#thinking about the fine line between hunting and true crime

[jackandclairearesiblings]

SPN except Sam does go to law school and one of the mock investigations for class is about teenagers disappearing from a small town and Sam recognizes the case from 10 years ago when John used him as bait

[minarcana]

sorry for all the ooc, things are wrong with me. anyways i was in prae for the umpteenth time and every time im there all i can picture is the gaius that lives in my brain being forced to go through prae and its him with his head in his hands like "please. dont. dont make me remember being Like This"

im going to talk about gaius, sorry

(caveat: i have a better werlyt in my brain.)

his arc is that he went from a True Believer to "ah. these are people.". me forcing him to live thru prae era again is the cringe punishment cube.

a clarification to werlyt arc rewrite: yeah he did war crimes and he did them on purpose. he was aware they were war crimes. he knew that other legions did bad things, though he consistently underestimated the amount and cruelty of human experimentation going on. he knew other legions tended to treat eorzeans as lesser

however he really did believe in Something. he believed varis's propaganda and that varis was a benevolent leader, that it wasnt just primals but eorzea's belief in gods in general that were killing their own land bc he cant tell the difference between a primal and a god. he was fully committed to "these people are savages and heres some fuckin, fantasy version of the white mans burden" which is obviously incredibly wrong and fucked but yknow, it fuels the war machine. he was a soldier who never even thought to ask questions.

all he did was believe wholeheartedly in the propaganda fed to him and therefore rationalize "torching this entire country is fine, right". cannot stress enough i am not excusing the war crimes. im just making him a consistent character with a mildly rational arc. he super did those war crimes and did them on purpose. but he also did protect the war orphans his own war caused and had no issue whatsoever letting eorzeans who wanted to join the army to protect themselves do so. equality of opportunity providing you pledged fealty to garlemald, bc being of garlemald's population made you Better and Not A Savage and therein lies the line of who it's fine to kill if they fight back and who can be treated with respect.

unfortunately, ascians. gaius got his ass handed to him and the result is [nervous laughter] oh shit the army is super not infalliable and always right and very capable of and prone to wanton destruction instead of targeted attacks specifically to claim territory, hence the depression arc. he's pissed at ascians and wants to die. two birds one stone, hunt ascians till one of them kills him. meet people who want him dead and yknow theyve got a fucking point.

though he did still believe in the last vestige of "maybe things arent completely fucked and i didnt spend my entire life believing in utter bullshit lies?" that varis was a Good Emperor and Capable Of/Genuinely Interested In Ensuring Protection Of Garleans until the black rose incident. he still had a weird loyalty towards him that maybe he could get varis to like. not enact biological warfare against his own men. if he were just able to talk to him. but twas not to be and gaius essentially just [throws hands into air] OKAY! FINE! FUCK ME I GUESS!

hed already entirely lost faith that anything in garlemald's extant ruling structure could be salvaged while they still tried to wage war, weapon series just brought into light how deeply rotten the army had been the entire time when gaius had turned a blind eye to any operations that weren't his own.

if he met himself from his prae monologue now he'd strangle one of himself he doesnt care which one just free him from whatever this is hed Rather Die

the only thing im keeping him actually genuinely 100% totally unaware of from werlyt is the weird Thing livia had for him. shes out there hollering HIS BODY IS MINE as gaius is like "[completely out of earshot every time she does that] haha livia shes like a relative of mine i guess" and thats because i think its very funny.

on a SECOND DIGRESSION ABOUT PRAETORIUM

like. look. garleans cant use aether. i desperately want the explanation for how the fuck this man is pulling shadow clones out of his ass when he repels magic. i choose to believe the X beams are either ceruleum fire or aether cartridges charged by someone else but this cannot explain fuckin naruto shadow clone jutsu going on. what the fuck, gaius.

[wh6res]

dreams come true | yuta

"soulmate or not. i don't shoot blanks." — ny

[ part of the my bloody valentine collection ]

tw. gore, blood, murder, death, killings, mentions of illegal organ trafficking, violence, mentions of stalking, minor character deaths, weapons (a knife and a gun), almost (??) suggestive content but nothing happened

disc. this is rlly fucked up and yuta is unredeemable. i dont condone such acts. this is all a work of fiction and meant to entertain.

wc. 5k

every time you sleep, the void is sickening. it was all you could see, lightyears and lightyears away of pitch black that made your head dizzy and your stomach dry heave. you've always wondered when you'll start dreaming about your soulmate's memories. they were like little secrets, another way for two people to be intimate without even being together. their days were flashing before their soulmate's eyes in the form of a dream. it's as if you spent the day with them!

you loved it, the whole concept of it. it sounded so wholesome and sweet and jesus fucking christ, you've always been such a hopeless romantic.

it was sweet until it turned sour. you loved it until you hated it. it was romantic until it turned downright terrifying.

you wake up covered in cold sweat, panting and gasping as if you've run a whole marathon.

moonlight seeps through your glass window, slightly left ajar for the midnight breeze to pass through – you walk up to it, pull it shut, and draw your thick curtains together. you exhaled, breath shaking as you tried to anchor yourself back to the ground.

with the only source of your light disappearing, darkness envelops you whole. for once, you craved the void. you want that void back if it meant never seeing something like that again – something straight out of your worst nightmare.

"119, what's your emergency?"

"uhm, i think… i think i just witnessed a massacre."

you reiterate everything you saw in the dream – the mahogany door, paint chipping off the drywalls. the doorknob was rusty, so were the hinges, and it made an ominous creak when pushed open. the light switches on, the first you see was a bunch of dirty ice coolers in what should've been the living room, it wasn't even the slightest bit organized. they were everywhere, and the floor looked grimy and disgusting, like there's a stain they can't seem to scrub off. only when your soulmate has stalked closer did you see the labels haphazardly taped on top of the ice coolers.

kidneys. livers. lungs. pancreas. intestines – you nearly vomited on the floor, trying to relay everything you saw to the operator on the other end of the call.

then came the gruesome parts.

their deaths.

they were five people in total. men clad in cheap t-shirts and pants, wearing all these similar leather jackets. some were well-built, ripped in the arms and thighs, but some were skinny, the jackets hanging on their small frames.

they never stood a chance against him.

your soulmate is agile, quick on his feet with outstanding eye-hand coordination. only equipped with a butcher's knife, but it was all he needed to take them down and send them knocking on inferno's gates. he was skilled, knowing when to pounce and where to slash his knife to maim but never to kill. by the time your soulmate was through with them, everything is bloody red. all the victims' eyes widened as they sputtered and choked on their blood – not dead, but dying...

because your soulmate wasn't done yet.

a killer should have a modus operandi, should they not? so he took out a desert eagle, stood before the bleeding bodies, and shot two bullets straight into their eyes. the finishing touch? carving a frown on their faces with his butcher's knife.

the operator only told you one thing after she's made you describe the place for them to track the crime scene down.

"double-check all your windows and doors."

because you couldn't be too sure, not when you have been granted a front seat to the sad face slayer's most recent endeavors.

the detective eyes you with a certain pity. maybe that's why you don't bother meeting his eyes. you sit still on a chair, camera blinking red behind him, the interrogation room is freezing even with the thick jacket you're wearing.

seven billion people in the world and you're soulmate's a ruthless serial killer who took it upon himself to purge the world of evildoers – he was playing god, no wonder the detective is looking at you like that.

"uhh…" he's awkward, fidgeting in his seat. "and you saw this all in a dream?"

"yes."

you've known him only minutes ago. mark lee was his name and he seems to be a subordinate of a higher, more experienced detective named kim doyoung. you don't know whether to feel offended or not for having a doe-eyed newbie taking care of the case, but you pushed it at the back of your mind, knowing his superior is watching on the other side of the two-way mirror.

"did you have, like, other past instances where you dreamt of him? of what he…" mark looked like he was going to throw up. "what he does to his other victims?"

you shook your head. no. "i've mostly just heard of him on the news. i don't think i have the stomach to find out in-depth what the killer does."

mark takes out a folder, features walking the fine white line between looking apologetic or wanting to say me too. "i'm, uhh, really sorry to hear that."

there's a sudden pregnant silence encapsulating the interrogation room. it felt like you were mourning for something, the chains of dread dragging your heart to the ground as it pounded against your ribcage. mark looked like he wanted to say something, but you swore his eyes darted towards the camera in the corner and decided otherwise.

"anyway…" he trails. flipping the folder open in one swift motion. "past sightings have given us the sad face slayer's name."

he slaps down a picture of a man, his hair raven and a permanent scowl etched on his face. the quality was shitty. it looked like it was a screenshot taken from zoomed-in cctv footage.

"nakamoto yuta, twenty-five, japanese, and has slipped one too many times past authorities that at this point, it's practically a talent."

and just like that, it made sense why you're here.

your lips pursed in contemplation, palms quaking as your fingers reach forward to inspect your soulmate's picture. "and… you want to use my soulmate connection –" you glowered. never had a sentence sounded so fucking cursed and utterly wrong. "– to catch him?"

mark can't look you in the eye. "yes. he's very elusive. his killings have been happening cross-country and, as you can see, have garnered national media attention. the police are hanging by a thread here. a month in his case and all we got is his MO, name, and that he has this weird god complex on him. if we can't catch him by the end of next month…" he shrugs. "the feds are going to interfere, sooner or later."

"so…" you trail, urging him to continue.

"so, we need as much information about him as we can get and your dreams about him will be able to provide that."

fucking great.

the much newer revelations of precisely who it was on the other end of the soulmate connection put a significant damper on your mood. you'd like to think your new little cop buddy who follows you around gives you the least bit sense of security, but alas, it doesn't. not when you've seen first hand how yuta took down five men all at once without breaking a fucking sweat – you absolutely refuse to call him your soulmate, you'd never accept a person with his nature as a soulmate.

you try to hide the bracelet mark handed you last two weeks ago, during your time spent in the precinct's interrogation room.

"please have this on you at all times until we catch him, okay? this is for extra measures, just in case something happens to the cop assigned to guard you. just press the little button here and we'll be there before you can even finish shouting 'help!' – hey, i was just kidding! what's with the face?"

considering you're now probably being hunted alive for snitching on a serial killer? mark lee, that was not funny at all.

"do you have to get inside the lecture with me?" you whine, shielding your face with your hair when you notice people shooting glances at the rather handsome cop they assigned to you. "it's not like he'll attack in broad daylight! and in a fucking classroom, for that matter."

jaehyun looks just about ready to hurl you out the window. "lower down your voice," he scolds. "serial killers don't pick a time and place, sweetheart. he kills when necessary and if it's fucking necessary to murder everyone in that classroom to get to you? he'll do it in a fucking heartbeat."

you sigh when the chair next to you screeches against the floor, the aforementioned male taking his seat right next to you. jaehyun felt more like a babysitter than a cop, who seems to have a habit of constantly inputting his not-even-needed opinions on the most superficial things.

are witness protection protocols like this?

it was a good thing that overgrown bat doesn't come hanging around in your apartment, but he does have the police car parked right across the building's entrance. judging by how meticulous and thorough he seems to be, he won't miss any face that comes in and out of the building.

you didn't forget exactly why you're under witness protection. for the cops to waste one good officer to follow you around, you needed to be valuable and being valuable meant sleeping through nightmare-induced dreams of what your soulmate does for a living. the scenes are so gruesome, so graphic and utterly gory, that you dart towards the bathroom first thing after waking up in cold sweat, draining all of dinner down the toilet bowl.

after dreaming of him in action a few times, you've now completely understood what detective lee had said regarding yuta's god complex. it was unsightly, yet there was a twisted sense of heroism to it. if there's one thing, he only gutted the bad guys – but that didn't make nakamoto yuta any less of a bad guy, himself.

i need to ask you a favor [sent 2:05am]

JJH: what? [received 2:10am]

often the nightmares were too much. too much that you thought of escaping its horrors by never getting a wink of sleep ever again – until you realized you're a witness and is probably the only chance for the seoul police department to catch that bastard.

buy me sleeping pills? [read 2:08am]

when you peep out of the window, you find an empty spot across the road where jaehyun usually parks the police car. twenty minutes later, you answer the knocking on your door. he used that little "code" he did for you to know it was him. jaehyun was glowering and muttering about how he wasn't some errand boy when he shoved the plastic bottle in your hand yet, you still thanked him nonetheless.

the pills worked like a charm. you managed to stay asleep throughout the whole night, ceasing those episodes of yours where you jolt awake in the middle of dreaming about the sad face slayer's memories.

life continued for you. it became a little bearable, but that didn't mean the horrific murders you see in your dreams are something you can get used to – you don't think you'll ever get used to the sight of him slashing his victims, the blood trickling like a goddamned waterfall.

today the dreams were different. anticlimactic, per se, if you compare it to the violence so utterly present in his memories.

the first you see were black gates, then it shifted to him ordering coffee in a café (amazing what a simple black mask can hide). it switched to him walking on a sidewalk, then he arrives at his destination, an apartment building – it wasn't too rundown, nor was it extravagant.

the serial killer takes the elevator and walks up to a mahogany door –

your room number is a blaring sight.

you couldn't be wrong, not when the 506 with the missing zero in the middle was a sight you saw every day, going and coming home from university.

that was your front door.

he was at your front door.

you jolt awake, ignoring the icky feel of sweat making your clothes cling onto your skin. ice creeps up your spine and freezes you over when you notice with a sinking realization.

those black gates are from the university you attended. that café is your favorite study nook. and that sidewalk is a route you take every day.

you clamp your hands on your mouth as tears roll down your cheeks in rivulets. you pull the comforters up above your head, fear gripping onto you with a vice-like grip as you sob.

it was in the dead of night, moonlight grazing the confines of your room and hours away from dusk. you finally utter those three words in a frightened whisper.

"he's stalking me."

as if having the overgrown bat jaehyun following and annoying you around wasn't enough, you now have another person keeping watch over you. mark lee, unlike jaehyun, may not be as ripped with muscle, but you heard from your cop buddy that the young detective has a few black belts under him. people at the precinct said that if they have to choose one person who can ever come close to the sad face slayer's agility, mark lee's your guy.

"you gotta be shitting me," you mutter, leaning close to jaehyun to whisper like high school girls talking about gossip. "he doesn't look the type!"

jaehyun, in turn, plays along and copies you. "yeah, true. he gets that a lot, i think,"

"guys, i'm literally in the back seat. i can hear everything."

the change hadn't been too drastic. at least mark was there when jaehyun proved to be difficult, pulling him towards the other way when the older male tried waltzing into your class again. "you don't need to sit next to her in her class! are you serious? there's one exit and entrance and we're on the fifth floor. breaking into that classroom will be the end of nakamoto's serial killer career!"

you shoot mark an appreciative smile, one he quickly returned before hauling jaehyun around the hallway. "we'll just be at the canteen, okay? press the 'lil button on your bracelet and we'll be right there!"

shaking your head with a slight smile on your face, you entered the classroom, sat in your usual spot, and did some of your readings from our other class to kill time. you hardly hear the screech of the chair next to you as it was pulled back. not like you cared much for whoever sat down next to you, but you can't deny there's that feeling of missing jaehyun when he used to force his way into the lecture.

"settle down! settle down, people!"

the professor enters and the class begins.

you were meticulous with your note-taking system. it's thorough, leaving no room for information to slip you. having already printed hard copies of the powerpoint presentation and simply jotting down some extra key points mentioned by your professor.

you were just about to raise your hand for a question when you feel something warm graze past your arm. you absentmindedly look down.

the breath is sucked right out of your lungs.

hi, soulmate

there, scribbled with an ominous red crayon on a small piece of paper. it was almost laughable how innocent it looked but when you follow the ring-clad hand, up the black hoodie he's wearing, and finally to his face—

"hi! i'm yuta."

his cheshire smile spikes up your heartbeat. it makes you want to throw up, makes you want to slam your head against the desk. the fight or flight hormone you have is making you restless, eyes pinned on the serial killer sitting next to you, scared that if you avert your gaze, he's going to take out that desert eagle and shoot you until your skull caves in and the bullets in his magazine empties.

"but judging by your reaction, i don't think introductions are needed, hm?" his tone is easy, conversational even and it shoots a freezing jolt of fear right up your spine. it makes you sweat profusely because you don't fucking know what to do, your thoughts in complete and utter disarray.

"just press the little button here and we'll be there before you can even finish shouting 'help!' – hey, i was just kidding! what's with the face?" you swallow, sneakily pressing the button without breaking eye contact with the serial killer sitting in front of you.

"look upfront. now." yuta orders and you nearly snap your neck as you turn your head with lightning speed.

"i thought i was above the soulmate rules, but here we are. my soul is either too tainted or too great to be tied to such trivial things, but oh well, we learn to work with what we have. surprisingly, i learned to like dreaming about how your day went."

you feel something sharp poking at your thigh and when you look down, he has a silver butterfly knife pointed against you. the precision of the angle he held it with doesn't slip your notice. one slice of that knife, no matter how small, and he'll be spilling your guts in this classroom.

a fat tear rolls down your face.

"can you imagine how much my heart broke when i learned you were spying on me? leaking information to that snobby detective? to those incompetent cops? bad baby, that was very bad of you."

"yuta—"

"you think the cops can save you from me?"

his other hand comes in contact with the nape of your neck, holding your head in place as he leaned down to invade your space. he scoffs, and you can picture that terrifying cheshire grin you've seen one too many times in your dreams.

the knife digs through your coat, the tip hardly poking your skin only because he doesn't want to drive it into you yet. how did he even manage to get inside the university? not to mention the weapons he possessed? shouldn't anyone be suspicious when they see a man dressed in all black, clad in jeans and a hoodie, into a university—

he even dressed the part. with that hood drawn up and carrying that one notebook, he looked fairly normal. someone who can easily blend in with the crowd.

you eye your professor, willing him to look at you but your soulmate is having none of that. you squirm when he drives the knife further, at the base of your stomach. with his other hand, he twirls a lock of hair around his finger. "now, now, soulmate. you don't want half the people here to get hurt, do you? unless... that can easily be arranged—"

"no!" you whisper, head jerking to the side to look at him humming in satisfaction. damn. out of all the faces he's seen contorted with fear, yours is his absolute favorite. with those pleading, glassy eyes and parted lips, yuta is tenting in his sweats.

"thought so," he chuckles. "let's get up. we're leaving. that old crook doesn't care if students just up and went in the middle of his lecture."

you don't want to think about how he even knew that because it implied attending the lectures a good amount of times. it's with sinking realization that jaehyun was right. if it weren't for him insisting to sit next to you, nakamoto yuta would've long gotten you in his claws.

you tried gathering your things until he purred into your ear.

"ah, ah, ah. you wouldn't be needing those with where we're going."

the hallways were empty, not that you had much time to scream for help when he had a knife pointed up your back, shoving you into the fire escape stairs. within the tranquil confines of the staircases, the sad face slayer couldn't fucking care less for your personal space.

he disgusts you greatly, he needn't do anything but stand there in front of you but you can already smell the long blood trail from his path. it reeks of rotting flesh and that infuriating god complex he had left a sour aftertaste.

"you know, i genuinely wanted to get to know you," yuta pouts, shaking the hoodie off his head. his hair raven, it's ends kissing the nape of his neck. he looked like he came right out of a shounen manga but the bloodlust in his eyes is something that can never be masked. "i detested the soulmate connection at first, i thought i should just kill you off because you could be my loose end."

his humorless smile is enough to give you nightmares.

"but seeing how sweetly normal and untainted you are made me hold back," the butterfly knife appears before your line of sight, yuta teasingly dragging the tip right down your cheek to trace your tears. "so, why did you snitch, baby?"

you shiver when he noses the side of your neck, inhaling your scent as his other hand hooks underneath your top, freezing fingers making you jolt. when you don't reply, his patience starts to dwindle. then again, he was never a patient man.

"answer me, you bitch. why did you rat me out?" gone is the playful lilt in his voice. the vibrations surge through you as his deep, demanding voice scares you shitless.

you feel, hear, and smell him everywhere. this wasn't like any nightmare. this is real, and you won't magically wake up on your bed, sighing in relief, knowing he isn't there, that it was all just in your head. no, this was very much real and there's absolutely no escape.

"i didn't," your voice cracks. "i didn't mean to—"

"bullshit!" he yells. you wail in pain when he slams you against the wall, head aching as it came in contact with concrete. "because of you betraying me, i nearly fucking got caught, and i never get caught!"

you were full out sobbing at this point, noisy and unsightly as the snot mixes with your tears. your only hope now is he gives you a quick, painless death and that he doesn't carve and mutilate your face like what he always does to his other poor victims. "i'm sorry! please... i'm so sorry. i was scared—"

he coos mockingly, tilting his head to the side as he inched his face closer. "aw, scared? my sweet little soulmate was scared?" he places the blade flat against your neck. as humiliating and degrading as it was, you almost peed on your clothes. "how about now? i'm sure as hell that you're fucking terrified for your useless life right now."

you cringe when his hand abandons the expanse of your stomach, no longer inching higher, finding its purchase on the hair sitting at the crown of your head. he holds you in place like that, forcing your head parallel against the wall, with his whole body pressing up to you that it's nearly suffocating.

"just one quick little slice," he taunts. you hiccuped when you feel the feathery light scrape of the blade moving against your skin. "you won't even have time to scream… but i'm sure we don't want that, do we?"

you forgot how to speak. forgot how to breathe. whenever your mind wanders, you've always thought about how you'll give this killer a piece of your mind, with the amount of fear and sorrow he inflicts upon other people. but you guess realities were a lot more different than expectations. the yuta you dreamed of meeting is in handcuffs, but fate is a fickle little thing.

"do we?" he repeats, slicing ever so slightly at your skin. enough to draw blood in droplets, never a waterfall.

