “chic vibes” thing. they begin with her right away, teaching her to position herself, to pose, how to properly compose herself in front of the cameras. it’s not a wholly unfamiliar art to any young girl prone to taking instagram ready aesthetic pictures, but there’ s a finer art to it that she enjoys picking up, being given the chance to perfect.

choi jaein is easily assigned to a dance role, given the fact that her dance lines, when aided by long and slender limbs, appear both powerful and graceful and in truth this is something she’s been working toward tirelessly for some time now. it is thus, once more, unsurprising that the company would instruct her to lean on that, to emphasize her athleticism and her grace, in particular in those ways which would contribute to a somewhat sensual and powerful image. she’s not sure how her very distant past in cheerleading helps with that, but if they want her tumbling she’ll tumble. she knows the way the world works now- what midas demands she’ll cheerfully do, at least in appearance.

it’s the only way to ensure anything. jaein is no stranger to playing along as others construct images of her based solely on her appearance. jaein must be a bitch, jaein must be a slut, look at how much makeup she’s wearing, did you see how short her skirt is, and so forth. she’s tired of those petty things, of the nonsense of competition. this is not to say that she herself is not competitive, but is more specifically to insinuate she just doesn’t feel that threatened by people who project their own insecurities onto her, as she sees it.

“look like the innocent flower, but be the serpent under’t”

beneath the veneer of snake pretending to be flower is yet a greater surprise, however. she’s a soft thing, at her core, with a sensitive and passionate spirit that are difficult to overlook, easily bruised and inflamed, a fire easily stoked and quickly waning. she flickers candle-like, a hypnotic dance that hints at some greater danger. she is the temptress and as much as that, she is the tempted. there is power, grace, and a charming softness, a lightness of spirit, a levity that breaks the veneer of chic and unstoppable.

they push her into modelling and she complies. they assign her a role to take in some upcoming teen drama and she complies, finds the prospect of leaning on a character not too dissimilar from herself in the initial state of restrained and serious and slightly bitchy demeanor (though she could give a shit about the purely subjective merits of one musical genre or another) and a lightening of spirit and greater levity (that of course must come about due to love, or something, which is an unfortunate crutch but she expects next to nothing from these kind of productions regardless).

jaein is important to the company simply because she rarely says no. she knows, in all honesty, that to do so is patently stupid, and that is is much more preferable to save up her bargaining power for farther down the line, and that the “dark history” engagements she embarks on as a trainee will be easily forgiven and forgotten as time progresses. she wants to establish herself as a powerful figure in the industry, to eventually grow her image from that of the chic and graceful and tempting to something that holds a little more power. like certain famed soloists she’s interested in pursuing a performance and musical style that tell a story, pushing a concept of power and restraint as much as elegance and sensuality.

IDOL HISTORY

choi jaein is born on a pleasant enough day. there is nothing remarkable about the affair- no deaths, no suffering, no ill fortune. just an aggressively average family in an aggressively average apartment. but there is one rather important distinction that set the choi family apart.

good genes.

it’s the sort of thing you really can’t control. but choi jaein is born beautiful on the heels of an older brother who stuns with his looks- although his unruly, frizzy hair detracts slightly from the appeal. but he can’t sit still, and jaein is right behind him, silky hair pulled into pigtails and little frocks and frills dirtied with mud or rain or the grime of city life.

her brother has dreams. they grow big inside them, he wants things. he’s good, too. hapkido, soccer, track, whatever he tries out he picks up easily. as she enters school, her parents fawn over her brother and his many promising moments. they adore him. he’s handsome already, engaging. they love her too, of course, but her brother? he has promise. he’ll take on the family practice. he’ll be something.

so what will jaein do?

of course they expect her to succeed. jaein is pretty and sweet and well mannered, as a child, and this is a double edged sword. they’re not worried about jaein. she doesn’t act up, act out. she studies well and plays nicely with her friends (all of whom want to come over to jaein’s house in the hopes of seeing her older brother when he gets home from hagwons or hapkido). instead they see her mother’s tense smiles as her brother veers further and further off track.

