#you’d think in however many years since this pattern has been happening it’d of changed at some point

[yay-depression]

texting my therapist like “hey can we move up our appointment? i keep having revelations.”

[mandoinevarro]

NO APPOINTMENT, NO MEETING

Rule Maker, Rule Breaker: Chapter 4

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3

Words: 9.4k

Rating: E

Warnings: so ok descriptions of blood (it’s only one sentence and I don’t think it’s too bad but just in case), remembering trauma/triggering memories, angst. now for the fun part: SMUT, one (1) thigh spank, a sprinkle of dirty talk, a dash of praise kink, spitting, oral (f receiving), vaginal sex, maybe cockwarming but for like two minutes

a/n: happy 2021!!! only one chapter left after this one so enjoy. for the hornies who only want fun and sexy times: scroll to the bottom and work your way up, smut is like 3/4 in.

……………

In the blue morning light, Nevarro is almost beautiful.

The deserted lava fields spread in flat terrain as far as the eye can see, bumps and dips where magma cooled creating waves like a black ocean. Among the tide, obsidian turtle shells shimmer like dark mirrors, where Din Djarin studies his face. It startled him when he crawled from the tent to take the pram inside; when he glanced at the ground and the ground glanced back. His face cloudy and warped by irregular volcanic rock, he barely recognized it. It’s not rare for his features to blur in his memory sometimes, especially when he’s out working for days at a time unable to catch a glimpse of himself. Vanity is not one of his many shortcomings—hiding your face for decades is a mighty vaccine against it.

But today something’s different. The reflection peering up at him belongs to a stranger. Relaxed eyebrows, a hooked nose (has the curved always been so pronounced?), lips that faintly curl up. Content brown eyes. His mirrored counterpart is a sentient being below him, plump with blood and oxygen. Alive.

He looks happy.

However, morning weighs heavily on Din, he can see it in the bags below his eyes. It stings like a hangover, like the only hangover he ever had, back when he was an eighteen-year-old idiot and used the credits of his first bounty to get a flask of spotchka from some seedy bar. He remembers sitting in his crammed quarters at the old Covert, chugging the bottle on his own, methodically forcing himself to swallow against the burn. Waiting. Waiting for the alchemy to kick in, for the magic toxins that flushed drunks’ faces, lubricant that oiled their scowls into easy smiles. Waiting to feel what everyone else felt, just for a moment.

Lifting his head, Din peers ahead. Shadows of the city’s buildings creep above the horizon like a bad omen. The opposite of a promised land. Hunchbacked buildings stain the blue-gray sky, abruptly interrupt the intricate lava patterns, Nevarro the planet versus Nevarro the city. Din’s stomach crumples. One, maybe two hours by foot. One, maybe two hours, and last night will fade into a distant memory, a collection of ghost sensations.

But not yet. Right now, last night is still real. You are still real.

Crawling back into the tent, he licks his lips for the millionth time today. He can still taste you: that thick, salty-bitter taste, so much better than he could’ve imagined. He hopes it stays on his lips for a long time; or, at least, that he can replace it soon.

Inside, you’re curled up with his cape, a blooming bruise above your shoulder peeking out, the baby’s pram hovering next to you. He sits down, careful not to awake either of you, and runs a finger down your shoulder, feels the skin prickle. He buries his nose on the back of your hair and inhales: rain and earth as usual, but his soap too, a part of him that clings to you. Lips on the crook of your neck, Din smells himself on you, wonders if you’ll want to wash his scent away, or if you’ll want it to stay on you. You stir, your soft exhales gain a rasp. Din smiles. You do snore, after all.

He’ll have to wake you soon. He knows. He knows. You need to talk about last night. You need to have the frank conversation that you’ve both been postponing for way too long, back when you floated in dead space, no deadlines, no rush at all to make decisions. But things have changed, and he knows what he wants now, and he knows it can’t wait. Yet every time his fingers brush your shoulder to nudge you awake, he pulls them back. He’s never seen you so peaceful, not moving except for your expanding and contracting chest, the light fluttering of your lashes. All the fight in your body gone, those tall bridges around you down and inviting. So different from when he met you.

If there’s one thing Din’s good at, it’s sniffing out trouble. He had to be, if he wanted to make it in the Fighting Corps. In the Bounty Hunter’s Guild. He can sweep a room with a mental black light, spot the people who flare up white and bright, the ones he needs to stay away from—or approach, depending on the situation. And that day at the cantina, the first time he laid eyes on you? You glowed with it. Talking big game in Karga’s booth, laughing with your pretty smile and shuffling cards, you beamed with trouble, bright as radiation and just as dangerous. What needed to happen was clear as day. The Mandalorian needed to turn on his heels immediately, strut out of that bounty hunter hive without a second look, and never, ever, ask about you.

He’d been there before.

Mandalorians, despite common belief, are not made of beskar. Not on the inside, at least. They’re all warm blooded organics, burdened with flesh and internal organs and skeletons; pain and pleasure receptors. Older Mandalorians cautioned younger ones when they came of age and finished their training, when they were ready to become providers. Tall stern warriors, his superiors, warned that there would be temptation, situations that would make him doubt the Way. “Even the briefest taste,” Din’s former Alor said with that cavernous voice he had, “can be the point of no return.” And he was right.

Outside the Covert, there was so much…stimuli. Voices and colors and movement, a twenty-four-hour beehive, the galaxy buzzed and vibrated to no end. It was equally wonderous and grotesque, like a circus. The strenuous noises that rattled his ribcage, the strong smells, the different food, his senses had never felt more exhausted. The faces…stars, the faces. How muscles stretched in a big smile, the glint of teeth, the deep creases between eyebrows that signaled anger. Always moving, always changing, Din hadn’t seen so many uncovered heads since he was a child. His first few weeks outside he’d stare at people for hours until they scurried away or tried to fight him. Tried.

Then, when the initial shock wore out, he noticed other details. The way children’s eyes filled with admiration when they’d look at their parents, how that dimpled girl in Alderaan would blush and stutter whenever he bought something from her stall. And Din would wonder, despite all warnings, what it’d feel like to be one of them. To share so much of himself with the outside world. With time, curiosity morphed into obsession, obsession into desperation, and soon enough he found himself with Rand and the others, running rampant in an already chaotic galaxy.

One war, two decades, and a thousand regrets later, the curiosity died down. The helmet helped him tune out the outside world, made it easier to retreat into his memories. The galaxy seemed duller by the day, emptier. Lonelier, though he didn’t dwell on it.

That is, until he met you.

Until his resolve circled the drain and he asked Karga who you were and where to find you, walked into your store without an idea of what he’d say. Behind the counter, eyes shining and that silky voice asking what you could do for him, you reset the galaxy for him. Every time he visited you felt like his first day outside all over again.

But last night—that was stronger, set in stone. It felt like commitment. Something was born last night, something burgeoned in his chest and took root. Din can feel the fullness in his body, like he grew an extra limb, similar to the swell that tangled in his insides when he went back for the kid. He doesn’t have a name for it yet, but it reminds him of the day he swore the Creed. The fresh sense of purpose, the carved-out path in front of him, knowing what needs to be done:

When the siege is over, he’ll take you with him.

“Are you watching me sleep?” you mumble, cotton mouthed. “Kinda creepy.”

Din chuckles, then remembers. Stars, his heart stops beating for a second. Dread and natural reflexes throw his palm whip fast over your closed eyes. Maker. What the hell was he thinking, sitting next to you without the helmet. Maker, one second too late and you could’ve opened your eyes and—

“Didn’t see anything. Promise,” you say with a smile and pull his cape over your face. “Cover up.”

He pats around for the helmet (where the hell did he drop it last night?), finds it abandoned by your feet. When he fits it around his head, the familiar padding hugging his skull, he swears it feels heavier than it did yesterday.

“You decent?”

“Yeah.”

You lower the pseudo blanket, sleepy eyes and easy smile. As if you purposefully want to make it harder for him to strike up a conversation. But do I really need to— Yes. Yes, he does. He has to know where you stand and ask the big question: If you’d be willing to leave with him once the siege is lifted. Stars, his hands are sweating. But he can’t imagine you’d say no. Not after last night.

“Listen…”

As if on cue, whimpers and sniffles float from the closed pram. Great timing, kid. The baby’s ears droop like wilting leaves when Din places him on the ground, and the little bundle waddles with his eyes cast down until he reaches your ankle.

“What is it, kiddo?” you ask softly, your voice gentler than Din’s ever heard, sitting up as you hug his cloak tighter around your shoulders.

“I think…” Din begins, watching the baby sniffle and hug your bandaged calf. “I think he’s apologizing.”

A pair of eight-ball eyes blink at you, shiny with unshed tears, and Din feels an ache deep in his chest. This sweet little kid, all he’s been put through…

“Oh, don’t worry,” you coo, as one of your hands wriggles out the cloak and cradles the baby’s cheek. Your thumb brushes away a fat tear. “I’m tougher than your dad.” You wink at Din: Just kidding. But it’s true. Living in this planet for so long, all on your own. “Tough” is a survival skill for you, not a choice.

Also…dad. He should probably correct you. Din is not the kid’s real father, even though he’s caught himself thinking about the baby as his son once or twice, when he’s not too aware of his inner monologue. But he can’t bring himself to tell you the truth. Actually, he belongs to a race of wizards that I’ve been quested to deliver him to. Can’t adopt him if I’ll eventually give him up. Not when the kid’s shedding quiet tears into your leg and you’re doing your best to soothe him. Nevarro’s not child friendly, and Din can’t imagine you’ve got much practice with baby stuff, but he can tell you’re doing your best. And that’s enough to spread warmth through his chest.

What a troop you must make: Mandalorian bounty hunter, black market dealer, magic green baby. You could set up a three-person circus and retire. Yet the image tugs at a memory tucked away in his mind, something familiar but blurred.

His rumination’s cut short when Din notices the kid’s pudgy hands extending strategically on either side of your right leg, his eyelids beginning to flicker. Shit, shit, shit.

“She forgives you,” he tells the kid hastily as he scoops him and lays him on the open pram. He doesn’t need to be the little womprat’s real father to tell he was about to whip out his favorite party trick: healing witch powers. So far it doesn’t look like it permanently harms him, but it does weaken him, and Din can’t take chances. Plus, he skipped the part about the baby having supernatural powers when he told you his story, and there’s not a hell of a lot of ways one can explain fresh wounds disappearing.

“So,” you say after the baby’s settled in his pod. “What are we going to do,” you start, and Din’s throat knots with dread and excitement, “about the jammer.”

Oh. Stars, straight to business

“You said you have one.”

“I said I might have one,” you answer, grabbing for your discarded skirts. You fumble with them under the cloak, one hand clasped tight around it. It’s funny—after everything you’ve shared, you won’t undress in front of him during the day. “I mean, jammers aren’t picky like motors, they’re more one-size-fits-all.”

“But we still have to rewire it,” Din completes, wiping dry drool from the kid’s cheek with his thumb.

“Right.” Holding the cloak with your chin while you clasp your tunic, you seem to slowly draw your way out of a maze. That restless abacus in your head adding and subtracting. Your brows relax, and Din knows you’ve figured it out. “But I’ve got my equipment in my workshop, and we’d save time not having to remove it from a ship. And, no offense, but the Crest’s jammer was an antique. Way more complicated than newer models.” You finish dressing and hand him the cloak. “Only problem is the potential trooper stakeout outside the store.”

“I’ll take care of troopers.” Din takes the cloak and hesitates. It’s day nine, that time bomb still ticks in his head. Could it be that easy? Could you really do all this in one day? “What if we don’t finish on time?”

“Then,” you say, “we’ll figure something out.”

We, Din thinks, and smiles. Somehow, that’s all the reassurance he needs.

≈

Nevarro couldn’t look more deserted if tumbleweed rolled in the streets. The city’s a populated ghost town, no man’s land that’s filled with men. Well, men is a strong word. How did Viszla put it that time? We live hidden like sand rats. Yes, rats seems more fitting. Packs of them, scurrying around the former Covert, stealing Mandalorian armor to be bartered for scraps. Karga didn’t have to spell it out when he told him about people finding the Covert. Mando is familiar with the ways of the Outer Rim: Anything unclaimed is up for the taking, and beskar’s too tempting to resist. Knowing doesn’t make his blood boil any less, though. If Din focuses, he can almost hear their squeaking echoing from the sewers, the scavengers of this gray rock serving themselves to the abandoned armor of his people.

Movement to the left. The Mandalorian draws his blaster and bars you with his forearm, to see…a tunic. A short tunic. Tiny red lights. A Jawa. He exhales and sheathes the blaster. Stars. With the vembrance turned off, he has to rely on bare eyesight to scan for danger.

The Jawa drags a sleigh behind him. On it lies a dead or unconscious trooper (it makes no difference to these creatures), its gloved fingers drawing traffic lines on the mud and ash of unpaved streets. Red stars below the cowl focus on you for half a second, the bounty hunter’s hand approaches his blaster, and…

…and the Jawa waves at you, says “hello” in its squeaky language. You wave back, smiling, and the lump of shadow continues on its way. A neighborly gesture that in this context is plain bizarre.

“Old friend of yours?” Mando asks, walking again.

“Associate,” you correct, running a finger along the kid’s left ear until it twitches and he giggles. “Jawas scavenge parts straight from the wreckage, eliminate the middle man. And they don’t report to the New Republic.”

You mean steal from the wreckage, Din almost says, but bites it back. He supposes he can’t judge you for trading with Jawas. Prospects on the Outer Rim are bleaker than ever, and everyone’s got to eat. Especially during a siege.

Maker, sometimes he can’t believe he convinced himself to leave you here. Marooned in the type of place Core World citizens only talk about with shaking heads and disapproving voices. The type of place that makes people feel better about their lives, because hey, it could be worse, at least I don’t live in Nevarro. Granted, Din didn’t know then there’d be a siege. After the fight, after he bid goodbye to Cara and Karga, he hovered on the atmosphere for longer than was safe, gazing down at your store’s roof from the Razor Crest’s cockpit. His head a seesaw, weighing his options and unable to make a decision. You were still so close. He could fly back down to the surface, knock on your door, and take you away with him like he did with the kid.

Would you say yes? Reject him?

But most importantly: what about his quest? What kind of life would you lead travelling with him, a fugitive of the Empire and the New Republic? Life for Din has been defined by survival. Every day he’s had to get up and fight; fight to an inch of his life, fight with concussions, frostbite, shattered ribs. Knife wounds, blaster wounds. Personal wounds. He didn’t want that for you. You’re young, clever, resourceful. After that day, maybe you’d decide Nevarro was too dangerous. Maybe you’d pay your passage on a cruiser and start over in the Core Worlds, make your luck own there. Find a good man, if that’s what you wanted.

So he started the thrusters—the same ones he bought from you so long ago—and jumped into hyperspace with a semi clear conscience. This was best for everyone. You probably wouldn’t have accepted his offer, anyway. For five months he lived with his decision. And then he learnt about the siege.

In the sky, a string of river pearls forms a pattern like a necklace. Imperial cruisers, tie fighters, every ship that Guideon commands, solemnly presiding over Nevarro, itching to shoot down runaways. They’re too far up in the atmosphere to make out anyone in the surface, but Mando grabs your arm and coaxes you behind him all the same, his grip on the pram tighter. The memory of that imp’s blaster on your forehead is still too fresh. The dried blood on your legs.

Din glances back at you briefly. You catch his eye and smile—not grin, not smirk—but smile, a pretty, kind smile that would put to shame any of the imaginary Naboo girls you were so worked up about two nights ago. He should know, he’s been to Naboo, and none of the women there had your kaleidoscopic face, those hints of life that send his pulse on a sprint. The Mandalorian wonders what else you could be hiding under that sharp tongue, behind those clever eyes.

“Mando,” you call and point at a blackened mass to your right. “Nursery’s this way.”

All buildings in Nevarro emerge from volcanic rock, pushing away from clumps of hardened magma. They’re half-manmade, half-volcano hybrids—it’s a useful layout that gives their structure grip against constant earthquakes. It also, however, makes the buildings look like tumors growing on the navel of an ill planet. Your store’s the only one that’s never looked malignant, more like a sprouting flower than a parasite.

And now, the cantina too. Burned to a crisp, blacker than night, the former Church of Nevarro seems to have been swallowed by its unwilling host: the volcanic rock it was built upon. It’d be near impossible to know there’s a cantina inside, if not for the wide window peering inside. And it’s far from impossible for you or Mando, who know by heart where all the doors stand. He pushes one open for you, and together you walk inside.

“Thumb on the bottom, middle and ring fingers on the top, index to the side,” instructs Cara from behind the cantina’s crisp black counter. “The other side.”

Greef Karga sits on a stool opposite her, fumbling with a deck of cards. “Got it. Then what?”

“Then…” The veteran moves aside a flask of ardees and places a matching deck on the bar. “Pressure with your index, release the thumb.” She acts out her instructions and creates an arched ribbon spread on the surface. The Mandalorian can’t remember the last time he walked into the cantina and didn’t see the hypnotic patterns on cards, didn’t hear the wing-flapping noise of their shuffle. Although if he thinks about it, it makes sense that sabacc is the local sport around here. Dumb luck is the only god in the Outer Rim, where inhabitants gaze perpetually at their uncertain future and never look back. Tomorrow they’ll get a better hand, yesterday’s lost credits are forgotten. Everyone here seems to shed their past like snake skin.

“Nice spread, Dune,” you call. Greef and Cara follow your voice, realize they have visitors. “You should job hunt at Canto Bight.”

“Oh yeah?” replies the ex-shock trooper with an impish grin, both elbows on the counter and a rag over her shoulder, all bartender swagger. “What do you know about Canto Bight, hot stuff? Heard you’ve never been off this rock.” She spies a sly glance at Mando, enough to confirm that she’s annoying him on purpose, openly flirting with you. He squares his stance, rolls the helmet to pin her down with the visor, but (he really should know this by now) it does little to intimidate her.

“No trash talk before nightfall, ladies,” quips Karga, walking towards the pram. “And certainly not in front of babies. Hello, little one!” Said little one coos and lifts his skinny arms to be lifted by the Guild Leader, who sits back down delighted at having the baby’s favor, the little rascal on his lap. “He likes me!” Greef Karga smiles wide, flashing those white glinting teeth that’ve always reminded Din of a wolf’s. He’s not happy to leave the kid here, but he can’t take him if there’s a stakeout in your store. Beggars can’t be choosers and so on. But Cara’s here, and Din knows he can trust her with the baby. Though not with you, evidently.

“Tell you what, Mando,” Cara continues, apparently not done peacocking around you. “We arm wrestle, just like last time. Winner gets a flask of spotchka and the opportunity to take the lady to Canto Bight after you lift the siege.”

“Help us lift the siege and I’ll consider winning that flask.”

Dune lets out an long whistle, giving you a complicit look. “Big words.”

Your eyes rake along the Mandalorian’s armor slowly, boots to helmet, a dark tint in your eyes. Din flushes, the oppressive heat of his clothes suddenly thicker.

You shrug and answer, “Big man.” Your fingertips dance idly around the nape of your neck, which makes Mando think about last night, about his tongue on your neck and the purple bruises he sucked, the salty taste of flesh, the heady one between your legs. The memory steers blood into…into awkward places. Which, knowing you, was your intention. Maker, he needs to talk to you about teasing him in public.

“Help you how?” asks Greef, lifting the baby into the counter, whose six little claws hold on to two of his gloved fingers.

“Look after the kid, we won’t be more than a few hours.”

“Sure thing!” booms Karga, at the same time as Cara says, “Fuck no.”

You fold your arms at the veteran. “You scared of an infant, Dune? It’s only one of him, and…” you squint at the cantina’s black shell, like something’s out of place in its burned remains, “…two of you. Where’s—” you start, before glancing at Mando and swallowing the second half.

“Duma?” supplies Karga, tapping the corners of the deck on the counter. “Don’t know, probably boiling beskar to make broth. Rumor has it she’s running out of supplies, fast. Did you ever take her up on that deal?”

Your eyes shoot vibroblades at him, your mouth a flat line.

“What deal?” Mando asks.

“Nothing,” you reply, still glaring warnings at Karga, who sighs, shakes his head, and tickles the baby’s tummy. The kid giggles and kicks half the deck off the counter. “Nothing important. We should get going.”

Outside, you guide the Mandalorian through a maze of back alleys, the ugly underbelly of a planet that’s already the galaxy’s own underbelly. Mando glues a palm to his blaster’s grip, lifting it only as muscle memory to turn on the vembrance and activate the setting to scan footprints, frustrated when he remembers his own piece of equipment would immediately snitch on him. Yet you glade past dark corners that beg for their own knife-brandishing mugger with the grace of someone frolicking in D’Qar’s moorlands, postcard-calm.

Once in your store’s backdoor, the Mandalorian ventures a glance at the front street. Empty. Like the rest of the city, it’s like curfew was declared, not an imp in sight. Certainly not a stakeout in process. Behind him, you push the door open, the busted security panel no more than a prop to discourage robbers.

“What?” you ask when he doesn’t walk inside.

“There’s nobody here,” he answers, studying the connecting alleys like a web of arteries, waiting for a trooper squadron to materialize and ambush you.