"n – no."

he smiles. "you can make it up to me. do you want to make it up to me?"

the butterfly knife digs even further. a warning. and if you value your useless life, you should be smart enough to know what to answer. drawing a shaky breath, you tried forcing the ends of your lips up to a smile. "of course, yuta."

your voice breaks as your sobbing grips your body whole. the fear consuming your entire being like a parasite consuming the host. you would've shut down altogether if it weren't for the calloused hands gently gripping your face. "i know, i know. i see how regretful you are, baby. don't worry, i won't hurt you. you'll make it up to me."

anyone would be fucking stupid if you believe those words coming from a serial killer.

in your wrecked state, you barely register that he's pushing you down to your knees. skin coming in contact with the freezing linoleum floor as you refuse to look at what his hands are doing. yuta has pocketed his knife. the sound of a belt unbuckling in itself added insult to injury.

you stare blankly at his shoes as he shoves his bottoms down enough for his cock to show. if you squint hard enough, you'll see tiny splatters of blood in the shoelaces. whether or not he feels you're unresponsive, he doesn't show. maybe he doesn't care entirely. he takes one of your hands and used it to wrap around himself. he gasps, sharp, followed by a hiss.

you feel it throbbing and it strengthens the disgust you feel. no way you're going to give him the satisfaction of eye contact when you're already forced to blow this psycho.

"eyes up."

you sniffled, vulnerability present in the tone you speak. "i don't want to. please, don't make me."

if words alone aren't enough for you to follow orders, maybe you'll feel more motivated if held at gunpoint. it's unmistakable, the infamous desert eagle you've only seen in your nightmares. the last thing you ever expected is to be on the side where the bullet comes out.

the barrel is freezing as he digs it into the crown of your head. "soulmate or not. i don't shoot blanks."

your eyes looked up then. glaring as the tears rolled down your face. "you're a monster," you mutter under your breath. where you got the confidence to fight back is unknown.

"i've heard that before, be more creative next time," he holds your hair tight in one grip, shoving you forward, eye-level to his throbbing dick. "now… suck, baby."

"freeze!"

you knew that voice, you've been hearing it for the last two weeks. "jaehyun–!"

yuta cuts you off, shoving the gun into your mouth. the safety clicking off resonating in the tranquil room. it's deafening, and it makes you immobile.

"hands up. step away from the civilian." whether or not mark is nervous as he points the gun at the serial killer, he's doing a damn good job of hiding it.

yuta sighs, exasperated as he throws his head back. his raised arms came down to tuck himself back in his jeans, and the action made jaehyun's calm exterior crack. "i said, hands up, asshole!"

"chill out, motherfucker. i'm just trying to wear my pants." the serial killer hisses, glaring at jaehyun over his shoulder.

"mark, call back up already. what are you doing?" jaehyun mutters, side-eyeing the young detective whose gun shakes as he holds it up. the taller cop takes a step forward, eyes never leaving the notorious killer as he addresses you curtly. "(name), come here."

just as you plant your palms to the ground to push yourself up, one of yuta's hands shoves you down quick as lightning. "no. she stays here, with me."

jaehyun scowls, takes another step forward. "and what makes you think i'm going to let that happen?"

"i don't think. i know."

there's a constant ring in your ear as the gunshot temporarily renders you deaf. you've shut your eyes in utter fright, hands shooting up to cover your ears but it was too late. you refuse to open your eyes, you didn't want to see a dead body lying before you, even if it belonged to a heartless serial killer.

but when your eyes fluttered open, it's not yuta bleeding out on the ground.

"no, this can't be – jaehyun!"

it was a bullet straight to the head, no one could've survived a shot like that. his eyes are empty as he stares at you, unblinking, stoic. the color is yet to drown away from his milky complexion. but you can't even manipulate yourself into thinking that jaehyun's still alive. not when his eyes are empty, not when he just looks so lifeless.

it couldn't have been yuta who pulled the trigger.

his weapons were on the ground and the shot rang too fast. the sad face slayer couldn't have crouched down for his gun to shoot the cop, it would've taken too much time. and among the three men, there's only another person holding a weapon, and that was –

"great shot, mark."

the detective smiles, but with the blood splattered on his face, it looked cold. "told ya i've been practicing."

yuta hauls you up by the arms, addicted to how frail your body feels as it collapses against him. he's finally got his little soulmate in his arms. and he will never, ever let you go.

the cops lost – you've lost.

yuta, with a sense of victory coursing through his veins, took the liberty of trailing little pecks down your neck as he mutters, "mine, mine, mine!" but you couldn't care less about his display of mocked affection. not when the other person meant to protect you, turned out to be everything you think he wasn't.

mark must've felt the gravity of your stare as he crouches before jaehyun's bleeding body. grabbing the fallen cop's gun, he took it upon himself to empty the magazine. the lopsided grin he sends you broke your resolve more than yuta ever could.

"i'm sorry. it's nothing personal."

jenoluck (c) all rights reserved

[littlestarofthewest]

Forever ago request that I started long ago and finally finished. Hope you'll see this, anon.

Title: Saved by the Bell | Words: 2,611 | Rating: Explicit (18+)

Pairing: Arthur x female reader

You can't exactly tell when it started; you just know it's getting worse. For a few weeks now, you and Arthur have been dancing around each other, making jokes and comments that aren't solely friendly. You also don't remember who started it, but now that you're both in it, neither of you wants to give in and stop. 

Somehow, Arthur always manages to do his work right in front of you, often needlessly shirtless, giving you a good look at his muscular body. In turn, you bend over way more than necessary, not caring if your clothes stay in place, exposing your cleavage or legs up to your thighs. 

Today, it's one of those days again. Arthur is chopping wood, always in your frame of vision, once again refusing to wear a shirt. He only stops when you use helping Pearson as an excuse to lick your fingers clean at every chance you get. 

Arthur disappears after that. You see him again when you're down by the river to clean some clothes. He washes barely a few steps away from you. Unlucky for him, you're not the most squeamish when it comes to cold water. Only dressed in your chemise, you don't care how the stream soaks the fabric, making it cling to your thighs. 

By the time Arthur walks over to you, you managed to get a few splashes of water on your chest as well, letting your breasts shine through like a beacon in the night. Arthur's eyes clearly rest there for a moment before he looks at your face.

"Charles said you wanted to come on our next hunting trip. That true?" he asks.

"Sure, why wouldn't I?"

"Lots of wild animals out there. It's pretty dangerous."

You know he doesn't mean that. After all, you've been out with them before. The whole conversation is just another way of teasing you. Arthur is standing way closer than he has to or does with the other girls. Droplets of water are still searching their way through the hair on his chest to run down over his stomach before they find their end at the hem of his jeans, not allowed to venture any deeper. Just like your gaze.

After weeks and weeks of this, it begins to annoy you. "You know, the chance of being ravished by some wild beast out there doesn't scare me at all. In fact, it would be a nice change of pace."

Arthur needs a moment to process your answer, and something in his face and posture shifts. "Are you sure? You could get hurt."

He sounds way too serious, and maybe you should get to the bottom of it, but you're out of patience. You get up and pick up the basket with the clothes before leaning over to Arthur. "I'm tired of the chase, Arthur. If you want your prey, you shoot it, or you don't. You don't make it run until it wants to throw itself off a cliff just to put an end to it."

Arthur opens his mouth but doesn't say anything. At that moment, you decide that you don't want a man who can't be honest about what he wants. You gave Arthur enough hints, making clear that you wouldn't be opposed to taking it a step further with him. If he can't act on that, then you'll call it quits. 

"Maybe I'll find someone else to hunt with," you say, walking away. For a brief moment, you have a flicker of hope that Arthur might hold you back, but the silence behind you is absolut. It's over.

[Line Break]

A week later, Arthur and Micah bring in a big score. They're the most unlikely pair out there, but Arthur is also the only one who can keep Micah in check aside from Dutch. Arthur chooses to work with him, so nobody else has to.

It's barely past noon, but a little celebration is born. People are singing and drinking, and while you're usually not much into booze, you make an exception this time. Micah, on the other hand, gets drunk faster than anybody else. That's probably why he tries to talk to you at all. You could never stand him and made that so clear that even a thickhead like Micah accepted that he should avoid you. Today, he seems to have forgotten all about that.

"Come on, doll. We've just gotten off to a bad start. I'm sure we can become friends."

The way he lets his eyes roam over your body makes it pretty clear that being friends is the last thing on his mind. Usually, you would have told him to get lost, but Arthur is walking over to get another beer, and an evil voice inside you tells you to get even. 

"Friends, huh?" you say, reaching for the collar of Micah's shirt. You straighten it before running your fingers over his skin, playing with the little hairs on Micah's chest. "That all?"

Micah grins, trying to puff himself up. Instead, he sways dangerously, barely able to stand upright. "Oh, I can be more than that. Say the word, and I'll show you a good time."

It's not lost on you that Arthur hasn't moved from his spot. He's just standing there, listening in on your conversation. "Tell you what," you say, leaning over to Micah and dropping your voice, "I'll think about it, but you have to do a lot better than this."

Arthur drops the bottle he's holding, but Micah pays him no mind, too occupied with you. "Let's go right now."

"Get sober first," you say and push Micah, making him fall flat on his ass. You walk away, hearing Micah laugh behind you.

You hope that he's forgotten all about this when he wakes up. You don't have the nerve to keep him off your back again, but Arthur's reaction was worth it. 

Not in the mood to participate in the festivities, you grab a basket from Pearson's wagon before venturing into the woods to find berries or mushrooms. The sun drops down through the trees, basking even the darkest places in a warm light. The bushes hang ripe with berries and picking a few, you wish everything was that easy.

You're about to move on when you hear something behind you. Pulling your knife out, you whisk around, the basket dropping to the floor. Arthur is coming out from behind a few trees, lifting up his hands as he sees you. "Just me."

"Why are you following me?"

"I was just heading into the woods," Arthur grunts. "Is that a crime now?"

You put away your knife and drop to your knees to collect the scattered berries. Arthur moves over to help you, annoying you even more. You can't be angry at him for being nice.

"Cowardice should be a crime," you murmur under your breath. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you see how Arthur clenches his jaw, fighting not to give you an answer. Two berries later, he loses the battle. "I'm not a coward."

"If you say so."

"I'm not afraid," Arthur huffs, "just because I'm not an asshole like Micah."

You grab one of the berries so hard that it crushes in your hand. "At least he wants me and acted on it."

"Who says I don't want you?" Arthur hisses.

Your faces are only inches apart now, and you stay there to hold your ground. "If you want me, Arthur, you have to take me. You can't-"

You don't get a chance to finish the sentence. Arthur closes the gap between you and presses a hard kiss on your lips. At first, you're too stunned to react, but then you throw your arms around Arthur's neck, eager for more.

Spurred on by your reaction, Arthur moves closer, and you topple over into the grass, Arthur on top of you. He kisses you open-mouthed and sloppy, his hands digging into your sides. It's almost painful, but you can't hold back either, running your hands over his chest.

While opening his shirt, you rip off a button, and it flies away into the bushes, never to be seen again. Arthur kisses along your neck while his hands roam over your body, cupping your breasts. You arch your back, pressing up against him, and Arthur opens your dress. With quick fingers, he manages to work it down enough to expose you and leans in to kiss every inch he can reach. You thread your fingers into Arthur's hair and can't help that you pull on it when he sucks one of your nipples into his mouth. 

"Finally," you gasp, and Arthur reaches down to pull up your dress.

His hand immediately goes to your center, his hand sneaking into your underwear to tease your pussy. With how long you've been waiting for this and the rough treatment of Arthur now, it's no surprise that you're soaking wet for him, and Arthur moans against your skin at the touch.

"You really want to get ravished, huh?" he murmurs, and this time you pull his hair on purpose. 

"You really should listen better."

"Fine," Arthur grunts, something in his voice that makes your skin tingle in anticipation. "Turn around."

He gives you free and helps you along, rolling you onto your stomach. "Arthur, what-?"

You can't finish the question and let out a surprised squeal when Arthur grabs you by the waist and lifts you up, forcing you to go on all fours. He pushes your skirt up with the same enthusiasm as before and pulls down your underwear, just enough to have access. 

For a moment, you can't feel Arthur but hear him rummaging around with his own clothes. Then, a warm hand finds your thigh, the touch setting butterflies free in your stomach. Arthur might talk about ravishing you, but doesn't have it in him to hurt you, still way more careful than you're used to.

He moves closer, making you feel his heat as he brushes his cock along your wet folds before pushing in. You claw your fingers into the ground under you as Arthur stretches you open, pushing in deep until he draws a soft cry from your lips. He stills then, hesitating once more.

"Arthur, please," you say, pushing back against him, "more."

Finally, Arthur moves with more confidence. He thrusts into you while his fingers dig into your hips, holding on to you for leverage. Knowing that you're not that far from camp, you try your best to stay quiet, but with the way Arthur treats you now, you can't suppress eager moans.

When you add the occasional "God, yes" and call out Arthur's name, he groans and goes even harder. You dig your hands into the ground and push back against Arthur, your insides on fire. It borders on being painful, but you still can't help begging for more.

Arthur runs his hand over your back and up your neck before he fists his fingers into your hair. The touch alone sends heat waves through your body, and then Arthur pulls. You're forced to lift your head to avoid the pain and hollow your back, lifting your ass even higher in the process.

Using the new angle, Arthur takes you without mercy, holding on to your hair. You're completely under his control, unable to move unless you want it to hurt. Cries of pleasure escape you, and without warning, Arthur pushes you down on the ground.

He only glides out of you to get into a new position, then he forces your legs apart with his own, pushing back into you. You groan when you feel Arthur's weight on you, and he grabs your hair again, making you lift your head. 

"Is that what you wanted, sweetheart?" Arthur asks, something dark in his voice.

Before you can answer, he already thrusts into you, and you remember how you talked about being ravished by a wild beast. It seems Arthur finally takes your words to heart. He barely gives you a second to breathe, holding you in that limbo between pain and pleasure, and your only choice is to take what he gives you.

When Arthur finally lets go of your hair, he puts his hand around your throat, and although there's no pressure on it, the gesture alone has you whimpering. 

"You're mine now," Arthur says, his breath hot against your ear. "No more joking around with Micah, you understand?"

"I was just-"

Arthur only moves his fingers, and you become quiet, barely able to breathe.

"Try that again," Arthur says, and you swallow hard, sure that Arthur can feel it.

"No Micah," you say, and Arthur hums, satisfied.

He picks up the pace, only interrupting the way he ruts into you to pull back and push in deep, making you cry out each time. By now, you're sure that at least one person in camp must have heard you, but Arthur gives you no chance to think about it.

He's everywhere, his voice, his touch, and his cock, filling you up so good that you're trembling with lust. You feel like you can barely take it anymore when Arthur reaches under you, his fingers pressing against your clit. Trapped between his hand and the constant thrusts, you can't hold on any longer.

"Arthur, I-" you manage to say but break off when your orgasm hits your core and rushes in waves through the rest of your body.

Arthur holds still as your muscles tighten around him, letting you set the pace for now. You push back against him, riding the last waves before your body relaxes and Arthur glides out of you.

He carefully turns you around, cupping your face with his hand. "You're alright?"

You lift your head to kiss him, a big smile hopping onto your face. "More than alright."

"Good," Arthur says, kissing you back, and you reach down between the two of you.

"Come here, big boy."

Arthur moans when you grab his cock, and when he tries to protest, you kiss him and hold on to his neck. This time, it's you who doesn't give him a chance to move, your hand sneaking into his hair.

Arthur curses against your lips as you tuck at a few strands and his cock pulses in your hand. He buries his face against your neck, his hips bucking, and finally, everything goes quiet.

You both take slow breaths before Arthur lies down next to you, staring up into the trees. 

"You know, we could have done that months ago," you say, unable to keep the snide out of your voice.

Arthur huffs. It's a single, somewhat defeated sound coming from deep within. "I admit it, I'm an idiot."

You turn to him, running your hand over his chest. "It's my fault, too. I could have been more forward instead of waiting until even Micah made a move."

"I said no Micah," Arthur groans.

"What? If it wasn't for him, you never would have made a move," you tease. "You should thank-"

Arthur moves over so fast that you barely see it before his lips seal yours. 

"I thank Micah in hell," he growls, fury in his eyes. "And I think I said no more Micah talk."

"Fine," you say, rolling your eyes, but you can't help the tingling feeling that his voice sends all over your body. "I'll shut up if you make me."

Arthur laughs and leans over you, his lips almost touching yours. He grabs a strand of your hair, letting it run through his fingers. "I think I know just the way to do that."

[sithsecrets]

release | din djarin x reader

A difficult hunt has Mando in a huff, and his crewmember knows just what he needs.

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2.9k words

mentions: mando’s frustrated but not mean in the slightest, blowjobs, general musings on sex

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Some hunts are easier than others— that’s one of the first things the Mandalorian told when you joined his crew. You’d thought that was a fair answer to the question you’d ask, and it made a lot of sense at the time because of course bounties have levels like practically anything else. Some people are stupid, others are smart…  A simple bail jumper’s probably not going to be much of a challenge, but a spice smuggler or a member of an organized crime ring? That could be difficult.

Before this assignment, you’d thought you knew what a difficult hunt looked like. There was the pimp on Jakku that led Mando on a chase for three days in the dessert, the pair of bail-jumping brothers that ended up being very well-connected to some very scary spicemakers, and a few other quarries that stick out in your mind. But Mando’s most recent mission…

This whole thing was a clusterfuck from the start. Karga had called it a “special quest” when he offered up the puck, and you’d been right there at Mando’s side when he asked for the price. The number that came out of Karga’s mouth was absolutely insane, almost too good to be true.

There was a catch, of course. The quarry is a member of an alien species known for their sameness— each being looks identical, no sex, no gender, no differentiating characteristics. To make a hard job even harder, the quarry’s…. a bad person. They’re dangerous, armed to the teeth, and known to leave a lot of collateral damage in their wake. And they’re rich. Unbelievably rich. The kind of rich that makes a person bulletproof, the kind of rich that lets a person disappear at will like they never existed in the first place.

Yet despite all of this, despite how difficult the task seemed, Mando accepted the puck anyway, and now you’re here in the Crest wondering what the fuck you’re going to do with him.

Four dead-end leads and three planets later, you think Mando’s going to crack. He came back to the ship earlier in a huff, announcing that you, he, and the baby would be going to yet another location to track this person down. Quiet rage has been radiating off of him ever since, the anger Mando feels slipping out here and there in all the wrong ways. He was less patient with the Child earlier when he was putting him down to sleep, and Mando’s tone was clipped when he declined your offer to make him something to eat. You try not to take any of his behavior personally, knowing good and well that Mando’s running on empty. The stress of this hunt has been immense, and you’re not sure if he’s been sleeping or eating like he should during his days away. Knowing how Mando takes care of himself in the best of times, though…

The man needs to relax, you think. He needs a good meal, something warm and filling, and a good night’s sleep. Mando also needs to blow off steam, needs to fight or scream or fuck—

You force yourself to clear that thought from your mind, even as you prepare yourself for what you’re about to do. It’s gamble, to say the very least— this could cost you your job, your place next to the Mandalorian. You don’t think you could stomach it, being sent away by this man that you care for, but something has to be done— about Mando’s agitation and your feelings for him.

Drawing in a deep breath, you stand before the ladder the leads up the cockpit, gathering every bit of courage you have. “Mando,” you call, hoping he won’t react too poorly to be disturbed right now. He went off hours ago, shutting himself away up there to “look over some intel,” whatever the fuck that means.

“What?”

The word comes out short, but not angry, and you figure it’s fine to go on.

“Can I come up?”

Mando doesn’t give you much in the way of an answer, but the noise he makes is affirmative enough. You climb up the ladder, the rungs cold on your bare feet, and then you’re there in the cockpit. Mando’s just as tense as he was when he went up here in the first place, shoulders drawn taut, eyes trained on a hologram in front of him. It looks like some sort of map, though the lines and colors mean little to you.

“How’s it going?”

He doesn’t even turn his head. “Fine.”

You watch Mando for a moment, nervous as you consider how to play this.

“Don’t you think you should rest, Mando?” you ask, coming to stand beside the pilot’s chair. He’s still hasn’t looked at you, hasn’t so much as glanced in your direction. “You need to eat, and I think sleeping would—”

“I’m not tired,” Mando cuts, and it takes everything in you to bite back your frustration.

“Yes, you are. You’re exhausted, and probably hungry, and even the baby can sense it.”

You don’t get a word of acknowledgement from the Mandalorian, not so much as a fucking syllable, and you finally slip just the slightest bit.

“Mando,” you declare, tone firm and demanding, and finally, finally, you have his full attention.

“Yes?”

Exasperation is clear in the Mandalorian’s voice, but he’s looking at you know, turning the pilot’s chair in your direction. One or two steps closer, and you’d be standing right between his legs, close enough to reach out—

Focus.

“Don’t talk to me like that,” you huff, hands on your hips. “You know I’m right. I know this quarry’s been hard to catch, but you’re starting to slip.”

Once again, Mando leaves you sitting in silence, though it would seem that some of the fight’s left his body. Carefully, you inch forward, and just the slightest thrill runs up your back when Mando opens his legs to make room for you.

“I’m worried about you,” you confess, voice softening. “I don’t want you to wear yourself out.”

Mando’s sigh is long and tired, but he’s out of energy to argue any further. “You’re right,” he concedes. “I— Maybe I am going a little too hard.”

“Of course I’m right.”

You take no real pleasure in this, but you are glad to hear Mando admit that he needs to slow down. With that done, though, it’s time for you to be brave, perhaps braver than you’ve ever been in your life.

“You need to relax, Mando,” you say softly, reaching out to rub at his arm. The visor follows your every move, but Mando trains his eyes right on you when you murmur, “Let me help you.”

“How— What do you mean?”

You’ve got the Mandalorian stuttering, and something about that boosts your confidence to a dangerous level. It almost feels like it’s not you that sinks down onto the floor, dropping onto one knee and then the other between Mando’s legs. Your fingers are on his belt for no more than a second before he’s reaching out, before he’s pushing your hands away and jolting in shock.

“Whoa, mesh’la, that’s not—”

“Necessary?” you cut, cocking your head. “I think that it is, Mando. You need to relax.”

“Yeah, but I don’t— You’re not obligated to—”

“Of course I’m not obligated. I want to do this, Mando. I want to take care of you.”

You settle on your knees and twist your hands out of Mando’s gentle grasp, the leather of his gloves cool on your palms. His fists clench and unclench under your touch, anxious and fidgety, and you feel the need to pause for just a moment.

“Mando,” you say softly, squeezing his hands, “I know what you need, and I’m happy to give it to you. But if you don’t want this, tell me now. I’ll go back down to the hull, you can go back to your map, and we never have to talk about it again.”

Mando hesitates, and you find yourself wondering if you this was a good idea.