by the time jaein is old enough to realize what her parents have put on her brother, the crushing weight of expectations and the misery of a lack of understanding, it’s too late for jaein to rebel at all. she takes stock of her life when her brother leaves to study abroad, looks around at hours of ballet, at vocal lessons, at chinese lessons, at hours of supplementary math classes, at hours spent learning piano, hours bent over books in hagwons that stay open far too late, classes that trail into the late evening, leave her clutching her books tight as she walks home alone.

like her brother she’s athletic, picks up on things quickly. muscle memory adapts and affects with flourish and flair. she ends up on a dance team in high school, cheerleading, because her mother says it would suit her, as long as she keeps her grades up. and she does. because jaein always does as is expected of her, without thought or question.

she doesn’t realize, perhaps, that questioning the will of her parents is even an option.

until her brother does.

he breaks away from expectations suddenly, severely, spectacularly. the next thing she knows he’s signing with a company, he’s becoming an idol. he’s becoming famous. she can find him on pann if she searches his name- for a long time it’s just comments about how attractive she is, and she boosts him with all the up votes her little heart can manage, because in this action he’s shown her what freedom could look like.

the fire in her starts when she realizes there is the option to be more.

there’s a certain image that appeals to her. something powerful and sultry, restrained and stunning. when olympus and titanium begin to work in that wheelhouse, toeing the line of frightening and furious and fervent, she’s hooked. she goes to midas. she auditions, sings her little heart out, dances the best she can, and okay maybe her face, her brother, her height, have a lot to do with it.

she’s not a stranger to that. resting bitch face and an objectively fairly attractive appearance have been in equal parts hindrance and help to her, rumors spreading secretly and stealthily, snaking through her high school, petty words on the lips of petty girls and hungry boys and she tells herself it doesn’t matter, holds her head high against it. when midas picks her up as a trainee in her last year of school and the word somehow gets out, it gets worse. by that point, her parents have all but given up on the whole family. not just one failure, but two? what’s the point anymore?

training is grueling. it’s brutal, it bears down on her with force and fury. but jaein? she has her parents to thank for the fact that she is excellent at working without question. she keeps her head down, she does her training and then some. they tell a group of trainees to start rapping and some of the girls protest- they don’t want to rap, they want to sing, they complain behind closed doors where they think it’s safe. but jaein knows better. years with her parents have taught her that in the end, what she wants doesn’t matter. it’s what she can do that will talk. if she makes herself valuable, that will do everything for her.

so she learns to rap. she practices her singing. she takes her modest dance background and learns to make it shine- charismatic and effective. she’s not the strongest dancer but she learns to be alluring, captivating, to pour strength and fire into her performance. it’s exhausting. it’s horrible. rumors swirl that she’s here because of her face, because of her connections. that she slept with one of the trainers, that she’s dating someone in olympus, or titanium, or whatever. that she’s just here to cause trouble, to make mischief.

she’s used to that. to the petty things that slip and slink. she becomes cruel in turn, sly smiles and wry smirks as a defense, at first, but she grows to find power in this girl that they’ve created of her. they don’t want choi jaein in the bookworm who never questioned the rules, a paper doll girl with no substance to her. they want her to be sultry, slutty, secretive and sly. and that choi jaein? she sounds a lot more interesting, honestly. and jaein doesn’t know who she is anyway. so why not? why not be brutal, why not be stunning, why not be these sensational and terrible things they accuse her of? she’s going to be playing to an audience for a long time, she might as well get used to it now.

[ibelongtonegan]

Torn (Negan one-shot)

This fic was inspired by the conflict between Negan and Simon at the end of Season 8 of The Walking Dead. I’m still not on board with that storyline or the way they ended it, and will forever believe in the Negan-Simon bromance. Since the writers thought otherwise, I decided to write my version of the story.

Summary: when Simon betrays Negan, he offers him a chance to beat him in a fight. But no matter who comes out as the winner, you will lose one of them...

Characters: Negan x Reader, Simon

Word count: 3,749

Warnings: angst, death, feels, gore, guilt, smut, spoilers for TWD S08E15, swearing, violence

Tags: @negans-network @emoryhemsworth @ridingmoxley @ladysyn @i-am-negan-trash @sleepylunarwolf @letsby @tatertotandcassie

Please let me know if you want on/off my forever tag list!

I appreciate feedback and most days don’t bite. So don’t be shy, please feel free to leave a comment, message or ask me anything!