“It’s quiet too quiet?” you tease with a lopsided grin. “Lay off the thrillers, Mando. Come on.”

You step inside, he hesitates. “Could be a trap.”

Hands on the doorframe, leaning forward, your face almost touches the helmet. “Then you’ll shoot them and we’ll be back to square one. Not much of a choice here, Mando.” Those pretty eyes, your shining, wet lips. It’s a siren’s call he knows he shouldn’t answer.

The Mandalorian follows you inside.

It takes him a moment to recognize his surroundings.

Your store hibernates in the dark, stale air floating around its vault. Your store, which used to buzz with drills and neon lights and life around the clock, looms like a beast’s hollow belly, crypt-still. Lights off and furniture wrapped in sheets, it looks abandoned, the way all those family houses in deserted villages were hastily vacated during the war. He wonders how long you’ve been out of business because of the siege. Because of him.

You walk across the reception in tomb silence. In the reception signs hang next to the front desk—store policies that gave Mando more than one headache—dark and colorless, like they turned in their badges and no longer preside over this place. Only “NO IMPS” twitches, one or two agonizing flashes of neon green, before it shuts down like its colleagues. Six rules in total, although in Din’s opinion there’s a seventh that foregoes the need of a sign: “NO QUESTIONS”.

That’s a rule that everyone in Nevarro—bounty hunter or not—subscribes to. It’s the rule you followed when the Mandalorian walked into your store, still crafting some half-assed excuse about thrusters when he came face to face (helmet to face?) with you. You never asked about New Republic guidelines or what he wanted them for. Not even for his name. No questions when he came back two weeks later. No questions as weeks passed and then months, as tension thickened between you until his internal barometer cracked.

No questions when his thinning resolve broke one night. That night. He pushed you onto your workbench, you undid each other’s belts, pawed at each other’s sides. No questions when he slid into your wet heat, when he had to stop for a second to avoid a heart attack. No questions when he finished inside you, blood roaring in his ears, your sighs clouding his visor, your hand gently pushing him back.

And then, his question: “Where are you going?”

“Upstairs,” you answered, pulling your trousers back around your hips.

It dropped on his head like freezing water. Upstairs. Upstairs to your apartment, to rest. Alone. Meaning your encounter was a one-night stand, a shortcut to let off some steam. Stars, you were basically swinging the front door wide open for him, putting away a couple of wrenches and switching off the lights to signal the night was over. The Mandalorian didn’t need questions to know he’d overstayed his visit.

But…what if he’d spent the night anyway? Maybe the next morning he would’ve been upfront with you, confess he’d wanted you for so long and that he wanted it to evolve past one furtive encounter, that he wanted it to be real. No, he probably wouldn’t have. As a bounty hunter—as Mandalorian—there are things he simply can’t have. Things that are better off unspoken, better off—

“Tucked away,” you say behind him, making the Mandalorian jump.

“What?”

“The planner.” You walk behind the front desk. “I was saying I don’t remember leaving it here. I thought it was tucked away in some box.”

Oh.

It is strange. A light sheen of dust covers the counter, yet the planner is glossy clean, a painted depiction of the Manarai Mountains on its cover. A souvenir from Coruscant. He wonders who brought you that. It tugs at something sweet but sad in his chest, the fact that you have to rely on others’ cheap souvenirs to explore the galaxy. That’ll change as soon as this mess with the siege is settled.

You flip through the planner, empty for the most part but for a few scribbles on the first pages. It’s dated 5 ABY, four years ago. The Mandalorian knows from experience that your appointment rule works mostly to turn away unsavory clients. Or to get on his nerves.

“Look at that,” you murmur as if reading his mind, your finger pointing at nothing on a page. “You don’t have an appointment, Mando.”

“We don’t have time for this,” he answers, though he knows he’ll make time for it anyway. It used to drive him up the wall whenever you refused to see him using that stupid excuse. But, as with everything with you, it was more complicated than that. It took longer than he’s willing to admit to understand that it was a game. That you liked him riled up, after the push and pull, the hot and cold, the challenge. You had a taste for difficulty. Although it didn’t take as long to figure out that he liked it too. “Just let me in.”

“I don’t know,” you drawl, glancing at the dull signs on the wall. “Rules are rules.”

The Mandalorian has played this game with you enough to know what you want. He thinks of all those memories in this building. You, pinned between his armor and the doorframe; him, sitting on that battered couch upstairs with your hands on his knees. Even those calm nights, when you’d only sit and talk and make him laugh, and sometimes he’d get a laugh from you too, if he didn’t try too hard. All the sweating and the panting and the talking that these walls have witnessed. Maybe there’s time for one last memory before you both leave this planet for good. Not maybe—there’s definitely time. If this were an ambush, you’d be dodging blaster shots by now.

“So bend the rules,” he says slowly, gripping his edge of the counter and dropping his voice to the low register that gives you goosebumps. “For me.”

Your eyes twinkle like copper at the fact that he’s playing along. “And what do I get in return?”

This time, he doesn’t hesitate. “Whatever you want.” Perhaps he’s known for a while, in the back of his head where he could ignore it, but last night the idea rushed to his front lobe. He’ll give you anything you want.

“I want…” you begin, mischief shining in your eyes, before a shadow clouds them. Slowly, your face goes soft, a special kind of longing in your pupils. You swallow, your voice becomes throaty, and the words sound truer than anything Din’s ever heard: “I want you. I just want you.”

He almost trips on his feet when he rounds the counter, his head already swimming. The hunter crowds you with his body, backs you up against the counter until you’re caged and looking up at him, hooded eyes and parted lips. Hot stuff. Cara’s shallow pet name. When he heard it he thought it was inappropriate. But now. As your mouth nestles on his clothed neck and breathes hot, damp air through the fabric—a mild sensation for most people, he guesses, but almost a mating call for him—he realizes it’s not untrue. The name fits you like a glove, hot stuff. It’s just…incomplete. If he’s learnt anything these nine days is that there’s so much more to you, enough sailor knots of emotion and personality inside you to loop around the galaxy if unraveled.

“Touch me,” you breathe, rubbing up against him, searching friction. “Please, please, touch me. There’s nobody here, we—we have time.”

Gloved palms on your waist, down to your hips, lower to your ass, Din tries to fondle you as best he can. He pins you between the counter and his hips, your leg curls around his back and holds him closer. His erection starts to bulge against your belly, your breaths start quickening, your hearts start pumping faster. The tell-tale signs that indicate you’re both ready to go hit all their usual beats. But something’s missing. There’s a step you’re skipping, something…something he’s not doing right.

Tentatively, you press a small kiss on his covered neck, and he can only feel its frustrating whisper, a promise of more.

A lightbulb flicks on.

Mando holds your hips and spins you around, the desk’s edge on your waist. “Bend over,” he grouses next to your ear, his voice sand-coarse. “Don’t turn around.”

Gloves off first. One palm cradles the back of your neck, feels you shiver. His left hand runs down your back and around to your tummy, savoring all those warm, secret places on you, the way your body opens up to him on instinct. The power trip when he cups your heat through your skirts and you moan into the counter. You nestle your hips on his lap, and he stiffens on command, a tug between his legs that he knows is far too insistent for foreplay. Stars, it’s like he’s conditioned to get hard in this store.

“Don’t—” he chokes out “—not so fast. Or I—I won’t—”

“What?” you pant. Din hears the grin laced in your voice and knows it’s bad news for him. He drops to his knees and both hands walk up your bandaged calves, squeeze the tops of your thighs. “You…you don’t…” He throws your skirts over your back. You inhale sharply at the cold air—or at his hands pulling the soft flesh of your backside. When he removes the helmet, your pitch sounds broken up, more desperate. “You d-don’t want…”

It’s a small victory when he parts his lips against your clothed core and it’s you, for once, who chokes on words. Small victory, but he’ll take it, especially after the way his cock twitches in his pants when he smells you. He kisses you again, just a peck over your clit, and your legs shake. Fucking…stars. If this is how you feel when you tease him…well, he gets it. You mewl and push back on his face, but he hardly thinks you want it that easy.

“Stop moving,” he tells you sternly, with a voice he’d use on quarries.

A shiver runs down your spine. “But—” You break into a whine when his open palm slaps the side of your thigh. It’s probably the surprise rather than the sting that makes you inhale sharply, and a combination of both that dampens the cotton between your legs.

“Stop moving,” he repeats, mouth pressed against your core so you can feel the vibration; that, he learnt from you. “Or you don’t get my mouth.”

Above him, you let out a displeased little grunt, too throaty to mean much. But you open your legs wider and brace yourself on the front desk, grant him full access to you. His index hooks on your underwear, moves it aside, and he buries his lips deep into the softest part of you. Din barely hears you gasp. He circles both arms around your thighs and pulls you closer, until his tongue is buried between your folds and you just have to take it. Fuck, it’s just…decadent. The taste, the smell, how soaked you are already, your little purrs and whimpers when he sucks on your lips. They’re not things he ever thought he’d get to feel. He doesn’t deserve any of it.

“Mmm, stars, Mando,” you sob, sneakily rutting your hips like you just can’t help it. He allows it, but only because he’s so rock fucking hard he’s practically doing the same thing. His cock trapped down one pant leg, he squeezes his thighs to try and soothe the ache. “Move—move up a b-bit.”

“No,” he grunts, and licks a slow line from the spot right below your clit to the back of your slit. It wasn’t so long ago that it was your mouth on him, you teasing him mercilessly inside this very store, him moaning and grunting and losing his mind. That’s how he wants you: sloppy, desperate, begging.

“Maker, don’t t-tease,” you moan, but it only encourages him. His tongue slides deep inside you where you’re hotter than sin, enjoying how your walls swell and tighten around it. You’re so fucking wet, he could push into you right now and relieve the pressure building between his legs. But not yet.

“Beg me,” Din groans, mouthing at the inside of your thighs and sucking tiny bruises there. You moan above him, deep in your throat, and he wonders which one of you is more turned on right now. “Put—fuck—put that smart mouth to use. Beg me.”

For a moment all he can hear is your labored breathing, the wheels turning in your pretty head, laying out a plan to make him give in faster. Then, soft and sweet, you hum, “Mando.”

One word. Probably the word Din hears the most, so generic and impersonal that everyone from friends to strangers to enemies call him that. That word coming from your lips makes his heart sprint, his cock pulse and scream at him to hurry up. Stars, but if it was his name—his real name—on your lips, soft and purring like you pronounced his nickname, he knows he wouldn’t be able to hold back a second longer.

“You always make me feel so good,” you continue, arching your back a little to test the waters. “You’re so—so good with your mouth, stars. Want you to kiss me again—kiss me everywhere. Taste me like yesterday—” Your breath catches when he sucks on your inner lips again, closer to where you want him. Maker, if you keep talking like that… “Used to th-think about it all the time, how—mmm—how your—your tongue would feel. Never, ngh, never thought you’d use it th-there, though.” Din laps at your cunt, drinks from it. Fuck, he can’t remember the last time he got this hard. An airy laugh before you continue. “You can be so d-dirty sometimes. I’d let you do—do anything to me.”

Really, Din doesn’t know what pushes him to do it. He doesn’t know what makes him pull back and spread you open with his fingers, stare at your glistening, deliciously swollen folds, and spit at their very top. You moan raggedly above him, a complete mess of sobs and whimpers, as Din simply stares. He watches the trail of spit run down your slit, the lower it goes the more precum he feels sticking to his trousers. Half-drunk on your words and your slick, Din thinks: What did you do to me? Maker, you have him wrapped around your finger.

Saliva trails down until it teardrops on your clit, clings to it, and he doesn’t need another sign. His lips latch on to your bundle of nerves and suck. You sob and whine and cry, rocking your hips hard against his mouth, and he continues sucking through his teeth. Your knees give out, but he holds them before you can hit the ground, holds you in place as he feels you give him everything, your pussy clenching around nothing. Slick trails down his chin, all the way to his neck, and—shit. He’s going to burst in his pants just from feeling you cum in his mouth.

It takes every last ounce of self-control he has left to detach his lips from your cunt and stumble to his feet. You’re still shaking, still panting, but he can’t hold it back a minute longer. Fuck, not even a second longer, he needs to have you right now.

It’s a struggle to get a hold of his fly, fingers trembling and teeth grinding. When he finally pulls the zipper down, the sound snaps your head up.

“Are you—Mando, are you going to—”

“Yes,” he grunts, digging into his waistband for his cock, lining it up against your cunt. Stars, he’s so pent up, it hurts to touch it. “Is it—is it o-okay, can—can, I—”

“Oh, fuck, yes,” you mewl, pushing your hips so tightly against his groin the head of his cock catches against your entrance. Fuck. “Please, please, please, put it inside, let me feel your big, thick, co—”

One hard shove, deep enough that he feels himself poke your cervix, and he’s cumming—hard. His spine doubles over and he grunts and moans into your hair, giving you short, stunted thrusts as he fills you to the brim. You were already so swollen before, now you feel unbearably tight, squeezing his cock so harshly his eyes roll back on his skull. And his balls keep pulling up and giving you more of his load, his teeth grinding so hard they might crack. One last thrust, nice and deep so his cum stays inside you, and his palm presses down on your eyes. Din uses that hand as leverage to turn you around and tilt your head like you showed him, just enough so he can reach your lips. And he kisses you.

Your bodies spasm and throb against each other, you clench around him involuntarily and he flinches, too sensitive to handle the aftershocks of your orgasm. Still, he could stay like this for days. Gently sucking on your tongue, running his along the roof of your mouth, feeling how your lips curve against his in a smile. Then, an alarming thought. Maybe this is the only way to do it that feels right now—sex, he means. With the helmet off, his lips on yours, his nose on your hair. Bare hands drawing circles on your hips. Every sense devoted to you. Even the briefest taste can be a point of no return.

You peck his lips and flutter sweet, short kisses around his jaw, working your way up to his ear, where you whisper, “We’re running out of time.”

The jammer. Those words are quickly becoming the bane of his existence. “I know,” he whispers back, but presses one last, long kiss to your lips that feels inexplicably sad, like a kiss goodbye. Din shakes the thought off his head. He’s too pessimistic sometimes.

You both hiss when he pulls out, slowly so he won’t hurt you.

“Keep ‘em closed,” he tells you before removing his hand from your eyes. For all he knows you could open them right there, and there’d be nothing he could do about it. Somehow, however, he’s certain you won’t. His trust is rewarded when he pulls the hand back, and your eyes are screwed shut beneath it.

It takes an awkward choreography to straighten yourselves. You try to pull your own underwear back on, but in your position it’s near impossible. So Din kneels behind you once more, fishes his helmet from the floor, tucks himself back into his trousers, and lifts your panties until they hug your hips. You push your own skirts down before Din’s upright, which results in the long fabric covering him like your furniture. You share a quick laugh before standing straight and facing each other.

“You can open them.”

Now, he tells himself, watching your sated smile and blinking eyes. The words are on the tip of his tongue: When this is over, would you like to come with me—

“If there’s a jammer here,” you say, before he can get a word out, “it’s in the workshop.”

You walk around him and open a door behind the reception desk to reveal the staircase that leads to your apartment. Din’s still telling himself that he’ll just ask you later, when you climb one step—and stop. You turn around like you can sense he’s about to ask, for the second time in this store, where you’re going.

“Gotta get some stuff from upstairs, but I’ll be down in a second.” Your voice wobbles, your foot hesitates on the step. You’re nervous. “But if you find the jammer before I come back, don’t…don’t leave.”

“Of course not.” Maker, of course he wouldn’t leave without you. Do you really think he would?

The workshop is darker than the reception. A single window, currently boarded up, so he has to use the helmet’s light. The cone of white light creates a sinister effect, like creatures lurk everywhere it doesn’t touch. Rubber tubes hang from the ceiling like lianas, circuit boards glimmer green like leaves, and yellow sensors blink from several components. Your own little ecosystem watches him dig into boxes of clutter to search for a jammer. Stars, he’s never known how you manage to find anything here. It’s probably best if he waits outside; he wouldn’t be able to find his own ship in here without you.

He’s turning to the door when the helmet’s light catches on a dark glint, like it reflected on a mirror. It stops him on his tracks. Din’s not sure what prompts his feet to carry him toward your worktable, where the mystery item lays center-front. He sees himself reflected on the dark T-visor. It’s a helmet. It’s a blue Mandalorian helmet.

At first he’s confused. Surprised to see a Mandalorian helmet here—and is it even a Madalorian helmet? Yes, yes it is. His brain lags behind his eyes, goes through different scenarios, each less likely than the last.

Is there another Mandalorian here? Did the Alor bring this? Is the Alor a client?

And then, truth.

It falls abruptly on his back like atmospheric pressure, gravity that crushes. A hot rush of blood enveloping his head, poisoning his thoughts, a ringing in his ears so sharp he thinks he might pass out. A million thoughts in less than a second—convoluted, scrambled, furious. Then an image, so clear that the Maker himself might’ve played it for him like a holo: Thieves, scammers, criminals scurrying through the tunnels of the Covert, the empty halls where his people built a refuge, where they could feel safe. The pile of beskar armor unguarded—the high price that brave Mandalorians paid to help Din, help the child—served in a silver platter for these scavengers, these fucking honorless lowlifes.

His gloved fingers grip your worktable so hard his knuckles might crack—or the table. But the Mandalorian can’t feel the pain on his joints, not when his bloodstream’s turned to acid, when it feels like somebody jammed live wires into his head.

This fucking place. This planet with its fucking people, their fucking cynicism, this fucking landfill for hazardous waste, this piece of shit skughole—

Above, the Mandalorian hears footsteps. Your footsteps. You.

He looks down at the helmet, the empty T-visor limp and black, dead. You did this. Thinking of you clears the red cloud from his mind, trades it for a gray one. A headache creeps behind his eyes, his shoulders go slack. He feels hollowed out. Like a spoon reached inside his chest and scooped away everything essential, left him a carcass. Like something died here today.

You did this.

And then the helmet is not a helmet, but a severed head. A head with a pool of blood around it, guts sprayed all over, and there’s the corrupt smell of blaster residue coming from his neighbor’s house, the taste of copper after biting his tongue running, the durasteel giants shooting red death, the deafening explosions, his parents’ screams, his school going up in a cloud of smoke, his father holding him, whispering one last sentence that he can’t hear through the sounds of war and carnage, his mother’s cheeks stained with tears and dirt and blood, their blurring faces, the darkness, the fear.

Holding the helmet, Din feels tears sting in the corners of his eyes, then hot on his cheeks. Nobody understands, why can’t anybody understand? The warrior that owned this helmet is lost forever, condemned to live like a phantom, empty without the Creed, without the Way. It’s worse than death. It’s the curse that most of the Covert was forced to carry, to walk this galaxy like living dead, violently stripped of everything that mattered. And the relic of their sacrifice sits in your workshop next to the rest of your junk, ready to be sold off to the highest bidder, somebody who’ll want to hang it in their wall like game they hunted, and how could you do this to him, how could you, how could you do this—

“Find anything yet?”

When the Mandalorian turns, his helmet’s white light locks you in place like quarry. Like guilty quarry.

You squint and raise a palm to shut out the bright beam. “Stars, Mando,” you laugh. “Are you trying to blind me? Turn that off.”

Your words are muffled by the rushing blood that wraps around his ears, loud as a waterfall, but he can understand them. The Mandalorian grips the helmet tighter between his hands and keeps the light on so you can see what he found, what he knows about you. The ugly, festered truth about you.

Once your eyes adjust to the bright light and they’re able to stay open for more than three seconds, you give him a quizzical look. The visor gives you nothing, so you drop your gaze to the hard evidence between his hands.

And you have the nerve to look even more surprised. Furrowed eyebrows and everything to add to the performance.

“Where did you get that?” you ask.

A thousand responses climb into his head in a savage, foul clutter, like army ants. I should ask you the same, where do you think?, how much are they giving you?, was it worth it?, what’s wrong with you?, what’s wrong with this fucking planet? He opens his mouth, but they swarm in his throat all at once and tie a knot around his windpipe. More tears on his cheeks, another attempt at words—nothing.

Finally, quietly: “How could you do this to me?”

The crease between your brows digs deeper, and there’s genuine worry in your eyes. Of course you’re worried, he just caught you red fucking handed. “Mando, I really don’t understand—”

“Me neither,” he hisses through his teeth, “because this is a Mandalorian helmet, and you’re no Mandalorian.” The first insect out, the rest follow like a waterfall, crawling out his mouth. “How long did you wait after I left to steal this from the Covert? An hour? Five minutes?”

Trapped under the light, where you can no longer hide in shadows, you look stricken. The harsh light shines on circles under your eyes, creases where you frown. Bleak features he never noticed before.

Your voice is low and icy when you say, “I never stole anything from the Covert.”

“Scavenge, loot, I don’t care what you people like to call it.” How could you, after everything, how could you.

“Listen to me,” you say steadily, but your eyes are hot coals and your jaw is set, your own anger rising. Good. Masks off. He wants to see who’s been hiding under his noses these nine days. All those fucking months. “I didn’t take a thing from the Covert. I have no idea where that helmet came from.”