“You actually want to do this? You— To me?”

You nod. “I really do.”

Finally, after a few more seconds of tense silence, Mando lets himself relax. You feel it, the way the muscles in his thighs go slack under your arms, the rest of his body sagging back in the pilot’s chair. Eyes track your every movement as you unbuckle Mando’s belt, though you see nothing but the blackness of the visor when you glance up. He’s good help, shifting from side to side as you try to tug his pants down just the slightest bit, and then there’s nothing left for you to do but start.

The moment you lean down to kiss the head of Mando’s cock, you’re blindsided by just how much you missed this. It’s been so long since you had sex with another person, so long since you felt the weight of a man on your tongue in this way. And the smell, Maker, the smell… You get lost in what you’re doing, focused on nothing but the feel of Mando’s cock in your mouth and the throbbing between your thighs. So lost, in fact, that it takes you about ten seconds too long to realize that you’re being touched.

Sometime between you undoing his belt and this very moment, Mando took off his gloves and threaded his fingers in your hair. He doesn’t pull or push or so much as try to control what you’re doing, but there’s a pressure there, a warmth. It would be inconsequential if Mando were someone else, the fact that his hand is bare against your scalp, but he isn’t. Such a simple gesture, and yet…

You sit back on your heels and catch your breath, one hand stroking Mando’s cock at a steady, even pace. A noise indicative of something not unlike despair slips out of the modulator that same instance, so quick and so quiet that it’s almost lost in the static, and not for the first time do you find yourself cursing the fucking helmet. You ache to see Mando’s face, you ache to see his whole fucking body…

“Are you feeling better?” you purr, mouth slick with drool as you talk. You’re not sure Mando likes you all sloppy and ruined like this, but you think it’s safe to go out on a limb just this once.

“Yes,” Mando grits, body shuddering when you lean down to kiss his cock. You take private pleasure in that, thrilled by the notion that a person like you could affect a person like him in such a way.

“Would you feel even better if you came down my throat? Or do you want to see it on my face instead?”

Mando keens, and you feel all-powerful.

“In your mouth,” Mando answers, fingers coming up to stroke your cheek. He sounds shaky, and you let up on his cock just the slightest bit. “I don’t— You don’t deserve to have someone make a mess of you.”

“I don’t mind a mess,” you say, because you don’t, not if Mando’s the one fucking you up. “Maybe next time I suck you off I’ll let you cum on my tits. I—”

“Now you’re just fucking with me,” he groans, squirming in his chair like he can’t help it.

“I’m not,” you purr, “I promise you I’m not. You can do anything you want to me, Mando, I mean that. I’ll lie there and take it—”

“Maker, your fucking mouth,” Mando cuts, breath ragged. “If you keep fucking talking, I’ll—”

He never gets to finish the sentence, words crumbling into nothing as you abandon your little game. You suck him off in earnest, using your tongue, paying special attention the places that make him jerk in his seat when you so much as breathe on them. It doesn’t take him long to fall apart, and you try your best to take it all, swallowing obediently like the taste is nothing to you. And how could you care about something as inconsequential as of the flavor of Mando’s cum when his cock is pulsing in your mouth, when he’s groaning and fisting his hand in your hair…

Listening to Mando cum, feeling him cum makes you drunk off arousal, but you force yourself to tamp down the feeling. He’d fuck you if you asked, rub your clit and let you clench on his fingers until you came at the very least, but this just… isn’t about you. No, this was something for Mando, a way for you to help him calm down, and you don’t want to ruin whatever peace he’s found by making demands. You’ll get yours soon, if you’re patient, and that’s more than okay right now.

Mando seems tired when you finally pull off of him for good, body sagging under his armor like simply holding himself upright would be a chore. You feel shy under his gaze, all your confidence and bravery slipping further and further away by the second. This was something you’d neglected to think about when you formed this plan in your mind, the after. Sucking Mando off and making him feel better is all well and good, but you still have to look at him, still have to go to sleep tonight and wake up in the morning knowing this happened. Knowing that he knows this happened…

Slowly, ever so slowly, Mando musters up a bit of strength, pulling up his pants and doing up the fly as you watch from your place on the floor. You’re half expecting to be dismissed when he’s done, and that’s why it’s such a shock when Mando leans forward to hold your face in his hands.

“Come here,” he says softly, and you don’t have to be told twice.

Your legs burn when you stand up, and your knees ache from kneeling like you did. None of that matters though, not when Mando sits you on his thighs and wraps his arms around your body. You’re facing him, legs dangling just above the floor on either side of his. The beskar is cold and hard against your skin, but Mando’s hands are warm, the expanse his palm soothing down the plane of your back. Up and down, up and down, up and down the heat travels, breathing life into something delicate and raw inside your chest. You thread your arms around Mando’s neck after a few minutes, glad that he’s still not talking. Something about his affection has you choking up, and you’d rather die than give yourself away. It’s the silence, you think, the way he says so much without speaking a word.

“Thank you.”

The words come out in a staticky whisper, the sound of them crackling in your ear. And though it pains you to do so, you sit up and look at Mando properly, missing the warmth of his neck the minute it’s gone.

“It was… You don’t have to thank me,” you say softly, fiddling with the collar of Mando’s shirt. You wonder where his cape is and why he took it off in the first place, though you’re not exactly sad to see it go. “Are you hungry? I made you a plate earlier even though you said you didn’t want to eat. It’s still good if you want it.”

“I do have to thank you,” Mando insists, holding your chin in his fingers. “You take good care of me, cyar’ika.”

Cheeks hot, you refuse to meet his eyes. “Well, it’s not like you don’t deserve it.”

You want to ask him what those names mean, the one he called you just now and the one he blurted out earlier when he tried to stop you. But you think it might ruin the mood, and so you swallow the question like you swallowed the lump in your throat a few minutes ago.

“If you go lie down in my bed,” Mando says slowly, one hand trailing down, down, down your shivering back, “I’ll take good care of you too.”

And though the very idea of what that could mean has you ready to run down the ladder as fast as you can, you shake your head.

“I just want to go to sleep, Mando,” you tell him, “I’m tired. And I know you are too.”

Mando’s going to protest, he’s going to insist he pay you back, this much is made clear by the way his hands tighten around your hips. But you cut him off before his tongue can so much as form the words, pressing your chest against his, rolling your hips…

“But when you catch the quarry, we’ll do whatever you want. I said you could do anything to me, remember?”

The Mandalorian’s breath hitches, and you know then that you have him.

“This was a release,” you explain, ducking your head to press you lips to whatever skin you can. The helmet does a good job of concealing his jaw, but not every bit of his neck is hidden away. “That will be a celebration.”

Mando huffs through the modulator, though you think his discontent is all for show.

“Fine,” he concedes, “but you better be waiting for me in that fucking bed when I get back.”

[gffa]

I have often given Qui-Gon Jinn a hard time because he’s so often used in STAR WARS fandom as a weapon to beat on other characters I love and it makes it difficult to like him, as well as it overshadows who the character himself is. So, to help balance that out some, I wanted to do a set of recs to remind myself–and just share some happiness in!–that I actually do very much like Qui-Gon! He’s a good person who really loved the people around him, he cared very deeply, he had an amazing friendship with Yoda (seriously, that Yoda’s the one he reaches out to when he becomes a Force Ghost, that even after death, Qui-Gon loves his Jedi family, it gives me feelings in my feelings place every single time), and one of my favorite things about Master & Apprentice is that I often got the impression that he knew he was kind of obnoxious sometimes, but he was at peace with it, he was fine with that. That was a straight shot to my heart, I love that dude! So, here have some fics that celebrate that Qui-Gon is actually a really great character. He may not always be the central character, but I remember him being well portrayed in these and they gave me good Qui-Gon feelings! STAR WARS - QUI-GON JINN FIC RECS: ✦ Reprise by Elfpen, obi-wan & qui-gon & anakin & dooku & mace & cast, time travel, 491.1k wip    Ben Kenobi dies aboard the Death Star in the year 0 BBY. He wakes up shortly thereafter in the Jedi temple in the year 41 BBY. Haunted by memories and regret, Ben must forge a new path for himself in the Jedi Order of his youth while navigating the murky waters of time travel. Crafting a better future from bitter experience is hard, but learning to heal is even harder. Major AU. ✦ The Way Back Home by Anakinstopyourpanakin, happygiraffe, obi-wan & qui-gon & bant & tahl, 39.5k wip    He had been missing for nearly four years. How could Obi-Wan be alive? It was too good to be true, and simultaneously too horrifying. What had been done to the innocent child who was currently falling asleep against his shoulder, and did his wounds run too deep for Qui-Gon to mend? ✦ When the world gets too heavy put it on my back by nematoda, obi-wan & anakin & qui-gon, 29.8k    Obi-Wan is different when it comes to relationships. Not in a bad way, just… different. Studies of platonic love in the life of Obi-Wan Kenobi, exploring the master/padawan relationship with Qui-Gon and eventually with Anakin. ✦ Shadows of the Future by stormqueen873, obi-wan & anakin & qui-gon & cast, 129.3k    ObiWan lost the duel on Mustafar, but instead of dying, he finds himself on a ship leaving Tatooine, with his old Master and a familiar young boy. As events begin to unfold, can he stop the future he knows from occuring? ✦ No Galaxy for Good Jedi by Annie_Walker, obi-wan & anakin & padme & qui-gon & dooku & yoda & cast, some obi-wan/satine, sith!qui-gon, 124.8k wip    Obi-Wan Kenobi was only a young padawan when he ran away with three-year old Anakin. He had no choice after his Master, Qui-Gon Jinn, fell to the Dark Side by Master Dooku’s manipulations. ✦ Masters and Padawans: Three Generations by GirlwithCurls98, qui-gon & obi-wan + obi-wan & anakin + anakin & ahsoka, 24.6k    Three generations of incredible bonds. ✦ What Is My Heritage? by Marnie, qui-gon & yoda, 7.7k    Qui-Gon, age 13, tries to find a place to belong. ✦ Coming Home by Marnie, qui-gon & yoda & dooku, 18.1k    A story telling how Qui-Gon comes to be Dooku’s apprentice. ✦ Trust Me by Charmisjess, dooku & qui-gon, 2k    A certain Jedi Master is less than pleased about being laid up with the flu. ✦ Triviality and QuiGon by Charmisjess, dooku & qui-gon, 4.1k    The Council’s infinite cruelty gives Dooku the most brutal of punishments: quality time with the Padawan and his plantlife! ✦ Rainy by Charmisjess, dooku & qui-gon, 26.8k wip    A seemingly easy mission goes horribly wrong for Padawan Qui and Master Dooku as they struggle to battle an insane adversary, poisons and curses, and an awful lot of rain. ✦ The Luckiest Man Alive + Letting Go by Elfpen, obi-wan & qui-gon & dooku & yoda, 7.9k    Yoda, Dooku, and a twenty four year old QuiGon go to the small planet of Omartia to pick up a forcesensitive infant. + Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan go to pick up a Force-sensitive child. On the way back, Qui-Gon is faced with the fact that someday very soon, he will have to let Obi-Wan go. ✦ Lineage by ruth baulding, obi-wan & qui-gon & xanatos & cast, 35.9k    AU!Jedi Apprentice. Book I: In which master and apprentice meet for the first time, enjoy a disastrous adventure courtesy of Xanatos DuCrion, and reap the fruits of patience and fortitude. A fanciful retelling of the original. ✦ Lineage II by ruth baulding, obi-wan & qui-gon & cast, 40.9k    A year or so has elapsed since the last time we saw our heroes. BOOK 2: In which master and apprentice investigate an evil brainwashing plot, attend a boisterous wedding, and battle the enemy within. ✦ Lineage III by ruth baulding, obi-wan & qui-gon & dooku & xanatos & bant & cast, 49.4k    AU!Jedi Apprentice. Book III: Master and apprentice face an important rite of passage, grapple with a traitorous plot within the Temple’s walls, and discover the limits of obedience and intuition. Appearances by Bant Eerin, Xanatos DuCrion, Yan Dooku, and others. ✦ Lineage IV by ruth baulding, obi-wan & qui-gon & siri & adi gallia, 39.3k    Master and apprentice endure a stint with the Agri-Corps, and find that trouble has a way of coming home to haunt them. Featuring a pile of bantha poodoo, a tentacled carnivorous plant, a desperate escaped convict, and a highly provocative young woman. ✦ Lineage V by ruth baulding, obi-wan & qui-gon & tahl (& some qui-gon/tahl) & dooku & cast, 50.7k    An evil scientist wreaks havoc when she captures Jedi Knight Tahl Uvain for purposes of obscure research; Qui-Gon Jinn and his Padawan rush to the rescue, only to be embroiled in further trouble; and Master Dooku joins in the hunt with characteristic aplomb. ✦ Lineage VI by ruth baulding, obi-wan & qui-gon & cast, 66.2k    Master and apprentice undertake a risky undercover mission to expose conspiracy in a far-flung sector; a comedy of manners abruptly transforms into a nightmare when their cover is blown; and a desperate escape gambit strikes deep at the foundations of trust. ✦ Lineage VII by ruth baulding, obi-wan & qui-gon & siri & adi gallia & some obi-wan/siri, 74.5k    Sent to the aid of their fellow Jedi on a disastrous mission to New Apsolon, master and apprentice contend with brainwashing, genocide, conspiracy, and the perilous realm of the heart. ✦ Lineage VIII by ruth baulding, obi-wan & qui-gon & cast, 83.4k    Hard on the heels of the mission to Apsolon, master and apprentice find new troubles - in their own backyard. Jenna Zan Arbor faces prosecution for her crimes; the Jedi grapple with the disastrous realities of corruption and personal loss; Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon undertake perilous and disparate quests. ✦ Lineage IX by ruth baulding, obi-wan & qui-gon & dooku & cast, 61k    A year after parting ways, Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon struggle to complete their self-appointed quests for enlightenment and justice. ✦ Lineage X by ruth baulding, obi-wan & qui-gon & dooku, 49.2k    The war-ravaged world Melida-Daan is backdrop to a manhunt, an occult conspiracy, a bitter guerilla conflict, and a test of ultimate loyalties. ✦ Lineage XI by ruth baulding, obi-qan & qui-gon & cast, 56k    The disastrous situation on Melida-Daan takes a turn for the worse; the Jedi dispatch a team to capture a dangerous murderer; and Qui-Gon Jinn and his former apprentice face the consequences of their rebellion. Series finale. ✦ Snakefic by esama, obi-wan & anakin & qui-gon & yoda & cast, 6k    It was only the matter of time before the egg hatched. ✦ Strokes of Colored Grey by Elfpen, obi-wan & qui-gon, 9.5k    ObiWan has been drawing since he was a small youngling, but only a few people know, including his teacher, Vianro Dleka, and the elderly, trustworthy archivist, KinWan Terius. But what happens when his master discovers his secret? ✦ Pies, Books, and Swords, obi-wan & qui-gon/tahl, 1.2k    Qui-Gon Jinn has made quite a good name for himself, as far as holonet cooking shows go. ✦ They Are by Charmisjess, dooku & qui-gon, 1.7k    This is their moment, their eternity. They think its going to be like this forever. ✦ Strongest Stars by Elfpen, obi-wan & qui-gon & chirrut & cast, 2.6k    The Force works in mysterious ways. A few quiet moments in the dark create a touchstone spanning across three generations, two orthodoxies, a war, time, space, and the galaxy. A maverick meets a visionary and listens for a song. Spoilers for Rogue One, sort of? ✦ Anecdotally by Elfpen, obi-wan & qui-gon & cast, 14.6k    The biggest stories are always made up of smaller ones. Here are some of the forgotten moments in the life of Obi-Wan Kenobi. Will feature a wide variety of genres, characters, eras, and AUs. Oneshots from whenever inspiration strikes. ✦ the floor under our feet by FoxGlade, obi-wan & anakin & ahsoka & qui-gon & dooku + background pairings, 4.5k wip    or, the adventures and exploits of Qui-Gon’s three adopted children. ✦ A Long, Long Time Ago by ruth baulding, dooku & qui-gon + qui-gon & obi-wan + obi-wan & anakin + anakin & ahsoka, 5.8k    A wisdom tale handed passed down through the generations poses troublesome questions for a line of masters and Padawans, from Dooku to Ahsoka Tano. ✦ Family by lilyconrad, obi-wan & anakin & qui-gon & darth maul & cast, sith!obi-wan, 6.8k    Seven years after the duel on Naboo, Obi-Wan Kenobi has turned to the dark, Maul has turned to the light, and young Anakin is caught somewhere in-between. Can Qui-Gon rescue his Padawan before it’s too late? ✦ Fountain of Force by esama, qui-gon & cast, final fantasy 7 crossover, 8.9k    In which Qui-Gon Jinn comes from Gaia. ✦ Midwinter Sun by orphan_account, dooku & qui-gon, 4.2k    Padawan Jinn is a rebel and Dooku is very much not ready. ✦ Jedi In Winter by bluedragoninamber, obi-wan & qui-gon & dooku & yoda, 12.3k    In which Yan Dooku understands regret and tries to make things right. Something new will be born from the ashes of the old but exactly what remains to be seen. ✦ A New History by Annie Walker, obi-wan & anakin & qui-gon & dooku & cast, time travel, 533.4k wip    During a heated battle, Dooku escaped into the past! Obi-Wan Kenobi and Anakin Skywalker follow to stop him, but discover that Dooku went to the past where Obi-Wan is a young padawan to a very much alive Qui-Gon Jinn. Now, the two must go undercover to stop Dooku’s plans from coming to fruition in order to save not only the future, but also young Obi-Wan Kenobi and Qui-Gon Jinn. ✦ In the Heart of the Force by ReneeoftheStars, ahsoka & qui-gon, 1.7k    Ahsoka Tano travels back to the world between world’s. Searching for answers, she comes across a past event that only makes her question the past even more. ✦ Stitches and Time by ladyarcherfan3, obi-wan & anakin & qui-gon & ocs, 4k    Alara Nel is a seamstress who keeps getting an unusually large number of orders for Jedi robes from an Obi-Wan Kenobi. Over the years, she learns why and gets to know the Jedi a little bit better. ✦ The Uses of a Sandwich by Laura Kaye (laurakaye), obi-wan & qui-gon & oc & cast, 17.6k    A few months after being taken as a Padawan, Obi-Wan Kenobi faces a challenge: meeting his Master’s first apprentice. ✦ untitled by elfpen, obi-wan & qui-gon, 3.1k    Anonymous asked: if you’re still accepting prompts: smol padawan obi-wan letting slip his law abiding exterior and letting loose the terrifying intensity beneath it. preferably in defense of qui-gon or something. ✦ The will of the Force by Lysore, obi-wan & yoda & qui-gon, 2.7k    Obi-Wan piqued Yoda’s interest early on, except the Grand Master of the Order had known for just as long that the Initiate was destined to be Qui-Gon Jinn’s Padawan. ✦ I thought I fought this war alone by stonefreeak, obi-wan & qui-gon & cast, time travel, 3.7k    Obi-Wan is thirteen years old, just about to start learning Ataru from his Master. Obi-Wan is sixty-one years old, dead and one with the Force since four years back. Obi-Wan is both, and neither. ✦ The First Trial by Raven_Knight, obi-wan & qui-gon, 2k    Accompanied by his Master, Qui-Gon Jinn, young Obi-Wan Kenobi undergoes his first trial and rite as a Padawan Learner on the frozen planet of Ilum. ✦ Hearts Entwined by KeeperofSeeds, obi-wan & shmi & qui-gon, time travel, 6.5k wip    stolen moments between Padawan Kenobi and Shmi Skywalker, glimpsed by Qui Gon Jinn, and his continued attempts to understand both this strange new addition to the Temple and the unexplained relationship between the pair ✦ The Orchards by Raven_Knight, obi-wan & qui-gon & cast, 3.6k    When young Obi-Wan Kenobi is injured on a previous mission, Qui-Gon Jinn refuses to accept further off-planet missions until his Padawan’s recovery. Yoda assigns the pair an in-Temple mission of utmost importance while Obi-Wan heals. Master and Padawan welcome the change of pace. ✦ The Path of Totality by Raven_Knight, obi-wan & yoda & qui-gon & cast, 1.8k    Before going their separate ways into exile, Obi-Wan Kenobi shares with Yoda a lesson of wisdom he’d learned from his late Master, Qui-Gon Jinn. A lesson of darkness, light, and hope. ✦ Finding Balance by Raven_Knight, qui-gon & dooku & jocasta, 1.4k    Eleven-year-old Padawan Jinn is left behind while his Master goes on a mission off-planet. Qui-Gon is left in the care of Jocasta Nu, and he’s not exactly enthusiastic about it. ✦ Warmth by Tomatosoupful, obi-wan & anakin & qui-gon & xanatos & tahl & shmi & cast, child endangerment, time travel, 59.8k wip    Time Travel AU. Anakin has woken up in the past. Time to say hello to past friends, right? Only problem, Anakin is a walking talking human disaster and makes a lot of stupid decisions. Stealing a Jedi baby from the temple certainly isn’t the smartest thing he’s done. ✦ Abducted by devilinthedetails, obi-wan & qui-gon, 1.6k    In trying to rescue the kidnapped daughter of a planetary leader, Qui-Gon finds himself abducted and in need of Obi-Wan’s rescue. ✦ Trust Fall by devilinthedetails, obi-wan & anakin & qui-gon, 1.4k    Two generations of Masters and Padawans. Two generations of trust falls. ✦ Something Borrowed, Something New by Raven_Knight, qui-gon & dooku/jocasta, 1.6k    Qui-Gon Jinn had only been claimed as Knight Dooku’s Padawan for three weeks before he’d managed to get himself into trouble with his Master. ✦ In Memoriam by ruth baulding, obi-wan & anakin & qui-gon & evan piell, 6.4k    In the midst of a desperate escape from the Citadel, Obi Wan mourns a friendship. A tribute to Jedi Master Evan Piell. ✦ One Day by ruth baulding, obi-wan & qui-gon & mace & shmi & bail/breha & palpatine, 9.9k    A single moment in time, on five different planets. A birth, an election, a discovery, a marriage, and a mission. Because all things are mysteriously united in the Force. ✦ They Are by Charmisjess, dooku & qui-gon, 1.7k    This is their moment, their eternity. They think its going to be like this forever. ✦ The Exchange by MissLearn, obi-wan & anakin & some anakin/padme & ahsoka & qui-gon & rex & cast, time travel, 77k wip    ROTS Obi-Wan and Anakin are swapped with their younger, TPM, selves. It changes things, in both parallels. ✦ Family by lilyconrad, obi-wan & anakin & qui-gon & darth maul & cast, sith!obi-wan, 6.8k    Seven years after the duel on Naboo, Obi-Wan Kenobi has turned to the dark, Maul has turned to the light, and young Anakin is caught somewhere in-between. Can Qui-Gon rescue his Padawan before it’s too late? ✦ Fountain of Force by esama, qui-gon & cast, final fantasy 7 crossover, 8.9k    In which Qui-Gon Jinn comes from Gaia. ✦ Rewrought by esama, obi-wan & qui-gon & maul, time travel, 4.4k    Bit o time travel ✦ Lion Jinn by esama, obi-wan & anakin & qui-gon & cast, 5.7k wip    Qui-Gon Jinn reincarnates as a lion. ✦ Brothers (working title) by Charity_Angel, obi-wan & anakin & qui-gon & padme & shmi & yoda & cast, 17.3k wip    In which Qui-Gon has a very near miss on Naboo, Obi-Wan is very stubborn, and they end up breaking a lot of rules accidentally as a result. All because of that kid they picked up on Tatooine. ✦ untitled by legobiwan, yoda & dooku & qui-gon, 1.5k    Yan Dooku was getting too old for this type of thing. He had rushed into the healer’s ward, Qui-gon’s limp body in his arms. That in itself had been a feat, as the boy’s gangly limbs were everywhere, but somehow the older Jedi Master had been able to deposit his wayward Padawan on a bed before an errant arm took his nose off. ✦ Drifting Starlight by Pandora151, obi-wan & anakin & ahsoka & qui-gon & cast, time travel, 60.3k    Just before the fateful Battle of Naboo, Qui-Gon Jinn is brought to the future, to the Clone Wars. He doesn’t know why or how, but he knows one thing for sure: He never, in a million years, expected the galaxy to end up like this. ✦ Although He Smiles by AutumnChild22, obi-wan & anakin & ahsoka & padme & qui-gon & cast, time travel, 86.9k wip    She’d counted the 750 steps down from the Temple. She’d said her goodbyes, and left Master Anakin standing below the great pillars. What more could the Force want from her? ‘Everything’ sums it up nicely. Waking 13 years in the past, Ahsoka faces a harsh reality. As events begin to unfold, she faces a ticking clock that times a galaxy’s end. ✦ A New History by Annie Walker, obi-wan & anakin & qui-gon & dooku & cast, time travel, 533.4k wip    During a heated battle, Dooku escaped into the past! Obi-Wan Kenobi and Anakin Skywalker follow to stop him, but discover that Dooku went to the past where Obi-Wan is a young padawan to a very much alive Qui-Gon Jinn. Now, the two must go undercover to stop Dooku’s plans from coming to fruition in order to save not only the future, but also young Obi-Wan Kenobi and Qui-Gon Jinn. ✦ The First Trial by Raven_Knight, obi-wan & qui-gon, 2k    Accompanied by his Master, Qui-Gon Jinn, young Obi-Wan Kenobi undergoes his first trial and rite as a Padawan Learner on the frozen planet of Ilum. ✦ Hearts Entwined by KeeperofSeeds, obi-wan & shmi & qui-gon, time travel, 6.5k wip    stolen moments between Padawan Kenobi and Shmi Skywalker, glimpsed by Qui Gon Jinn, and his continued attempts to understand both this strange new addition to the Temple and the unexplained relationship between the pair ✦ Highly Dissatisfied by Raven_Knight, obi-wan & qui-gon, 1.1k    Obi-Wan enters the quarters he shares with his Master, intending to ask for help in preparation for his exams. Qui-Gon, however, is dealing with a far more urgent matter. ✦ playing yourself like a red three by EclipseMidnight (EternalEclipse), obi-wan & xanatos & qui-gon, 7.7k    As usual, Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon’s mission has gone spectacularly sideways, this time before they even reach the planet they are meant to be helping. Luckily for them, they get some help from an unexpected source. ✦ so far the suns by blackkat, mace & qui-gon, 1.3k    “My old friend,” Qui-Gon tells Mace, quiet, and his presence comes closer. “I fear I made several mistakes in the past weeks, and I would ask you to correct them for me.” ✦ The Cry by batsojopo, obi-wan & qui-gon & xanatos & ocs & cast, 4.2k    This is my version of how Obi-Wan Kenobi arrived at the Jedi Temple. ✦ kybersong by Shadaras, obi-wan & qui-gon, 1.6k    Obi-Wan Kenobi goes in search of his lightsaber’s crystal heart. ✦ What Have We Become by Batsutousai, feemor & qui-gon & obi-wan & anakin & cast, time travel, 43.7k    One of Feemor’s greatest regrets, was that he never had the chance to get to know his brother-padawan, but the Force is willing to give him one more chance. And maybe, if he’s lucky, he can finally make amends with his former master and save them all in the process. ✦ We Start and End With Family by Batsutousai, feemor & qui-gon & obi-wan & yoda & cast, time travel, 8.8k    Qui-Gon had been mostly joking when he’d originally brought up the idea of a lineage dinner, but when his former padawan grabbed for the idea with both hands and a desperation Qui-Gon didn’t understand (and privately hoped he never would), he knew he would never be able to refuse. ✦ turning dust right into gold by blackkat, mace/qui-gon & depa & cast, 1.3k    Mace knows Depa too well. She’s absolutely going to do something terrible, particularly for Mace’s dignity. ✦ A Price to Be Paid by Peach_Bitters (Starf), qui-gon & dooku & cast, 3.1k    Young Qui-Gon learns there’s a price to be paid for his curiosity. ✦ For the Future of the Order by thetorontokid, obi-wan & qui-gon & cast, 3.9k    There are important lessons to be found in the Jedi Temple crèche.