You were watching the scene unfold with horror, fists tightened into balls. It felt like being stuck in a nightmare without the hope of waking up. Your nails dug into your palm so hard, they almost drew blood, but you didn’t even notice. You wanted to intervene or scream for someone to do something, but couldn’t. It was too late for that now.

Simon grabbed onto Negan’s ear making him bend his torso to the side. After successfully wiggling free from his grasp Negan delivered a series of blows on Simon’s jaw in retaliation. The two men were grunting and breathing heavily, sweat and blood glistening on their faces. They resembled two rabid animals fighting for life and death. Holding onto each other’s arms but with neither of them able to overpower the other, they ended up in what looked like a morbid dance.

You were standing next to Arat, paralysed by fear. Your heart was drumming in your ears, and you felt nauseous, needing to get out into the fresh air, yet you were glued to the spot. Arat’s hand circled your wrist, whether to stop you from doing something reckless or to offer you comfort, you didn’t know.

Gathering all his strength, Negan managed to push back Simon on his heels and using his momentum head-butted him. Simon staggered back and tried to defend himself, but was visibly disoriented from the force of the hit. Using his right-hand man’s momentary dizziness to his advantage, Negan kicked out Simon’s legs from under him, and his massive body hit the floor like a sack of potatoes. Simon tried to get back on his feet, but Negan left him no time and booted him in the face, his heel landing on his nose with a loud crack.

The sight reminded you of a bloody gladiator game where the factory hall of the Sanctuary served as the arena, and the spectators consisted of about a hundred men and women standing around the two opponents in circles, attendance mandatory for the Saviors and all workers. Negan wanted to send a clear message that betrayal would not go unpunished and anyone daring to cross him, regardless of how high they were ranked, would meet the same fate.

You wanted the fight to end with neither and both of the men winning, but knew that was not going to happen.

Negan was now crouching over Simon’s body, his hands gripping his throat with all his might. Simon was unable to protect himself anymore, his arms limp by his side, blood seeping from his nose. Negan growled a series of insults at him pressing the words through his teeth with burning hatred, but your mind couldn’t process the meaning of them.

Your hand flew to your mouth to stifle a silent scream as Simon’s windpipe crushed under Negan’s fingers, the stomach-turning sound echoing off the walls of the factory hall.

Negan released his grip on Simon’s battered throat and stood up on wobbly feet, looking around his people with a smug expression. There was a bruise on his lip and a deep cut on his forehead, blood and dirt smeared over his cheeks.

“What an asshole,” he huffed, the corner of his mouth twitching with an arrogant smirk.

His eyes met yours, and a flash of regret crossed his face as if he had just realised that you were there. He retrieved Lucille from Arat and left without another glance at the lifeless body of his former first-in-command.

Now that the spectacle had ended, people started leaving to go about their business, whispering amongst each other. Your body froze when a hand touched your back.

“Do you want to have a moment with him alone?” Laura’s voice was laced with concern.

You nodded silently not being able to form words.

“I’ll be outside.” she squeezed your shoulder reassuringly.

“Can I borrow your knife?” you rasped, barely above a whisper.

Laura sighed out loud before answering.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N, but I can’t. Negan’s orders. He wants him on the fence as a warning, to make an example out of him for everyone. I tried, but he was adamant.”

Simon was not only dead, but he was going to turn, and there was nothing you could do about it. You wanted to cry, but somehow the tears wouldn’t come.

You gave Laura a curt nod without looking up. When you heard her footsteps fading, you walked over to Simon’s body and knelt down by him on the ground. His face was even more bruised and bloodied than Negan’s, and there was a huge purple mark around his right eye. His eyes were staring into the distance, dull and glassy.

You tucked a strand of stray hair out of his face, gently caressing his forehead. You closed his eyes, and his lids moved obediently under your fingertips. Retrieving a handkerchief from your pocket, you wiped off parts of the blood from his nose and lips. When you were finished, you sat back on your heels and tried to take in his features one last time. He looked as if he had been only sleeping. Peaceful almost.

You wanted to say to him so many things before the fight but couldn’t. Simon was cheerful and optimistic. Being bigger and taller than Negan he was confident in his win. He didn’t even want to say goodbye to you.