The Mandalorian is barely listening. He’s heard more than enough lies for two lifetimes, he sure as fuck doesn’t need yours. Instead, he focuses on the one thought that manages to float in the red sea of anger and despair. He holds on to it like an anchor, clutches it until his palms bleed, but truth hurts.

“Duma.” He doesn’t ask this time around—he tells you. He knows and there’s nothing you can do about it—nothing he can do about it. Greef Karga’s words shine painful light on fog. Boiling beskar…did you take her up on that deal? “You’re selling it to her.”

“Stars, of course not.” The stoniness of your features melts for an instant, hurt revealed underneath those layers. You look devastated, tired. Maker, you’re good. Those hours of sabacc are sure paying off. “Why won’t you believe me?”

“How can I believe you?” he snarls, his head suffocating in dark quicksand—grief, anger, betrayal all clogging his nostrils, making his head throb. How could you how could you how could you. “When I know what type of people sprout from this planet, I make a living hunting them. I know you—” his voice breaks, but the words keep flowing and he hardly hears them “—I know the kind of company you keep, I know you have no principles, I know you can’t commit to shit—”

“Commit?” you snap, face hardening cold and twisted like the magma outside, but he knows too well what lies beneath the surface. Lava, hot and bubbling, your anger as raw as his. Rawer. “You wanna talk about commitment? I waited for you for five months!” The light from the helmet no longer makes you squint, but it turns your eyes red and watery. “You left. You left me here to starve through a fucking siege that you caused—”

“I came back for you!”

That gives you pause. Then you shake your head. “No, you came back because that piece of shit official asked—”

“He asked to meet me in Belderone.” Belderone, same sector as Nevarro, not even ten minutes away in hyperspace. “Told me Nevarro wasn’t safe because there was a siege, so I insisted we meet here.” The memory drains him. How worried he was about you, the type of worried that stirs bile in the stomach. How guilty he felt. “To see you again. Make sure you were okay.” The Mandalorian looks down at the helmet in his hands, a strange mirror staring up at him. Harsher than the one from this morning. His ears ring, his mouth tastes sour, his rising headache plateaus into an unbearable, incessant throb. A ghost limb aches somewhere in his body, all over it. He wants to leave your store, your planet.

How could you?

Mando doesn’t raise his head to look at you when he walks out the workshop. You don’t stop him when he reaches the main door. You don’t stop him when he walks out to the street.

The sky is jaundice-yellow when he steps outside. Gone are this morning’s blue hues, suffocated by the sickly coughing of a million volcanos, by their fumaroles and their sparks. For all the Mandalorian cares, this planet can burn.

On his way to the cantina to pick up the kid, he stares at the marker that identifies the entrance to the city: that crooked, arthritis-ridden arch. Beyond it, he spots the outline of a ship. A sleek civilian shuttle, probably a rental. The official isn’t stupid enough to fly a Republic starship past siege lines, so if the tiny shuttle fooled Guideon’s platoon in the atmosphere, well, it’ll have to do it again. Tomorrow, they’ll just have to tempt fate and avoid tempting the batallion of Imperial cruisers. Or fly out in the Crest and hope they can jump into hyperspace before imps pulverize them. All he wants is to put as many lightyears between him and this planet.

Din’s head pounds when he walks inside the cantina. The only thought hammering against his skull: How could you.

…………

Edit: Chapter 5…’tis the end

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im pretty sure i forgot someone so please message me if i did!

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famed idol life / career meme

notes: once again, a big mega post because i didn’t want to flood dash with answers. thanks to everyone that sent in!! 

1. what is your favorite single you’ve released?

“solo wise? i’ve only released one solo portal song, which was a self-written song called that’s okay. well, bc forced that one on me when they took pages from my diary — still, my only one solo release, and that’s the favorite since i’m left with no other option. in regards to group? everyone knows, amigo or not — my favorite will always be view. something special about that time, i tell you.”

2. what are your favorite b-sides/non-title tracks you’ve released?

“since i haven’t released any songs by myself other than the one mentioned before, i’d have to go through decipher’s discography. lovesick, odd eye, prism, honesty, stranger, better off — there’s a lot to sift through in the past few years. unfortunately, there’s a point where my interest had started weaning off idol-dom, and you can observe that when i stopped paying attention and interest into what decipher did conceptually after 2016. at least the enjoyment was fun while it lasted.”

3. what is your least favorite song (title track or b-side) you’ve released?

”that’s an easy one. you take any b-side we’ve released in the past few years, and that probably makes the list. the comeback with the b-side shot was awful. that’s probably the worst, in my head. never was a fan of that comeback, now that i think of it — i call it the dark blip of decipher’s early career. perhaps it’s just ambivalence at this point that i have no real strong feelings towards bsides nowadays.”

4. if you could do a duet with anyone in the industry, who would you choose? what do you think of your/your group’s concept?

“i’d want to do a duet with duri — we’ll have a tale of the oldies. the two 1990 liners inside bc’s walls doing a ballad song. though, duri would have to take the high notes on that one seeing as how he’s a power vocalist. there’s rarely times where i’m able to keep in touch or have people around my age, and for that — i’m always grateful when i come across that. we’d manage something interesting given the same age, and the ballad concept.”

5. what do you think of your/your group’s concept?

“decipher doesn’t really stick to a concept, and i suppose our concept has always been to branch into new avenues. there’s good things and bad things about it, obviously. we’re given new things to try, new stylings, and what not. however, we’re also subjected to that risk in case it doesn’t turn out how bc envisioned. to put it short — it’s either a hit or miss.”

6. what is one thing (a concept, a genre, an outfit, etc.) you would least like your company make you do?

“decipher’s novelty in the industry is that we’ve been here so long that we’ve managed a lot of different concepts. from the house pop to retro vibes, even spring ballads in soft tunes — we’ve done it all. the least? i’d say another electronic heavy music where we’re dancing like madmen. i wouldn’t mind a powerful choreography to show i can still ‘hang’, but to the sounds of techno-ish music? i don’t think so. at least, not with my age.”

7. what one thing (concepts, genres, styling, frequency of comebacks, etc.) would you like to change about your current career as an idol?

“i don’t want to comeback so frequently — it seems we’re coming back more frequently than other rookies. it would be nicer to stay back and relax while we let the hoobaes have their time to shine. genres and concepts aren’t really on the top of my list to complain about, though i would enjoy an old throw-back to decipher’s glory days where we’re given something newer. perhaps, that’d be enough to rejuvenate my attitude towards the industry.”

8. if you could be in any idol group, which one would you choose?

“with my age, i don’t think i’d fit any group. perhaps, i could assimilate myself to knight, but the bad boy niche doesn’t really match mine. say, i was a few years younger — then, you’d have me inside charm. i think i’d do a pretty good left and right if you ask me.”

9. if you could say one thing to your ceo, what would it be?

“i respect the business model you form. however, i’m still trying to understand it when applied to me. thirteen years, and i have yet to sit down and have a conversation with you. it’d be nice to have one someday.”

10. if you were auditioning for your company today, what would you perform for your audition, or what would you change from your original audition?

“my audition was so long ago. fourteen, fifteen years now, and that’s nearly half of my life. i wish i could remember parts — but there’s only the snippet of a ballad i sang, probably kim bum soo. all alongside some awkward dancing that bc shaped me up for. i’d probably pick a sung sikyung song instead.”

11. if you could do any special stage, what would it be and who would it be with?

”call it a weird match, but i’d have a set with duri, andy, joohwan, my maknae and jiah. well, those would be the people i’d know well enough to collaborate with, though the outcome might not be as promising as i initially thought. case closed, never make me do a special stage.”

12. what career opportunities would you like to pursue that you’ve yet to, or what achievements would you like to obtain that you’ve yet to?

“maybe a bit of variety? i’m completely happy where i am with acting, though it’d be better if decipher’s comebacks were rarer. however, i’m taking what i can get and variety might be a chance to show the side that doesn’t get shown when i’m playing a role on tv. i’ve heard from some people that i can be funny at times.”

13. if you could become a model or ambassador for any brand, what would you choose?

“as much as i like high fashion, i haven’t done any modeling in regards to brand deals with high fashion. a luxury brand would be nice — i hear prada has changed with the entrance of raf simons. i’ve been into the streetwear look lately after itaewon class, so that would be a current go-to. otherwise, i think i’m happy promoting good feel and credit cards.”

14. if you could be on any variety show, which one (or which type of one) would you want to be on?

“i live alone would be my first pick. only because i’ve decorated my house nicely recently, and haven’t had a chance to show it off to many people as i’m not home as often these days. however, that’d require an off day and i don’t have many of those lately. i think people would be shocked to see what i do when i’m around my house, lounging and rarely moving around.”

15. if you were offered the chance to become a ceo of an entertainment company, new or existing, would you take it? why or why not?

“as much as i’m leader of decipher, i don’t think i could handle leading a company. i wouldn’t want to become a ceo. it distracts from my own schedule, and i’d be too focused on my company rather than the hobbies and interests that appeal to me. sure, i’d make more money — but what’s more money on top of the money i already have? it’s counterproductive and i’d rather do what i like doing.”

16. what changes would you implement if you were the ceo of your company?

“each company runs on a specific pattern of events, and there’s a reason for that. a reason why routine shapes each group, so i wouldn’t necessarily change much. my trainee year was difficult, but it also fostered friendships within the group that i consider irreplaceable. the only change i can think of? maybe getting to know my artists rather than staying far off.”

17. what do you do to relieve the stress of idol life?

“i work out. i run a lot, and go to the gym as cliche as it sounds. but each role requires me to be in top shape, and after all that i’ve found a love for working out each morning. other than that, i like to shop and cook, even walk my dog. normal things any other person does on their day off. by the end of the day? finishing it off with a cold beer becomes my saving peace.”

18. what tips would you give to a trainee about to debut?

”push through it because it’s only a matter of time till debut happens. the trainee years are taken for granted, and you need to learn to treasure those moments. once debut happens, there’s no looking back and you’re constantly on the move — so, you’re better off enjoying now. also, don’t be afraid to approach sunbaes. we’re all in the same boat, been there and done that, so let us help where we can.”

19. what was the hardest part of being a trainee?

“singing while running around the room? i remember running too many laps, out of breath belting a high note. looking back, it was probably the time i thought i was going to end my trainee career right there and run to my parents. other than that? learning to live with others? i’ve lived a blessed life, and i’ve never had to share a room with anyone. that felt like a culture shock.”

20. did you enjoy the lifestyle of a trainee or of a debuted idol more?

“call me weird, but i’d say the trainee life. there was something special about those days, and now i’m so many years in my career and i miss the days crammed in the dorms. i don’t think there’s anything like it. the structure of it, the tears of joy and sadness all into one — every emotion all there. it’s rare moments like those i’ll never get back.”

21. what one song or album by another group or soloist would you have liked to release yourself?

“i’ve heard a lot of songs, but i heard a song recently by a charm member. one of the solo projects of dai, and his song let’s love was something that made me want to release music as well. maybe, it’s just inspiration just at that moment, but the song was something i enjoyed listening to. knight’s tempo was also something that i wish decipher was given, just because there’s a certain spark when it comes to the song.”

22. describe your dream sub-unit (members and concept).

“my dream sub-unit? does that relate to in-group or out of group? for the sake of this question, i’ll keep it in-group to simplify things. i’d like to keep our main vocal, myself and our lead rapper only because the maknae already has his thing in champion — though conceptually, i’m not sure what we’d be able to do. something non-dance related, i’d hope. perhaps, a power house vocal because i know our lead rapper can belt a few notes better than most main vocals of other groups.”

23. out of the following six options, would you rather be allowed to play a major hand in the lyrics, production, choreography, styling, music videos, or concepts you release?

“no lyrics, production or choreography. i’ve never been talented in that market, and maybe that’s why i don’t take part in any of these things. instead, i’d keep to the styling, and music videos — though, i don’t have an artistic eye. perhaps, i’d keep to styling as it lies most with my interests. my members might get bored of wearing the same dress shirts and slacks for each comeback.”

24. which of the two other companies (out of bc, dimensions, and gold star) you are not currently signed under would you rather be an artist in?

“none of the other two. i’ve said it time and time again that i’m loyal to bc — i might complain about it, sure. but in hindsight, i don’t see myself being in any other music company. now, if you had asked me in terms of acting? then, we’d have a different story between namoo, artist and vast.”

25. what is your least favorite part of being an idol?

“there’s no breaks, not for age. there’s little opportunity to cease the past, and continue on a new future. instead, i’m always tethered to the role of an idol, and despite how much i try — they still reel me back in each time for another comeback. on top of that, some songs don’t age well with time — decipher has a few of those. yet, because they’re fan favorites, i have no choice but to dance and sing along as if it’s 2009 again.”

26. what is your favorite part of being an idol?

“ironic, but there’s a lot of opportunities to try new things. i wouldn’t have thought of cf modeling or acting, if it weren’t for the opportunities presented to me. as a result, i’ve found a new enjoyment in an acting career due to the idol life. plus, along the way i meet different people to give me new insight — suppose it keeps me young again.”

27. would you rather be incredibly famous with a terrible reputation and hated by most or be fairly unknown with a good reputation and adored by those who know of you? why?

“i don’t know how to answer this one because being incredibly famous with a terrible reputation is just a cheapened output of your career you’ve built thus far. that would simply become a life unenjoyable, so by default i suppose i’d rather have the latter. fairy unknown with a good reputation because that way, you have a basis to build yourself up.”

28. what moment in your career are you proudest of so far?

“i’d either attribute it to parasite, which did win a lot of accolades not only in the country but out or i’d give it to the recent baeksang nomination for the dramas i was in. i don’t think i’d ever predict the success of stories i had a pleasure of working on. in retrospect, it was nice that so many people were able to relate and get along with the characters i was given the honor of portraying.”

29. what have you learned about yourself and/or society since becoming a celebrity?

“i’m no longer an extrovert. in fact, i’m more of an introvert. i used to think i was an extrovert, and one time i was when i was busy running around getting assimilated to those new faces. however, over the years, my circle’s only run short and i’ve been given little things here and there that make me want to preserve my small circle of people i’ve gotten to know along the way. i don’t like going out and partying, and much rather have a night in with dubu in peace.”

30. what would you like to change about how society views or treats idols?

“it’d be nice to be given more freedom — but isn’t that what everyone wants? i’m talking about stepping into something without facing backlash, or how we’re seen as approachable because we’re public figures. it’d be nice to sit down and have a meal without the thought of dispatch finding who i’m with, or scrutinizing any of my friendships. there should be some level of normalcy given, and i think that’s the least anyone could ask for.”

[nozomijoestar]

 I had an idea for Violentine eventually getting married and because society as we know it has been dead so long they just get creative about the whole thing

Also time jump from the end of the game and Texas Two is now Big, AJ is a preteen, Clem and the older of the former kids can now pay their taxes if those were still a thing

BGM if you like that when you read, lyrics here

“Been a while huh Tenn? Everything’s so busy these days I haven’t had the time. I’m sorry.”

She sat cross-legged on the partly overgrown ground. A small wreath of fresh flowers hung from the top of a cross. The wood was faded and weather-beaten, but the name carved there could never leave her memory.  From her pocket she pulled a paper, unfolded it, then placed it. Violet sighed, even her smile seemed exhausted. Her eyes threatened to brim over with tears she thought she’d long left behind.

“AJ made that for you. He’s gotten a lot better at drawing you’d probably love it. He’s a little past your age now. Shit I’m, I’m taking too long to get to the point aren’t I?”

The breeze picked up making the trees rustle as though they communicated the will of ghosts. She looked around. The crosses had multiplied through the years, each one a new nick on her heart. She chewed her lip and fiddled with her bun. Now wasn’t the time for death. Her stomach churned butterflies. A genuine smile bled into her voice.

“I wanna ask Clem to marry me. Just saying it out loud feels weird and amazing all at once. I honestly didn’t think she’d want me this long but life kept happening.”

In one motion she laid spread eagle and stared into the pink clouds that signaled dusk. She closed her eyes as another sigh fell from the trees. The sound of people beyond the graveyard drifted in voices, laughter, and song. Though the years since there’d been largely silence were gone she could never shake a need to be prepared. Even if the walls had expanded far past the former Ericson gates, danger never slept. It was something Clementine loved to reinforce. 

The thought of the way her face went stern and her voice deepened made Violet chuckle. She rose to her feet and dusted herself.

“I should get a move on. It was great talking to you again.”

After a final readjustment of the wreath she passed through the yard. A flag decorated with many stitches flapped in the wind reading ‘Texas Two’. Sometimes she looked up at it and still laughed at its ridiculousness. Though since she’d been responsible for it, that was the same as laughing at her old self. Her old self, she pondered, the Violet who hadn’t dared to entertain the thoughts she did now. When had that person changed? She didn’t think she’d ever know.

Inside the old admin building echoed a section of Chopin’s ‘Winter Wind’ in A minor. The anxious dance her nerves were doing calmed. Louis would be finished teaching piano lessons for the day. Her stride became confident. If she was going to make a sappy fool of herself it would be out of public view. Of her old mannerisms she could at least keep that one. 

He sat continuing to play though he knew she’d come by the pattern of her gait. His lack of a tongue elevated a need to pay notice to the finer things in other ways. She leaned against the doorway and folded her arms. They carried on in silence. Violet closed her eyes again, taken by her imagination. The shrieking highs and nervous lows seemed to pull every worry she’d ever had like threads off a loom. 

She saw Clem’s head bashed open like a ripe fruit, or the paling of her bite ridden skin and its missing chunks. Right behind it came the thought of AJ’s neck dyed red as he took Tenn’s place at the bottom of a herd and picked clean. Their home at the bottom of smoldering ashes. Worst of all above the extremes, she would bare her soul for Clem greater than she already had to see her spirit fall. In one moment for some reason or other everything they’d made of love would fracture, and Violet might as well quit the venture entirely. 

As if reading the tone of her thoughts the music stopped. Her eyes reopened to find Louis scribbling on a scavenged notepad. With a grin he turned it to face her. His eyes twinkled with their unquenchable charm.

‘That get your attention?’

She tucked her raw feelings back into their cage. The processed version rolled off her tongue.

“A little too hard Lou. Guess that means you’ve graduated from sucking.”

She finished with a soft laugh seeing him flip her off. The way he wiggled his eyebrows told her he found it funny. He gestured for her to come over and made room on the piano seat. She sat with her hands folded and stared nervously into her lap. Her stomach churned while the words she wanted to find were slow to come. At the touch of his hand on her shoulder she shook her head.

“It’s nothing bad I’m only overthinking again. I just...tonight I’m gonna propose. I want to. What do you think?”

He smiled and stared wide eyed filled with glee. A rush of air she guessed equated to a gasp came as he clapped. It made her blush and seem sheepish curling into herself. The sound of Louis scribbling excitedly refocused her attention.

‘About damn time! I almost thought you’d never bring it up. My advice, take her to a spot important to you guys. Get her thinking about all the deep stuff you’ve done together. If you’re really feeling it serenade her. That’s what I’d do.’

“I want her taking me seriously not laughing her ass off. By now my singing’s gotta be shitty.”

‘Oh come on Vi, live a little. Singing or not the point is you may never do this again. Make it a memory. You two were doing just that all this time anyway.’

Violet sighed and rested her forehead against the piano, defeated. The keys she pressed let out a wail. Another note was put before her.

‘Don’t sulk tell her how you feel. Clem’s gonna love you more than she already does.’

“...How do you know she won’t say no?”

He cocked his head and interrogated her with a bewildered stare. Her stomach sank; her voice had been whiny like a child’s. In the end, she was being silly. It made the confidence she’d mustered drop in shame.

‘We don’t know Vi but if she’s stuck around this long it means something. Clem’s the kind of girl to take off if she really didn’t believe in what she sees.’

She groaned and the keys played an ugly sound. 

“You’re right. I’m being a coward. I fucking hate it. I thought that side of me was done with.”

‘It’s ok to be scared. This is a big deal! You know how you’re guaranteed to fuck it up though? Having a negative attitude. Positive vibes Vi, positive.’

“Yeah yeah. You’ve given me an idea. If you see her tell her to come to the bell tower tonight. That it’s urgent.” She said with a lazy smile.

They bid each other goodbye leaving Louis to start up the piano solo of Kreisler’s ‘Liebesleid’. He’d reached halfway using a laser-focused concentration when another, larger presence filled the door. His deft hands stopped. Clementine smiled and clapped as she walked towards him. Without a moment to waste he ripped out the used pages of his notepad; they were stuffed into his coat pocket. It didn’t go unnoticed when Clem raised an eyebrow but gave no comment. 

She stood balancing her weight on her natural leg and leaning against the piano. Were she anyone else, even Violet, Louis would’ve sooner scolded her for lacking manners. He looked down to find her prosthetic ( a newly improved design of Willy’s built with higher mobility in mind ) still in good condition. 

“Caught ya.” She said giggling.

He looked up at her strong face, thick eyebrows, and overwhelming mane of curly hair. She had a stern beauty that always caught him by surprise for its rarity and strength. Violet sure knew how to pick ‘em. 

‘Wanted to make sure your foot was ok. Doubt Willy would screw it up but still y’know?’

“Thanks. Listen Louis...are you free for a little while? There’s something I wanna talk about. I want your honest opinion.”