[ghosthunthq]

BFU: “The Mysterious Death of Dr. Eugene Davis”

Buzzfeed Unsolved True Crime

“The Mysterious Death of Dr. Eugene Davis”

Aeternus.Flamma

000

  Prompt: ghost hunt but make it buzzfeed unsolved!AU (it can be with or without Gene being alive) i think that would be entertaining    Submitted by Anonymous

000

  [Intro music plays]

  RYAN: [Narration] Today on Buzzfeed Unsolved, we discuss the mysterious death of Dr. Eugene Davis. 

  SHANE: Eugene? 

  RYAN: Yeah, Eugene. 

  SHANE: I only know, like, one other Eugene. When was this? 

  RYAN: Like, recent. If you’d let me get through the intro… 

SHANE: Fine, fine. Go on. 

  RYAN: As I was saying, today we discuss the mysterious death of Dr. Eugene Davis, one of the most renowned mediums of our time. 

  SHANE: Medium. Right. 

  RYAN: Yes, medium. Dr. Davis, known as Gene to his family, has been called the perfect medium–no other person has thus far been able to so accurately communicate with other spirits. Not only could he channel on near demand, but he also showed, on numerous occasions, speaking fluently in languages he did not know. 

SHANE: Oh, sure. Like that can’t be faked. This bullshit has been literally faked for hundreds of years. Picking up a few lines in French isn’t exactly convincing. I’ve said it before. All psychics are bullshit.

  RYAN: Yeah, fine, maybe not. But how about entire conversations with loved ones in Russian? Or Arabic? Can–can you do that? 

  SHANE: Just cause–okay, well, you can learn languages. There are people out there who have learned dozens of languages over their life–

  RYAN: Did I mention he was sixteen?

  SHANE: …

  RYAN: Yeah, think about that a bit more. He’s seventeen and apparently he fluently speaks, uh, Japanese, Mandarin, Korean…  English, French, Spanish, Italian, Portugese, Russian, Arabic… Like, people have tried to disprove this kid and–

  SHANE: Wait you, said Dr. Eugene Davis. 

  RYAN: Yeah–

  SHANE: Doctor? 

  RYAN: We’ll get to that. 

  SHANE: Yeah. Okay. I call bullshit now. This is already ridiculous. 

  RYAN: It gets weirder. 

  SHANE: Of course it does. 

RYAN: [Narration] Dr. Davis’s sad story starts when he was a child, found in an American orphanage by famous parapsychologists, Martin and Luella Davis. The Davises adopted Gene and his brother, despite them showing know signs of speaking English. 

  SHANE: Martin and Luella didn’t speak English??

  RYAN: No, Gene and his brother. They only spoke Japanese to one another. 

  SHANE: … They only spoke Japanese?

  RYAN: Well, yeah, they’re Japanese, or, their parents were. 

  SHANE: You–uh–so he’s a psychic, Japanese child found in an American orphanage?

  RYAN: Yeah. And he’s adopted by a British couple. 

  SHANE: Oh, they’re British?

  RYAN: Yeah, they’re, like, the British version of the Warren’s–don’t roll your eyes. 

  SHANE: I thought this wasn’t the ghost season. 

  RYAN: It’s not–well, yeah, it’s not. 

  SHANE: There are ghosts involved, aren’t there?

  RYAN: …

  SHANE: This is great. 

  RYAN: [Narration] Gene and his brother Oliver, and no, those weren’t their birth names, but I couldn’t find those, were adopted by the parapsychologists and moved to the UK. From a young age, the brothers showed signs of having unique abilities. 

  SHANE: Both of them? The brother too?

  RYAN: Uh, yeah. Oliver Davis, also a doctor by the way, has given demonstrations using psychokinesis, or PK. Telekinesis basically. Move shit with his mind. 

  SHANE: Interesting… And how old is he?

  RYAN: They’re twins. 

  SHANE: Tw–twins! You’re kidding me!

  RYAN: No, no that’s for real. 

  SHANE: So, you have two creepy children, freaking twins, in an orphanage, and they’re apparently psychic? This isn’t real life. This is a plot to a B movie. 

  RYAN: I don’t know what to tell you. I can show you the videos. 

  SHANE: Shopped. 

  RYAN: There’s–there’s a death certificate–

  SHANE: I’m not saying this kid didn’t die, I’m saying that this is a hot, steaming pile of–

  RYAN: Alright, alright, I get it. Let me get to his death. 

  SHANE: Fine. 

  RYAN: After jointly publishing a dissertation and receiving their honorary doctorates, Gene and his brother were accepted to Cambridge University. Before starting his study, Gene decided to travel to Japan, though accounts as to why he did so vary. What may have been a pilgrimage to visit distant relatives unfortunately turned disastrous as Gene disappeared. 

  SHANE: Was he traveling alone?

  RYAN: Yes. 

  SHANE: Who lets a sixteen year old travel alone, especially overseas?

  RYAN: Okay, well, one, if you’re going to do it, Japan’s the one place to do it, it’s pretty safe. Two, he had contacts he was visiting. It wasn’t like he was just wandering around completely alone, he just didn’t have the same person traveling with him the whole time. They have records of him, you know, like visiting schools, meeting with colleagues and stuff. He was apparently very personable and made friends easily. 

  SHANE: Yeah, well, that’s how people get killed. And based on how this is going–well there you go. 

  RYAN: [Narration] Gene Davis was last seen leaving the home of a friend one night. He left on foot, intending to walk back to the ryokan that he was staying at in the area. However, he never made it to his destination. Despite police being called very quickly, it would take months before his body was recovered. 

  SHANE: Okay, I guess I take it back. He at least had friends who called the cops, when, what, he didn’t text them back?

  RYAN: Actually…

  SHANE: Oh they didn’t? Okay, nevermind. Suspicious. 

  RYAN: So, his brother was the one who called the cops. 

  SHANE: His brother? But he didn’t go to Japan.

RYAN: No, he didn’t. 

  SHANE: ….

  RYAN: [Narration] Though he couldn’t say how he knew to call the cops, Gene’s brother, Oliver, called anyhow and insisted that they do a check on his brother at the ryokan. When they arrived, the proprietors confirmed that they hadn’t seen the teen. It took a few days before Gene’s friends came forward, having no idea he was missing in the first place. 

  SHANE: More psychic shit?

RYAN: Uh, yeah, psychic… stuff. It was never publicly declared, but like, yeah, apparently Oliver had like, I dunno, psychic visions and knew something happened to his brother.

  SHANE: Well–okay. 

  RYAN: You don’t actually sound that angry at that. 

  SHANE: No, I guess… Twins right? I mean, I may not believe in the oogie boogie crap, but there has been, you know, weird things between children. Weren’t there, like, those sisters? And they only talked to each other, but then decided one had to die…?

  RYAN: Yeah, the Gibbons. The Silent Twins. 

  SHANE: There you go. Another weird twin story. 

  RYAN: Actually–okay, well, we’ll get into that. After nearly six months of searching, Oliver Davis ultimately recovered the body of his brother, who was found at the bottom of a lake in the countryside. He traveled to Japan and worked under a pseudonym, using family money to pay divers to search bodies of water. 

  SHANE: A lake? How did he–why did he–you know what, nevermind. Psychic. Right. 

  RYAN: Right. He, uh, saw his brother, I guess, drown. 

  SHANE: But psychic-ly. 

  RYAN: Yeah. 

  SHANE: Okay. 

  RYAN: Autopsy notes say that Gene was likely hit, uh, twice, by a car, and then tossed into the water while he was still alive. 

  SHANE: Jesus. Twice? What, did someone back up and hit him again?

  RYAN: Actually, it seemed like he was hit and then someone reversed and backed over him. Based on breaks or something, I don’t know. I’m not an expert. But yeah, seems like at least the second one was intentional. He still wasn’t dead, though, and maybe could have survived. 

  SHANE: Until he was thrown into the water? That’s horrible. That seems intentional, or like, the worst person in the world getting into an accident. What kind of person could do that? It’s like stupid teenagers at the start of a horror movie–actually I’m pretty sure that is the start to a horror movie. 

  RYAN: Yeah, it’s terrible. 

  SHANE: And sixteen. Awful. Psychic shit or not, awful.

  RYAN: It’s time to dive into theories on what happened to the young Dr. Eugene Davis. 

  RYAN: [Narration] Our first theory, and the most believable, is simply that Gene was hit on a dark road while walking back to his ryokan. The driver, finding themselves in a predicament, either backed up to see what they hit or intentionally did so in a state of panic. Regardless, it’s quite possible they believed that the teen was dead, and instead of calling the police, dumped the body in one of the numerous lakes in the area. The idea that it was simply an accident seems to have gained the most traction as there are no other serious suspects at this time. 

  SHANE: It’s unfortunate, but I guess I can see how it could have happened. It’s crazy that someone with such an insane background could meet such a munade end. Like, I thought for sure you would say it was ghosts or aliens. 

  RYAN: We still have two more theories. 

  SHANE: Of course we do.

  RYAN: [Narration] The second theory has started circulating since the recovery of Gene’s body. Many people found the fact that Gene’s brother simply knew about the death to be suspicious. Some speculations, especially from skeptics of the psychics, believe that Oliver orchestrated the death of his brother. Both brothers proved to be highly intelligent, to the point where they’ve been called prodigies, and it wouldn’t be impossible for someone so cunning to plan such an elaborate ruse. 

  SHANE: Hm… Okay. I guess that’s possible… Do we–do we know anything about this Oliver? Why would he murder his brother? Like, is there any substance to this theory?

  RYAN: Yeah, so, first, apparently, despite being twins, their personalities were night and day. Whereas Gene was pretty popular and, like, charismatic, his brother was–is, he’s still alive–not. So, it could have been jealousy. But, also, you’ve also mentioned the Silent Sisters–who agreed that one of them needed to die for the other to live. 

  SHANE: So, what, they were in on it together? If so, kinda seems like they picked the wrong brother. 

  RYAN: Yeah, kinda. Another popular theory for the whole, Oliver killed his brother concept, is that, much like the Fox sisters–who, if you don’t know, are some of the most famous ‘spiritualists’ in history–Gene wanted to confess that their psychic powers were fake. When one of the Fox sisters did that in the 1800’s, it ruined them. Maybe Oliver wasn’t willing to give up the clout that they had built off of their supposed abilities. 

  SHANE: That’s it. That’s the one. 

  RYAN: You like that one?

  SHANE: Yeah. That makes a hell of a lotta sense. Sure, hit and run, maybe. But yeah, this Oliver seems suspicious. I’m on team: their powers were fake, Gene had a conscience, and as he was growing out of his teenage years, he wanted to leave it behind. Seems about right. 

  RYAN: Yeah–yeah, okay. Seeing the history of other psychic siblings… yeah, I can see how this makes sense. 

  SHANE: What happened to Oliver?

  RYAN: Uh, well he’s still teaching at���

  SHANE: He’s teaching?

  RYAN: Yeah, like I said, prodigy. He’s been back to Japan a few times–recently he made the paper because he was involved in a fire on the island of Poveglia in Italy. 

  SHANE: So he’s an arsonist now?

  RYAN: No, no, apparently there was a ghost hunt that went wrong and–

  SHANE: He’s a ghost hunter?

  RYAN: Okay, this is–this is a story for another time–the Ciao Poveglia mystery is–you know what, I’m just going to stop now. It’s a whole thing. Look into it. 

  SHANE: Okay. Fine. Last theory?

  RYAN: [Narration] Our final theory is that Gene’s dealings with the afterlife came back to haunt him. Though no one can be certain exactly what Gene was doing, some true crime enthusiasts have put together a trail of his last known whereabouts in Japan. Supposedly, the trail can be traced back to a well known politician. Some believe that the spirits of individuals wronged by the politician spoke to Gene and he was working on gathering evidence to provide to the authorities. 

  SHANE: The spirits spoke to him. Right. Of course. Are there any scandals behind this politician? 

  RYAN: Uh–no. None. Well, there are rumors, but the, like, Redditors can’t even really settle on who the person is. So, it’s probably a bust. 

  SHANE: Could you imagine if that was true? Or like, you know, he thought it was true? And this kid just walked into the police station and said, I–I know that the, uh, prime minister killed and, uh, ate someone. How do I know? The ghosts told me! Dude would have been locked up so fast… 

  RYAN: Yeah, probably. It… doesn’t have a lot of credit behind it. 

  RYAN: [Narration] In the end, what actually happened to Dr. Eugene Davis, one of the most accomplished spiritualists of our time, will remain unsolved.

  SHANE: Look, whatever happened, and whatever… skills… he might have had… it’s still unfortunate that someone died so young. It’s a shame. 

RYAN: I’m guessing that I could show you all of his public research, and you would still never believe me. 

  SHANE: Uh… yeah that–that’s probably accurate. 

  RYAN: Wouldn’t it be pretty cool if we like, ran into Oliver on one of our investigations? Like, we just ended up at the same location?

SHANE: I mean, you did just offer up a theory that he’s a killer and I did agree with you. So. You know, no? Not because of any psychic stuff, but because we just trashed him online on a channel with a few million subscribers. 

  RYAN: Good point. Well. I’m sure that will never happen. [Outro Music Plays.]

000

  Notes: please don’t ask me how far I have driven to see one of the few, live BFU shows. I’m a Watcher patreon and own MOST of their BFU/Watcher merch. It’s like this prompt was made for me. I’m working on a BFU Supernatural/GH fic now. Ciao Poveglia is referenced. Please check out the cleaned up, slightly updated version on AO3. 

  Ever your servant, 

  Aeternus.Flamma

[straighttohellbuddy]

📓 !!

Okay im so excited please know I think about How The Light Gets In's world every day still, and so anyways here is a side story I want to write but there's a lot of set up regarding the reader and eef becoming friends again. For context, they were incredibly close around 2014-2017, but people were getting creepy and invasive and demanding about their friendship (think 2012 toxic side of the Phandom, if that makes sense), and a lot of the reader's relationships were strained at that time because while they had been successful before, they were absolutely blowing up after their first album released and they became far more mainstream. They felt like they were bothering the people they had become closest to, both because they're worried that they're a bother, and because gossip rags and paps would harrass their friends looking for a scoop, and so they ended up just completely cutting off contact without warning one day right before they went on their first tour. the start of HTLGI is about 3 years since they'd been in proper contact with any of the creators they were close to at that time.

DON'T LOOK AT ME on their 2017 ep Hyperfocus was a more general song in response to everything that had been happening in their life around that time, with a focus on how they stop associating with anyone for a while, without outright addressing it, but on their latest album n o s t a l g i a, read at 5am ft. Troye was specifically written at the start of quarantine, when the reader was getting back into YouTube, about their feelings regarding how their friendship with ethan ended, as they spent a lot of this time looking back of their YouTube career, and he was the person they were closest to for a very long time, before they iced everyone out.

OKAY SO THERES MORE OF THE BACKGROUND OF THE WHOLE FIC AND THE READER BUT

Werewolf Ethan & Mark. I'm sorry I don't make the rules. They have golden retriever energy you cannot change my mind. But also because this is the HTLGI you know that supernatural characteristics are able to be activated rather than just triggered by the full moon. What I'm trying to say is since this is set in the year of Unus Annus, they film a video together that's like, you know that show where a person has to try and outwit a professional tracker? Except its the reader being tracked by two werewolves at night in a national park. Reader is wearing some sort of night vision camera on themselves so whenever it cuts to them the audience can't actually see how they're using their powers, if that makes sense.

Also the reader agreed to this knowing it would probably be when they ended up telling Mark and Ethan about them being a demon.

Video is titled Hunting Down An Old Friend

A few Moments that the boys edit out:

The reader using their stupidly sharp prehensile tail to swing from tree branches, though they leave in shots where the reader's tail can't be seen.

Knowing that with the werewolves having advanced hearing, the reader would give themselves away by talking to the camera, they take a few minutes having flown up to a high tree branch, to pull out a notebook and do a little sketch of how Mark and Ethan appear in their Demon True Sight, and holding it up to their camera.

Werewolves being one of the animals who can kind of sense demons without being able to identify them, essentially like dogs can sense natural disasters and are often good judges of character, this can be heightened on command for werewolves. There's about 15 minutes of footage cut out of the boys discussing or mentioning how this place has awful vibes and that they should have done this during the day. It gets worse as they get closer to the reader, who didn't realise that the boys hadn't thought to ever use that particular power around them before.