“It will be over before you know it,” he asserted with his signature toothy smile.

You should have told him the truth then, but didn’t have the courage.

You leaned forward and placed a kiss on his forehead.

You heard heavy footsteps approaching and knew your time was up. The Saviors were there to collect the body before it would turn.

After one last look at Simon’s face, you stood up and were about to leave when Laura stopped you.

“He wants to see you.”

She didn’t have to say who.

Your first reaction was to object but decided against it. Laura was only the messenger and had nothing to do with the order that had been given to her. You were going to have to face him sooner or later anyway.

You followed Laura up the stairs in silence, completely absorbed in your thoughts. When you reached the familiar red door, she knocked twice and then opened it wide, motioning for you to step inside.

Negan was sitting on the couch, Carson tending to his wounds. His leather jacket was draped over the armrest, and dirt and droplets of dried blood stained his white shirt. The cut on his temple was cleaned and stitched already. Upon your arrival, Negan dismissed the doctor with a wave of his hand and Carson obeyed packing his kit hastily, visibly relieved that he wouldn’t have to witness what was going to follow. On his way out he gave you a polite half-smile that you didn’t return.

You were startled by the sense of calm that came over you. You thought that coming face to face with the man who killed Simon with his bare hands would make you sick, but you felt eerily serene.

“Would you like to sit?” Negan offered, motioning for the chair opposite him, but you shook your head, preferring to keep your distance.

Negan leaned forward resting his elbows on his knees.

“I’m sorry you had to see it,” he lamented entwining his fingers in his lap.

You didn’t answer or acknowledge his words and kept looking at him, motionless.

“I know you hate me right now, but I didn’t have a choice. Simon...he forced my hand,” he probed, searching your face for emotions or at least some form of confirmation that you understood what he was trying to tell you. When he found nothing, he ducked his head between his shoulders and continued, his voice faltering, no trace of his usual theatrics.

“I tried to find another way, but if he had lived, my people wouldn’t have learnt their lesson. They would have tried to overthrow me again, and I have to protect the people here. I have to keep them alive.” He sounded almost desperate now, and his emotional nakedness caught you off guard.

You knew he was right. The rules were strict, but for a reason. Negan had established them to ensure that the people at the Sanctuary could survive. They had to work hard and follow the rules, but in return were safe from walkers, had a roof over their head, two warm meals a day and access to medical attention. It was more than most people living out there on their own could hope for. It wasn’t perfect, but it worked because Negan kept everyone in line by enforcing the rules relentlessly.

Until Simon decided to betray him and take over as the leader of the Sanctuary.

Negan stood up from the couch and strode over to you. Testing your reaction, he carefully closed the distance between the two of you and raised his gloved hand to your face, cupping it gently.

“Doll...say something,” he pleaded, despair written on his face.

Your answer was instantaneous and caught him completely off guard. You raised your hand and slapped him hard. A stinging sensation shot through your palm where it connected with Negan’s cheek. You tried to hit him again, but this time he was prepared for it and caught your hand mid-air.

“He was my brother!” you shouted hysterically, sobs shaking your body.

“I know, baby...I’m so sorry,” Negan murmured and pulled you against his chest.

“And you are letting him turn! How can you do that to him? To me?” you screamed trying to wiggle free, but he was holding you tight.

“You know why,” he whispered in your ear, his voice cracking. “I don’t have a choice.”

Hearing the torment in his words, your body went limp in his arms, and the tears that had been absent before finally spilled over.

“I offered to fight him to give him a chance. I didn’t want to kill him like a coward,” Negan insisted.

His words were like a dagger piercing your heart, but you knew they were true. Negan could have just killed Simon when he apprehended him after exposing his plot. Under any other circumstance, such an act would have been punishable by death, but Negan decided to give Simon an opportunity to beat him in a fair fight. It was more than generous, and you knew he did it only because of you.

“I thought I was going to lose you!” you wept into the fabric of his t-shirt, feeling a wave of guilt wash over you from not only feeling this way but saying it out loud.