A glint in his eyes betrayed his excitement. His gut instinct gave him an inkling of what hovered unsaid. He almost laughed at the coincidence of it all. She slowly sat at his invitation and fiddled the keys. After a meandering pause she cleared her throat; he wore a grin.

“You know Violet and I have been together a while now. Longer actually than I ever thought possible. I’m grateful for it everyday. It’s sadly not something a lot of people can say. That’s why...I don’t know if this is still the right word but, I want her to be my wife.”

She stared at him and twiddled her thumbs. Rarely had he seen her hesitate, much less be meek. The sight made him sit up straighter, listen harder. From the corner of her eye she caught his expectant stare. 

“I guess regardless of what it’d be called these days that’s what I want. She’s too important for me to lose. It’s time she really knows it and how I feel.”

For a moment she gauged his face for the slightest reaction. The intensity radiating as if a conjured aura from her body reminded him of someone constipated; he again fought a laugh. It was as though she resigned herself to a do or die mission. A determination not a far cry from what she summoned up before a supply run. In his opinion, they both were taking this to lengths so ridiculous it bordered on comical. That however would remain a secret.

He nodded with enthusiasm and that seemed to lighten her worry. On his notepad this time he thought hard before writing. 

‘It can mean whatever you want it to Clem. You love her, that’s the most important part. I say go for it. Any plans on how you’ll ask?’

“Well there’s really only one way right? I have to tell her outright, just not sure where to do it.”

‘Y’know she asked to meet with you tonight on the bell tower. There couldn’t be a better spot if you ask me.’

“Did she? That makes this easier.”

She sighed in relief and rested her head on his shoulder.

“I love her Louis. More than she might know.”

‘Tell her not me.’ he said with a smile.

After dinner the night air blew warm embracing the essence of summer. Clementine found Violet pacing in front of the ladder they’d once helped construct. She remembered seeing her like this then too, anxious over everything turning out right. Her suspicion turned on and her eyes narrowed in concern. She had yet to be noticed from a distance. 

In seconds that weighed like minutes she sighed and mumbled to herself. 

“Alright Clementine all you have to do is talk. Sure Clementine, like it’s that simple. You’re stalling now. Get yourself together.”

“You sure don’t mind keeping a girl waiting.”

Violet’s voice seized her attention from the grasping hands of her thoughts. Before she could say another word laughter filled the silence. It made her blush even as she frowned in mock irritation. 

“I didn’t think you’d notice.”

“I wouldn’t have if we weren’t the only ones here. Feelin ok?”

“Yeah just was wondering what’s on your mind to have us meet at this place.”

She smiled feeling a kiss on her cheek. Violet wore the look that always came when an idea longed to burst out before it drove her mad. Clementine slowly trailed her eyes up and down as though they were meeting for the first time anew. The demure air in her posture broke the obscuring fog of Clementine’s own nerves. Her expression softened into a look of curious wonder. 

The streaks of moonlight cast across Violet’s face bent her grin toward the mysterious. She ran her thumb over Clementine’s knuckles and gestured at the ladder. 

“Come with me and you’ll find out.”

Above them the stars filled the horizon into an infinity none would ever measure. The moon aided their brightness and bathed all it touched in an ethereal glow. The ground beneath her feet shined as though she walked on a river of silver; as though she were weightless. A breeze carrying the scent of flowers and wood-smoke, of life below, rustled Violet’s hair. Clementine felt her heart thud louder. 

The bell tower had remained untouched through the years save for a few new cracks and crumbling bricks. Vines entangled a section of broken stone railing, the same as the first night they’d sat together. She dared to imagine the ghosts of their old selves caught in a roller-coaster of teenage emotions; each burning more intensely than the last into love. They stopped and leaned against the railing beside the spot. 

They were gazing at the sky when Violet spoke first; her thoughts tumbled from her like a waterfall. A part of Clementine was relieved. 

“So uh, Clem, I wanna be real honest with you. These past seven years went by so fast some days it feels like my head’s spinning keeping track. All this below us? All these people? If you’d told me before we’d be dealing with this I’d have called you crazy. Hell, if you’d told me there’d be a time where I could have nights not having to worry something would break into the school, I’d never believe it.”

She took a break to breathe and look over the dozens of smaller lights in varying buildings that stretched into the pushed back treeline. Each one signified a condensed hope and dream from those it kept warm. Their numbers lifted Violet’s spirit to continue. Clementine stood mesmerized, her eyes trained to Violet and Violet alone. It was as though each word revealed a deeper truth than the last.

“We wouldn’t be here right now if it weren’t for you. I know you can say it was a group effort, it’d be true, but you’re our motivation. I don’t think I’d be half the person I am today if I hadn’t met you and AJ. Point is...remember when I said once I couldn’t imagine life without you?”

“...Of course. It took me completely by surprise.”

“I still feel that way. Clem, I want you in my life till it ends someday.”

The breeze stirred into a mild wind as Clementine’s eyes widened softly. She stumbled to speak then went silent when Violet leaned closer. Her entire body pleaded a need for recognition, as if another chance would never come again.

“Marry me.”

Without hesitation Clementine pulled her into an embrace as their lips met. Her hands wandered to cup Violet’s face and not let go. They pressed together and sunk slowly to their knees. When at last they separated neither cared if anyone below had seen. Violet’s eyes shut in bliss feeling a gentle stroke on her chin and kisses peppering her face. There came a whisper on the verge of tears into her ear when Clementine hugged her tighter.

“You beat me to it you ass.”

“Heh, I can still keep you guessing.”

“Troublemaker.” came the reply with a grin.

AJ stood watching Ruby arrange bundles of wildflowers with the same care she gave all things. Though only twelve he’d nearly reached her height. He’d lost some inches shortening his hair to a buzz cut hidden beneath Clementine’s faded baseball cap. It was something he continued to be reminded of when Ruby’s motherly presence loomed so large. 

“Hey there shorty could ya give me a hand? These bouquets can get real messy.”

“Sure, but it’s Alvin Junior.”

“I know I know. Reminding me ain’t gonna help us no faster. I’ll tell Clem if you do good.” 

That made the hint of sourness in his expression bloom into an excited smile. Around them a small team of five busied themselves with the same task. They moved as Ruby directed to arrange each in a circle open only at the northern and southern sides. A myriad of colors blue, white, orange and so on occupied the center of the restored sports field. AJ sweated hoisting another bundle for the ring and nearly dropped it. Wordlessly Ruby caught it before it hit the ground and with that the last of it lay in place. 

They stepped back performing a final check several times until Ruby proved satisfied. On a clear spot amidst the flurry of activity around them (an army of chefs led by Omar; Willy’s team arranged benches) AJ rested. A sheen of sweat covered his face and exhausted eyes. The first clue he’d received for what lay ahead came when Louis slipped him a note and a wink at breakfast one morning. ‘Congrats on the new mom kid!’ he hadn’t understood what it meant; a part of him still felt he didn’t even when Clementine explained that no, weddings weren’t something you ate. 

As he felt the day’s work burn in his muscles he concluded whatever it looked like had to be worth the aches. He spotted Aasim approaching with a squirming bundle in his arms; AJ sprung to his feet. Every lecture he’d ever received on slacking echoed in his mind in unison. Aasim towered over AJ’s stature exuding an almost regal air were it not for the slight gruffness of his beard. In his shadow AJ straightened himself and stifled a laugh when a baby’s hand swatted his chin. His stare spoke of a sense of urgency matched in his baritone voice.

“Have you seen Ruby around AJ? It’ll be her turn to look after Susanna during the ceremony. Seems like that’ll start any minute now.”

“We worked on the flowers together but after that I’m not sure. Maybe she went to check on Clem and Vi-”

“The brides are ready Aasim, just had to go fetch ‘em after their fittins’.”

From behind them Ruby appeared with a blushing Clementine and Violet in tow. She pressed a kiss to Aasim’s cheek before reaching for the baby. 

“Guess everything’s ready. I’d have come sooner but we had to finish cataloging that cache of recovered books in the library.”

“It’s alright I’ve got her, you just focus on those two. Lord knows they’re eager to get started and I don’t blame ‘em.”

Susanna piped up in her mother’s arms and stretched a hand toward Clementine.

“Ba!”

“Hey there Susie you doing ok?” Clementine cooed as she let her nose be patted.

“Guuu-ba!”

“Looks like you’ve got a way with kids that aren’t AJ too.” 

“Well Vi she’s not Auntie Clem for nuthin’. Go on and say bye to Auntie Clem and Violet, Susanna.”

“Baaba.”

They waved in parting as Ruby left for the quickly filling crowd. Dozens well over a hundred sat chatting among themselves; more than a few stole curious glances to center stage. A hundred and so on more joined soon after. Clementine felt Violet graze her arm and gesture at a dazzled AJ. His eyes held awe that grew when Clementine pet his head. 

“Ruby told me you were a real help goofball. I appreciate it.”

“You guys...you both look amazing...”

“Thanks kid. The rest of it’ll blow your mind if you stick around and watch.”

Without needing to be told further AJ nodded and made way for the benches; he looked back only once wearing an encouraging smile. The field was bare save for its key players, and the crowd fell into silence. Aasim signaled to take places then addressed those seated with a wave of his arms. Clementine and Violet stared at one another on opposite ends of the ring; Clementine’s grin made Violet blush and stare at her feet.

“Good afternoon everyone! We’re here today to witness the ceremony of a union; one long in waiting. This couple wishes to affirm their love for one another through a promise of lifelong devotion. You may both enter the ring.”

They obeyed having eyes only for each other; it formed a safety net against the pressure of so many others upon them. Softly Violet mouthed “It’s ok.”

“We’ll begin the professions of love. Clementine you may start.”

She cleared her throat and traced over every inch of Violet, of her flowing hair and single braid that whipped up from the back of her tunic in the breeze. The blue fabric lined with white threaded patterns complimented her pale green eyes. A crown of flowers adorned her head. Every detail was memorized.

“For as long as we’ve known each other you’ve supported me; even if you took time to open up. There’re so many moments, so many close calls where I’d never have made it out if it weren’t for you. Each day makes me feel more alive than the last. Not just because of our friends, or because of all we’ve done, being able to know you’re there is enough. I dedicate this dance to your affection.”

Slowly she took a step forward then pivoted into a practiced twirl. A dance of passion sent her traveling about their arena. Sweat flew from her brow and splattered in places on her belt’s spinning tassels. One misplaced step threatened to topple her but slyly she recovered before worry could disturb Violet. 

With a grin she launched into a new phase. Her arms spun and, where able, her legs kicked. The movements blended so fluidly few could pinpoint the moment aggression gave way to softness. To even fewer it revealed its heart; a reflection of her lover’s metamorphosis. 

There were moves describing sarcastic defenses, cowardly silences, sections mapping the rush from kind words and intimate quiet. As if anew they were pulled into the haze of honest kisses, the whirlwind of lovemaking that went deep into sleepless nights. On occasion they were plunged headfirst before icy fear and protective worry that pricked to the bone. Those moments would be quickly broken by a return to memories of the warmth in living.

Almost instinctively the full result of a week’s practice strengthened its control as she neared the end. Her mind sank into an empty plane, speaking only what little remained unsaid through her rhythm. When it was done the sight of Violet brimming with tears told her everything. Wordlessly she gathered herself then bowed.

Aasim stood in entranced silence. The edges of his solemn eyes had grown misty, defying his self restraint. He gestured and caught Violet’s attention away from her thoughts.

“Feelings have been expressed that require an answer. Violet, you may give your reply.”

“I’ve heard them. Clementine you taught me it’s alright to feel; that holding everything in and running from help is what makes a coward. Choosing who I want to be in life by learning from others is a gift that takes courage. You kept trying even when I wanted to shut you out. I’d never seen anyone so dedicated. Because of you I remembered the people who care about me, away from the ghosts I wanted to chase. I dedicate this dance to your strength.”

This time the was an elegant start defined by tight turns and precise footwork. Each move linked firmly to the last and the next. Clementine’s chest tightened as she watched; her breath caught in her throat. Within the dance she felt herself be peeled back. There was the Clementine she saw herself as, steel willed and cautious, in places fragmented. It morphed to show the rare moments of worry and the storms that wracked her in anxiety. In a few moments that still churned her stomach she felt a lurking shadow of the cruelty that’d tumbled so easily from her whenever she’d been cast astray. 

Her body grew hot, her shoulders heavy before she saw the dance shift and the feeling passed. There was a return to gentleness and the power in mercy. Like glittering bubbles memories flooded her mind fresh as they days they’d been reality. She’d cried and screamed and torn her hair each time someone had been lost; yet she pressed forward hopeful. She’d witnessed distrust seize people’s eyes as they coveted rather than strive for understanding; yet never closed her ears to humanity. She’d cried awake sunken to the floor and teeth grit replaying each life she’d taken, each selfish need she’d served; yet her remorse was proof she retained a soul. 

Tears trickled down her face, and she felt not a care to stop them. The sensations of the present returned only when Violet had finished. In an instant that moved in her vision like slow motion she was embraced. Aasim’s voice grounded her beyond the sensation of Violet’s heart beating in time with her own. 

“We have witnessed them speak to each other’s deepest self. In this they have found unity, and taken hold of that which they seek for themselves in another. It is time for the final step. Let them now dance together and display the bond when two become one. Music for them, if you’d all please.”

Clementine felt Violet shift against her the crowd clapped a beat. 

“You ready?”

“Yes.”

They took up position smiling through their flushed faces. The dance moved slow and contemplative as if longing to savor each moment. All else began to fade replaced by a rhythm that held a peaceful trance. Neither kept track of how long they swayed until Clementine said,

“Why don’t we show them what we’ve got?”

“Ready when you are partner.” Violet replied grinning.

In one motion they separated still holding on by one hand, throwing themselves into a spin that ended in a twirl. Violet laughed finding herself again in Clementine’s arms then out once more. She took her turn twirling Clementine, her eyes sparkling and heard racing. They spun holding each other then separated to link arms each facing the other’s back but continuing to lock eyes. It prefaced another separation as they spun alone only to jump back together. At this they laughed.

Violet’s vision was filled by the bright sky when Clementine dipped her then leaned close. Violet wrapped her arms around her neck and pressed their foreheads together.

“I love you.”

“Love you back.”

“Promise?”

“Hell yeah.”

Their kiss found Clementine with hands roaming her hair but she didn’t care. A ways away the roar of the crowd filled their ears. Beside them Aasim clapped and wiped his face. He turned one last time to project his proud voice.

“I present to you all a married Clementine and Violet! May they have a happy life together.”

“That better not have jinxed anything Aasim.” Violet teased with a snicker.

“Shut it and go have fun with your wife. You guys deserve it.”

“Thanks for all this, really.”

“Keep treating her right Clem.” he replied smiling.

The after party blew quickly into a spectacle. Louis had attracted a cheerful gathering as he played pieces back to back. Clusters of people filled the admin building to the seams; further groups had piled into the school yard. The campus in its entirety lay at the heart of town from which hundreds of simple houses, storage, and shops fanned out. The multitude of guests had been guaranteed with more passing colorful banners AJ had overseen. 

A few carried weathered but functioning instruments, guitars, harmonicas, large and small drums. They formed a small band that led the tune of those dancing in the yard. A sizable banquet had been prepared from their surplus; beside Ruby chatted with Aasim while Susanna sucked on her bottle. From the balcony at the admin building’s face Clementine stood observing. Out of her regal wedding attire she nearly blended into the revelry were it not for her commanding presence. 

Any tension soon melted from her when she felt Violet’s arms around her waist. She smiled and leaned into the nuzzle against her neck. 

“How’s it feel? Thinking of anything?”

“I was wondering how things are closer to the wall and that group we sent out a day ago.”

“You mean Randy.”

“None of us can afford him screwing up. He’s been very...vocal lately. It’s giving me bad thoughts.”

“Hey none of that ok? Today’s our day to celebrate, we can worry about later when it comes.”

Clementine closed her eyes and pressed their foreheads together. 

“Where’s AJ?”

“With the other kids. Us grown ups are too intense for him right now. I don’t blame him, he seemed happy though.”

“I can think of one reason to justify that.” Clementine teased in a husky voice, her hand wandering below Violet’s waist.

“Clem not while everyone’s around.” came the reply followed by a giggle.

“Just teasing. We can go over it all later.”

“In that case you’ve got my interest.”

“Really? How about something like this to start.”

She pulled Violet closer and leaned her back against the railing. She studied the way Violet tilted her head as their lips met; saw the beauty in how her hair framed her face. Slowly she traced her fingers along her jaw, welcoming the feel of Violet grabbing a fistful of her shirt. They broke off at the whistles thrown at them from below. One glare and eye roll from Clementine silenced them. Violet chuckled. Her arms wrapped lazily around Clementine’s neck. 

“I’ll never forget today.”

“I hope not. If you ever do I’ll remind you.”

“Heheh, yeah.”

The music and chatter came to a sudden halt with a banging at the yard’s iron gates. Shocked dancers parted a pathway for a team in neat ranks, their boots marching in step. A man with a thick trimmed beard and thicker hair led them and adjusted the grip of his spear. It had a long curved edge akin to a beast fang and tassels that jiggled in time with the pistol on his belt. The well kept armor he wore, decorated in the motif of a cougar as his rank allowed, enhanced his bulk. His burly arms were defined by gnarled scars that betrayed his continued Old World hobby of rigorous exercise. 

He signaled a stop by raising his fist and was immediately obeyed. His beady eyes stared at Clementine without faltering. She read the challenge within them clearly and stood stiff backed,unwavering. From the crowd she felt multitudes looking to her in surprise that yielded to fear. Beside her Violet’s expression hardened and simmered with open disgust. The man spoke, his voice embed by a natural cunning.

“We’ve returned from our expedition with a generous offering from the community to the west.”

“Welcome back, I trust everything went well along with it.”

“Yes, yes of course. Nice to see we’ve been missed.” he said letting a sarcastic bite slip into his tone as he looked around.

“C’mon Randy we can talk about this anywhere but in front of everyone. There’s no need to put on some kind of show.” Violet added. 

His eyes studied her in frayed patience then flit back to Clementine. He made a gesture and his group dispersed.

“Sure I can be civil and play house with those wearing the big pants. Let’s have a private chat.”

He disappeared into the admin building. Clementine sighed deeply and let herself slacken. Tenderly Violet touched her hand, she took it without hesitation. She stared into the sky gathering herself until at last all her courage was summoned. With a nod she followed Violet’s lead into her office, something more animal than man fast approaching.

[bgn846]

FFXV Fanfic - A Walk in The Park

Twenty more points and he’d have it, the overall high score for the week.  Drowning out the shouts of the nearby crowds Noct focused on winning this round.  His goal, though he’d not admit it to Prompto, was to win him a gift.  Not that the high score on this game earned many tickets, but it was just enough for something silly at the arcade prize counter.  

Prompto’s shouts of glee at his eventual success helped drive away his nervousness. They’d been best friends for over a year but it still didn’t stop Noct from worrying that Prompto might just disappear one day.  Maybe he’d get sick of all the bureaucratic bull that came with being his friend. The background checks and the constant assumption he was there to just mooch off of Noct. Thankfully his friend ignored all those issues and continued to be by his side.  They had so much fun together and Noct was loath to admit what his life would be like without Prompto.  

Noct knew exactly which thing he was going to ask for when they got to the counter.  He’d been purposefully trying to win a series of five little chocobo keychains for his friend.  Surprisingly Prompto hadn’t noticed the pattern.  He had four of these little fluffy things hanging off his school bag and this one would be the last in the set.   It’d taken him nearly three months to pull this off but Prompto was worth the wait.

The look of pure happiness on his friends face when he handed over the black feathery trinket made Noct grin. The little chocobo was quickly fastened in place along with the rest of the set.  The shout of another winner nearby made them both laugh as they skirted around the throngs of people and left the arcade.

The afternoon was pleasant when they got out on the street.  The weather was mild and the sun was out. It was times like this that made Noct wish things would never change.  He knew nothing lasted forever, but it still didn’t stop him hoping.   Glancing over at the little collection of chocobos bouncing around on Prompto’s bag Noct smiled.  His mission had been successful.

“Hey did you name them yet?” Noct asked with an amused air.  He knew Prompto had probably named them all while they were still behind glass at the arcade.

“Of course dude!  That was an easy one cause of the colors.”

Noct was confused as to what the colors of the chocobos had to do with anything but he played along.  “Oh really, and what are they?”

“The brown one is Gladio, the sandy colored one is Ignis, I’m the yellow one, and you’re the blue one.”  Prompto finished as they walked down the street.

“What about the black one?” Noct inquired with a puzzled look. “He doesn’t fit.”

“Sure he does, his name is Chris.”

The look he sported must have been enough to convey his confusion since Prompto spoke up again before he could ask.

“He’s special so he’s like the crystal, or like ya know Crys for short but it sounds like Chris.”

“Oh emm gee, you’re such a dork!” Noct laughed, “Seriously you’d be the only one to think of something like that.”

“Come on it’s cool!” Prompto whined.    

“If you say so buddy.” Noct had to move out of the way fast when Prompto tried to hip check him in retaliation.  Laughing instead he jogged ahead to get away from his friend.  Prompto took the challenge on with gusto and a race soon started.  They didn’t stop running until they’d stumbled into a park and got distracted by a swing set.