("I say this with so much love and appreciation for you, dude," Ethan yells, looking up at you from the base of the tree they'd finally found you in, "but I- this is making me anxious I feel like something terrible's gonna happen, and we should probably get out of here and film the rest of the video back at Mark's." And behind him, Mark's nodding, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, eyes scanning the trees for whatever was most likely the cause of this terrible impending doom.

Oh. It's you. And they don't know its you.

Now or never, you suppose.

"Can you cut the cameras for a second? You're going to be fine I promise," you called back, and though they obligingly did, they both seemed antsy. You cleared your throat awkwardly, "that... that terrible feeling, that's not the park or anything in it- well I mean, it is, but it's just- it's me."

and later

"Dude your wings smell like rotten eggs."

"To YOU Ethan! And no they don't!"

"If it makes you feel better they smell like burning and rotten eggs."

"It does not."

(for reference, when enhancing their sense of smell werewolves can kind of distinguish various supernatural creatures, or parts of supernatural creatures. Some creatures have an inherent scent, but some, like angels and demons, only have distinct scents when they've activated certain attributesor abilities; demon wings smell like fire and brimstone, which unfortunately means burning and rotten eggs. I like to think angels wings are like the love potion in Harry Potter that smells like the things you love the most. Mark and Ethan usually don't enhance it around each other because they smell like wet dog to the other)

This gets about 2k notes on tumblr. The reader likes it:

Ethan finally finding Y/N at the end of Hunting Down An Old Friend (2020) Colourised.

Other things to note regarding all this:

It takes a while to rebuild their friendship to the point where they're comfortable enough to be on camera together (eef and reader specifically).

However, the Unus Annus video is the first thing they properly do together, and the reader, in an effort to connect more and make up for the past, will join in multiplayer gaming streams if asked.

Impromptu duet in proximity Among Us of Young Volcanoes by Fall Out Boy, which has their respective chats and fandoms losing their minds, except it stops abruptly after the first chorus as they both remember the opening lines of the second verse (make it easy, say I never mattered -- those lyrics hit a little too close to home)

But also the reader convinces him to join him for a proper cover in like, February of 2021, and it's something deeply sappy (I'm thinking Bon Iver by mxmtoon because I think its sweet and fits them well)

Also Ethan being reminded that the reader is kind of a much bigger deal than when they'd been friends before.

designed to hurt (touch me) from their ep Working On It is nominated for a Grammy for Track of the Year, and n o s t a l g i a wins Best Pop Album (because it's my fic and I said so)

FIRST OF ALL designed to hurt (touch me) is a beautifully produced song about Corpse (which people do not know) and the title itself is literally making fun of something he said IMAGINE his reaction to it being Grammy Nominated 😂😂😂 God he'd be proud but lowkey fuming, meanwhile the moment the nominations are announced the reader tweets:

me: here is an album where I processed my entire world view including heartfelt explorations of the trauma of existing and oversharing in the public eye from a young age without the traditional barrier between audience and entertainer

the grammys: that's cute BUT you know the song you wrote to bully your boyfriend and also be horny on main for him before you guys were even dating? THAT deserves its own recognition.

meanwhile Ethan's like..... this is the same person who I filmed a video with playing cards against humanity, and you laughed so hard you almost threw up. I am very proud but deeply confused.

The Hot Meme of Late April 2021 is "2 time Grammy Award Winning Artist Y/N" with a gif, still, or quote from the reader where they're just being an absolute chaos gremlin.

Of course we have "If I bleached my asshole for charity I'd do it tastefully."

2 Time Grammy Award Winning Artist Y/N speaking to their actual boyfriend in the year of our lord 2020: You are being executed for Clown Crimes.

ethan posts a short video to twitter simply of his screen where he's renaming a folder from "Never Before Seen Images of Grammy Award Winning Artist Y/N" simply changing it to 2 time Artist. The reader responds specifically to his tweet with a video of themselves asking Google how to hard reset someone else's computer.

So many screenshots from old videos surface that week.

I miss this world. Sorry this is rambly!!

[untilenglandisnomore]

PadMay 2021 – Day 2: How should Padmé be remembered?

(rocks up a week late with a chai latte) Played fast and loose with the word “should” here and ended up thinking a lot about Imperial propaganda.

Summary: Imperial Supreme Commander Darth Vader is sent to investigate accusations of a university lecturer spreading treasonous Rebel propaganda. A class on the life and work of Naboo’s former Queen Amidala brings back painful memories.

As far as punishments go, it would appear on the face of it that Darth Vader had lucked out. Being sent to assist the ISB might be painfully boring but at least it wasn’t painful. It seemed almost incongruous to the Emperor’s rage at his apprentice, once again, letting the Rebels slip through his fingers.

Vader knew better. Pain, he was used to. Pain, he could tolerate. Wasting his skills and time on pointless political suppression, investigating academics for spreading Rebel lies irked him immensely. The Emperor’s way of reminding him that he was replaceable, disposable.

And to rub salt in his wounds, he was commanded to investigate the faculty at the University of Theed. To be mere clicks away from his beloved’s final resting place was a pointed twist of the knife.

The quicker he got it over with, the quicker he could get back to hunting down the Rebels, so the Sith pushed all thoughts of her out of his mind.

Or at least, that was his intention. Begrudgingly, he followed the ISB Agent into the lecture hall. The Agent was to lead the interrogation, Vader was there to provide leverage.

The class had already started. Fifty pairs of eyes turned on them and the lecturer stopped abruptly.

“Can I help you?” she asked, a strong voice despite the fear spiking through her blood at the sight of Vader.

The Agent gave her shark-tooth smile. “Agent Elliot, ISB. We’ll just be sitting in your lecture today. Making sure everything is up the standards of our great Emperor.”

The way he cocked his head towards Vader made it clear it was not a request.

The lecturer stiffened. “What does education have to do with security?” she asked.

“Sedition,” said the Agent, “is a crime.”

She gave them a flat look. “Fine. Take a seat. Be sure to let us know when the truth runs up against the Emperor’s delicate sensibilities,” she snarked.

Vader felt a brief bit of surprise at her insolence and then almost amused. He really did not like Agent Elliot. There was something about the steel in her eye that made him wonder if all the Naboo were just like that.

They stood at the back of the hall, Elliot pointedly taking notes on his datapad, and Vader glowering, and the lecturer got back to her class.

“Okay hopefully you’ve all read chapters five, nine and ten on the Invasion of Naboo and the Clone Wars.”

There was some half-hearted murmuring across the room. The lecturer rolled her eyes.

“Come on guys. Fine. Does anyone in this room not know who Queen Amidala was?”

There was a smattering of laughter and snorts of disbelief.

Darth Vader didn’t hear the lecturer’s reply because what was left of his body went numb and a distant ringing filled up his ears. He stood frozen as the lecturer set up a holoprojector and suddenly it was her. Her face, lit up and larger than life before his eyes. Her voice breaking through the ringing in his ears and bouncing around his skull.

“Like so many of the people that we tell ourselves we're here to serve, Teckla lives in a district that rarely has electricity and running water as a result of the war.”

Vader could feel his heart stop in his chest. His mind went completely blank. He watched, as if from a very far distance, as the holoprojector floated up off the desk, crumpled up like a piece of flimsi, and then shattered into dust.

Stillness fell over the room as all the students and the lecturer stared at the spot where the holoprojector had sat seconds prior.

The lecturer seemed to recover first, giving herself a little shake and pointedly not looking at Vader.

“Well,” she said, “I’ve got printed copies of this speech on flimsi,” she handed out sheets for students to pass around while they started to whisper to each other, furtive glances in Vader’s direction.“So everyone take a couple of minutes to read the speech and take some notes.”

The students followed their instructions as the lecturer awkwardly scooped up the remains of her holoprojector and deposited them into a bin.

“Okay,” she said at last, “what does this speech tell us about the Clone Wars?”

A handful of students raised their hands, the lecturer pointed to a bothan girl, one of the few non-humans in the class.

“The war was causing lots of suffering and the Senate weren’t doing a good job stopping it. This is why the Emperor had to take over, to ensure peace.”

The lecturer glanced over at where Agent Elliot was standing and didn’t try to hide the roll of her eyes.

“I suppose it could be interpreted that way. Senator Amidala spoke out against corruption in the Senate many times.”

“She didn’t support the war,” said another student, a human boy, “doesn’t that make her a Separatist?”

“And she signed the bill asking the Emperor to hand power back to the Senate. Isn’t that treason?” added his friend.

Another disdainful eye roll in the ISB Agent’s direction as the lecturer trotted out the party line through gritted teeth.

“Senator Amidala was a close, personal friend of the Emperor. The Emperor supports democracy and free speech, but order had to be restored after the war. Senator Amidala was a great leader and surely would have supported the Empire had she lived long enough to see the excellent things it has achieved.”

“Professor?” another student put up her hand. “I was going to do my paper on Senator Amidala and the days around the rise of the Empire but there’s hardly any sources? Should I pick another topic? Do you know how she died?”

Genuine curiosity broke through the lecturer’s stony façade but as she opened her mouth to answer, she yelped and jumped back as her entire desk broke in half.

She stared at the desk. She stared at the rows of students gaping in shock. She stared at Vader.

Her eyes narrowed minutely at the Sith and then, apparently throwing all caution and good sense to the wind, she continued her answer.

“It’s a matter of some… contention,” she started slowly. “Senator Amidala was last seen at her home on Coruscant several hours after the formation of the Empire. She took her personal ship, and left Coruscant. There’s no further sources on where she was or what happened to her.”

The lecture hall felt very cold all of a sudden. Despite the ominous feeling in her gut, the lecturer continued.

“Official Imperial sources reported her death as an act of terrorism by a Jedi. They claim she died a martyr for the Empire.”

“And you don’t think that’s true?” asked a student. It was a fair question. The disbelief was clear in her tone.

The lecturer glanced over again to Vader and the Agent. She shrugged.

“Without any evidence to the contrary, it might as well be true. I think her actions as Queen and as Senator tell us exactly what Amidala would have thought of the Empire.” She ignored the twitch of the Agent’s brow at her tone, and pointed to a student. “Yes, Ilya.”

The class continued, moving on to discuss the boring, political, parts of the Clone Wars which Vader, for one, had no desire to relive.

None of it was new to him anyway, so he allowed himself to zone out the class, gingerly picking through the whirlwind of his thoughts.

Her. Somehow of all the days, of all the classes, they were discussing her.

He briefly mused on whether it was the Force, or his own cursed bad luck. Or, more cynically, if this was engineered by his Master, as part of his punishment.

They remembered her, quoted her speeches and still respected her as a leader, as Queen and as Senator. And yet they knew nothing about her.

They didn’t know that her laughter was musical when she was happy, and a graceless snigger when he made a particularly lewd joke. They didn’t know how the air in a room seemed to change when she walked into it, like all the atoms had ceased moving. Or how it changed again, when she spoke, always uncompromising and direct, like static electricity crackled between her sentences. They didn’t know all the good she could have done. Would have done.

He had robbed the galaxy of her blinding, beautiful presence. She was the only good thing left and he killed her and it was all his fault.

A blaring alarm shook him out of his reverie as students started to pack up their bags and awkwardly file out the door past him, shooting him apprehensive glances as they went.

The girl from before, who had asked… who had asked about that, was loitering behind to approach her teacher.

“Um,” she started, “so what should I do my paper on? So many of the books in the library have been taken out by the new censorship laws, it’s so hard to find good sources.”

The lecturer flashed her student a smile. “It just so happens that the Senator Amidala’s father used to work at this university, he’s an old friend and he dropped off some of the Senator’s old memoirs.”

She went to her bag and pulled out a datapad. “It’s all been copied to the holonet, and,” she rolled her eyes in Vader’s direction, once again demonstrating a remarkable lack of fear for her life, “edited to remove anything that could be interpreted as anti-Imperial. There’s lots of good anecdotes from her time as Senator, and a fair few political essays.”

They started to talk further about the student’s paper but Vader wasn’t listening, his legs moving before he was fully conscious of it, coming to a stop in front of the lecturer and snatching the datapad from her hand. She gave him an unimpressed glare and he was suddenly overcome with a need to explain himself.

“The ISB will need to review this,” he said stiffly, “for evidence.” He abruptly turned on his heel and walked out the room, nearly running over Agent Elliot in the corridor.

“Other than her having an attitude problem, there’s not much to go on here, she’s not distributing illegal material as far as we can see,” said the Agent. “What’s that?” He asked, pointing to the datapad in Vader’s hand.

“Nothing that concerns you,” replied Vader, and stalked away in a flurry of black fabric and disdain.

It wasn’t until he was back in his chambers aboard the Executor that he dared take out the datapad again, too often surrounded by nosy Imperial officials and gossipy stormtroopers.

He flicked it to a random page and at the first line he read, let out a snort of amusement, the sound odd and distorted through his vocoder.

“In a democracy, citizens have a duty to stand up against tyranny. In order to benefit from the rights and freedoms that democracy brings, citizens have an obligation to be vigilant against the rise of authoritarianism.”

This, thought Vader, was definitely not Imperial approved material. Distantly, he wondered if he should report it, this incendiary material was on the holonet, anyone could read it.

People would know what she thought. More would remember her as a traitor.

He preferred to imagine that he could have convinced her, that she would have come to see that the Empire was necessary. But. He quietly knew the truth. She was stalwart in her beliefs and a hell of a lot more stubborn than he was.

She would have been proud to be labelled a traitor by this Empire. She would hate to be remembered as a martyr for it.

She always did have the last word, Vader thought dryly, resolving to conveniently forget about the memoirs being on the holonet, and settled onto a chair to read every word she had written.

[cupcakemolotov]

When Blood Calls for Blood

Hmm. This was supposed to be a mafia story for the AU Season that @klaroline-event is putting on, and instead descended into the depths of blood magic and werewolves, and some horror. Your guess is as good as mine as how that happened. Anyway. Hopefully this still works for Crime week. People ARE murdered.

Here you go. You can read it on A03 if you prefer.

Warnings: Blood Magic, Werewolves, Necromancy, death, some gore but not a lot, discussion about sex but no actual smut in this.

                                                           -

The brandy in her glass was excellent, but she hadn’t expected anything else. Klaus had come a long way from the boy next door with skinned knees and paint smeared fingers. That it’d been nearly a decade since she’d seen him hadn’t changed nearly as much as she’d have liked. Same tumbled curls, same dimples, same charm that lingered like a second skin over the sharper, harder parts of his smile. But now, his thinness had filled out into lean strength and he’d grown into the shape of his nose, the curve of his jaw. 

Caroline hadn’t expected to like the look of him as much as she did after all this time. Had hoped some distance would dull the want that had once lingered between them. She also hadn’t anticipated the way his gaze could still trace against her skin with the same intensity of a touch, but now with a new, markedly adult male appreciation that hinted at all sorts of fun things. Dangerous things, thoughts she’d pushed away much easier with the naivete of a teenager than she was finding herself able to do as a grown woman. 

Klaus had never been easy to ignore.

“Let’s skip the pleasantries, shall we?” She asked once he’d leaned a hip against the desk next to him when she’d chosen not to sit. She didn’t know this man as well as she once had and she wasn’t prepared to be that vulnerable. Not yet. “We both know what you sent Elijah to tell me you wanted. I want to know why you think I should go along with it.”

A hint of a smile curved his lips. There was a strange sort of affection in his gaze which surprised her, in this childhood home of his, this house of horrors that had birthed monsters. She wished Enzo was there, to tell them if there were ghosts. If the rotting bones of Mikael beneath their feet still suffered.

“I’ve missed your directness, love. Most people are too afraid of me to try it.” His lashes lowered for a heartbeat, and his voice deepened. “And far too terrified to offer such blatant disapproval.”

Caroline gave him an unconcerned look. “I agreed  to this meeting because we were once friends. Not because I bought into the spiel that Elijah was selling. I walked away from this kind of life, and I had very good reasons to do so. You know that.”

A flash of something wolf-yellow glimmered faintly at the edges of his gaze, but she didn’t flinch. Klaus was dangerous. So very, very dangerous. Here, in Mystic Falls where they’d both spent their childhoods, it was almost possible to forget the lessons Chicago and New York had already learned. But Caroline had learned to deal with Klaus and his caustic mix of power and temper years earlier. A little of the wolf wasn’t enough to warn her off. 

Though it did intrigue her. Before, his control had been something held together by tenterhooks, his rage palpable. She had wondered if he’d buried it deep in his bones, left it to fester in muscle and marrow, but that glimmer told her he’d made a different choice. 

She was glad.

“Blood calls to blood, love.” There was something in his voice, a note that was sharp and apologetic both. “And you are Bill Forbes daughter.”

Caroline wrinkled her nose at the reminder. “I’m going to need more brandy if that's the angle you're taking. Thankfully, he only provided half my genetics, and none of my looks.”

The hard line of his shoulders eased, her words answering some unspoken question. “I know.”

Her expression sharpened. She did not like that he was able to read her so well. “If you’re not going to get to the point, I will leave.”

His laugh was soft, and unexpected. And it did nothing to lessen her mad. Reaching up, he briefly rubbed his neck and when his gaze returned to hers. The blue was gone, awash with gold and wolf. Inexplicably, her own tension gave, if just a little. She might no longer know the man, but she understood the wolf. 

“Elijah says you are well informed of my ongoings.”

She rolled her eyes. “As if that’s hard. A werewolf with the bad taste to be born to a witch, and who the poor manners of eating other witches is not, exactly, an unknown creature in the local gossip. Mystic Falls does so love it’s little horrors. It’s not like it’s hard to figure out where you’re going or where you’ve been.”

His dimples creased his cheeks. “That’s true. And yet, here you are.”

The implied threat was said teasingly. Caroline deliberately took a sip of her brandy. “If your wolf had wanted me dead, it would have made the attempt that when I was thirteen and tossed you three pine trees to save Enzo. If the man had wanted me dead, Elijah would never have sworn a binding saying this meeting was done in truce.” Her smile was sharp. “At least not knowingly. My magic is not kind when it comes to broken vows, and he hates me.”

His gaze narrowed at the blunt reminder, but his voice held no hint of anger. Just a hunting triumph. “I found Rebekah.”

And everything snapped into place. Setting her glass down, she stared at him. “And Elijah couldn't have led with that?”

“He doesn’t know.”

“He doesn’t…” Caroline stared at him for a long moment before tossing back her drink and moving towards one of the chairs. Ten years. It’d been ten years, and she understood everything those words meant. “Fine. I’ll bite. What is going on?”

To her surprise, he chose the chair next to her. His gaze holding hers, he deliberately tipped his knee lightly against her own. “Rebekah is in New Orleans.”

Her brows furrowed and her words were honest as she tried to ignore the feel of him against her. That sparking challenge in his eyes. “But you looked there years ago.”

That slow, thoughtful smile curled on his face again and she wished she hadn’t finished the brandy. “You have been tracking me.”

Caroline sighed and for the first time, looked away. She did not want to speak of the need to know he was still alive, to trust that he’d find some kind of reason after the death of his step-father. The wolf could have easily poisoned the man with its hate as the man could have destroyed the wolf with its rage.

“My father… the things he did.” Her words died and she shrugged. “I miss her too.”

They were survivors, her and Klaus. Enzo and Rebekah, though they were missing. Witchborn and powerful, they were the last remnants of bloodlines and blood feuds that should have never existed. Klaus, with his wolf and his rage. Enzo, with his affinity for the dead and his wicked sense of humor. Rebekah, the living embodiment of her mother’s hopes and wishes, but without the same darkness. And she? She was her father’s daughter, for all the Liz Forbes had done her best to temper it. 

“Then you’ll help me.”

And that blatant satisfaction, the roughness of his wolf in his voice warned her that he thought he had won. She let her gaze return Klaus’ face, and the force of temper clashed against his. She did not like being boxed in. He needed to remember that. “Will I? What I owed you was a blood debt and that was paid in full. What my family did to yours was terrible, but what Esther did to my mother was also terrible. There are no debts between us, not anymore.”

Enzo might argue that point, but her wiley best friend had been missing nearly as long as Rebekah. 

“You’ll help me,” Klaus repeated, unbothered by her irritation. Her temper, the surge of power that came with it, had always bothered him as little as his wolf had unnerved her. “And in turn, I will help you.”

“And what,” Caroline drawled, “do I need your help with? I’m perfectly capable of burying bodies on my own these days.” She wiggled her manicured fingers. “I don’t even have to break a nail to do it.”

That flicker of affection again, tempered by determination. He reached for an envelope that sat on the edge of his desk and handed it to her. “I’d have helped you regardless, but this might make things more comfortable between us.”

She snorted even as she opened the envelope to pull out a single sheet. “Things have never been particularly comfortable between us at all.”

Caroline ignored the deeply satisfied noise he made and looked at the picture. Enzo’s face, battered, bruised, stared up at her and she went motionless at the tangle of anger and fear that swept through her. “How…”

She’d looked. 

“It took finding Rebekah.” A bitterness in his voice she understood. “And once I did, I knew where to look. The scattered pieces of our past are not easy things, love.”

Mute with rage, she glanced back at him. 

“When the Witch Council attempted to end the feud between our families, they were not prepared for the realities of what that would mean.” His teeth gleamed behind his lips. “They were ill prepared for our families' hate, I imagine our cooperation never occurred to them.”

Caroline snorted. They should have been prepared for all of it. Feuding witches were no small thing. Though in her more charitable moments, she allowed that some things just could not have been foreseen. Not the fallout from Ester’s affair, not Bill’s jealousy, not Mikael’s malice. 

Rebekah should have been safe. They should have all been safe. None of them had been. 

“They should have done better.”

His smile held teeth. “Yes.”

It had been her and Enzo, who had held Mikael with their magic while Klaus had shifted to wolf to rip his step-father apart. Enzo, who had commanded the dead man to dig his own grave in the study Mikael had been so fond of. Later, Klaus had opened a bottle of expensive bourbon and they had gotten drunk listening to the sound of a shovel moving dirt.

It had taken hours to repair the foundation with magic.

Mystic Fall was full of so many nightmares. 

Her gaze returned to the picture in her hands. And something turned cold and brittle in her chest. “That is the symbol of St. Augustine.”

“Yes.”

She stood then and paced toward the window. When she spoke, her words trembled with magic. Behind her, the desk shuddered. She hadn’t been this close to losing her temper since the day she walked into her home to find it smelling of blood and her mother’s death. Had found what she had been meant to see. 