“I’m here, sweetheart,” Negan cooed. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

You hugged him back, hoping that it would numb the ache in your chest. Closing your eyes, you let your head rest on his shoulder, enjoying the soft caress of his fingers on your back. Your body betrayed your mind and melted into him, the shock over Simon’s loss dulled momentarily by relief that Negan was fine. Craving more contact, you tightened your hug around his chest, eliciting a loud wince from him.

“Are you hurt?” you asked alarmed, searching his upper body for injuries.

“Just a bruise, doll, nothing serious,” he assured with a smile and lowered his head, his mouth hovering over yours.

You relaxed against him and closed your eyes, revelling in the warmth radiating off of him. You felt like a tiny planet pulled in by the gravity of the Sun, not being able to withstand it despite the danger of being absorbed into it eventually.

“You are my everything. And now more important to me than ever,” Negan confessed, his breath caressing your nose and lips.

You looked up at him with a frown. His eyes were burning with sincerity and determination.

“I will take care of you. Both of you.”

Your eyes widened at his comment.

“Yes, I know. Carson has explicit orders to inform me about a pregnancy immediately.”

You only found out about your condition that morning when Carson did a routine check-up after you experienced nausea and weakness that you attributed to stress. When the results came back, you were staring at him in shock, barely able to process that you were six weeks pregnant. You pleaded him not to say anything about it, and he was visibly uncomfortable with your request but agreed to give you some time. At least he kept his word and didn’t tell Negan before the fight and risk the news clouding his judgement, as you feared it might. It was no secret around the Sanctuary how much Negan desired an heir, but despite having multiple wives, none of them had gotten pregnant.

Up until your paths crossed when Simon brought you back to the Sanctuary three months ago.

Simon was the only family you had after your parents had died in a car crash. There might have been an age gap between the two of you, but he always had your back and protected you, whether from bullies at high school or boyfriends who got too aggressive. After the outbreak, you became separated, but you never gave up hope that one day you would find your brother again.

You were wandering aimlessly, weak and starving, having run out of supplies days before. When your body threatened to give up on you, you collapsed on the side of the road, feeling death near. Your only wish was that it was going to happen before a walker stumbled upon you.

But it was Simon who found you first.

He couldn’t believe his luck when he spotted you on his way back from a supply run. Your hair was longer and messy, your body thinner, and dressed in filthy rags, but he recognised you immediately. He carried you back to the truck in his arms, drove back to the Sanctuary and stayed by your side while Carson patched you up. You were finally reunited with your brother, and he promised that he would never leave you again.

And then you met Negan. He came down to the infirmary after he was informed about your arrival. Simon knew his boss and recognised the meaning of the mischievous look on his face right away, just as he noticed the blush appear on your cheeks in response to it. He did everything to stop you from falling for Negan, warned you about how dangerous and unpredictable he was, not to mention the harem of wives he had at his disposal.

Seeing Simon’s disapproval, you tried to resist Negan’s charms. You did your best to evade him and limited your interactions to polite but formal chats. But you could only prolong the inevitable. Negan was a tenacious man, and after sending Simon to an outpost for a pick-up, he invited you to his room for dinner. You said yes and didn’t leave until the next morning, after spending the night in his bed.

From then on you had had a secret affair with Negan, but didn’t dare to tell Simon, especially not after you saw the tension between the two men escalate. Simon thought strong retaliation was the answer in dealing with rebelling communities, but Negan believed that people were a resource and therefore had to be made to co-operate. You didn’t know if Simon’s plotting had anything to do with his fear of Negan having you, but you knew he was up to something. He didn’t tell you what it was to protect you, but you felt that it wasn’t going to end well. You even broke things off with Negan a month ago in a futile attempt to solve things, but you fell back into each other’s arms the following night.

Now Simon was gone.

And Negan was responsible for his death.

You cast down your eyes in shame at the thought.

Negan cupped your chin and tilted your face up.

“You don’t have to work for points anymore. You will have access to everything you need,” he continued, his eyes never leaving yours. “Baby clothes, diapers, formula, everything. I have already given orders for my room to be refurbished to accommodate a baby cot and extra storing space for the baby stuff.”

You were astonished how he had everything planned out already.

“I appreciate it, but...I have a job and would like to earn my keep.”

You could tell that Negan didn’t like your answer from the way he narrowed his eyes at you.