“Hey I bet you I can swing farther than you!” Prompto enthused as he ditched his bag on the grass and ran over to the swing.

“How old are you anyway?” Noct asked as he caught his breath.  “I’m not doing that.”  His resolved cracked the second Prompto hollered that he was going to win.  Noct wasn’t going to lose even if the game was dumb.

After about five minutes of intense swinging Prompto flung himself off the seat and landed with a thud a good ten feet away.  Okay Noct could best that distance no problem.   Taking the time while Prompto was gathering his bearings Noct quickly took off his right shoe.  He was going to go much farther than ten feet.

He couldn’t wait any longer to dismount; he was holding his shoe and Prompto would notice what he was up to.  Hurling his footwear as hard as he could when he reached the height of his swing he warped after it a second later.  Prompto’s cry of cheating rang out as he reappeared thirty feet away.  “I win!” He announced with a grin.

“You cheated!!” Prompto squealed as he broke out in a run towards him.

Turning to evade capture Noct realized his mistake.  He was still only wearing one shoe. Hobbling around trying to shove his shoe back on didn’t work out so well.  Prompto caught up in no time and roughly tackled him to the ground.  His friend chose to sit on him and pinch his face as payback.  His stupid shoe was back on and he couldn’t even use it to warp away!

Finally shoving Prompto away they both sat on the grass and giggled.  Noct was going to miss times like these when they graduated.  He’d have to do more to help his dad when he was done with school.  Hopefully they’d both have time to still hang out and have fun.

Without thinking Noct blurted out the question he’d been pondering for months.  “What are you planning on doing after we graduate?”

“Ah – I dunno buddy, I want to be useful but --.”

Noct stared at him waiting for the rest of the answer but it never came. “Are you going to go to school for photography?”

“I wish, but I can’t afford it. Maybe if I work for a few years then I can go back for that, but I don’t think so.”

“Why not? You’re really good and a few years off wouldn’t change much.”

“I sorta had a different idea in my head that I might try, but I’m not sure yet.”

Sitting up Noct shoved Prompto in the shoulder. “Come on tell me!  I wanna know what your plans are.”

Again his friend clamed up and looked nervous.  After a few minutes Prompto finally admitted what was on his mind.  “I was debating about joining the crownsguard so I could still hang out with you.”

This admission caught Noct off guard.  Prompto would go through the hell of training just to be with him? Since when?  Then his friends words came crashing back, he’d said he wanted to be useful.  “Wait, what kind of things do you want to do in the guard?”

“Uh – I want to help people and protect you from the bad guys.  I want to be remembered for doing something good.”

“Dude, I’ll never forget you!  You don’t have to join the guard just for that.”    

“I know but I still want to help.”

Noct knew Prompto was extremely selfless but it still warmed his heart to hear his friend talk this way.  Visions of him giving out humanitarian aid and helping little old ladies cross the street flittered through his mind.   Unable to stifle a laugh at the image he smiled at Prompto.   “You’re gonna do great buddy, I know it.”

“I hope so, it’s all a little scary actually.”

“Nah, I mean the instructors can be intimidating but otherwise it’s all good.  I can put in a good word for you if you want.” Noct offered kindly.

“Actually I already have Gladio and Ignis helping me.” Prompto sheepishly added.

Noct had to work hard to tramp down on the pang of jealousy he felt at not being included.  He knew Prompto probably had his reasons for not telling him sooner but it still hurt just a little.

“Sorry for not letting you know, I kinda wanted it to be a surprise.”

“What do you mean a surprise? For who?”

“For you dummy!” Prompto yelped, “I wanted you to be proud of me for doing this on my own, well mostly.”

Any irritation at having not been included in Prompto’s plan melted away.   “I’m impressed! No worries! Are you sure you really want this though?”

“Yeah, trust me, this feels right.” Prompto enthused. “Gladio even offered to help train me and Ignis said he’d help me fill out the application.”        

Smiling Noct reached out and placed a hand on Prompto’s knee.  “Sure sounds like you have this all figured out.  “I’m excited, I’m gonna ask that you be part of my personal guard once you pass your training.”

His friend was positively beaming at the mention of passing.  Noct knew it would work out, Prompto was a hard worker and when he put his mind to something he made it happen.  “Hey so we should get back to the apartment.” Noct added quickly.  “If I don’t make an attempt to clean up all this dirt off my uniform before Ignis gets back, he is going to wonder what the heck we were up to today.”

“Oh will he now?” Prompto pondered, “So that means I could enlighten him on your cheating ways huh?”    

“That’s not fair!  I can’t help it if I have magic at my disposal.”

“I don’t think Ignis would agree with that buddy.”

The subsequent walk home was filled with lots of trash talking and several attempts at dirtying his uniform.  It was impossible to get mad though, since each try was accompanied by Prompto’s infectious giggle.  Needless to say they were both a total mess when they arrived back home at his apartment.

Noct wasn’t spared Ignis’ wrath as his advisor was in fact already there.  He too was sucked under Prompto’s spell once they’d ditched their shoes and coats.  Not five minutes later and Noct could hear Prompto telling Ignis about their adventure in the park.

Hoping to cause a distraction Noct decided tell Ignis about the keychain with his moniker.  “Hey so Prompto has a little chocobo attached to his bag and he named it after you.”

This effectively stopped Prompto before he was about to tell Ignis that he cheated.  However, it didn’t exactly go as planned after that either.  His friend ran to grab his bag and proudly showed off his new collection of keychains to Ignis.

The minute Ignis asked where he’d gotten them Noct knew he was screwed.   Prompto launched into a new story featuring all his efforts at winning the little trinkets.  Guess Prompto had been paying attention after all.  Sighing in defeat he plopped down at the table and helped his best friend tell the story.  Ignis didn’t seem very mad any more about his dirty uniform and kept looking at him with a kind expression.

The afternoon had been a blast and after dinner they all worked on Prompto’s guard application.  Life was changing but for once Noct wasn’t so scared of it, he would have his best friend by his side no matter what!  

[shogetsus]

Stripes of Auburn, Eye of Sapphire

Prologue Pt. IV

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Summary:  Her annoyance tones down several levels at the sound of genuine laughter, coming from the second man accompanying Hideyoshi. It’s musical and warm but just so, exactly like… spring, too tempting to join in the mirth. That, and as well as turning it impossible for Mai not to turn her eyes to the source, briefly abandoning her desperate search for Sasuke.

And for some reason, her heart seems to do a dramatic double flip when she finds it.

“So… you’re Mai? A stalwart lass, indeed,” The first detail she notices in him are some incredible eyes—or best to say, eye in singular, an eyepatch sadly covering the other—gleaming in hues of sapphire blue, almost taking her breath away with its enrapturing beauty.

If he hasn’t already with that heartwarming laughter, that is.

Mai

The ninja before her tilts his head, a brief but hopeful smile crossing his face. “You recognize me now?” He wonders tentatively.

Mai’s eyes almost bulge out of its sockets.

The man’s glasses glint as a thunder breaks through, giving her a somewhat worried once-over. “Are you alright? You have an umbrella?” His serious expression doesn’t waver, yet he seems as polite as for asking.

Her knees feel like giving up once again, “You’re the med school student at the Honno-ji monument!” Mai cries, shocked to the core, an avalanche of questions rising before she can stop them.

That sheepish smile widens, though, sighing softly. “Um, post-graduate in physics, not medicine. But I’m so glad you remember me,” The relief in his face seems like the most genuine she’s seen so far, while trapped in that too livid nightmare, “That makes things much easier.”

Slowly yet surely, her face brightens. “So you ended up in the past too!” But if that guy was truly relieved, oh boy, he definitely has no idea how much weight he’d just pulled off her shoulders, suddenly feeling like hugging him for dear life.

I’m not really alone in here, thank the heavens!

The sight of his clothes and overall getup are a mystery, though. “Um, I’ll say it’s weird seeing you as a ninja,”

He snorts softly, understanding her confusion. “It’s better if I start from the beginning. My name is Sasuke,” He begins to explain what truly happened ever since they encountered in the future—or their present time, as he insists in remarking—while walking together through the woods, the whole recount making Mai’s head spin.

Sitting down on a tree stump, she just hears him out. According to him, the sudden thunderstorm and that lightning bolt that’d shattered the Honno-ji stone monument was product of an unnatural event, which caused a warp between space and time and sent the two of them to the timeline they’re currently living on.

“Or well, that’s a very simplified and condensed version of my theory,” Sasuke excuses himself for the possible vague summary, adjusting his glasses once in a while, “Given we both encountered the same wormhole, we appear to be in the same timeline. But despite having entered at the same time, I ended up arriving four years prior to you,” A brief wince crosses his face.

Mai gapes at him, “Four years!?” She quickly closes her mouth, thoughts running wild, “Now that you say that, it explains a several lot,” She points out, gesturing vaguely at his figure.  

Sasuke nods, “However, in these years, I’ve learned that this period, the Sengoku, and Japan’s civil war is quite different than the one we’re familiar with.” That addition makes her quirk a brow.

More different than how it is now? Is that for other reason than me saving Nobunaga? This is becoming a weird science fiction drama and I don’t like it one bit!

She swallows her questions for a moment, allowing him to keep explaining. According to Sasuke and just like how it’d happened to Nobunaga and her, he has arrived at the date of Kenshin Uesugi’s historical death instead. However, Sasuke’s quick thinking and knowledge of modern medicine had ensured Kenshin’s survival—leaving him, as well as Nobunaga in the current moment, also alive. But they weren’t the only ones.

The marvelous creature crafted by the very gods, Shingen Takeda, was supposed to have died by the current time as well. But for some reason—in which Sasuke insisted he hasn’t been involved with—he was still around when he shouldn’t be.

“I can’t believe it,” Mai holds her chest, trying to process everything as best as she can. “The one single time I act up out of my interests at heart and just thinking in another person’s survival, I screw that up. And now we… we changed the past?”

“Well, to a degree, yeah.” At least Sasuke doesn’t feel like lying to her face, regardless of how awful it must be for him to say it. “What I can assume from this is that we’re in an alternate Sengoku period, not the one we know from school.” She can tell by the look of his face that news can be either hopeful or absolutely devastating, but turns out, there’s not really a way to know for the current moment. “Because of these fluctuations in space-time we’re in one of most possibly many divergent timelines, one in which history will take a different course.”

She feels her head spinning—time travel, alternate history, divergent timelines. It actually sounds like science fiction.

“As a matter of fact, I major in theoretical astrophysics at Kyoto University, specializing in wormholes and their potential for time travel.” Sasuke goes on, a different glint on his eyes. This probably must be his ultimate dream, to some degree, then. “I’d conceived a method for predicting the conditions for patterns by which traversable wormholes manifest. That’s why I was at the stone monument that day.” He frowns a little, “To verify my method.”

Well, if she’d previously thought the people in this time were definitely something out of this world, Mai truly has to reconsider that—she’s having a conversation with a guy who can predict wormholes, and from her present time. Things just keep going crazier and crazier, it seems like.

“I’ve been looking for you here, though. Given how it happened, I expected you must have traveled back in time as I did.” There’s when he gets somewhat grim, “But… I hadn’t conceived the possibility you’d arrive four years later.”

Oh, dear. The passing comment makes her feel guilty—the guy has already spent four years completely alone in that crazy timeline, and she was already losing her mind for being around just some mere hours. “So… all things considered, this certainly doesn’t look out to be a dream. Wow.”

“I suppose you could say it’s a dream for me,” A sheepish smile clings to his face, confirming her past assumptions, “I get to see the famous people of the Sengoku era with my own eyes.”

“Yeah, you’re strangely chipper about this,” Mai feels inclined to admit out in the open, sharing his smile regardless.

“Well, my parents were history buffs. I actually got my name from the legendary ninja who served Yukimura Sanada,” There’s a proud gleam in his eyes as he comments on it, as well as some obvious homesickness. “I’ve figured out to take his ‘place’ in this world as Sasuke Sarutobi. That would help to keep my historical impact low to some degree.”

Mai nods in admission, “And were your parents well versed in martial arts, too?” She wouldn’t be surprised if they were—that is still a skill worth learning about in their present time, after all, and even she’s somewhat skilled in some. “Or is this ninja getup you’ve got something you picked up while you were here?”

“Oh, no, I studied that here. It seemed useful to pick up a marketable vocation.” He shrugs it off, not giving it much importance. However, considering the guy went from astrophysicist to ninja, Mai can’t help but blink at his frighteningly quick skills for adaptation.

Although she isn’t really scared of her one closest thing of an ally in that world, so Mai shakes off her shock as fast as it comes. Besides, putting aside her natural surprise over that fact, she won’t lie and not admit the guy is pretty much a handicap and quite resourceful, all things considered.

He outstretches a hand to help her haul to her feet, “Right now, I’m employed with that man you saw earlier…” His glasses glint once again just slightly, his face brightening with an idea, “You should come with me! I can assure you I’ll find a way to return us both to the present time.”

Despite being an odd one, Mai has no doubts he’s her best shot for getting back home. And truth is, sticking with a guy who truly knows the situation she’s in may increase her chances for survival to several degrees up. Yup, definitely my best card to play.

“Why, you bet I’m going—“ Her reassurance dies fast on her lips as another voice rushes on through the woods, startling them both.

“Mai, where are you?”

She freezes in her spot. That one belongs to one of Nobunaga’s men, that’s for sure, but recognizing it doesn’t stop her blood from running cold. Could it be Hideyoshi?

“Mai! Come out already!”

At the sound of approaching horses, Sasuke grows grim. But before Mai can come up with another word, in the blink of an eye he’s gone and out of her sight, slipping into the shadows of the forest. No, Sasuke! Don’t leave me alone now that I found you! What about our plan?

However, before she has any chance to follow him, two men on horseback are quicker to arrive and get to her. Indeed, one of them is Hideyoshi.

“I searched the whole forest for you,” He deadpans, although putting up his best neutral smile, so Mai can’t tell if he’s upset or not.

Mai frowns, deep down not wishing to put up a fight, but it’s not like she’s in the mood to be sympathetic. “Well, I didn’t ask you to, have I?” And to make it worse, he’d just driven off her only ticket home.

Hideyoshi gapes for a brief moment, “How insolent you can get?” He frowns back, staring at her as if not possibly believing her defiant manners, his horse quick to block the one possible way for her to run away, “Hiding from Lord Nobunaga for no reason whatsoever and—“

“Why, ‘no reason’?” Mai can’t really tell if Sasuke’s still around, but best she can make of is buy herself some time. Besides, the guy already got on her nerves, “He asked me to conquer the world with him and clearly didn’t look like he was going to take a no for an answer!”

“That is no way to—!”

However, her annoyance tones down several levels at the sound of genuine laughter, coming from the second man accompanying Hideyoshi. It’s musical and warm but just so, exactly like… spring, too tempting to join in the mirth. That, and as well as turning it impossible for Mai not to turn her eyes to the source, briefly abandoning her desperate search for Sasuke.

And for some reason, her heart seems to do a dramatic double flip when she finds it.

“So… you’re Mai? A stalwart lass, indeed,” The first detail she notices in him are some incredible eyes—or best to say, eye in singular, an eyepatch sadly covering the other—gleaming in hues of sapphire blue, almost taking her breath away with its enrapturing beauty.

If he hasn’t already with that heartwarming laughter, that is.

“I’ve no doubts you’re the woman who defied Lord Nobunaga.” Her face grows hot as she feels the way the man’s single eye roams over her, heartbeat pounding on her ears. Regardless, Mai does her best to keep her composure.

“And you are? Someone else I’m supposed to recognize?” Her voice unconsciously shifts into flirty levels and she slaps herself inwardly.

Where did that come from? Oh well, at least I haven’t put up on a pathetic show as I did with… what was his name, now?

But she can’t keep going with that train of thought as the second most incredibly handsome man she’s ever met reaches down for her. “I’d be terribly pleased if you did, but now’s not the best time to talk...”

And just like that, he effortlessly—and so much as literally—sweeps her up her feet, placing her on his horse. Tucked snugly against his chest, Mai has the ultimate blessing of the first view of that charming, bossy smile plastered all over his face. For all intents and purposes, she can’t possibly bring herself to move an inch or even breathe when he leans closer and into her personal space, bangs brushing her forehead and hot breath gracing her ear.

“Masamune Date,” He whispers so seductively Mai feels about to pass out. “Remember it… Mai.”

The way her name rolls on his lips, oh isn’t he a gift from the very gods. She genuinely has no idea how she manages to stay up that horse but most definitely her brain goes into short-circuiting at the mere sound of it.

Right, he’s the One-Eyed Dragon, then. She recalls the name from the magazine, but really, if she’d been swooning over the pictures of him, as a matter of fact, those didn’t make justice in the slightest in comparison to the real deal.

Hideyoshi is, of course, the one to break her from that rapturing spell made by Masamune’s smug smile. “Masamune is head of the noble Date clan of Oshu. He’s also allied with Lord Nobunaga, so show some respect.”

Why, if Hideyoshi is actually trying to impress me with those unnecessary bits of trivia, I’ve got news for him.

But with him as an odd third wheel, Mai doesn’t feel like staying up on that horse anymore, suddenly finding the situation uncomfortable enough for her liking. “Well, thank you both for the introduction, but I find these manhandling manners quite a bit rude. Could I be put down now?”

“Settle down. You’ll spook the horse.” He brushes off her complaint, an arm snaking its way around her waist. She can’t really blame Masamune for not sounding convincing enough, chuckling low a moment later; his mirth rumbling down her back and doing very funny things to her insides.

She has to clear her throat to regain her voice. “A-and don’t I matter? I’m, uh, pretty spooked too.” As a matter of fact, she’s very much the opposite of it, but hell will rain upon them before she shows that to the already insufferable Hideyoshi.

His smirk widens, amused to the core, and there’s a certain glint in that alluring eye of his that seems to catch up with something she doesn’t. “Hmm, come to think of it, you do look a little spooked…” Whatever his odd reasoning is, it doesn’t seem to stop him from urging his horse forward with a snap on the reins, startling Mai.

“Masamune…” Hideyoshi growls in warning, but doesn’t seem to be following them right away. And thank the gods for that! “Just… don’t lose her.”

“Hah, as if!” The horse quickly breaks into a run after a second snap of the reins, “Hold on tight, Mai.” She knows she should be protesting or insisting to some form to be put down, but with the mention of her name coming from Masamune, her brain just ends up lost for any words whatsoever.

The truth is, nothing in the world could have possibly prepared her for Masamune’s insanely wild horse riding, prompting Mai to cling tightly to his armor for dear life. Her first choked cries only seem to make him spur his horse faster, his laughter resonating all around them, almost inviting her to join in the gleeful moment.

“That’s okay, you won’t fall off,” As amusing as he may find the situation—judging by the mirth in his voice—Mai can hardly share his excitement as of then, too stressed for her own good and barely able to pry her fingers off his shoulder out of mere politeness. Luckily he doesn’t complain about how she’s been practically clutching him. “I think we’ve lost Hideyoshi as well. Isn’t that what you wanted?”

That comment prompts her curiosity, sheepishly glancing past Masamune’s shoulder, but barely peeking out. “Oh, thank heavens, he is…” She sighs in sheer relief, a lot of her tension thankfully slipping away, if unconsciously.

So he noticed that, huh. That realization makes Mai grow several degrees more comfortable around him, at least for the further moment. Besides, Masamune Date may at first seem quite cocky and a massive flirt—not to mention more than aware of his ravishingly handsome looks, but she wouldn’t blame him for using that to his advantage. Either way, and for all intents and purposes, he definitely he doesn’t strike her as mean or wicked like some other warlords she’s met so far.

Predicting it’s so far looking up to being a long ride, Mai opts out for giving him a vote of confidence, relaxing some more in his arms and tiredly resting her head in the crook of his neck, where he’s not as heavily armored. For reasons beyond her, Masamune keeps chuckling low, apparently pleased with himself.

“So, let me guess,” His constant amusement slowly gets into her, and Mai can’t bring herself to complain about it, “Are you just hired to steal away damsels in distress for Nobunaga or is it you didn’t have anything better to do?”

There’s no doubt of it right then—he’s definitely pleased with himself. “I’d say it’s one of the best perks of the job, yeah,” He says cockily, his air of self-assurance nearly dripping out of him, the warmth of his voice all the more helpful for her to relax. “However, that purring doesn’t really sound like one from someone in distress…”

Mai snorts, “Don’t tease me. I’m just tired, alright,” She’s willing to admit, giving up for any possible ideas of escaping his grasp and wiggling a little for better accommodation. If it’s going to be as long of a ride as it looks like, then she may as well get somewhat comfortable. “I’m just coming along from certainly the worst night of my life, and considering where you’re taking me, seems this nightmare isn’t looking forward to ending anytime soon…”

“Well, if you ask me, I think it’s going to be really fun instead,” His snickering briefly tickles her ear, the arm snaked around her waist pulling her closer to his chest. Mai just relishes in his warmth, too exhausted to put up a fight. “But get some sleep now if you’re truly tired. It is a long ride, after all…”

“And risk myself falling off your horse? Thanks, but no thanks,” Although even when she says that, Mai can also hear her own voice growing heavy and groggy.