 “The Augustine Society belongs to the Witch Council.” Her fists clenched. “And have Enzo.”

She knew the Augustine Society. The horrors the Witch Council offered them. She knew, because her father had also belonged to that society before blood madness had taken him. And they had possibly the greatest necromancer of her generation, trapped. 

Fingertips brushed lightly down the bare nap of her neck. The touch was possessive, careful. An old trick, to anchor her. It made it no less personal. “So it is.”

Caroline closed her eyes. She hadn’t heard him move. “What did my father do, that you cannot claim your sister?”

“It’s a blood bind. I cannot break it.”

“No,” she murmured, letting the soft touches of his fingertips focus her. “You wouldn’t be able too.”

“But you can.” His words were lethal in their softness, coaxing in their delivery. “You're more powerful.”

“Flattery,” she said. Then she sighed. “But you’re not wrong. Still, the witches of New Orleans will never allow me into their city.”

They’d never allow Liz Forbes' daughter in their heart of power. The thought brought a faint smile to her lips. So strange, for a city to fear her mother’s blood.

Strange, but not unwise.

“I didn’t plan on asking permission.”

She turned to face him then, letting the window at her spine hold her weight and studied his face. Such arrogance, but not unwarranted. A full coven might face the nightmare he gave shape too with his bones, but perhaps not. Klaus had cut quite a swath through the witch families in the US. 

His mother’s perfect monster. 

“A blood bind will not be easy to break, not after so many years since it was cast.” She considered what it meant, how far gone her father had been in his madness. “I will likely need a sacrifice, and that is a magic I have sworn not to use lightly.”

“You won’t fall to the same madness.” The assurance in his voice was so, so arrogant. “I will not allow it.”

Caroline gave a bark of laughter. “You cannot know that, cannot expect to dictate such a thing.”

“But I can,” he disagreed. “I’ve seen your magic, Caroline. I’ve witnessed the price of it, the horror of it, and justice of it. Esther’s death was not easy. I know what you are.”

“Ester deserved more,” she said. “But we work with what we have. And I am no longer, sixteen, Klaus. What anchored me as a teenager will not work for the adult.”

Then it’d had been enough to cling to his wolf. To bury her face and hands in the thick pelt of his fur while she rode out the drowning horror, the unrelenting ecstasy of her magic, to let the sensation of fur on skin be the distraction from the siren call of endless power. The blood she wore on her skin.

She’d always liked his wolf. 

Blood magic was dangerous. And witches who practiced it always, always lost themselves. Caroline’s father had been no exception. She would likely not be either. Thankfully, she wasn’t just her father’s daughter. 

“And what,” Klaus asked lightly, eyes deepening to the blue of the man, something as dark as the working of her magic coloring his voice. “Do you need?”

Her nails dug into her palms and she lifted her chin. “What are you offering?”

Klaus’ head lowered until his nose nearly brushed hers, his mouth tantalizing close to hers. “Anything you want.”

Her teeth sank briefly into her lip and she sighed. “We both know how my father chose to feed his need and how well that worked for him.”

Satisfaction and a want so blatant and greedy on his face, she struggled to suck in her next breath. “Steven knew what he was doing when he agreed to join your father’s bed. He was aware of the risks. So am I.”

Her voice shook only a little when she spoke. “Rebekah’s temper is no small thing, Klaus. If she wakes up to me fucking her brother, I don’t think she’s going to be pleased.” 

His hand lifted to curve along her jaw, thumb brushing tantalizing across her lips. “Elijah can secure Bekah, once she is free.”

And Elijah would just love that. “So you are planning on telling him you found her.”

“Of course,” he agreed. “Both he and Kol will be needed for this. Even if only a mirage, we must show the world where our loyalties lie.”

Caroline winced. “They still haven’t forgiven you for not kiling me, then.”

When Elijah had appeared at her home to request her presence for this meeting, she’d almost hoped. 

“As they are not strong enough to oppose me, their opinions of your magic do not matter.” His jaw tightened. “From either side of your family.”

“Klaus…” She caught his hand. “They are not wrong. Blood magic is an abomination, not counting what my mother left me with her death. Killing me would likely make the world a better place.” 

His eyes flared with his wolf, and his words were near violent with intensity. “I disagree. Am I too, not an abomination? You protested quite viciously when my mother attempted to do just that.”

His voice sounded the same as it always had, when he spoke of her murdering his mother. Delighted satisfaction with a hint of growl.

Caroline rolled her lip tightly between her teeth. This was what her mother had never understood. What Esther had miscalculated. This tugging in her chest, as she thought about a world without Klaus. The way he dared her with his eyes and his worlds to repeat herself, to suggest he would allow the world to exist without her. The thing that had left her walking away from him, uncertain what lengths she could allow herself to go to preserve it. 

The boy who had painted her flowers and the man who understood the depth of what she could become, what she feared. 

But he’d found Rebekah. Enzo.

“You understand that if I agree to this, it won’t end with rescuing Rebekah and Enzo,” she said slowly. Likely wouldn’t end with her willing to walk away from him a second time, and the bloody future that promised. “I’m not that forgiving. If the Augustine Society was part of this, if they supported my father? Enzo will want them dead and so will I.”

“Oh, sweetheart, as if I’d object.” His mouth curved. “But why stop there? Not when we both know the Witch Council had to be involved.”

So much destruction. So much blood. Carefully, she reached up with her free hand and traced the shape of his mouth while he went carefully motionless. “It would be helpful, if the sacrifice had a tie to Bekah.”

His lips pursed against her fingers for a moment before he moved just enough to respond. “The Salvatore’s are in New Orleans.”

And that terrible anger, that thirst she’d managed to choke into behaving for ten years unfurled in her chest. “What a coincidence.”

And Klaus, whose monster knew her own, just smiled. “Isn’t it just?”

“How are you planning on explaining my presence in New Orleans?”

Mischief, sudden and startling, crossed his face. “The witches can hardly object to my bringing a date to Mardi Grais. The same as I have done for the past four years, in fact.”

Caroline blinked, and tried not to think about the twist of jealousy in her gut. “I am not pretending to be in a relationship with you.”

“Who said anything about pretending?” His eyes laughed at her but his words were serious. “Shouldn’t you take a man to dinner before post ritual sex?”

She glowered at him, just to be contrary. “No.”

He shrugged, unperturbed.“We’re still sharing a room.”

She choked on a sudden laugh, at how easy and playful he made this. As they weren’t courting madness and the wrath of the council as they freed their family. As if everything was just a matter of them going out and conquering their enemies with his teeth and their magic. 

Simple, really. 

“Are you sure this is what you want?” Caroline questioned. “This… this will change everything.”

Klaus lowered his head, pressing his forehead to hers and smiled, dimples bracketing a smile made of sin and blood lust that struck her in her chest. The smile of a predator well satisfied.

“Yes, I think it will.”

[bimswritings]

This Is Our Way

Ch.1

Summary: What happens when you make the mistake of thinking you can steel from a Mandalorian? You land yourself and job and a plethora of adventures and emotion you could never even dream of.  The question is; where will those emotions lead.

Warnings: Typical canon violence, NSFW implications and scenes later on

You can also read it on my Ao3 account.

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Clouds. Dark, impenetrable, depressing grey clouds are what greet you as soon as your eyes open, just like they have every day for years during your existence on the scrappy planet of  Corellia. Home to the most desperate and cruel criminals, along with the enslaved and weak civilians and captives. All mixed in with your average day citizen trying to get by.

A great place to live.

The sound of tie-fighters overhead is what first woke you, screaming as they made their morning flight overhead, acting as an ever present reminder of the Empire's presence and signaling the start of your day. Bones and joints crack in sync as you push yourself up, rubbing your eyes and crawling from the busted old weapons crate that acted as a poor supplement for a bed. Its lid laid discarded to the side, allowing the cool night air of one of the only dry nights of the month to flow in while you slept. The hard metal lining was barely tolerable, even when padded with the few scraps of fabric you had managed to snag over the years, but it was sturdy and the lid provided great protection from the ever present rain on the overcast planet.

Taking care not to trip while climbing from the enclosed space, you stumble out onto the main section of the roof and stare over the city as you stretch, trying not to cringe as certain bones popped back into place painfully. It wasn’t a pretty sight, and not even the fresh breeze that floated in from the sea could make it any more appealing.

Boring, industrial buildings stretched as far as the eye could see in varying colors of black and steel, hardly standing out against the horizon of equally dull colors only punctuated by the occasional crism Empire flag. In the middle of it all was the only decently maintained and sizable buildings on the planet, where the majority of ships for the Empire were produced. It was thanks to the presence of that one building that there was even an economy here, keeping it from turning into a more dreary and wet version of Tatooine, the outlandish world it was. The sight was enough to make your stomach churn, but had nothing on the aching pain that radiated from the organ and had you mind wondering when you had eaten last. Three, four days maybe? It didn’t matter. However long it was, the meager scraps you had managed to find behind the restaurant district of the wealthy were but a distant memory. It was this very hunger that drove you from your safe space, forcing you to climb down the pipes lining the outside of the building you resided on.

The metal creaked and groaned in protest under your weight, but you didn’t give it a second though, knowing there was nothing to worry about. You had been climbing along these fixtures for years, nimble hands and feet finding the smallest of purchases as you move along with ease.

When the ground was close enough you dropped, rolling through the impact to your feet and taking shelter behind an abandoned stall as you momentarily stumbled, vision swimming and black dots dancing before you. Force, you really need to get something to eat soon. Rainwater could only fill your stomach for so long before it lost its abilities to hold you over.

Peering around the corner, your eyes scanned the narrow alleyway, looking for any sign of stormtroopers or other rough characters that would cause trouble. You were never much of a fighter, but today especially was a day you were feeling particularly weak.

‘Alright. All I need to do is slip out, grab a couple of credits, and get back. It should be fine as long as I don’t run into-’

“Well well well. Look what we have here.” Leon’s voice spoke from behind, making you cringe and berate yourself for not being more careful. This was the last thing you needed to deal with, and Leon’s sickly smooth voice only served to grate on your nerves more as you turned to face him and his three lackeys, identifying them as Sho, Everett, and Corin.None as dangerous, but all as bad tempered as their leader.

Glacial blue eyes stared from pale skin beneath his shock of blond hair, a combo that drew ladies like flies to him. Pair that with pearly white teeth and he could have been a poster boy for some prep school on Coruscant. If not for the tattooed arms and green vest that held the insignia of a ranicore tooth, marking him as one of Sozin’s many street enforcers. His kind was the one you hated most. Cocky guys who thought that just because they were someone in some gang they had power over everyone else, not giving a second thought to those they hurt, be it man, women, or child. As long as they got a nice cut at the end of the day they were fine. Despite your hate for them, by all means joining a gang was the best way to survive here. It promised food, shelter, and constant work. All you had to do was give up your own self respect and humanity in return.

“The little Jawa had finally come out from her fortress. Tell me,” He smirked as the others formed a loose circle around you, effectively caging you in. “Get anything good lately.”

You wanted to spit at him, slap that stupid smirk off his face and leave him to go crying back to his boss. But you didn’t. Instead, you took a more casual, defensive stance, ready to get away the moment you had the chance. Slapping a fake smile on your face, you cocked an eyebrow in mock teasing.

“Please. If I had anything of interest I’m sure you of all people would know.” You were getting more nervous now, keenly aware of how close Sho was getting to your current position. Far too close for your liking.

“And with the patrols increased and punishments cracking down, things have gotten harder.''

“True, but I just never know what those sticky fingers of yours may manage to pick up. Your skill has a reputation after all.” His eyes skimmed over your body, not even trying to hide the way he was practically undressing you. The slimy bastard had been pining after you for years, ever since he had watched you lift a number of things from a trooper when you were both just young teenagers. He claimed it was for your skills but it didn’t take a genius to see he was looking for something more. “Maybe you could give me a live demonstration some time.”

And there it was.

You said nothing, only pushing yourself further against the cool metal of the wall behind you in an attempt to create some sort of distance in between you. Your stomach, the traitor it was, decided that it would be the best time to voice its own opinion, letting out a loud growl of protest that didn't go unheard.

Leon’s face took on a mask of concern and sympathy, and you might have fallen for it had you not known any better. His tone took on a softer, more whispery tone, like he was speaking to a stray feline. Not that far off if you thought about it.

“You look hungry. Why don’t you come back with me. I can get everything squared away with Sozin, and I promise, I’ll take real good care of you.”

His hand extended out in invitation, strong fingers that had ended the lives of so many gently relaxed, the other crossing behind his back in a mock gentleman pose, as if he even knew what being a decent guy even started with.

“C’mon. Think about it. No more empty stomachs or fighting for every scrap. You’d even have a nice bed to lay in at the end of the day. No more sleeping on the filthy streets.”

Scoffing, you summoned the last of your confidence, brushing past him and ignoring his invitation. “I’d rather take the streets than your blood soaked sheets any day.”

That should have been it, and it would have been for anyone else on just a code of respect among those here. But Leon wasn’t known for taking no for an answer. Before you could even make it  three steps his hand closed on your elbow, bringing you back closer to him. Despite all you twisting and pulling, his superior strength kept you close, breath fanning your skin as he spoke.

“Listen here, I’ve been more than kind in my advances. A saint some may even say, so you’re not going to walk away from me, understand? No your going to come back and-”

“Hey!” A shout from the end of the alleyway interrupted him, drawing all your attention as the squadron of storm troopers rounded the corner to the alley, falling in line behind their captain.”You there! What’s going on?”

At the sight of the local law enforcement and their blasters, Leon’s grip loosened a fraction. Just the smallest amount really, but enough for you to be able to slip from his grip and between Sho and Corin before they could stop you. You ignored the shouting of the officer, sprinting in the opposite direction and around the corner into the main streets of Corellia.

‘Good luck trying to find me now.’ You smirked, pulling your hood up to conceal your face as you effortlessly blended into the crowd, becoming just one of the thousands of faces that traveled through as you continued on your way. Now it was time for the real work to begin.

Just as with the seasons, your own hunting grounds changed, ever rotating through the different sectors in order to keep law enforcement off your tail. It was one of the first lessons you had ever learned; never hunt in the same spot for more than a few weeks.

Today was a fresh start in the port district, leaving an abundance of new and unaware targets. It was a popular place for travelers as well, who were especially naive, but even with that you knew today would be a challenge. It hadn’t been a lie when you told Leon that the troopers were cracking down. More patrols and increased severity of punishments had started to begin in order to ‘cut down the crime’, as your senator put it. Fat chance of that though, as one could argue that Corellia ran on crime. Still, the effort put forth was really putting the pressure on smaller people like you, who were just trying to survive, not to mention the street vendors and shop owners had installed their own new security measures in place, leading to an unfavorable combo that led to your current weak and hungry state. So you were here, looking for some oblivious fool to cop a few credits off from your perch just outside the mechanics.

As your eyes scanned the crowd, looking for visible money holders or those with liftable jewelry and other items, you saw him. He was hard to miss actually. The beskar he wore from head to toe shone proudly even without the light of the sun hidden above, speaking of its own durability and care shown by the owner. Alongside him was a pod, closed, and most likely carrying whatever supplies he had picked up from the market. The brown cape around his shoulders did nothing to hide the gun scross his broad back, nor the dozens of smaller weapons strapped to his person.

He stood tall above the crowd, most parting like water around a stone to avoid him, and it was no wonder. Even you had heard the stories about the Mandalorians. Fierce warriors and fighters who could track their prey to the ends of the galaxy. They were the best bounty hunters and hired guns on the market. You had been witness to more than one lowlife being pulled from their seat in the cantina by his kind, kicking and begging to no avail as they were carried away, dead or alive.

Teeth gnawing on inside of your cheek, you debated with yourself. On one hand, he was a high risk target, undoubtedly being used to these kinds of places and the people who lived here. Stealing from him would earn you a blaster shot to the head if caught, that is, if he were feeling merciful enough not to crush every bone in your body. But then, he was a bounty hunter. They always carried a lot of credits, and ones worth more at that. One swipe from him could set you up for days, if not weeks! He was also the only target you had seen open worth any value the entire day, and you weren’t sure you could go much longer without food.

You debated with yourself, going back and forth as you watched him grow closer to where you sat. If you didn’t make a decision soon you would lose your chance all together.

As if detecting your hesitance, your body made the decision for you, loosening another growl from its depths, prompting you forward and before you knew it you were on the move. Pulling a small guide book from your pocket, you pretended to be grossly interested in the useless thing, eyes moving to falsely skim the words as you carefully adjusted your path closer to his, threading between the crowd with as much ease as he cut through it.

The moments before were tense, each step leaving you feeling more electrified as adrenaline coursed through your body, only feeding your blind confidence as you counted down.

‘6..5...3..2..1….Now’

You pretended to stumble, tripping on your own feet as naturally as you would walk, veering from your course and bumping into the armored man. You winced slightly as your shoulder made contact with the metal, which made your grunt of pain that much more believable and distracting while your hands got to work. Like all bounty hunters, he kept his money in front of him, just slightly to the left of his leg. A tactic to prevent pickpockets like you that frequented the scenes they often found themselves in. Smart, but you had gotten used to this tactic before, and it was a simple swipe of your hand as it quickly entered and retreated the pouch, fingers closed around an unknown number of credits, all within a fraction of a second as you mumbled apologies, raising your opposite hand in distraction as your other moved to pocket your catch.

As soon as your own fingers left the pouch, you knew you were in trouble. Years of being on the streets had taught you when you had the upper hand in a situation or not, whether you were the predator or prey. In that moment, that small fraction of a moment, you went from poised victor to the most demure of prey.

And the man in front of you was the hunter.

His hand, even quicker than your own, moved to latch onto the retreating limb. The very one holding the credits you had thought had been yours.

Head snapping up to meet his, you were faced with an unfeeling gaze in the form of silver surrounding a small ‘t’ of inky darkness that prevented you from seeing his face. You tried to pull away, only to have his stern grip tighten even more, the leather of his glove squeaking in symphony along with the crackling of the joint. Yet you still refused to drop the credits, stubbornly holding onto them out of spite and fear. If he hadn’t seen them yet, there was no way he could indefinitely prove you had taken anything from him, though the way he focused on it told you he already knew the truth.

Kriffing hell. Why had you even thought this would be a good idea. He was a Mandalorian, and in your hunger driven brain you had somehow managed to convince yourself it would actually work. Well congratulations, you had the credits, but now you were as good as dead. If he didn’t decide to deal out his own justice and kill you then and there, surely he would turn you over to the stormtrooper.

The skin on your back tingles and warmed at the thought, memories of public whippings flashing in the back of your mind and doubling your heart rate and raising your panic even more.

Maybe you could still get out of this though. He was a man, as far as you could tell anyways, and all men were susceptible to one thing, hardened warrior or not. You could distract him, try to get a trade or compromise in return for forgetting about the situation. If not him then the clones. Maker knows they were always willing to pass up small crimes every once in a while in exchange for a way to sate their horniness. Though you had never tried the practice yourself, you had heard of numerous others getting off the hook that way. How hard could it be?

Your thoughts were interrupted by movement, bringing you back from your blind panic of plotting how to get out of this. The Mandalorian had tilted his head, t-visor still trained on your face as he observed you. Those around you were all too eager to ignore the situation, walking past with explicitly diverted eyes as they went about their business. The hand not holding yours moved, making you flinch back but with nowhere to go as he kept you trained in place. It moved towards your face and you braced, eyes scrunched and ready for the impact of a palm or fist making contact.

Yet, it never came.

Instead, the soft worn leather gently pressed against your face, fingers gently running along the curve of your cheek, highlighting the bone that protruded with hunger. The occasional scrape of his beskar along the skin makes you shudder, but if he even notices he doesn’t say anything, only continuing to stare as his hand tips your face every which way for him to examine. Then he just...let go. Without another word he had dropped his hands, stepping around and continuing on his original path, leaving you behind him, frozen in place and in a state of shock.

You could have stood there for any measure of time, be it seconds or minutes. Your brain was too busy trying to process what had just happened to even think about anything else. It was only when someone rudely bumped into you, almost knocking you to the ground, that you finally snapped out of it, and suddenly you were running. Feet pounding the uneven ground as you gained speed, faces flew past as little more than blurs as you continued to put more space between you and your should-have-been attacker. If it had been any other time you might have been proud of the speed you had, the burning in your lungs of little significance. Not even when you had seen Leon once again did you blink, blowing past as he called out and tried to grab you.

Before you knew it you were rounding the alley back to your little home, leaping more than climbing up the pipes with record speed as your feet barely touched the rickety metal. You practically dove into your little crate of a home, pulling the lid and locking yourself in darkness as you tried to sooth your pulse, taking deep breaths that did little to help. Absentmindedly, you began humming to yourself. A song so out of tune and unrecognizable it would have made a wookie weep, but it was what you needed as you pressed the burning and sticky skin of your forehead against the cool metal of the wall.

Eventually, after countless repetitions or the short tune, you managed to steady yourself, bringing enough sense back to realize you were still holding onto the credits from before, which were now gripped tightly in your hand. Enough to the point where the skin had turned a pearly white and your fingers hurt to move as you slowly unclenched them, revealing angry marks and even places where the rectangular currency had bit deep enough into the skin to draw blood. But oh what a beautiful sight it was.

One hundred credits laid in your fist, clustered together in a jumble of varying amounts and different kinds, but a total amount of one hundred. You normally only got this after a week of extremely successful hunting in the summer months. The sight of it now was enough to make you cry.

Despite the urge to go and get food from the nearest vendor, you knew better than to go out right away. For all you knew he had only let you go just to follow you back to your base, probably thinking he could turn you into the stormtroopers for a bigger ransom than what he lost, or loot your own place for anything you had stored up. Jokes on him if that was the plan, because he would only get back what you took from him.

The thought stayed stuck in the front of your mind, forcing you to stay tucked in your hiding space for the remainder of the day and keeping you awake through the night. Every little sound made you jump, convinced that you would once again find yourself at the receiving end of his burning gaze, the helmet he wore only masking his expression and leaving your fate uncertain. He never showed though, never ripped the lid off your container or dragged you out into the open.

By the time you managed to fall asleep, your body finally running out of its immense supply of adrenaline, the city itself had just begun to awaken below to the wee hours of the morning, and the fighters had just begun their morning rounds once again.