“Absolutely not. You will not go near the laundry room and all the chemicals there. And I sure as shit will not let the mother of my child work for points like a common worker!” his eyes were burning, but not with anger.

“Negan, I need to work. I have to do something to occupy my mind. Especially now that...” you trailed off rubbing your temple as a headache began to form from all the crying.

The gesture didn’t go unnoticed by Negan, and his eyes softened immediately.

“Fair enough. But I’m moving you to a different job, one that means no risk for you or the baby. Carson will monitor your health continuously, and you can work only until he deems it safe.”

You didn’t expect him to give in like this but were immensely grateful that he respected your wishes.

"Thank you, Negan,” you whispered truthfully.

His eyes flickered as you said his name and he brushed your lips with his gloved thumb, silently asking for permission. The air in the room changed, and you felt a shiver go down your spine from the intensity of his gaze. You parted your lips in silent approval, and Negan captured your mouth in a kiss.

He was tender and slow, exploring your mouth as if it had been the first time, savouring the taste of you. A low moan escaped your throat as he deepened the kiss, his tongue massaging yours lazily. The metallic taste of blood filled your mouth as the wound on his lip ripped open, but you didn’t mind. A whiff of fresh sweat, leather and his spicy body wash reached your nose and invaded your senses.

His gloved hand wrapped around your throat, tilting your chin up for better access as he lowered his lips to your jaw and neck, trailing soft bites and licks on your skin before returning to claim your mouth again. Your tongues began to dance, battling for dominance and you let him win easily. You could practically taste the essence of hunger on him that was no doubt fuelled by the left-over adrenaline from the fight and it made you heady with anticipation. He was impatient to release the pent-up energy, and you were more than ready to let him use your body for it.

You found your back pressed against the wooden door as Negan pinned you to it with his hip, pushing his solid erection into your core. His free hand was roaming your body greedily and squeezed your ass, rocking his pelvis into yours. You buried your fingers in his hair, tugging at the curls at the nape of his neck, urging him on.

“I want you.” he husked into your ear and started grinding his body against yours for more friction.

Moving his hand to the hem of your t-shirt he lifted the garment and skimmed your stomach, his fingers leaving a trail of fire in their wake. Deftly unzipping your pants, he slid his hand into your panties and traced your slit, groaning into your mouth at the feel of your slick arousal coating his digits. He started rubbing tiny circles around your clit with his thumb, and you spread your legs submissively, desperate to feel him inside you.

Every nerve ending in your body was on fire, and you moaned out loud, losing yourself in the feeling of pure pleasure. You couldn’t think about anything else but wanting him to take you, own you, and cleanse your body with his touch from your sin.

Then images of the fight appeared in front of your eyes, breaking through the haze of desire and feeling Negan’s fingers tighten around your throat made you panic. The same hand was entwined around Simon’s neck merely half an hour ago. A cold sweat broke out on your forehead, and you felt the room closing in on you.

The warmth of Negan’s lips was all of a sudden not pleasant anymore: it felt like white-hot iron pressed against your skin, burning you, branding you. You needed to get out of the tightness of his embrace and the heat of his kiss before it consumed you.

Your eyes flew open and placing one hand on his chest pushed him away, abruptly breaking the kiss. He pulled back confused, his eyes half-lidded and clouded with lust. Panting hard he tried to kiss you again, but you placed your other hand on his chest and held him at arm’s length.

Your body might have taken over your mind earlier, but it reclaimed control now and stopped you before things escalated, and Negan’s pull could draw you in completely. No matter how much you wanted him, and how tempting the thought of numbing the agony through sex sounded, it was not the remedy for your pain.

“I’m sorry, but...” you sighed breathlessly. “I can’t...” You felt your throat tighten and your eyes well up again. “I need time to...to...”

Negan put his index finger on your lips, silencing you.

“Shhh...I know, baby,” he leaned down and touched his forehead to yours. “It’s okay. I got you.” He pulled you back against his chest and started caressing your hair.

Closing your eyes you relaxed against him, feeling relief spread through you as Negan’s words chased the horrific images of the fight and the bitter taste of guilt in your mouth away.  

But deep down inside you were torn. Despite the despair you felt over losing Simon, you still loved Negan. Simon might have been your brother, but Negan was your friend, lover and now the father of your child. How could you deny your feelings for either one of them?