“Aaw, how could I possibly let that happen? You wound me, kitten,” Brushing some locks of hair away from her face, Masamune leans down and closer, hot breath fanning her ear, “Luckily for you, I don’t mind some scratches…”

Mai giggles and squirms a little, both for the tickling sensation and the ever so alluring tone of his voice. She can’t really tell, but if Masamune’s main goal was to get her all putty in his arms, then she hopes he’d consider that a success already.

And so, she finally complies, drawing a long sigh before dropping her eyes closed as they ride on full speed ahead through the night, with only the wind catching up with them.

[finn-nelson-for-the-win]

Before the World Stops Turning: Pt. 5

Yay! Look at me being a good fanfic writer and actually sticking to what I said in my previous chapter update about posting another chapter within a reasonable time frame! Are you proud of me? Because I’m REALLY proud of me! :)

This is the other short chapter I mentioned was going to be posted (less than 1500 words at my last count), but I promise that the next chapters will be substantially longer. Okay, that’s enough of my ramblings for now, so it’d probably be best that we just get on with it, yeah?

If you’d like to be added/removed from my tags list for this fic or my Forever Tag list, don’t hesitate to let me know!

Everything I’ve written can be found right here!

I hope you enjoy this chapter! (As always, additional notes and random commentary I have will be at the end beneath the tags…This author’s note is also quite long and sort of all over the place, so yet again, you are under no obligation to read it and/or read all of it...I promise I will not be offended lol)

***

It had only been a few days since Rae reached out to Kings and Queens on their band’s social media page to purchase their tickets and as she sat on the floor of Izzie’s bedroom beside her mate on Sunday evening, she was currently trying to find a way out of the arranged meet-up.

 “Are you positive you can’t pick up the tickets tomorrow on my behalf, Izz?”

 “I already told you, Rae, I’m stuck in class all day trying to prep for my final exams.”

 “I’m sure missing one day couldn’t hurt…” Rae mumbled under her breath, but she knew that Izzie’s mind wouldn’t be changed.

 “Oh, Rae-Rae! You’re just getting worked up over nothing! You yourself have told me time and time again how nice all the members of the band have been and how sweet they are when they interact with fans online…”

 “Fine, I suppose you’re right, Izzie…But I don’t even know where we’re meeting yet! Or who I’m meeting, as a matter of fact, because they never fucking told me who I was talking to!”

 Rae threw her arms up in the air in exasperation, causing Izzie to chuckle at her mate’s flair for the dramatic, before she tilted her head back to rest on the edge of Izzie’s bed while staring up at the ceiling.

 “So text him and ask! Whoever runs their social media account gave you their number for a reason, so you might as well put it to good use,” Izzie said as she grabbed Rae’s cellphone off of her desk and handed it to her, ”personally I think that you’ve been chatting with Archie, since he’s the one who typically talks about the logistics of these shows and posts all the details on his personal account before it’s posted on the band page, but you’ll never know unless you ask or agree to meet up with them…”

 “I guess…” Rae replied with a huff as she unlocked her cellphone and began drafting a text message to send.

Rae: Hey there! This is Rae Earl. I made arrangements to meet up with you tomorrow afternoon and pick up the tickets to your show that I purchased. Which café on campus were you thinking of meeting at?

 “Okay, Izzie…are you happy? The message has been sent and now we just have to keep waiting until we get a respon—“

 (New Message): Hiya Rae! :D It’s great to finally hear from you about this.

 (New Message): I was beginning to think you may have forgotten our plans to meet up :(

 (New Message): Do you know where Charlie’s Café is?

 Rae: Oh, sorry about that. I got pretty busy this past week, but I can assure you that I have not forgotten! :) Yes, I know where that is!

 (New Message): Great! Let’s meet there then, if that’s alright with you?

 Rae: Sure, sounds good to me! I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?

 (New Message): Of course, love! It’s a date ;)

 “Oh…uhm…okay?” Rae said to herself as she placed her cell phone on the carpet next to her outstretched legs.

 “What happened, Rae? Did you get the details for your meet up all sorted?”

 “Yeah, we did. We’re gonna meet at Charlie’s on campus…but look at how they ended the conversation after we confirmed the plans for tomorrow…”

 Izzie leaned over to look at Rae’s phone screen and her eyes widened slightly as she read the final text sent to Rae.

 “Aw! It looks like my Rae-Rae has a little coffee date with one of her many admirers tomorrow afternoon! That’s my girl!” Izzie said with a cheeky smirk as she bumped Rae’s arm with her shoulder.

 “Ugh, seriously, Izz? You’re hopeless…” Rae replied with an eye roll but her annoyed façade was soon betrayed by the uncontrollable grin that spread across her face as she shook her head at her best mate.

 “Oh whatever! You know you love me, Rae!” Izzie replied as she rested her head on Rae’s shoulder lightly.

***

Rae had to go to work early the next morning, but shortly before noon her boss came up to Rae and offered her the chance to leave work early today, since all the necessary tasks that had to be done had been finished hours ago.

Naturally, Rae jumped at the chance since days when they finished work earlier than expected were few and far between, and she drove back to her apartment thankful for the extra time she now had to prepare for her meet-up later that day.

 “Fucking hell! You know what, Izzie? I’m not going��”

 “What do you mean you’re not going? You can’t just cancel at the last minute like this!” Izzie chided, shaking her head disapprovingly at her best mate through the screen of her cell phone during their video call early Monday afternoon.

 “But of course I can! I’ll just tell them that something came up…”

 “Rae, I know that you’re not sure what to expect, but it’s going to be fine. Now hurry up and get dressed before you end up being late, because that would be very rude!”

 “Okay, mum, I’m getting dressed now,” Rae joked as she set her cellphone down on her bed before walking toward the open door of her closet to pick out what she was going to wear.

 “Izzie, what exactly does someone wear to something like this?”

 “Well, since it’s just an afternoon coffee date, I’d say something cute but still casual…maybe a simple dress,” Izzie suggested.

 “It’s not a date!” Rae groaned as she continued rummaging through her closet for something to wear.

 “Are you sure, Rae-Rae? Because that’s not what the last text they sent you last night implied…”

 “Oh, shut up, Izz…I know you have to get to class pretty soon, so I’ll go ahead and let you go now.”

 “Okay, that sounds good to me, Rae. Be sure to tell them I say thank you and let me know how much I owe you for the ticket!”

 “Okay, I will!”

 “And I expect to hear all the details of your coffee date with a cute band member! Talk to you later, babes! Bye…” Izzie said with a smile as she ended the video call on her phone.

 Ugh…It’s not a fucking date…

 Well, it’s probably not a date.

 I suppose there’s no harm in looking nice even if this is definitely not a date…

 Rae spent the next few minutes scouring her closet for the right thing to wear before ultimately deciding to wear a casual navy blue wrap dress with a pastel floral pattern that landed just above her knee.

 Once she finished putting on a little mascara and lipstick to complete her look without looking like she was trying too hard, Rae brushed through her long, wavy hair one last time to make sure that her hair did not look like as much of a mess as she was feeling.

Content with her choice of outfit once she slipped on her dark gray sneakers, Rae gave herself a final once over in her full-length mirror and rushed out of her apartment to where her car was parked before driving to her Uni campus.

 The drive to campus seemed to be taking much longer than it normally did and Rae could not seem to find any music on the radio that helped calm her nerves and pass the time; however, she soon found herself walking into Charlie’s Café and taking a seat at a vacant table on the far side of the café to wait for the guy she was supposed to be meeting.

 Relax, Rae! You’re here five minutes earlier than you had agreed to meet to pick up the tickets…

 He will surely be here soon, just give him a few more minutes.

Rae pulled her cellphone from her purse where she had placed it on the chair beside her and began scrolling through social media to help ease her nerves, but as she sat and waited, time began to drag on and each passing second felt like an eternity.

@eveerez @tinakegg @hey1tskat1e @lurkernolonger @milllott @nutinanutshell @i-dream-of-emus @milymargot @vivammfd @bitchesbecrazy89 @arathewallflower@mallyallyandra @kneekeyta

A/N: As if Rae wasn’t already bricking it about having to meet up with one of the band members to pick up  the tickets, they had to go and refer to their meet up as a “date” and cause her to stress even more! Is it a date? Is it NOT a date?

Poor Rae doesn’t even know who she’s supposed to be meeting becasue our little Finnley didn’t even think to introduce himself or tell her who she was going to be meeting (she’s going to be in for quite the surprise, don’t you think? lol)

The next chapter(s) are what we have been leading up to...Rae and Finn are going to finally meet properly...this is going to be a lot of fun, I think! :D

So I’m sure I’ve mentioned this before, but this is one of two side blogs that I have and then I have my main blog as well. Since this is a side blog, that means I can’t follow any of you/reply/like posts from this account :/

I created this side blog about a year ago to post all my MMFD-related content and I wanted some sense of anonymity, especially once I started posting my own writing here. In all honesty, I don’t really feel the need for that anonymity anymore. Obviously I will still have my other blogs separate from this one and I’ll keep posting all my MMFD stuff here, but I feel like maybe I should let you all get to know me for me, you know? (I mean…I’m fairly certain that unless you’ve messaged me privately, my last post in the Author’s Notes was the first time I ever used my name in a post…maybe? I could be wrong though…)

But yeah…most likely none of you know what I look like or where I’m from or anything about me unless you’ve picked up on it from what I write/how I write or I’ve mentioned something specific about me.

So I think I’ll leave it up to you all…do you want to know more about me? Do you want to get to know me better? Do you have any dire, pressing questions to ask me, Finn-Nelson-for-the-win aka “Sarah”?

Or do you like this interesting intrigue and mystery of me remaining more or less anonymous?

Feel free to let me know what you think or how you’d feel in my situation and who knows…this might just be my chance to revamp and update this blog to show a bit more of who I am, since this blog is nearing or just past it’s 1st Anniversary! ;) Until next time...Stay awesome, my friends! :)

[unwoundvisions]

Cayla (1974)

- What is your Full name? Include any maiden names, aliases, or nicknames.

Macayla Faye Ridley, but I’m usually called Cayla. Because 1, it’s easier and 2, my dad’s called me that since I was kid.

- When is your birthday? Do you know where you were born and at what time?

February 23, 1949. I was actually born late in the morning and it was at a hospital in Leicestershire.

- What is your star sign? Do you know your Chinese Zodiac too?

Pisces and I believe it’s the Ox.

- What is your earliest memory that you can remember?

Oh lord. I can’t recall a ton from my early childhood. I’ve got flashes of things like riding around with my parents. However, some of the stuff I can clearly recall is the times I was singing and dancing. I sang in front of my family all the time and I can clearly remember being excited for my first dance class when I was very young. I remember being obsessed with Marilyn Monroe and Elvis. Going back even futher, I can kind of remember my first day of school. I was very shy and started crying when a group game started because it was just so overwhelming. That’s a pattern in my life apparently, crying whenever slightly overwhelmed.

- Where was your childhood home? Was it more urban or rural?

I would call it more rural than anything. Just ask Deacy. We both grew up in very small town called Oadby in Leicester. Great place but I was desperate to get out and see more.

- How was your childhood in general? Did your parents treat you well? Did you have a lot of friends?

Overall, my childhood was pretty good. My parents never tried to rush me to grow up too fast. I’ve had a handful of friends in my life. Haven’t really kept in touch with anyone from secondary school other than Deacy. He’s my oldest friend and we met a very long time ago. So long ago that I don’t recall the exact moment we first met. We’ve literally known each other since we were small and I’m glad he’s still in my life after all this time.

- How was/is school? What is your favorite and least favorite subjects? What were your grades on average?

I was always somewhat okay when it came to school. Always did well if was about anything other than math. I never liked the strict requirements for school but I have always loved learning (again as long as it wasn’t math). I did strive for good grades but that is only because I am perfectionist and underperforming literally made me anxious. I still have a problem with being perfectionist and failure to this day. But hey, it made me get decent grades. I’m proud to say mostly A’s and B’s amongst the sea of C’s or D’s I got in math.

- Did you have a best friend growing up? What was their name? Are you still in touch?

Hell yes. John fucking Decon. He’s been my best friend since we were kids. We’ve just always gotten along. Balanced each other out in a nice way. We weren’t always together because I’m a couple of years older than him. But, we spent every spare seconds together we could. We always ate lunch together. Always played together or went to parties together. We weren’t super in touch when I started university. I just got busy and then he quickly did too. But we clicked back together again once Queen started up.

- Were you in any cliques?

Not really. I really hung out with all sorts of people. I mainly hung out with the creative types. Drama kids, music kids, art kids. But I usually hung out with all sorts of people.

- Best childhood memory you can recall?

One of my favorite memories is when Elvis was on television once. This was when I was super young, the days where everyone hated him simply for dancing to his own music. My parents had left Deacy and I alone with the television and I was convinced that was the most gifted singer on the planet. Of course, my mother turned it off once she realized but that didn’t stop me and Deacy from going outside to preform exactly what we watched.

- Worst childhood memory you can recall?

When I was teenager, right before my parents got divorced. Not the greatest time. They did nothing but arugue and cause me stress so I often spent a great deal of my time out of the house, staying with whoever would let me. Just to get away from it all. I was miserable and I think their entire relationship is why I’ve never really had this huge urge to get married.

- Name an event in your childhood that has shaped you into the person you are today.

Doing theatre for the first time changed my life. Helped me come out of my shell and helped me realize what I’m passionate about which is entertainment. At the end of my first play, I’ll never forget thinking I had found my calling.

- What is the dumbest thing you have ever done to impress someone? Were they impressed or was it all for naught?

Okay, I had this guy in school who used to wear this ridiculous hat. Somehow, he made it look attractive even though he wore it everyday. So, my ass went and bought one very similar too it; hoping he’d say something and he never said a word. I don’t blame him, I looked ridiculous.

- Did you ever have any sweethearts or lovers? Do you have a boy/girlfriend?

Oh lord. Well, me and a Deacy went out for like a week when we were young. We quickly realized that wasn’t going to work. After that, I really dated until I was in my late teens. Not, by choice, I think it’s because people more saw me as a funny/outgoing type so they never really thought about me THAT way. So, when dickhead of the century, Conrad, came along, showing me all the attention of the world, looking like a lost puppy who just needed to be fixed, I fell for it. He led me along for about almost a year and half before I finally made a move and asked him out. It was all downhill from there. We went on a handful of dates and he was the first guy I ever slept with. Promptly after we did that, he never wanted anything to do with me. Stopped talking me. Wouldn’t even explain why until I cornered him: “I just don’t like you that way.” Asshole used me as a shoulder to cry on for a year, acted like we were best friends, acted like he cared for me and “changed” his mind after we slept together. So yeah, that gave me a huge amount of trust issues. So much so, I never really seriously dated anyone after that. I’ve dated casually, slept around, but I’ve never tried to have anything serious again because one asshole ruined it for me,

- Are you a virgin?

Nope. Not at all. I probably wouldn’t be even if I hadn’t met Conrad. Still hate that he was the first person I slept with though. Should have waited around for someone better as person and in bed.

- Do you ever plan on getting married in your life? Do you want kids?

I mean, I wouldn’t say no to it. It’d have to be the perfect person though and I’ve been told by my mother my standards are too high to ever find a man so I suppose it may never happen. But even if I never did get married, I’d probably adopt some kids.

- Would you rather have your own kids or adopt? How many kids would you want?

Adopting is my preferred method because I’m terrified of giving birth. However, if I did find the right person, it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. They’ll just need to be prepared for how worried I’ll be. But as for how many, I say two or three.

- Do you think you’d be a protective parent or a relaxed parent?

I think it’d be a little bit of both. I want my kids to always trust me and know they can come to me about anything, which calls for a lot relaxed type parenting. However, I’d also be the type of parent always checking in on them because I’m terrified of them getting hurt.

- How would you prefer to pass away? Surrounded by loved ones and at peace, or while doing something heroic?

I’d prefer not to for a very long time. If I get to choose though, quick and painless. If it can’t be painless, in the name of something good like justice or family.

- Generally, how healthy are you? Do you get sick or injured easily or are you fit?

I get mild injuries because I do trip sometimes. But, I’ve never broken anything. I’ve got some scars from a couple of nasty falls. I’ve even got a tiny one near my mouth from when a dog attacked me as a baby. My immune system is shit if I’m not taking vitamins. Seriously, if I go to crowded places, I will come back with some type of cold. Hell, even with vitamins I can still get sick.

- Have you ever been badly injured before? What was the worst time and how did it happen?

Well, I can only think of two times. Once, wag before I can remember, my mother’s dog attacked my face. It was small but still did a lot damage at the time. I think my dad said it even look like my eye was going to fall out. Thankfully, though, I walked away with a mild scar and maybe some uneven eyes. I think I was also in the hospital once for a dislocated shoulder. Again, before I can remember but it happened because my dad was playing with me by swinging me around by my shoulders. Other than those two times, I’ve been lucky.

- How many times have you been to the hospital/doctor’s?

A handful of times at the hospital. Mostly for the things I mentioned before but I can also remember going for stomach issues. Other than that, I hate going to the doctor so I don’t go as often as I should.

- Have you ever had a concussion or brain injury? Have you ever had amnesia?

Thankfuy, no.

- What was the worst illness you ever contacted? Do you know what it was? How long were you sick?

Again, thankfully, I’ve never been seriously sick.

- Ever had any extended hospital stays? What for?

I think I may have been in the hospital for a few days with a nasty stomach bug but thankfully nothing serious.

- Are you employed? Where do you work and who do you work for? What do you do?

I’m a manager for Queen. I consider myself to be more so their stage manager but I’ve really been around far too much for that too be the case. I help them where I can, make sure their not getting screwed over and try to make sure they play nice. There’s also paper work sometimes which is boring.

- Are you happy with your current job?

It’s been a dream honestly. Makes way more money than I ever dreamed of having. The music is amazing, I get to be around the people I love all the time and it’s been really rewarding. Maybe I’ll dable with film making in the future. I really do think we should be filming way more tour stuff and that might be cool to put out there.

- Did you have any previous jobs? What were they and what did you do?

Nothing too serious. I helped around in shops in my spare time. Did makeup for a couple of weddings and parties. I had a lot more fun doing the latter.

- Most dangerous thing you have ever done?

Well, I’m really not a risk taking type person so I’ve avoided a lot of dangerous situations. However, one time I was around some people at a party who really wanted me to get high with them, that’s never really been something I’m into so I said no. She didn’t pressure me much more but her boyfriend was really keen on trying to get me to do it. I think this was because she told him I was bi and was hoping he could relax everyone enough into a threesome. Yeah, fucking hated that guy and I’ve avoided people who pressure me ever since.

- Do you consider yourself a more active person or a more relaxed person?

Both. I’m pretty relaxed in most situations but if I’m excited about something, I get very vocal and obvious about it. But for the most part, I’m pretty relaxed.

- What is your dream come true? How about your worst nightmare?

My dream come true isn’t too far off from what I have now. I’m around the people I love, I have a good job and I’m happy. Maybe I can do some more acting and filming making in the future but for the post part I’m really happy. As for my worst nightmare, not doing enough. I worry about not trying hard enough for what I want and dying without feeling completely accomplished. Plus, it would suck if I never find anyone I connect with.

- What is the biggest and most important goal you have set for yourself?

Being a manager wasn’t a goal of mine but ever since I did start helping the boys I’ve been determined not to let any man think they can belittle me. I usually outwork them and I usually known more than them so I refuse to be treated as less because this usually a man’s position.

- How persistent would you say you are? How much does it take to get you to give up on a task?

I’m very persistent when it counts. I’ll do whatever needs to be done as best as I can. However, if there is a bit of time for me to do that, I’ll probably waste a tiny bit of that time. If there’s no time, it’ll have my full attention until it’s done and I’m stressed.

- Would you surrender yourself to your enemies or fight to the very end?

If someone I loved was in danger, probably surrender. But other than that, hell no. I’ll fight until it kills me. I’d rather die fighting then simply give up.

- When do you usually do your shopping? What is currently on your shopping list?

Whenever I can. I like shopping but it gets exhausting if it happens too much. We’re on tour at the moment so the only real thing on shopping list is cute souvenirs like buttons or pins.

- Currently, what is something you want but do not need?

I want to get a tattoo. I never have because they always said tattos were a death sentence for an actress and now I can not find a single reason I shouldn’t get a tattoo.

- Do you like shopping? What is your favorite thing to shop for?

I do just not all the time. I usually prefer to make it an all day event and then do it again a month later. I really enjoy shopping for makeup, clothes and unconventional things like comic books or stuffed animals. I swear, I don’t buy all of them. Just really, really cute ones. I have standards.

- What is the most expensive thing you have purchased? Was it worth it?

Okay, first thing I properly bought myself was one of Elvis’s guitars. I shouldn’t have. Way too much fucking money but Brian told me about an auction where they were selling the guitar Elvis played during the 1968 comeback special. I bought it. It pained me but I bought it. I don’t even play guitar. It’s just in my apartment. Hanging up like artwork but to me it is.

- What would you do if you were suddenly given one billion dollars out of the blue?