‘Maybe...maybe just a few hours of sleep.’ You thought to yourself, burrowing down into your small nest of blankets. What could be the harm?

Well, apparently a lot.

You had woken up in a panic, cracking the lid to see that the sky had already gone dark once again. Swearing to yourself, you emerged once again like a Nightshrike from its cave. Foregoing any normal rituals, you allowed your body to stretch itself as you moved, hustling from rooftop to rooftop, something you only did under the cover of night. The last thing you need is someone seeing you and discovering your home up top. You would never be able to get any peace after that.

You were in a rush though, and the thought of wasting a day of work didn’t bother you nearly as much as the thought of your favorite shop closing. With the amount of credits you had now, you wouldn’t have to worry about money for a while, so the only thought you had while the dim lights of the city flicked to life below was getting there as soon as possible. Who knows, maybe you’d even have enough to treat yourself to some fruit, an expensive and rare treat for anyone on the planet.

Skidding to a stop just before the end of the row, your eyes lit up at the sight of the shop still open, clearly readying to close. Shimmying back down to increasingly deserted streets, you were already drooling at the thought of biting into something and not having to wonder what it would taste like. No more than ten minutes later you were leaving, pockets now full of brick bread as the owner locked the doors behind you.

The plan was to only eat half of one on your way back, the nutrient rich and dense pastries giving you enough energy for the day in a single bite, but not even halfway back you found yourself licking the crumbs from your fingertips, hardly holding back from grabbing one of the four remaining loafs. Instead you reached into the opposite side and grabbed the meiloorun fruit you had managed to snag.

Now this was the main event.

Sinking your teeth into the soft skin, you nearly groaned as its taste exploded on your tongue, making your taste buds dance and sing as the sweetness became so intense it almost hurt. You still loved it.

Your stomach was full for the first time in forever, almost foreign as you had begun to forget the feeling. Juice dribbled down your chin as you continued on your way home, making a deliciously sticky mess to be wiped away and cleaned by your lips, intent on not letting a single morsel go to waste.

Thankfully the trip back was less eventful than your previous outing, helping instill an eerie yet calming silence over the city and prompting you to take your time.

You always enjoyed it up here on the roofs. Hardly anyone came up, not many having the same confidence and agility possessed by you and few others, and there was an ever present breeze up here that didn’t quite reach the lower levels. Not to mention the view it gave, which was one of the main reasons you had chosen a roof as your spot for a base camp. If only you could see the stars, but alas, the sight was as rare as greenery here, leaving it up to your own imagination to construct an array of bright lights on the top of your crypt.

Finishing the fruit, you paused at the edge of the building before your own. Small lights danced in the darkness, the occasional lamp illuminating a hustling figure and the street walkers that lined the corners of streets, calling to anyone in sight. The occasional search light of a patrol ship would shin above the buildings as it made its rounds over the city.

‘Must be looking for someone’ you mused, turning back to return home. No reason to get caught out tonight, especially when you were looking at a few days of relaxation.

As you turned, a familiar flash caught your eye, triggering a new taught panic response. You could hardly believe your eyes, rubbing them extra hard just to make sure you were seeing things right. But alas the sight before you neglected to change, unfortunately not a trick of the eye like you had hoped it was, and the Mandalorian you had thought you escaped the previous day continued walking down the dark alley.

You began to sweat backing away from the edge and further out of his line of sight, trying to still keep him in yours as you peered back over and tracked his progress as he got closer.

‘Kriff. I should have known he would want his money back.’

Panicking, you began going over all the escape routes near you. Ones through city street and sewers that would be much too small for him to fit through. Though, if he had tracked you here then chances were he would be able to find you wherever you went. This really wasn’t good. You might not even be able to go collect what meager possessions you had back in your box.

Then, materializing out of the darkness as if he were made of it himself, was Leon. He stepped into the path of the Mandalorian like he had no fear and, knowing how stupid he was, you thought he might actually not have any for the bounty hunter. But why would he when he was the primary enforcer for Sozin and still had his own backup, the three from earlier.

“Hey there.” He spoke in a voice that promised nothing but trouble, hands casually resting in pockets that undoubtedly concealed a weapon of some sorts. "I've been meaning to have a talk with you. The shiny Mandalorian warrior everyone is talking about."

This, you thought, was not good.

[redrabbitspod]

READ OUR INTERVIEW WITH ROLLING STONE HERE:

(full, designed article. But if you don’t want to follow a magazine layout, read the transcript. Art by @bloodydamnit)

TRANSCRIPT BELOW THE CUT

Red Rabbits: The Rolling Stone Interview

Featuring Andrew Minyard, Neil Josten, and the Red Rabbits Team

By Angie Rodner

On a chilly Monday, Neil Josten and Andrew Minyard are standing side by side, looking at something on Andrew’s phone in our New York, Rolling Stone headquarters. The rest of the Red Rabbits team, consisting of Dan Wilds, Seth Gordon, Renee Walker, Robin Cross, Allison Reynolds, and pro Exy legend/honorable mention Matt Boyd, orbit around them. It's an interesting scene to take in, to say the least. No matter what they seem to be talking about, they all defer to the two hosts without any of them seeming to acknowledge it. 

I was lucky enough to sit down with all eight of them, and I’m not ashamed to say I’m a fan of the podcast and I’ve followed since Season 1. The story of Andrew and Neil (formerly known as Nathaniel Wesnisnki, the son of the Nathan Wesninski or the Butcher of Baltimore), and the revelation of their connection they’d shared as kids, was better than any true crime podcast I’d ever listened to. 

Now, the team takes on what they’ve dubbed ‘The Case of the Newark 9’ for their second season. It’s a case based around the hunt for a man known only as ‘Steven’, who they believe is responsible for a series of kidnappings and murders of young girls in and around the Newark area. They’re joined by Robin Cross, a victim and survivor of Steven’s, who is helping them investigate the case. 

I sat down with Robin and the other women of Red Rabbits first. 

What’s it been like to work on this podcast together? Was it strange to go from looking for Neil, to having him in the studio, to watching him and Andrew form the relationship they have?

Dan: It was strange, because in all honesty, it wasn’t strange. Does that make sense? None of us knew about the meeting they had as kids, but when Andrew finally told us, everything made a lot more sense. Really, they belong together. It was much weirder when they first got back and hadn’t acknowledged what was between them yet. We were all just kinda like... are y’all not seeing what we’re seeing?

Renee: They got there eventually.

How have things changed from Season 1 to Season 2? The cases are obviously different, but they still involve missing children. What’s the atmosphere like around the studio?

Dan: Tense.

Allison: I’m not even there that often and I can still feel it.

Robin: It is tense, but there’s also a sense of urgency. We know ‘Steven’ has another girl now, so it’s like every day that goes by is another day he has her... Another day we either find him, or we don’t.  

Mm... I can’t imagine how difficult that is. However, with that being said, the NYPD have made it pretty clear that they aren’t buying what you guys are selling. How does that make you feel?

Robin: I don’t feel anything about the NYPD. My anger is better placed elsewhere. I am angry. But the police didn’t listen to me when I was a kid and trying to tell them important information. Why would they listen to me now?

Renee: I think we all try and take our cues from Robin. Andrew and Neil are very careful to include her and get her opinion on certain things before moving forward. We’re not letting this thing with the NYPD deter us. 

Speaking of Robin then, what’s it like for you to have her on the team? As one of Steven’s victims that is, there with you in the studio?

Robin: Oh no. Say nice things about me.

Dan: Girl. [ laughs ] Honestly, she’s amazing. She’s my little sister and I’m not just saying that. I think we all kind of feel that way. I’ve never known a person as strong and determined as she is and I know - see she’s blushing! [ laughs again ]- I know she hates it when we talk about her like this, but it’s so true. She’s family now.

Renee: She is, and I think she brings a really unique perspective to the case. We have someone here who’s directly involved, who lived through it and can give us some idea of what the other girls went through. I think most people would really love to have that kind of resource during an investigation.

Allison: For sure. She’s even my muse for my fall line. Everything is going to be deep colors and fun modesty.

Seems like you’ve been properly inducted into the team, Robin.

Robin: [ smiling ] It feels amazing...

Now, last question. Are you confident you’ll find what you’re looking for?

All as one: Yes.

Speaking with the ladies was fun. They were easy and connected and you can tell that there was a real sisterhood in the studio that day. It was refreshing to see women supporting and helping each other thrive in such a competitive industry. There was a lot of laughter between them, and it was such a joy to be able to share it with them. 

-

My next interviewees were Seth Gordon, ‘resident TFN sound engineer/IT guy/anything to do with technology’, as he tells it, and New York Lynxes starting backliner, Matt Boyd. When I tell you I laughed throughout this entire interview, I’m being completely sincere. There was something about the way the two bounced off each other that had me smiling and understanding why they are both so well-liked. 

You guys are best friends aren’t you? I feel a bromance in this Chilli’s tonight.

Seth: Bet. Matt Boyd is my homie and BFFL. Do people still say that? Anyway, we have matching necklaces and everything.

Do you really?

Matt: No, not really, but I’d totally wear one if he gave it to me.

[ laughing ] Matt, how did you even end up here? I know you were friends with Neil, but I feel like the details on that are kind of murky.

Matt: I hit him with my truck. [ My jaw dropped ] No, really! I hit him with my truck in Midtown Manhattan when I was driving home. He refused to go to the hospital so I brought him back to my place to make sure he was okay. He didn’t leave after that.

Seth: Because you held him hostage? That’s the way I hear it.

Matt: Oh yeah, for sure. He takes up so little space, why not? [ laughs again ] No really, I did convince him to stay, but I just felt like he needed a friend. He was obviously running from something and he was scared. I just didn’t know from what or why at the time.

And when you found out?

Matt: Honestly? I just about shit myself, but it made so much sense. All the little questions I asked myself early on, finally had answers. 

I saw the interview you and Dan did with Essence. You guys look amazing together.

Seth: They are amazing together. It’s gross. 

Matt: Yeah, and you and Dion aren’t constantly fawning all over each other.

Is that Dion hovering nearby?

Seth: Yep, that’s my man. He’s amazing and fuckin’ fine as hell. Can I say fuck in this interview?

Sure.

Seth: He’s fuckin’ fine.

Seth, what’s it been like for you, putting together the shows? There’s been a lot of audio that’s hard for us as listeners to hear, and I’m sure there’s more we haven’t even heard. 

Seth: There is.

What’s that like for you to have to go through it all?

Seth: Really hard sometimes. There was some stuff in Season 1 we didn’t air that seriously gave me nightmares. It’s worth it, though. We found Neil and I think we’ll find Steven.

Are both of you confident in that fact?

Seth: Positive.

Matt: I think if anyone can find him, it’s Andrew and Neil. They’re determined and they’ll keep looking no matter what.

I believe them. 

Andrew and Neil were my last interview of the day, and a more determined pair I think I’ve ever met. 

Here’s the thing readers: They’re connected. It might make me a poor journalist, but I don’t know how else to explain it. At one point during the interview, Neil reached over to squeeze Andrew’s arm. At another point, Andrew reached over to squeeze the back of Neil’s neck. They were obviously a comfort to and for each other, and it almost seemed like they borrowed strength. It was intense and being able to witness it has been one of my favorite moments in my career.

So, let’s talk about this season before we get into everything else. You’re looking for a man you believe to be responsible for the disappearances of multiple girls in the Newark area. Do you feel like you’re any closer to solving the mystery than you were at the beginning?

Neil: Absolutely. We’ve gotten some really great tips and we think we’ve narrowed some things down. We don’t want to get too deep into what we’ve got at the moment, because we’re still investigating. But we’re confident in what we have.

What’s it been like working with Robin? I was able to interview her earlier, and she’s really something.

Andrew: She’s been the best resource we have. She’s incredibly strong and unbelievably quick. She’s taken this terrible thing that happened to her and turned it into fire, and it’s been amazing to watch. Most of the information we have comes from her.

The interview you guys did with her was absolutely chilling. I cried three times listening to it. How do you handle hearing these things? I feel like it’d be really hard not to take it home with you.

Neil: Yeah. It’s hard sometimes.

Andrew, I want to touch on the interview Riko Moriyama just did with Kathy Ferdinand and your response. What was that like for you, hearing Riko wrongfully expose something like that on live television?

Andrew: It was… I was stunned, I guess. That information was supposed to be sealed. My name was redacted. So I have no idea how he even got details of the case.

You’ve talked before about being in the foster care system. It sounds like you had a pretty rocky childhood.

Andrew: Yes.

Neil, I know yours was no picnic either. Do you think that this kind of... shared trauma, I guess, is part of why you two work so well together?

Neil: Yeah, partly. When we met as kids, I think a bond was cemented. We both knew how horrible adults could be to children. But now that we’re older, I think more than a shared trauma, it’s a mutual respect for that trauma. We both have shit, you know? I told Matt this one time and I didn’t really understand how true it was until recently, but we both have baggage that we share. We take each other’s on to lighten the load for the other. But, there are times when it gets really fucking heavy, and I think recently we’ve figured out that it’s better to lean on each other when that happens, instead of trying to carry it all ourselves.

Why do you think Riko felt the need to call you two out like he did? I know he mentioned Neil possibly being manipulated into the relationship.

Neil: [laughs]

Andrew: I wish I could manipulate him into having better taste in music.

Neil: My taste in music is fine. 

Andrew: It is absolutely not. And I don’t know why Riko feels the need to comment. I’d be interested to hear the reason. The things he said regarding Neil were ridiculous, and in his response, Neil has made sure to make that known. But the thing that really bothered me was his comments on mental health. He tried to basically call me unstable for seeking therapy and admitting that there came a point when I needed outside help. There are literally hundreds of thousands of people in this country who seek out therapy every year. There’s no shame in it and I’m unsure as to why Riko believes there is. Honestly, I’m shocked the Moriyamas haven’t released a statement. He’s their mouthpiece, after all.

Do you think they should apologize?

Neil: Yes.

Andrew: I think they should at least clarify. I’ve already heard people are planning to protest their new documentary and I don’t blame them. I wouldn’t want to give my money to people who think I’m less of a person because I struggle sometimes.

Speaking of struggle, let’s move back to the case. I know the NYPD has been giving you grief over your claims that the person you’re looking for is the same person that’s taken Haylie Clark. Robin, especially, seems completely certain. How does it feel to know law enforcement doesn’t have your back on this?

Andrew: Familiar. They’ve never had my back before, so why would they start now?

Neil: I’ve dealt with too many crooked cops to really take it seriously. I have no idea what their motivations are and to be clear, I’m not saying I think they’re crooked - I’m just saying that in my experience, the help doesn’t always come like it’s supposed to.

The rest of the team seems pretty confident in you two. They all said they absolutely believe you’ll be able to find him. Is it hard sometimes, not to lose faith?

Andrew: It’s hard all the time. But it doesn’t matter. We have to keep moving forward. We aren’t going to stop until he and Haylie are found. 

I think that’s really commendable and I look forward to seeing that happen. Now, tell me a bit about the team. Neil, since you came in at the end of Season 1, how did you find the dynamic as an outsider?

Neil: I didn’t really understand it in the beginning. Not really. It helped having Matt at my back for months prior, but I’ve never had the opportunity to make solid connections with people. So when I came into the studio, to this group of people who had known each other since college, it was overwhelming. 

Andrew: That’s funny, seeing as how they like you better than me.

Neil: It’s all the charm and charisma. 

[ laughing ] And now? You all seem really tight knit.

Neil: Now, yeah. We are. These people are my family.

Andrew?

Andrew: Yes?

Neil: She wants you to say something nice about the team.

Andrew: Every single one of them knows my coffee order, and it’s truly amazing that they can do what the interns cannot. [ he looks over at Neil, who’s tilting his head and raising his brows ] Oh, don’t look at me like that. Fine. We have a really strong team. I wouldn’t be able to do what I’m doing without them. Seth works harder than anyone I know, Dan keeps us all in line with just a look, Renee is the only reason I agreed to do this in the first place, Reynolds has a lot of money and she’s not afraid to use it for a cause she believes in, and Robin is the most inspiring person I’ve ever met.

And Matt?

Andrew: Who?

Neil: The guy that kept me alive for months while you were hunting me.

Andrew: [ rolls his eyes and shrugs ] He’s fine.

-

My take away from the interviews was this: these people will do whatever they need, in order to find their perpetrator. They believe in their cause, they hurt for these girls, and they’ll find justice for them in the end. They’re family, that much is clear, and I can’t wait to see how this ends. I can’t wait to say that I was there when it’s over.

Red Rabbits can be heard on iTunes, Spotify, Stitcher, and GooglePlay. You can follow the website at redrabbitspod.tumblr.com and twitter @redrabbitspod.

And as the Red Rabbits team always says, “Keep Searching”. I know I will.

[voidstilesplease]

ludus

steo + the types of love

"Hey," Malia says, shouldering her backpack. "I have to go."

Theo looks up from the book he scans. Malia's forehead is creased with lines as she waves a hand to Stiles's sleeping figure on the table across from his seat. Theo bobs his head, "Yeah, I'll tell him."

She nods and hurries out of the library. It's late, and they're with the last few still puttering around. The pack and Theo have been in the library almost every vacant period between classes. Except for Lydia, because she's still in the hospital after the encounter with the werewolf-kanima. They're looking into helpful information about a Chimera, and Stiles falls asleep while at it.

Theo glances down at the boy and can't help but give a soft smile. He's still a little in disbelief that Stiles is a werewolf, much more that he has blue eyes. From what the Argent hunters have taught him, shapeshifters with that eye color indicate that they have taken an innocent life and has become tainted deep inside. When he looks at Stiles, he doesn't see someone capable of hurting anybody. Then again, a lot has happened that none of them seem to want to discuss. They look like a strong group externally, but in the short time Theo's been around, he can tell that they're not as honest with each other. Theo wants to know, but he can't force them to divulge secrets they'd rather bury - especially not Stiles. 

He does learn that Stiles lost his mother shortly after Theo's family left Beacon Hills. And Theo, well, he understands losing people. It fucks you up even if it's not apparent on the outside - still water runs deep.

Theo hears murmurs downstairs and peeks to see the other students filtering out. They're officially the only ones left, and it's close to 11:00.

"Stiles," he nudges the boy in his shoulder. Stiles's immediate reaction is to jerk hard and whip his head with a snarl, his eyes glowing blue. When he sees it's Theo, he recoils.

Stiles's face pinches in embarrassment, and he hurries to apologize. "Sorry, I didn't," he covers his face with his hands and rubs, exhaling. "Fuck, sorry," he looks up again, looking like he's about to beat himself up with a stick. "I'm just a little on edge with all the," he pauses and flings his arms on the open Bestiary, then finishes with the loudest exasperated sigh.

"Hey," Theo smiles to dissipate his worry. "It's fine. We're all at our wit's end."

"I shouldn't have flashed my eyes, Theo," He points shamefully. "What if it wasn't you?"

"But it was, so." 

Stiles's response is to wearily sag in his seat and rub his eyes with the heels of his hands. Theo closes the Bestiary for him and stands. "Come on, let's get some rest."

Stiles nods and gathers his items into his bag, posture, and expression still taut.

"Stop brooding," Theo attempts to ease his nerves again. "I admit it looks hot on you, but it can also get you wrinkles."

Stiles falters from his packing and turns to Theo, mouth ajar, caught off guard, "You think I'm hot when I frown?"

"You got me," Theo zips his bag and replies casually, as he swings it on one shoulder. "I think you're hot all the time."

Theo's straight face pulls a little tug on the corners of Stiles's lips. He plays along, "Well, relax on the compliment, Theo. Next thing you know, you're dating a werewolf."

"The Hunter and the Werewolf," Theo announces with a slanting smile. "The next classic tale of star-crossed lovers."

It makes Stiles chuckle, but his look is faraway and pensive. He murmurs in thought, "We can't have another of that tragedy, can we?"

Theo scoffs, "Please. You and me against Shakespeare. The dude doesn't stand a chance."

Theo counts it as a success that he coaxes another soft laugh from Stiles, even if the sad look on his face lingers.

***

Theo hears the conflict before he sees it. He rushes to open his trunk and grabs the crossbow he finds there and runs back inside the school. Stiles and Theo's cars are in different areas, so they separated after checking out of the library. Now, he seems to be retracing his steps back to it as he follows the sound of fighting.

When he finally reaches the library, he pushes open the door and comes face-to-face with a silver-eyed wendigo with teeth appearing from different parts of his body. The creature bares sets of sharp teeth and launches.

The mutant is powerful, as they have just ironically read from the additional entries of the Bestiary:

These vicious supernatural creatures were an unwelcome discovery among the native people of the new world. They are known to have an uncontrollable appetite for human flesh which leads them to kill despite any better judgment they might process.

Sneaky creatures, Wendigos can maintain a human appearance while hiding multiple fanged teeth (similar to Kanimas) behind their lips. However, when in their true form, Wendigos’ eyes shimmer with a white glow.

While there may be a tactical strike known to kill these supernatural cannibals among the tribes who have been most affected by Wendigos, it is yet unknown to us.

He chucks Theo's weapon before he can shoot and tosses him down on the floor. He snags his silver knife but doesn't get a chance to strike. Suddenly, Stiles springs from the second floor, growling as his claws slash the wendigo's back.

The creature howls in pain and smacks Stiles backward. The boy hits some scaffolding for interior construction, and metal bars fall from it. It all happens too fast, but then suddenly over.

Stiles manages to grapple for one of the bars and impales the wendigo with it. Soon, blood and mercury flood the library floor.

***

He's in Stiles's bed, watching as the boy writes and scrubs at his plexiglass crime board. 

Donovan is not dead - walked out.

Donovan is dead.

Someone took the body.

Stiles looks conflicted. His hands keep wringing, and he's sweating excessively. He glares at the words as if doing that will straighten his confusion.

Theo is confused, too. As Donovan, the wendigo bled out, Theo takes Stiles back to his jeep. The boy hesitated, but he dialed 911 and reported the body. The officers in the area were quick to check, but the radio came back with a 653 - a prank call.

They went back as soon as the police were gone. And indeed, the library stands clean of any evidence of the struggle.

Theo isn't surprised when Stiles slams the eraser on the board in his frustration. He allows Stiles the space to let his anger out.