You could only hope that wherever Simon was now, he would understand what you were going through. Your heart might have been broken into two, and the part that belonged to Simon was dead, but the other was still beating for Negan with all its might.

[winryofresembool]

Hockey player Ed x figure skater Winry AU

A/N: Here’s the AU I promised yesterday! This will most likely get continuation at some point because I /do/ want to know what will happen when our favorite dorks actually go to the practice that is mentioned in this fic. Sorry about the possible inaccuracies and lack of figure skating knowledge. If I’m honest I know a whole lot more about hockey which is partially why I made Ed a hockey player. Also, this is the first time I wrote Hughes so he probably sounds OOC. @queenwinry‘s posts inspired me to write this!

Next chapter: [x]

words: 1600ish

genre: idk, humor? A little bit fluff? (no warnings except Ed says one f-bomb)

Edward Elric, the youngest hockey player on team Amestris, had always considered himself a good skater. Ever since learning to skate and starting to play hockey with kids of his age, he was always a couple of steps in front of them. Not even the prosthetic arm he got after a severe accident when he was 11 slowed him down, and he eventually made it to the national team as the youngest skater team Amestris had ever had. Sometimes his brother had to stop him from spending too much time at the ice rinks, though, because he had gotten frost bites more than once in the past, but Ed never complained about them. It was his fault the accident had happened (or so he thought), so he had decided he would carry the consequences without complaints.

Because Ed was so focused on getting forward in his career, he rarely followed other sports or paid attention to other athletes. If he had done so, he would probably have noticed a blonde haired, blue eyed figure skater from his country far before the Olympic games where they both were competing.

One day, after the morning practice, Ed and a couple of his teammates, Roy Mustang and Maes Hughes, were debating what they should do before the lunch that wouldn’t take place for another hour.  Snowboarding had piqued Ed’s interest, but the other two decided they’d like to see figure skating at the nearby arena. Maes’ soon-to-be wife Gracia was on the figure skating team, and Ed knew her friend, a hockey player Riza Hawkeye, would likely be watching her practice too, trying to get some tips. The young man swore Riza and Roy had something going on, even though they never admitted it out loud. They would exchange sneaky looks every once in a while, and a couple of times Ed had seen their fingers brush against each other in a way that looked like it was no accident.

However, when the hockey players made it to figure skating arena, Ed stopped caring about his teammates or their women. On the ice was a young woman, about his age, he estimated, wearing a deep blue, short dress (how the figure skaters could perform in so few clothes, Ed would never understand), her blonde hair on a neat bun aside from the tresses that framed her face. She was beautiful, Ed admitted that much, but to his surprise he realized that he wasn’t fixated on her face, or the small dress, or not even her nicely shaped legs. Instead, he was amazed by her graceful, well practiced moves. How could a girl that small (he cringed at the word his brain had picked) slide on the ice so fast? How could she spin like that without getting her head all messed up? What about those jumps? Turns? Everything? Even her simply skating forward made Ed feel like he still had a lot to learn. She looked so focused and determined, like there was nothing else but the ice in her small world. Ed decided that he needed to meet this girl, even if it was just for some skating lessons.

“Hey? Guys?” He pointed towards the ice. “Who is this girl?”

“What, you don’t know her? She’s only the most talented figure skater Amestris has seen in years! After my Gracia, of course,” Hughes exclaimed, waving his hands in disbelief.

“I can see that she’s good, but who. is. she?” Ed repeated his question angrily.

“Winry Rockbell. Same age as you. Lives in Rush Valley, but I think she has roots in your hometown. She also won the nationals for the third time in a row this winter. I heard from Gracia that she has interesting hobbies, she namely wants to be a mechanic once she’s done with her skating career,” Maes responded and waved to his fiancée who was skating towards the locker room.

“Really? What kind of mechanics, exactly?” Ed found himself interested in this detail.

“I don’t know, all kinds? Although I think Gracia said something about her interest in automails once… Wait a minute, are you thinking…?”

“I’M NOT THINKING ABOUT ANYTHING!” Ed denied immediately. He covered his face in his hands, trying to hide how flustered he was, but his attempt failed badly. Roy snickered at him on the background.