I’m making a good bit of money these days. Way more than I ever expected. I give what I can away to charities and that’s exactly what I’d do with a billion dollars to. Give it to charities. Or create my own where we create housing for homeless people.

- What would you describe your style of clothing as?

Casual and relaxed. I live in t-shirts and jeans for the most part. But if it’s important, I’ll wear some cute dressss or skirts. I like looking cute. I think I give off a “fuck cute things” vibe but I do like being cute. For parties I’ll usually wear something sexy because I love doing that when I can.

- Do you have any hobbies? Name all of them if you can.

Writing, makeup, painting, traveling, photography and reading.

- Do you like and appreciate art? What is your favorite piece of artwork?

I do appreciate art but I don’t know nearly as much as I want to. I know what I do know from Freddie and Elton. They collect art. I suppose I am a fan of Vincent Van Gogh but I think everyone is.

- Do you like music? What is your favorite style of music?

I do. I love music. I admit, I think I’m more passionate about film but music has always been a huge part of my life. I think my favorite style is Rock and Roll. I grew up listening to Elvis but as I got older, I found more cool stuff. I adore Queen’s stuff and they’ve introduced me to a lot of music I didn’t know before.

- Have you ever seen any musicals? What is your favorite?

I have seen them and been apart of them. I have to say, I think I like Phantom of The Opera the most but Les Misérables is good too.

- What are your top three favorite animals? What would you say your “Patronus” or “Spirit Animal” is?

Dogs, Tigers, Ducks. I suppose my spirt animal would probably be a tiger.

- What are your top three favorite colors?

Red, Black and green. I really do love all sorts of colors though.

- What is your favorite season? Do you prefer hotter or colder weather? Do you like snow at all?

Fuck the hot weather. I love the colder seasons and I love snow. I can’t stay out in it for too long because I’m a baby but I love looking at it.

- What kind of flavors do you prefer: Sweet, Sour, Bitter, Spicy, Dry, or Umami (savory meat taste)?

I would say I usually prefer sweet and salty tastes. Sour I’m okay with. Spicy is okay sometimes but again, I’m a baby and I’ll start to sweat if it’s too hot for me. I’m also one of those weirdos who likes Fish. I feel like everyone hates fish but I don’t.

- Can you cook at all?

I can cook enough to survive.

- What is your favorite dish? Can you prepare it? Do you have the recipe handy?

I think my favorite dish is anything pasta related so thankfully, yes, I can easily make that.

- What is your favorite fruit and vegetable?

I really like Pears, Blueberries, Peaches, pineapples. I like others too but that’s what came to my mind. For vegetables I’m a fan of broccoli, cauliflower, cucumbers, celery, onions, peas, corn and carrots.

- What is your favorite dessert? What is your favorite type of candy/treat?

Ice Cream or Cake. I’m really not hard to please at all. My favorite type of candy though is probably any of those gummy candies.

- What is the best thing you have ever had the opportunity to eat? What is the worst?

I think Sushi was probably one of the coolest things I’ve gotten to eat. I legit cannot eat anything with mushrooms. I hate them with a passion and they ruin food.

- Do you like to drink tea or coffee? Any favorite flavors?

I’m more of a coffee person. Flavored coffees like Carmel or anything like that are usually my favorite. I don’t mind tea either but I don’t reach for it often.

- Describe your sense of humor.

I think it’s sarcastic and dirty. I’ll really laugh at just about anything except cruel type of humor or slapstick. Slapstick isn’t always bad but it just doesn’t appeal to me most of the time. I think I like humor that just seems genuine.

- What is one thing you are justly proud of?

My makeup skills.

- Do you have any religious beliefs? If not, have you ever been to a church service?

I do. I’m Christian but I like to say I’m very relaxed and private Christian. To the point where I never really talk about it with people unless they absolutely express some type of desire to. It’s just not something I naturally want to talk about because it’s a personal thing to me. Plus, I really do respect all religions so I’ve never understood the point of trying to force it down people’s throats. I don’t attend church because I just hate that atmosphere. Feels way too hive-mind and judgmental to me. Plus, I think a lot of religious structures likes churches have caused so much damage in society that it’s made me want to keep to my self.

- What would you say is the worst thing someone has done to you? What is the meanest thing someone has ever said to you?

See the Conrad story above. He’s the worst. As for the meaning thing someone has said, I think it has to be all the times grown ups called me “spastic” simply because I was eager to talk about something.

- What is the worst thing you have done to someone? What is the meanest thing you have said to anyone?

The worst thing I have ever done to someone was tell a secret of theirs because I was with someone who figured it out on their own. It’s the only time I’ve ever done it and I regret it to this day. I think I’ve said quite a couple of mean things to Roger. I’m usually joking for the most part though. I hope he knows that.

- Share the latest entry in your diary/journal.

“Dear Diary, I got a journal today. I can’t wait to start keeping a book about my life so I don’t forget this amazing time. Starting tomorrow, I’ll write in you daily. “

I’ve gotten multiple diaries and usually every entry looks like that and I never pick it up again.

- What is the most precious thing you own? Is it valuable at all?

Prescious makes me think of personal value more than anything. I think it has to be my Pooh Bear. Plus, all the photo albums I have.

- Talk about someone you know. It can be someone you either like or dislike.

I suppose it’s fitting to talk about Tony because I haven’t mentioned him once. I probably shouldn’t bring him up at all but it’s hard not to. He’s a very confusing man and he drives me crazy. Also, don’t tell him but he’s so good looking that it’s not fair. Really. He should be arrested.

[morshtalon]

Megami Tensei Gaiden: Last Bible

A.K.A. Revelations: The Demon Slayer

(Part 4 on a series of posts covering as many games in the MegaTen franchise as I can actually play)

Having successfully established a new canon with Shin Megami Tensei, things were going along smoothly, and the soil for new MegaTen titles was as fertile as it had ever been. However, SMT's ending was, in many ways, terminal for a lot of what was established therein. The situation of things kept changing drastically through the entire game and, by the end, things were pretty catastrophic. It would be a little while before they though up of some good material to serve as a base for SMT II, and, in the meantime, to keep fresh products coming out (and probably to keep the money coming in), Atlus chose to develop a spin-off series.

Last Bible was released for the Game Boy the same year as SMT, and recontextualized the core distinctions of the series into something more like what you'd expect from a jRPG in 1992. Gone are the first person dungeons, and instead we have a normal tile-based top-down RPG with DQ-esque character sprites walking around. Gone is the moral axis and branching story, and now things are as linear as they could, with only one path leading to one conclusion. Features like the demon summoning and recruitment have been majorly simplified, and in general, the game plays a lot more traditionally than anything the series has outed so far. There's no guns and no phases of the moon. That's not to say it doesn't still have its own quirks, but it's interesting to observe the transition from SNES to GB and all the compression and simplification that entails.

Furthermore, the setting was also moved to a more traditional, medieval fantasy-ish place, and demons aren't really demons anymore, just nondescript monsters with an in-game origin. You can still summon them, but it's done through a vague "sort" menu instead of the COMP for obvious reasons. You can also still talk to them, but they don't have any particular race or alignment to dictate their rough personality, so the questions are more or less random (there seems to be a repeatable pattern, but the actual text makes no logical sense in terms of a conversation) and whether or not you'll recruit them at the end of the conversation is effectively a crapshoot.

All of this obviously makes Last Bible miss a lot of what makes the series unique, and if you didn't know it was part of the MegaTen brand, you'd probably just take it for a generic RPG adventure clogging up the GB's library and pick up Final Fantasy Legend 2 instead. Honestly, if you did, you probably wouldn't be missing much, anyway.

It's not that the game is bad, per se. It has a decent, harmless little plot; some of the recontextualizations (such as the series' iconic powerful demons having been reworked into what are essentially powerful mage dudes) are funny; the aesthetics have an odd classical age vibe to them which is kind of interesting, with a lot of greek and egyptian inspirations; the music is above average for an early GB game (and the final boss in my opinion has a really kickass theme with one of the finest basslines the system can throw at you); and series traditions regarding demon handling have been simplified, but still function in roughly the same way, allowing you to experience the insane level of customization MegaTen usually offers, just in a different kind of place.

But, for a series that evolved its experimentation with storytelling into the character-based, uniquely moral narrative offered by SMT, with so much room for growth and potential to extrapolate and expand on previously established themes, Last Bible feels like a big step down. You can tell, while playing, that it was a much easier game to make than SMT, not only in terms of technical stuff, but also as far as challenging the developers' creativity goes. Consequently, this is mirrored in the fact that the game doesn't really have any poignancy of its own. I understand that the fact it was made for the Game Boy, a system designed for kids to just pick up some more simplistic, breezy adventures and enjoy them on their way to school and etc. means that Last Bible does its job nicely and there's really no point in me trying to compare it to mainline SMT since it's not trying to be SMT, so it isn't like I get angry with the game or chastise the developers and think they're slacking sacks of crap or whatever. But hey, still, if I'm looking at the game analytically, it has to be said it doesn't bring much new to the table.

One thing it does have over SMT 1, technically, is that there can be two enemy groups per battle now. There WERE a few scripted encounters in SMT 1 against two groups of enemies, but now, they can happen in any run-of-the-mill random encounter (unless the enemy sprite is too big), so that's nice. Also, the protagonist can use magic, which is a bit surreal in MegaTen terms. Furthermore, anyone can talk to monsters, even other monsters, and that means you won't have to go through the tedious generic yes/no conversations, so that's a good option to expedite the process, though I believe you need to select the right monster for the job or something, I have no idea. It'd be cool to see demons interacting with each other in mainline SMT games...

I think this is where I start to realize I may be a bit of a subconscious contrarian in some aspects, but despite the rest of the internet saying otherwise, I found this game to be really hard. Enemies were constantly able to kick my ass with two or three hits, it never felt like I had built my characters correctly and it always felt like I was at risk. A little ways into the game, I discovered, through the fact a monster attacked one of my own monsters of the same kind as them, that enemies actually get a significant boost in the damage they deal to you, which is Last Bible's iteration of old game design bullshit. Luckily, dungeons are really short throughout the entirety of the game, and you can save anywhere you want (except in-battle), even in the dungeons themselves right in front of the boss's face (because you wouldn't want to lose your progress when the school bus arrives and you're forced to put the Game Boy away, you know), so I guess when it all comes down to it, it was "easy", but damn. I'm not sure if I get bothered by the fact the dungeons are so short and have nothing to separate themselves from each other or if I'm glad they are like that because it meant my sorry ass could actually clear them. Maybe the high damage and stuff was once again done like that to be congruent with the portable nature of the system, so even battles needed to go by quickly one way or the other, but I don't know.

Anyway, Last Bible is not a very interesting game, but it did manage to entertain me somewhat, and the difficulty meant that there was at least something stimulating happening most of the time. It had a very Dragon Quest 2 vibe to it, and I think that's not exactly a bad thing (I only wish there were more puzzles and interactions with rhe world to make overworld exploration as interesting as it was in DQ2). I believe it deserves a 5 out of 10, smack-dab in the middle of the scale just like any game where my main conclusion is that nothing was really gained from playing it, but nothing was lost either. And hey, now that they got that out of their system, the developers can jump right back on track and start work on another actually intellectually charged, passionate project, right?

[stillthewordgirl]

LOT/CC fic: Kruos (Ch. 2 of 5)

What if....the Time Masters took Leonard to be a bounty hunter instead of Mick?

CaptainCanary. As always. Can also be read here on AO3 or here on FF.net.

Many thanks to @larielromeniel​, who helped me make this a much better chapter. Can also be read here on FF.net or here on AO3.

The bounty hunter is holding his gun on her, point blank, and if he fires, she's ice; there's no getting around it. She's dead again and Leonard's gone, there's no going back...

He doesn't shoot. He continues to hold the gun on her, and they stare at each other. After a few seconds that feel like years, the figure taps a button on the side of its helmet, and the visor rises and...

It's him. It's him. Her brain is screaming at her to run, while her heart... Sara takes a deep breath, looking into icy blue eyes, taking in familiar features, that damned widow’s peak, and an enigmatic expression.

There’s a tiny “v” between his brows, and she has the sudden strong conviction that this is a man at war with himself, and just maybe, the snarky SOB she knew is in there. Someone comes up behind her, and she recognizes the whiff of smoke that always seems to follow Mick, but she keeps her eyes on Leonard.

"Len," she whispers, taking a step closer. "It's me. Sara. Remember?" Another step. "We played cards. Fought together. I stole you a bottle of Rip's scotch as a thank you after...Russia."

He blinks. Such a small gesture. So much in it.

Sara hears another intake of breath behind her: Rip. "This is…keep talking," he whispers.

"You told me about your sister. Lisa. I told you about mine. Laurel. We..."

There's a shadow behind him, suddenly, but he's too focused on Sara to notice it...until Kendra lunges around his side and jabs a hypodermic needle into the exposed flesh of his neck.

The gun jerks, and Sara flings herself to the ground, halfway expecting an icy blast before whatever drug can take effect, but one never comes. Instead, the gun falls from twitching fingers as Leonard Snart--Kruos--falls to his knees, blinking again. His eyes light on something behind her, and he frowns.

"Mick?" he asks, confusion plain in his tone as he stares at his partner. "What the hell?"

His eyes go back to Sara, and he shakes his head, pain crossing his features--and then he collapses the rest of the way, landing in the dirt with an anticlimactic thud.

Kendra looks at Sara, uncertainty in her eyes and the needle still in her hand. Sara climbs back to her feet as Mick walks up to them both and they stand, staring down at the armored figure that used to be a teammate.

Since no one knows if it's Kruos or Snart who's going to wake up, they put him in the brig, with full security measures, and set up a full-time rotation to keep an eye on him.

Mick and Sara undertake the touchy job of removing his armor, piece by piece, eluding a few traps and weapons with Gideon's help and finally exposing one still-unconscious Leonard Snart, clad only in a black jumpsuit, sprawled on the floor of the brig.

And no one's sure when the drug Kendra had fetched from the Waverider will wear off—Rip mentions something about bounty hunters being able to burn things off quicker than most—so the medbay is out of the question. Gideon runs the best scan she can where he is, giving him a clean bill of health. Although his brainwaves are erratic, she says, and if an AI can sound troubled...well, she manages.

No one's sure what that means.

Standing outside the brig, watching the still form therein, Sara decides she's really, really sick of no one being sure.

It's Ray who's on watch when he wakes a few hours later...and it's Kruos, not Snart, whose eyes snap open, whose icy blue gaze assesses his surroundings…and who, apparently, is armed with commands that can override Waverider systems. Ignoring the watcher, he barks one at the door, which actually starts to slide open before Ray, panicking, hits him right in the face with one of the weapons on his Atom suit before calling for help.

It's Leonard, however, who wakes up next, groggily asking for the number of that truck and blinking at the team as they all peer back through the clear walls of the brig. Gideon gives them a painkiller that Sara slips through the food hatch on the cell, and Leonard accepts it, propping himself up against the wall and staring at her until she glances away, flushing.

He answers questions readily enough. Yes, the Time Masters had turned him into a bounty hunter. It’d been a long time, for him. (“A really long time,” he repeats, bleakly, then refuses to say anything more about that.) He remembers his time as Kruos, but when he was Kruos, he didn’t recognize the team as anything other than an enemy.

He says he’s not sure what knocked him out of it. (Although he doesn’t meet anyone’s eyes as he says it.) And he’s not sure if his Kruos-self is still there, waiting to come back.

“Then, what do we do?” Ray asks plaintively. “We can’t just keep him in here.”

Rip sighs, rising from where he’d been sitting and firing questions at Leonard. “I don’t know, Dr. Palmer.”

“You should probably just shoot me in the head and dump me in the field,” Leonard points out. “Get a head start before…”

“Shut up,” Sara snaps at him, startling them all and interrupting Jax's own protest and Mick’s more profane version of the same thing. She glares at Leonard. “That’s not happening.”

Rip doesn’t argue with her, but he does look conflicted. He looks at Leonard, who shrugs, and then back at the other members of the team.

"The Time Masters...well, I've told you a little about how they pick up children from throughout time, orphans, those who will not be missed, to train to join them. The bounty hunters...well it's something of the same thing. But in their case, we're talking about grown men and women, generally with a … a grudge, let's say, against their fellow man, or at least a group in particular. The tough yet...mentally malleable." Rip shakes his head. "They went against their pattern when they grabbed Mr. Snart. No offense, Mr. Rory, but you'd be far more likely to fit their usual parameters."

Mick grunts. "None taken. And, yeah," he points out to Stein, who's opened his mouth, "I do know what that means."

"His name was Declan", Snart interrupts wearily from where he's still slumped against the wall. "Ain't gonna forget it. He seemed to have a...stake in the matter. Really invested."

Rip lets loose with an oath that makes the rest of the team stare at him in shock. (Mick, after a startled moment, slaps him on the back in appreciation.)

"Declan," Rip says with distaste, "considers himself...an artist. Of a sort. And he’s always wanted to use his…tricks…to subvert someone a bit more strong-minded than the usual run, whereas the others preferred more of a…sure thing. It seems you, Mr. Snart, were the ideal guinea pig for his induction process.”

“Peachy.” The crook sounds a little more like himself, sitting up and rolling his eyes. “I’m special. Yay. Doesn’t change the fact I’m also a ticking time bomb.”

Mick swears again, staring at him. “Did they…”

“No, not literally. I’d be dead already if that was the case.” He frowns. “I think. No, even the Time Bastards drew the line at putting bombs in their operatives.” A wry look crosses his face. “Yet another time Lewis Snart was more evil than the other bad guys.”

Sara swallows the urge to reach out to him. “Then…”

“I fought back. But that doesn’t mean I won for good. If you’re not going to do the wise thing and off me, I can’t promise you I won’t turn back into Kruos at any time.” His voice is cold, sharp. “I need to stay in here.”

Rip’s saying something in the background, but Sara’s not listening. She's watching Leonard, who's looking rather intently back at her, and this time it's not just Mick who notices their expressions.

"You're not the only one with a demon," she tells him, finally. "I happen to have some experience fighting them. Stay in there for now...but you can beat this."

He smiles, and this times it actually touches his eyes a little. "Making me a project, Sara?"

"Trying to save your life, jerk. Even though you don't seem to want it saved."

"There is one thing." Gideon's voice sounds tentative. "Mr. Snart's brainwaves, as I said earlier, were erratic when he was first brought on board. They are much more stable now, and nearly a match for the baseline scans I have from before."

"What are you saying, Gideon?" Rip asks wearily, as Leonard's low "You took brainwave scans of us?" attracts everyone's attention in the background.

"I will monitor his brainwaves," the AI says simply. "If there is a high degree of instability, I will warn you. That is all."

"Well, at least that's sort of an early warning system," Ray says, obviously trying to sound upbeat. "And the brig's secure now. Right?"

"Unless I...he...has some other tricks up his sleeve, Boy Scout," Leonard points out.

"Well, wouldn't you know?" Kendra asks him.

"No." There's so much frustration in that word that every eye is drawn back to him again. "I don't know. That's the part that's pissing me off."

And the room is silent once more.

"You guys forgave me," Mick points out eventually, his voice a low rumble, as if he's regretting his words already. "And Snart didn't actually hurt anyone."

("Not on the team," the crook mutters. Only Sara hears him.)

"Yes, but you made a conscious decision, both to do that, and to make amends." Rip sighs. "Mr. Snart is a vict..."

"Don't say it." Leonard's voice is low and dangerous and the former Time Master stops mid-word.

"Right," he says, after a moment. "Well, I think it's unanimous—with the possible exception of Mr. Snart himself—that we're giving this a try."

"You're making a mistake," Leonard tells him flatly.

"Well, it's our mistake to make," Rip responds, turning for the door. "Let's get into the time stream. I have some things to look into for our next destination."

The rest of the team dutifully files through the door, a few with promises to come back later. Mick and Leonard hold what appears to be a staring contest for a few long minutes before Mick shakes his head and turns for the exit as well.

Which leaves Sara, who's still sitting on a bench, watching him.

"You left some things out," she says after a moment.

"Left a lot of things out." He stretches, then casts about a minute, looking for a way to strap down during the time jump.

"I'm sure. But what I'm wondering is this: you're not...what did Rip say? Mentally malleable?" She leans forward. "The Leonard Snart I know would have fought them until his brain was mush, would have died before giving in. So what happened?"

She sees a flicker of surprise in his eyes before the shutters go down a little more. "Maybe they just broke me."

"I don't believe it."

"It's all you're getting."

"Ms. Lance," Gideon breaks in, "Captain Hunter is requesting your presence on the bridge for departure. Mr. Snart, you'll find straps to your left, recessed into the wall."

Sara stands with a sigh. "We'll talk later," she informs him. "I'm not leaving this alone."

She exits, then, and Leonard, shaking his head, finds the straps, readying himself for the jump.

"Peachy," he sigh, leaning back against the wall and closing his eyes. "Here we go."

Once they're safely in the time stream, Rip vanishes into his study. Sara, smiling a little to herself, watches a steady procession of people in and out of the brig, most of them bearing offerings such as food or books.

It's probably the best thing possible, she thinks, that Leonard sees that the team wants him to beat this, wants him back. And indeed, when she finally strolls into the brig later, he's holding a book—a graphic novel, probably from Jax—with a very thoughtful look on his face.