Later, when Stiles has calmed down, they lay face-to-face on their sides in the same bed Stiles called him a friend five years ago. It's not premeditated, but they maneuver themselves in their current position like it's only natural to do so.

"We'll figure this out," Theo speaks first.

Stiles only become more miserable. He says in a soft, downhearted voice, "I will lose my best friend,"

"You won't. It's self-defense."

"Not when I have the capacity to restrain," Stiles sounds bitter. "I'm a damn werewolf, Theo. And now a murderer again."

Theo frowns at his words, "We'll figure this out." he repeats, slowly, in insistence. Stiles has just referred to the reason his eyes are blue, but Theo doesn't think it's the time. Tonight, they evaded death. It's only a necessity to fight for their lives. We hunt that which hunts us.

Stiles eventually drowses off, exhaustion winning over, and Theo can't help but reach out to smooth the lines in his face. He mutters in the quiet of the night, "We already defied William tonight, Stiles."

Stiles's reply is a gentle puff of breath.

"We won't be a tragedy," he promises. "We already have too much of that.

But, not us."

~•~

playful love: is the flirtatious love commonly found in the beginning stages of a relationship. (catalyst: emotion)

[buzzdixonwriter]

TROTS AND BONNIE Review

Trigger Warning: This will review a work that often addresses human sexuality, emotional / physical / sexual abuse, and adolescents’ views on same.  Be advised.

. . . 

When I was growing up in the 1950s and early 1960s, two old comic strips that remained popular were J. R. Williams’ Out Our Way and Gene Ahern’s Our Boarding House, both started in the 1920s and, from their daily panels and Sunday pages, never moving out of that decade.  My favorite cartoons on local kid shows were Fleischer Brothers Betty Boop and Popeye cartoons, many of which took place in urban / suburban settings heavily reflective of 1920s and 1930s America.

So when I first encountered Shary Flenniken’s Trots And Bonnie I instantly recognized the flavor and style of the strips.

The content, on the other hand, came straight out of her underground comix pedigree, with the refreshing point of view of the female gaze instead of the admittedly too often misogynistic male cartoonists of the milieu.

Flenniken is one of the best artists and writers to come from the underground era, displaying a confident early mastery of the form (don’t listen to her protestations she really wasn’t good at the start of her career; she clearly ranked among the finest of the underground comix artists).

But the sweet and innocent look of Trots And Bonnie belies the frank and frequently shocking honesty of Flenniken’s work.  

As cartoonist Emily Flake notes in her introduction, “that’s the terrible power of children, the monstrous innocence that makes them capable of anything, a state of being we fatuously describe as ‘pure.’”

Innocence is not synonymous with purity in the world of Trots And Bonnie because the cast lack the moral and cultural filters we acquire as adults.  They are reporting on reality as they see it, and as with all children (and the elderly, and drunks) there’s nothing to stop them from commenting on the foibles of hypocrisy of humanity, nor is there a single iota of shame to hold back their expression.

And when you add the impact of puberty to that mix, holy &#@%, you have no room left for pretense or propriety.

Hold on to your hats, folks, ‘cuz it’s gonna be one helluva ride.

One helluva ride…and a hilarious one, too.

If modern audiences can get past the admittedly often shocking visuals and situations, they’ll find some of the most brilliant coming-of-age comedy ever penned.

The truth is always an absolute defense, and Trots And Bonnie dishes it out lavishly.  Brava to Shary Flenniken for having the courage (or honesty, of lack of filter; take your pick) to pen it, to the original underground comix and National Lampoon to publish it, and to new York Review Comics to bring almost all of it back (Flenniken herself opted to withhold a few strips that she feels might be construed now as hurtful or insulting).

Flenniken is the daughter of a military family, growing up in a variety of climes and places before her father retired in the Seattle area.

She reached adolescence and young adulthood during the hippie era, and the earliest strips cast a fond eye back on that time.

An original member of the infamous Air Pirates crew, she and fellow underground comix artists gained immediate recognition skewering Disney icons.  Air Pirates Funnies and Paul Kassner’s The Realist generated no small amount of tsuris for the House of Mouse in the late 1960s / early 1970s but The Realist, true to its name, possessed to good sense to adhere to the unofficial so-called “one-time fair use parody” rule while the Air Pirates pressed their luck with Air Pirates Funnies #2, resulting in the Disney legal department descending on them like an anvil dropped from orbit.

Crawling away from the wreckage, Flenniken kept contributing to a number of underground venues, creating the first Trots and Bonnie strip for the 1971 underground comix Merton Of The Movement. 

Trots and Bonnie (soon joined by Pepsi, a beguilingly sweet looking elfin-like child with the heart of Germaine Greer, the reproductive organs of Karen Finley, and the mouth of an interstate trucker) popped up in several single page strips and short stories until NatLamp recruited Flenniken in 1972 to be a regular contributor and (briefly) an editor.

NatLamp proved to be the perfect venue for Flenniken and her characters because the magazine possessed the economic mojo and suicidal “Who gives a &#@%?” attitude to publish Trots And Bonnie while at the same time providing a perfect audience of proto-incels who desperately needed some consciousness raising, especially if said consciousness raising arrived in the form of a kick in the groin.

Trots And Bonnie’s tenure at NatLamp lasted slightly more than two decades, but a big hunk of that era saw the Reagan culture wars raging, not to mention much of the country becoming obsessed with a literal modern day witch hunt in the infamous Satanic panic (an apt subject for Flenniken’s characters, but one she wisely avoided, thus following the old military adage, “Never draw fire on your own position.”).

The already edgy material in both NatLamp in general and Trots And Bonnie in particular threatened to be perceived as too edgy by law enforcement, legislators, and judicial authorities who seemed either unwilling or incapable of distinguishing between photographs and video of actual sexual assaults and rapes committed against real children as opposed to crudely drawn Xerox copied mini-comics made by outsider artists with audiences that might possibly number in the dozens.

Flenniken’s willingness to honestly recall the turbulent emotions of early adolescence resulted in stories and strips where prepubescent kids engage in activities and discussions that would be acutely problematic if done today.  Again, the utter lack of self-consciousness in Flenniken’s characters swerves her work away from the low grade smut ground out by many of her male contemporaries and flung open a window on how adolescent females perceived the world around them.

The stories are wildly transgressive, and like all transgressive art can only be understood in the context of their time and mores.  Flenniken’s art carries a sweetness that leavens out the most horrendous situations (she gets astonishing comedic mileage off a story about a woman raped by a police officer, never once blaming or exploiting the victim but lambasting the culture and mindset that makes such a crime possible).

The fact these stories are told from a vibrant feminist / sex positive point of view makes them relevant to this day, and Flenniken’s ability to draw both truth and humor from dysfunctional families, emotional abuse, and drug use keeps them from being one-note exercises.

Most importantly, Flenniken comes across as strongly pro-child, even while honestly depicting her own characters’ failings and misconceptions.

She always brings a genuine emotional connection with her characters as adolescents, neither glorifying nor patronizing them.

One of the most notorious Trots And Bonnie strips finds Bonnie looking at herself in a mirror, fantasizing she’s famous actresses of the past.*  

At the hands and brush of Norman Rockwell, this theme tries for poignant but lands in schmaltz, looking down on an anxious child studying her reflection in a mirror; in far too many bad novels by sub-par male writers, it’s borderline (and often not-so-borderline) pornography.

At the touch of Flenniken’s deft pen, it’s honest and sweet and shockingly frank but it never depicts Bonnie as a figment of the male imagination but as a character and personality all her own.

Flenniken has not done any new Trots And Bonnie strips since the last ones published in NatLamp in 1993.

To be honest, I think that’s a good thing.

The characters are of their particular time and cultural gestalt, it may not be possible to recapture that lightning in a new bottle, and rather than diminish the old, perhaps it best remains a perfect artefact of its era.

Mark Twain tried repeatedly but could never transport Tom Sawyer and Huck Finn out of antebellum Hannibal, and to use an example more contemporary to Flenniken’s work, the Fabulous Furry Freak Brothers resolutely thwart all efforts to move them out of San Francisco during the Summer of Love.

You can’t go home again, as Thomas Wolfe famously observed, but that only applies if you’ve successfully left home.  At a certain point, if you haven’t moved beyond your old confines, you never will.

Flenniken’s honest frankness could have turned into a big crosshair on her back during the cultural wars, but to paraphrase John Lennon, life happened while she was making comix.

She married twice, divorced once, widowed the second time.  While she never completely withdrew from professional illustration, she no longer sought out the high profile gigs.

Trots And Bonnie from New York Review Comics is the first extensive English language compilation of her strips and stories, a very handsomely produced volume designed by Norman Hathaway.

The strips are meticulously presented, making it possible to enjoy Flenniken’s fine line work and exquisite character depictions in greater detail than every before.  It’s a genuine delight, sure to thrill old time fans of the original strip and quite likely to win a new generation of admirers.

But brace yourselves, noobs, this ain’t your grandma’s Betty Boop…

© Buzz Dixon

 *  It should be noted that for all its apparent revolutionary newness, the counterculture of the 1960s and 1970s, the crucible that forged Flenniken’s point of view, also enthusiastically embraced the past.  W. C. Fields and the Marx Brothers became cultural icons to a new generation, Betty Boop regained her old popularity, old movies were rediscovered and reimagined, African-American spirituals and blues sprang from new voices, obscure books and novels from earlier decades and centuries became the new cultural touchstones.

I’ve posted elsewhere on how the boomer generation enjoyed a unique conflation of new technology and old media to produce a brand new synthesis; there has been nothing like it since even with astonishing advances in technology.  When old media is rediscovered and reinterpreted in this era, it too often tends to be in the form of irony, which mocks that which it cannot understand.

Give those old hippies their due -- they got the &#@%ing point!

[judgmentofcorruption]

Episode 4–Farewell My Friend; Scene 6

Judgment of Corruption, pages 137-143

“Congratulations on your return to work, and your marriage, Gallerian,” Bruno said with a grin, having visited Gallerian’s home to pass on his remarks.

“Ah, thank you, Bruno,” Gallerian replied, also smiling.

Bruno sat down on the sofa with Gallerian’s encouragement, looking around the room and raising his voice in admiration. “What a stately mansion. It must be far more comfortable than living in that hole in the ground.”

“Mira’s family paid for most of it. There’s been a lot of gossip down at the Dark Star Bureau that I married her for her money.”

“Well, that’s half true isn’t it?”

“Stop it, ha ha ha.”

As they joked around, Gallerian popped the cork out of a wine bottle.

“You drink, don’t you Bruno?”

“Yeah—do you not?”

“I’m still not of legal age.”

“You’re eighteen—that’s plenty old enough.”

“Well, in either case I do have work tomorrow. I’ll have to refrain for now.”

Gallerian poured wine into Bruno’s glass, and then took some orange juice for himself.

“—Cheers.”

The two of them quietly clinked their glasses.

“…Whatever happens, I’m glad this all turned out well,” Gallerian murmured, appearing deeply moved.

“What do you plan to do now?” Bruno asked after taking a sip of his wine.

“—Right. I’ve returned to the Dark Star Bureau, but nothing’s really changed. I’ve only gone back to where I was before. From here on out I will aim for advancing even further through the ranks; I must make progress towards my true goal.”

“Your true goal?”

“The reason I originally went to see Ma was to ask for her help in carrying out proper witch trials.”

“…Ah, that’s right.”

“It’s time to shift it into practice. A revolution of the witch trials. By obtaining correct information on magic from Ma, I’ll make it so that innocent people won’t have to be executed. And—” Gallerian clenched his fist, as though filling it with determination. “—I think, eventually, we won’t have witch trials at all.”

“…So that there will be no more victims like your mother?”

“Yes. Of course I won’t deny that. Ever since I was a child I was always hearing my father complain about how my mother was killed by a conspiracy. I guess that was how much he loved her. Before I knew it that functioned almost like brainwashing on my line of thinking, and I started to aim for being a judge as though it were the most natural thing in the world.”

“You believed there were no such thing as witches?”

Gallerian appeared to think for a moment on that question.

“That’s a difficult point. Now that I’ve seen Ma and this ‘Lunaca Labora’ with my own eyes. It’s possible that my mother—Elluka—was really a witch after all.”

“…”

“However. Even if she had been—I can’t help but get the feeling that there’s no relationship between witches and these changes to the world. If I can prove that, then there will be no more point to the witch trials. And maybe that could indirectly lead to saving the world, too.”

“…It’s a nice thought.”

“Of course, I have no intention of letting the Freezis Conglomerate off the hook. If what Ma told me about them interfering in my mother’s trial is true, then I want to prove that too.”

“That’ll be tricky. The trial itself happened over ten years ago, and Hanma is still the head of the Dark Star Burea. He may have supported you this time, but once it becomes about him—money isn’t going to cut it.”

“In any case I’ll need to fight against the Freezises. In the end, they pushed the entirety of the ‘human hunting’ crime on Loki.”

“The Freezises…Their stronghold is quite vast. Things went smoothly this time because Loki didn’t have much societal status yet, but he still has two older brothers left, and the commander—They’re not the kind you can deal with through straightforward means.”

The two of them drank up their glasses, and then gave a light sigh at the same time.

“But--defeating the Freezises is your deepest wish, isn’t it Bruno?”

“Well, true.”

“Then we’ll just have to do our best.”

“…Thank you, Gallerian.”

Gallerian responded to Bruno’s thanks with a light, embarrassed grin.

Bruno then looked around them again.

“…Come to think of it I haven’t seen Mira—your wife around.”

“She’s in the last month of her pregnancy. Right now she’s in the hospital.”

“I see. Well, it must be rough, a man here by himself. All the more because of how big this house is.”

“Sort of. Even when Mira comes back, she’ll be with the baby…I’ve been thinking that I should just hire some servants already.”

“That’s just perfect.” Bruno leaned closer to Gallerian, grinning. “I know a good servant. I’ll introduce you.”

“Oh, I’d appreciate that. What kind of person are they?”

“He’s a Maistian. About a little older than you, and pretty handsome too. He was also once a steward of the Freezis family.”

“You mean—”

“Me. Bruno Zero. Hire me.”

“…I’ve got no reason to refuse. But are you sure?”

“Truthfully, I’ve almost used up all my savings. And—I think now that I’d like to see up close what you accomplish from here on out.”

Gallerian filled Bruno’s glass full of wine once more, and he topped off his own glass with juice.

And then they both lifted the glasses high.

“—I might not look it, but I’m an exacting boss, Bruno.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way, my lord.”

They exchanged another toast.

“I’ll have to properly greet your wife again when she returns,” Bruno said. Gallerian’s face clouded a little.

“Mira… I cheated Loki there, a little.”

“What’s this all of a sudden?”

“I hadn’t intended to go so far as to steal his girlfriend.”

“…You can’t be untrue to your heart if you love someone. You and Mira were both attracted to each other and fell in love. This is just the end result of that.”

But Gallerian’s expression didn’t lighten.

“—Is it, really?”

“Gallerian…”

“…No, it’s nothing. Forget what I just said. I wonder--what Loki is doing right now?”

“Meditating on his crimes in prison, I would think?”

“I hope so…It might be weird for me to say this, but thinking on it now I’m glad that he didn’t end up getting executed.”

“Because you’re—friends?”

“If he gets out of prison someday, the both of us will probably be old men by then…but I’d like it if we could start over as friends again—It’s probably impossible, but that’s just how I’ve been thinking.”

“…You really are too naïve.”

“You think so? Go on ahead and laugh.”

The two of them did briefly laugh together.

“—I think I shall excuse myself for today.” Bruno stood, staggering just a touch drunkenly.

“Alright. I’ll have the employment contract drawn up for you.”

“The sooner the better. I told you earlier, but I’m out of money.”

“In this world it’s always money, money is everything.”

“Do you dislike talking about money?”

“No—Actually I rather like it.”

“Right? Ha ha ha—Ah, yes. Before I go, do you mind if I use your phone for a minute?”

“Sure, I don’t mind. It’s in the study on the other end of the hall.”

“Thank you.” Bruno headed for the hallway as instructed, and then midway there turned to Gallerian and said, “…Could you not eavesdrop? It’s a secret conversation with my lover.”

“Ha ha, don’t worry. I won’t be able to hear you talk on the phone from in here.”

.

Once Bruno reached the study, he found the phone on the desk.

He picked up the receiver and spun the dial.

“—It’s me.”

He began to quietly speak to someone.

“…I see…All the preparations are made? …Yes, that’s fine…You two will take care of it alone as planned…The time to act is…tomorrow night.”

After putting down the receiver, Bruno softly murmured:

“…Sorry, Gallerian.”

<<prev------directory------next>>

[delicioussshame]

Still finishing old stuff. Have some reverse sex pollen.

Luo Binghe is crying and Shen Qingqiu can’t even comfort him. “Your husband isn’t mad. Mu-shidi said the effects would disappear by themselves in two weeks. We’ve been apart longer. It will be fine.”

Between sobs, Luo Binghe tries to speak. “It’s not the same! “

Of course it’s not the same, but they’ve been caught in much worse predicaments before. “Binghe is strong. He can handle it. Would it be easier on him if he returned to the demon realm and I remained at the sect by myself?”

“No! If I can’t even touch my husband, I at least want him by my side.”

“Then, this is where this master shall remain.”

Binghe reaches for him, and like all times before, he flinches in revulsion as soon as his hand brushes against Shen Qingqiu’s skin.

He starts crying even harder. “What if Shizun starts thinking I don’t love him anymore?”

Shen Qingqiu taps him with his fan. As long as their skin doesn’t touch, Binghe should be fine. “Where did he get the idea this master was this stupid? Luo Binghe has been poisoned. Of course I understand it’s not his fault.”

Luo Binghe sniffles. “Shizun doesn’t mind?”

Shen Qingqiu will never tell him he might be looking forward to two whole weeks of undisturbed rest. Sure, he’ll probably miss more casual forms of affection, but he’s pretty certain it won’t be anywhere near as hard for him as it will be for Luo Binghe. “I don’t. We’ll get through this.”

Luo Binghe wipes his eyes in a frustrated gesture. “If Shizun says so, it must be true.”

_____________

Shen Qingqiu never realised how often he actually touched his husband until he has to stop himself from doing it. Two days in, and the way Luo Binghe recoils when Shen Qingqiu forgets himself is already getting on his nerves.

It’s just that Shen Qingqiu always touched Luo Binghe. Redressing his clothes, arranging his hair, patting his shoulders. He always did it without thinking twice about it. He can’t remember how often he wiped tears off his weepy eyes.

Now all of this is forbidden to him.

It’s annoying.

_____________

Five days in, and Shen Qingqiu finds his gaze lingering on his husband. He has to shake himself away from his plush lips, his muscled frame, his large hands.

He’s being ridiculous and he knows it. Luo Binghe is the sticky one! It’s only been a few days. And his disciple is right here! He can talk with him whenever he wants. It should be more than enough.

He thought Luo Binghe would whine more. He thought he would keep on crying, lamenting that it’s a crime that he can’t have his husband. He thought Luo Binghe would be the one to snatch his hand back in dismay.

He was wrong. Luo Binghe is dealing with their situation much better than he expected. In fact, he seems content with their platonic cohabitation. He cooks for Shen Qingqiu like he always does, cleans around the house, chats with him happily.

Maybe he should have expected it. After all, his husband is the one whose desire for touch has been annihilated.

But surely he must feel lonely when he goes to bed in his childhood bedroom?

Shen Qingqiu does. His bed is cold without Luo Binghe to exude warmth.

He spends a lot of time cultivating.

_____________

There’s only two days left.

Shen Qingqiu can’t wait.

As much as it pains him to admit it, Luo Binghe trained him well. He’s used to sating the protagonist’s needs. He went so far as thinking about just… taking care of things quickly to help.

He didn’t, because he knows Luo Binghe would find out and tease him mercilessly after. Also, there’s two days left. He can take it.

Anyway, it wouldn’t help. Not really. Not when what Shen Qingqiu really misses is his husband.

_____________

One measly day before the poison is set to pass, Shang Qinghua shows up frazzled, carrying a message from Mobei-Jun demanding Luo Binghe’s urgent return to put down a revolt in the southern part of the realm.

Shen Qingqiu resolves to spend all his time until Luo Binghe returns filling out requests for funds, food, instruments, practise swords, ink and everything else he can think of to burrow Shang Qinghua under paperwork. If Shen Qingqiu is going to be separated from his husband, so can Airplane-bro. Let him taste how fun that is for himself.

_____________

Shen Qingqiu accepts Liu Qingge’s invite to go monster hunting without a second thought.

He needs to kill something.

_____________

“Shizun, I’m ba-“

At the moment, Shen Qingqiu couldn’t care less what Luo Binghe has to say. It can fucking wait until after he has reacquainted himself with the feel of his husband’s skin.

_____________

“Maybe I should get some of that poison for further use.”

Shen Qingqiu freezes. “No.” He’s not going through that hell again, not if he can help it.

“But Shizun was so affectionate after! It almost made up for all the time I couldn’t touch him.”

If Shen Qingqiu had any energy left, he would slap him. “Maybe it was simple for Binghe since he didn’t want to touch his husband, but not being able to slap some sense into his disciple wasn’t easy for this master.”

Luo Binghe straightens up beside him. “Shizun! How could you think that! Of course having to restrain myself was a challenge like no other. Even if I didn’t want to, I still wanted to.”

“Well, it didn’t look like it.”

Luo Binghe pulls Shen Qingqiu’s body into his. “Apologies to Shizun for having neglected him. Now that I am aware of how unpleasant this was for him, this disciple will make certain it never happens again, as long as Shizun promises the same to him. If I were the one Shizun couldn’t handle touching, I could never bear it with as much grace as he did.”

Shen Qingqiu has no desire for any version of this shitty event to happen again. “Fine. This master promises. Binghe has better keep his word.”

Luo Binghe turns Shen Qingqiu toward him and kisses him until the frown still lingering on his face fades. “Shizun apparently isn’t convinced his husband missed him.” His hand slides down the line of his back. “Can this disciple request permission to try and convince him otherwise?”

Encouraging Luo Binghe when he’s like this is the kind of choice that leads to Shen Qingqiu sequestering himself in his bed all day tomorrow. “You can try. It won’t be easy though.” It doesn’t matter much, since Binghe is back. His husband will relish the excuse to wait on him hand and foot.

“Thanking Shizun for his graciousness.”