“Uhm. Do you, maybe, think Gracia could introduce us to her?” He asked after a while, embarrassment audible in his voice. “I mean… I’dliketogetsomeskatingtipsfromher!”

“I don’t think that will be an issue! But don’t think about hitting on her, I’m fairly sure she’s seeing someone already,” Maes teased even though he knew that Winry was single. Pushing Ed’s buttons was Roy and his favorite pastime.

“And why exactly would I care about that?” Ed growled, but that made both Hughes and Mustang laugh even more.

“Because I have never seen you look at a girl like that before. I know that expression. It’s the same one I have when I look at my Gracia.”

“Shut up.” Ed turned dramatically to leave, but Gracia decided to show up in that moment, and the young hockey player knew it was too late to back off now.

“My beautiful fiancé! I missed you!” Maes yelled and pulled the woman into an embrace.

“Maes, you can calm down. I saw you yesterday.” Gracia answered, but seemed pretty happy about the attention she got.

“Hey, Edward here wants to meet our future champ!” Hughes let Gracia go, and pointed towards the girl who was still on the ice. “Do you think you could ask her to join us at lunch?”

“I think she’s already doing the final moves of her performance, shouldn’t take her too long to finish. I’ll see what I can do,” Gracia winked at Ed who blushed brightly. The boy turned his attention back to the ice and saw Winry lift her leg above her head from behind and starting to spin. It went on for a long while, and Ed didn’t even realize he was holding his breath until she finally stopped and had her eyes focused on the group. Acknowledging their presence, she waved her hand slightly and continued her routine until she did the final move and bowed to her audience just like she would do in a real situation.

“Hey, Winry!” Gracia yelled at the girl who skated towards her friend, smiling happily. For some reason Ed felt a little bit dizzy watching her smile, as if he had been the one spinning on the ice. He didn’t understand what was wrong with him.

“Gracia! What’s up?” Winry asked curiously.

“I’d like you to meet a couple of friends! This of course is my fiancé, Maes, and here are his teammates Roy Mustang and Edward Elric.”

Winry inhaled sharply when she heard the latter name and saw the golden eyes. Ed found himself interested in his shoes suddenly, so he didn’t notice that her cheeks turned red as she recognized him.

“Edward? I heard that you made it to the national team, but I wasn’t expecting… hi! Do you… do you remember me?”

“What? How would I remember you?” Ed asked, confused.

“We used to play together when we were toddlers! You, me and Al! That was before you guys moved away, and my parents… you know… and then I and Granny moved to Rush Valley because of her business.”

“Oh… Fuck… sorry… I mean… that was you?! I do remember that girl, but I never made the connection… You have grown… quite a bit… since then.” Ed laughed awkwardly, but his laughter made Winry relax and she gave him that bright smile again.

“I could say the same about you. Ever since I heard we’d both be competing at the Olympics I wanted to meet you, but I wasn’t expecting you to walk right here,” she giggled.

Maes decided to push things forward a bit, and commended:

“You know, this Ed here wanted to ask you some skating tips.”

“You do?” Winry asked, her mouth forming a little ‘o’ as she turned her attention back to Ed.

“Uh, yeah.” Ed rubbed the back of his neck and nodded slightly.

“That’s kinda funny because I remember that when we were like 4 and learning to skate together, you were very loud and clear about the fact that you wouldn’t take any advice from me. I guess some things do change!”

“Now that you mention it, I remember that too, and actually, it was only because you pushed me into the snow face forward!”

“Well, /I/ only did it because you and Al had tied my skate laces together, so I fell instantly when I hit the ice!”

“This can’t be anything but a beginning of a beautiful love story,” Maes whispered to Gracia who shook her head.

“Are you so sure about that?” Gracia whispered back.

“Well, just look at them.” Maes gestured towards them.

The two childhood friends were already laughing at their memories when Maes said that.

Eventually Ed gained enough confidence to ask Winry if she could come see the hockey team’s practice the next day and show them how she skated so effortlessly. Winry blushed at the compliment, but even though her face felt hot, she had goosebumps on her arms. She realized she should to go to change into warmer clothes, but she promised she’d meet the others at the lunch after that.

Ed grinned widely all the way to the restaurant, noticing that he was already looking forward to the upcoming practice and the lunch.