It turns into sardonic humor when he sees her. He puts the book down and leans back, watching her.

"So what'd you bring me?" he drawls, eyeing her up and down. "Seems like everyone thinks I'm going to starve to death in here, or die of boredom, or maybe just waste away from lack of interaction."

"Be nice," she tells him, taking a seat. "Just me."

"Hmm. Good enough." There's flirtation in his tone, and she smiles, recognizing the attempt at distraction for what it is.

"I still want to know what happened," she informs him. "I'm not letting it go, Leonard."

That gets a snort that manages to convey agreement and annoyance at the same time. He studies her another moment, then sighs.

"Not a word to anyone else."

"Not unless it's really important for some reason."

Leonard accepts that with a shrug.

"They were going to drop me back where they'd taken me," he says finally, "and take Mick. A bit later, so he was starving, and desperate."

Sara sits back and he can see the surprise on her face. "Because they thought they could break him?"

"Because they thought they wouldn't have to. Not in the same way, anyway. They wanted to leverage his hate for the team at that moment, his hate for me. He'd have gone into it without a backward glance, and he'd have stopped at nothing to burn this team to the ground. And not just y...the team. Anyone we cared about. Like I said before. My sister. Your sister."

His voice is flat, and Sara has the feeling he's remembering the sort of things anyone would prefer to forget. "You...sacrificed yourself to prevent that," she whispers.

An irritable shrug. "I had the means to resist. Mick didn't."

"What do you mean?"

"Mick was pissed; he wouldn't have thought beyond that, at least not to start. And there's a lot less..." He pauses, considers his words. "...self-worth there."

"Yes, yes, we all know you're an egotistical asshole." The insult lightens the mood just a little, and he actually smirks at her before going serious again.

"Mick thinks he's got nothing," he says tersely. "He'd have given in, if he thought he could get some revenge."

Sara watches him. "And what do you have, Leonard?"

He tilts his head, watching her in return. "My sister. Mick, as far as it goes. I told you about juvie."

"And?" She’s not sure why she's pressing it.

A long pause. "Well. I have to stick around to tell that smug bastard Barry Allen what I think of this hero gig."

Another pause. "...I suppose I'd miss you...our card games." He studies his nails, avoiding her eyes. "I don't know about the rest of these losers."

"Uh huh."

They both start as Rip's voice interrupts, calling the team to a meeting on the bridge. Sara rises with a sigh, glances at the crook, who's still avoiding her eyes, and turns to go.

"Sara," he says, "wait!"

She turns to look at him; Leonard suddenly finds the wall over her head extremely interesting again.

"Bring the cards next time?" he says diffidently.

"I'll do that."

"Next time" doesn't come for longer than they'd both like. Rip's decided to take the ship to 2147, a time he asserts is very dangerous for all of them, and that needs to be hashed over in multiple ways until Sara's sick of all the talk, talk, talk.

Leonard wakes up the next morning disorientated and raving. He tries to jimmy the door, but there’s no Time Master trickery involved this time around, just a desperate locked-in crook who comes to his senses after Jax, who’s keeping an eye on him, improvises and dumps some ice water on his head.

But Sara doesn’t find out about that incident until later.

By the time she manages more than just a quick look-in, they’ve made the jump and landed in the future, and had their first look around. She feels guilty at the site of Leonard slumped in his cell again, clearly bored out of his mind.

He perks up as he sees her, and smirks as she waves the deck of cards at him.

“Where are we?” he asks her casually as she starts to deal, taking a chance and opening the food slot just a little wider. “And when. Gideon warned me about the jump, but nothing more.”

“2147. Kasnia Conglomerate. You'd hate it; no crime.”

"The future, eh? Thought that was a no no. Why?"

Sara hesitates, then tells him, about Savage, and Per Degaton, and choices they need to make.

"So what's to talk about? If the little rat’s really going to be responsible for that many deaths, do it. Save a bunch of other kids who might not grow up to be mass murderers.” He looks up at her silence and shrugs. “That's not him. It's me. I don't have many illusions about kids. Juvie, remember? Those little assholes would have knifed me and left me to bleed to death in the yard. If not for Mick.”

Sara doesn’t really want to talk about Per Degaton, and she’s been looking for a segue anyway, so she seizes on the last comment.

"So why aren't you talking to him?" she says, taking a card. "I know he's been in here a couple of times. Says you'll barely look at him. It really bothers him."

Len grunts, discarding a card. "It's bad enough talking to you," he says, his tone saying otherwise. "I don't want him figuring some things out. Mick doesn't do well with feelings."

"What about your feelings?"

"About you?"

She glances up at those quiet words, a retort about trying to distract her on her lips, only to be confronted by a look that's so intense she's speechless for a moment. Then he looks away, and she takes a breath, giving him a smile.

"About Mick."

"I have no feelings about Mick." But his tone is tense, now, and his hands are gripping the cards so tightly that they bend. It's probably not wise, but she decides to press again.

"You said you had people, and Mick thought he didn't," she points out. "Isn't Mick one of your people?"

"Mick...is the reason I'm in here." He's trying for anger, but it's simply emerging as sullenness.

"So...what? You don't want him to know you did it for him?"

"I didn't..." He stops himself. "Not just him."

"Look, I get it. You guys don't do feelings." Sara sighs. "You'd probably rather, I don't know, do something stupid and 'manly' like beat each other up rather than talk about them. But he's feeling guilty and you're obviously having issues with it too. So stop being an ass, and deal with it."

She sets her cards down then and smiles at him. "Gin."

[spicynbachili1]

Forza Horizon 4 is really very British

There’s a phenomenon of tradition that I’m not satisfied has a reputation. Residing within the UK, the huge, overwhelming majority of the media I devour is from the US. And almost all the time has been. Whereas tv was extra localised, all my life the movies and video games (and certainly an terrible lot of the TV) I’ve watched and performed has not solely come from America, however been set there, or created by individuals whose notion of life relies there. And, whereas we could share an honest proportion of a typical language, we actually are very completely different nations and certainly continents. The results of this being, the media I watch that comes from the US is in lots of senses alien, to the purpose the place a movie set in an American highschool may as properly be set on a spaceship for all of the familiarity it should my very own lived experiences.

Which makes taking part in Forza Horizon four a extremely bloody bizarre factor. It’s… it’s British. Which is inflicting my double-takes to do double-takes.

I’ve been to the US an terrible lot. By a tough depend, perhaps forty-five occasions. Whereas I’ve by no means lived there, I’ve had some fairly assorted experiences, from dozens of press journeys to equivalent resorts in a dozen completely different states, to sleeping on the couches of buddies of buddies in unknown cities. I’ve spent most of my time in Chicago and San Francisco, whereas additionally visiting Seattle, Boston, New York, North Carolina, DC, Baltimore, LA, Indiana, Philadelphia, and all of the others I’ve forgotten. I’ve spent sufficient time within the States to understand how that record seems to be effective to anybody not residing there, however the muddle of cities and states will annoy anybody who’s. And but regardless of the frequency, I’ve but to have a single expertise over there that hasn’t felt somewhat bit like I used to be on a film set.

Now, it’d at first appear to be it doesn’t have a terrific deal to do with an open world racing sport, however let me start through the use of the instance of secondary schooling: Whereas there are many parallels, the US and UK schooling programs are actually radically completely different experiences. Within the UK we trudge to our state-run comprehensives in class uniforms for 9am, distinctive classes every day, topics splattered throughout a various timetable, sport a factor you’re compelled to do one or two mornings every week, maybe after college for the devoted few when the day is lastly over between three.30 and 4pm. There are not any yellow college buses. There is no such thing as a highschool (American) soccer staff, or cheer squad, the probabilities are there is no such thing as a college paper nor radio station, and we’ve frankly no thought what “coloration guard” is. We do have proms lately, however they’re a bizarre hybrid simulacrum of what was known as a “college dance” in my day, and what individuals have seen on the telly in US reveals. In truth, so completely primarily based on US media are the UK’s makes an attempt to include such concepts, I’d not be in the slightest degree stunned if each British promenade ended with the custom of pouring pig’s blood on the promenade queen. As a result of that’s what they do, proper?! Oh, and nobody known as a “freshman” or a “senior”, since you’re 12 months 7 or 12 months 13, and sure, secondary college is six years lengthy, not 4.

I’ve been to US excessive colleges. I’ve buddies who train in them, and I’ve sat in classes at 8am when youngsters are barely acutely aware but impossibly at college. Within the lesson they’ve at 8am on daily basis that week. For weeks. Stripped and stranded instructing, like their TV channels, completely in contrast to our personal. Everybody in their very own garments, clearly in tribes, leaping up out of their seat when the bell goes though the instructor is mid-sentence. IT’S LIKE ON TV! It’s astonishingly, impossibly, completely like on TV. To enter a US highschool, to stroll down these locker-lined corridors that stretch to vanishing factors, is to step into fiction. To see the jocks, the nerds. They’re actual issues! I’ve been to a highschool soccer sport! It’s Friday Night time Lights! It’s all fiction come to life!

Besides in fact, no it isn’t, in case you stay within the US. It’s simply life. It’s simply regular, on a regular basis life, with fictional tales and characters projected on high. For the UK viewer, American highschool teen dramas are nearer to being a present set on an alien spaceship’s schooling heart than they’re to something “regular” or acquainted to us. As, I can solely think about, could be an episode of Grange Hill proven to a teenage US viewers.

It will get even flipping weirder whenever you stroll by a US college campus. The primary time I did that, in Washington State College, I genuinely felt dizzy. Group after group of scholars walked previous delivering corny dialogue from a crappy script. “Are you going to the sport tonight?” To emphasize, UK universities don’t have “a sport tonight”. They may have a soccer staff, however nobody is aware of what it’s known as except they’re in it. They actually don’t change the color of the city clock to the staff purple once they win, as I noticed as soon as in Evanston, Illinois, when staying with buddies at Northwestern College.

That first time I used to be in Evanston, staying with a good friend who had simply began on the college, I noticed a gaggle of women strolling down the highway that regarded like clones. Equivalent lengthy blonde hair, equivalent outfits, equivalent facial expressions, and I, fully perplexed, requested my good friend what that was about? “Oh, them?” she replied offhandedly, “Sorority chicks.”

OK, at that time I could as properly be on the Enterprise and I simply obtained advised they had been “Romulan chicks” for all of the sense it made. I regarded round me, noticed blue submit packing containers (mail packing containers, sorry), crimson hearth hydrants stood in gleaming white sidewalks, these metallic packing containers that include newspapers bearing headlines that ship essential exposition for the scene, and in case you’d advised me it was a prank, that I used to be on a movie set, I’d have believed you.

The purpose of all of that is, once we Brits (and presumably the remainder of the world too) watch US media and play US video games, we internalise all this, we droop our disbelief and settle for this fictional setting. It’s not till we bodily set foot in that fiction that the jarring insanity of all of it turns into obvious. In any other case there’s simply common college that we go/went to, and there’s faux college from the TV and the flicks. You recognize, the one the place a senior is throwing a keg get together on the final day of college. BUT THAT IS ACTUALLY A THING THAT HAPPENS! I checked! I requested actual precise People they usually aren’t simply faux!

You, actual precise People studying this, you’re both laughing at me or assume I’ve gone mad. However that’s the purpose! We’re from completely completely different continents, and the overlap of our realities is simply sufficient that it seems to be prefer it must be acquainted, however completely flat-out isn’t. We’re two nations divided by a typical uncanny valley.

Which is all to say, the expertise of taking part in Forza Horizon four is sort of a mad redoubling of this strangeness.

Once I play a racing sport, a Burnout Paradise or a Want For Velocity XXXVIII, I nonchalantly, even unthinkingly, step into the American Driving Universe. Regardless of commonly driving a automotive round British roads, pretty persistently on the left facet, once I play a driving sport I mechanically drive on the suitable, no acutely aware effort. I recognise (ignore) US site visitors gentle patterns, I barely acknowledge the US avenue furnishings, I comply with the inexperienced highway indicators that inform me to which metropolis I’m heading, and don’t discover that they’re not blue, on my technique to Vajazzle Metropolis and never pointing to someplace like Bummingtonshire.

So taking part in this, each single time I see one thing undeniably British, which is roughly each 1.6 seconds in Horizon four, I double-double-take. Each a type of black-background-white-arrowed “this bend is bendier than you’re anticipating” indicators makes me snap out of my anticipated fictional expertise and realise that is actual life. Crimson telephone packing containers are pretty simply ignored, as a result of in precise Britain they’re just about an anachronism in all however essentially the most smugly center class pokey villages (of which Horizon four is usually comprised), and crimson submit packing containers, whereas a every day actuality, additionally present up in each horrible Hollywood depiction of a British avenue for them to be acceptably faux. However these grey-white gasoline meter packing containers on the outsides of terraced housing that appear like the had been artexed within the 70s? That’s an excessive amount of.

Extra trendy phone packing containers with these pale purple panels throughout the center, not getting used for something apart from individuals who want a wee? They don’t belong in video games! Bus stops which might be only a pole with an empty inexperienced metallic body the place the timetable info must be? This isn’t escapist fantasy! And inexperienced and crimson mans on the pelican crossings! Truthfully, that is the way it works in my mind:

Actual life = crimson/inexperienced man on the pedestrian crossing Video video games = white man on the pedestrian crossing Precise America = faux magic land from off the telly

You’ll be able to’t go having the actual life ones in a sport!

This cognitive dissonance in me bounces forwards and backwards in an infinitely recurring confusion. As a result of that is regular, besides it’s not regular that it’s regular, so this doesn’t really feel in any respect regular, and does that imply what I see as regular for being not regular is simply common regular for all regular People taking part in almost all regular video games? Is… is the world of fiction considerably much less fictional for People, in methods they will by no means know they’re experiencing?

I imply, British cinema is so grimly depressing, or craptacularly posh, but it surely’s by no means nonchalantly British. British cinema continues to be novel due to its very existence. It’s all the time about being British earlier than it’s about the rest. At one finish of the size, Billy Elliot isn’t a couple of working class British boy who needs to bounce… ON THE MOON. Brassed Off isn’t a couple of brass band that forestalls a volcano from destroying Yorkshire. They, and their identikit brethren, are only a dreary sepia-brown dirge of a fucked up nostalgia for when issues had been barely worse. On the different finish of the size, Notting Hill is about repulsive British individuals being repulsively British at an American woman, which is Bridget Jones, which is Love Truly, which is no matter wretched smug horror Richard Curtis shits out subsequent. What I’m saying is, you couldn’t simply devour British cinema and begin to get used to the normality of Britain, as a result of it’s all so self-obsessed and navel-gazing that it could as properly be screened on the facet of a novelty teapot.

British-set gaming is… properly it doesn’t exist! OK, it form of does, however once more with its Britishness as novelty. Your Sir You Are Being Hunteds, and your Time Gents Pleases, are flag-wavingly British, in a method that, to pluck a sport out of the ether, Watch_Dogs is just not flag-wavingly American. It IS American, it must be American to be what it must be, however it’s so with out self-consciousness. And but half the video games you play had been in all probability made in Guildford – simply by no means set there. Oddly it’d be the perfect place! I grew up in Guildford, winner of Britain’s Most Mediocre Metropolis. The city motto is, “Guildford: It’s effective.” Nobody hates Guildford, as a result of it must have performed one thing attention-grabbing to warrant it. Guildford is the right setting for gaming, as a result of it’s extra painted background than precise place.

So my competition is that People merely can’t expertise this double-whiplash of bemusing familiarity. However hopefully when taking part in Forza Horizon four, they will at the very least take step one towards it: an genuine expertise of Britishness, that isn’t reliant on stereotypes, simply utter ordinariness.

Whereas Horizon’s geography of its phase of Britain is likely to be primarily based on tearing up an A-Z after which sellotaping it again collectively at random (the Uffington White Horse is within the South of England, 376 miles and a 7 hour drive from Scotland’s Edinburgh, which itself is 146 miles from the Lake District’s Ambleside…), you actually don’t drive previous Large Ben each 13 seconds as in each different UK-set sport. Whereas the Leamington Spa-based builders, Playground Video games, might need considerably exaggerated the networks of dry-stone partitions that line the North of England and South of Scotland (which right here all look like one county/nation), they’ve averted the straightforward landmarks, the Beefeater stood exterior Buckingham Palace consuming fish and chips off a cricket bat that may often entrance the UK scene in a Roland Emmerich film. Edinburgh Fort is a magnificence, and Arthur’s Seat is a vacationer spot, however nobody’s utilizing them as establishing photographs for a world viewers.

However neglect the fortress. Overlook that they’ve so lovingly reproduced some acquainted streets of Edinburgh. What issues right here is that they’ve put these tiny yellow “no parking” indicators on the 30mph poles. It’s that they’ve the derestricted velocity restrict indicators heading instantly into single-lane nation roads, implying you may tear round these blind corners at 60mph.

I have a good time the ordinariness of Forza Horizon four’s bucolic Britain, the tiniest particulars that give me a psychological whiplash of confusion. I had assumed, when studying this sport was to be set within the UK, that I’d simply expertise a driving sport like People expertise all of theirs – that the ordinariness could be, properly, atypical. It seems I’ve been so ingratiated into the ever-present Americanness of driving video games that this was an integral a part of their vocabulary for me. Who knew normality may very well be so novel as to be distracting? And I’m bloody glad of it!

from SpicyNBAChili.com http://spicymoviechili.spicynbachili.com/forza-horizon-4-is-really-very-british/

[bexprime-reblogs]

Tagged twice(!) by @no-ones-son (let me explain the twice thing - @thatbeccaperson is my technical main and has been inactive for several years and Tumblr doesn’t let you change your main)

Guidelines: Always post the rules, answer the questions given by the person who tagged you then write 11 questions of your own and tag 11 blogs 

1. How was your day, describe it.  Almost done. Just another day at the office.  Mostly kind of boring.  I did go someplace new and really delicious for lunch and that was nice.

2. Do you have any pet peeves? I do.  A huge one for me is when people are upset with me and don’t talk with me about it.  How can I be expected to learn and get better when I don’t know what I did wrong?

3. Tell me a project you have been working on (personal, school, hobby).   I have many, many unfinished projects kicking around across various hobbies.  I do have an afghan I was knitting that I haven’t picked up since January that I really need to start working on again.  I’m on the fourth and final large square (of smaller squares) before it needs to be seamed and border knit.  If you’re wondering what it should look like when finished, it’s this pattern right here. 

4. You’re favorite clothing item(s) you own? Why? A very new clothing item, but I really love this Vaporeon hoodie I recently purchased.  It’s a lightweight hoodie but it’s super comfy.

5. Recommend three books.  I’m more in the position to receive book recommendations than give them.  Most of what I’ve read are titles that *everyone* has read like Harry Potter, ASOIAF, etc., and lately most of the actual books I’ve read have been technical books.  (Shout out to all those O’Reilly manuals sitting on my desk.)

To be honest, I’ve been enjoying fanfic a lot more than regular books lately, especially since they’re easy for me to read on the sly with my phone.  If I were to give a fic rec, I would say that if you’re Solavellan trash like me, you might enjoy Ruins by @soetzufit.  It got me into reading fanfic again after being away from it for well over 10 years and it’s just a really well-done slow burn. I’m excited to see where she goes next with this work.  

I also read some comics (I’m rarely current since I tend to buy TPBs) and graphic novels and, while anyone who’s in the know is already aware of these titles, I tend to push a few titles on my friends who think comics are only superhero stories and, therefore, not for them.  (If you’re already into comics, you can skip this part, these recs are for people like my aforementioned friends.)  Over the last couple of years, I’ve really enjoyed Saga, which is this sci-fi epic.  I’m not current with it, but I’ve really enjoyed the story thus far, even this deep into the series.  

I suppose this probably doesn’t count but I was just thinking about how much I miss my copy of 78 Degrees of Wisdom.  One of my (now former) friends has it so I had to add it to my wishlist.  If you’re into Tarot at all, it’s just a great book to have around.

6. What’s the strangest dream you’ve ever had?  Not sure about strange, but I do have very realistic dreams and sometimes it weirds me out.  I had a dream once that I got an eviction notice and I was in a dead panic but it was so realistic I couldn’t tell I was dreaming.  How vivid and real it was still creeps me out.

7. Describe your happiest memory, or the first that comes to mind.  Leaving home, for real, for the first time and moving across the country.  I was so excited to finally get out of my crappy hick town and I didn’t know what would happen next for me, but it didn’t matter.  Turns out, I hated living in Southern California and moved back to the Midwest a few years later, but I needed the experience of getting away.

8.  What would you want to be famous for?  I’m not entirely sure I’d want to be famous famous.  Maybe D-list standing for a creative endeavor.  I start to write many things and never finish them.  It’d be interesting if I actually did finish something and it gathered acclaim, but that’s not happening anytime soon at the rate I’m going.

9. If you could immediately acquire any language, what would it be? Japanese because I’m a freaking weeb who would love to not have to rely on subtitles when watching anime.  

10. Is there a character you feel especially close to? As I mentioned in the last question, I like anime and among the first characters I associated with was Asuka Langley-Soryuu from Neon Genesis Evangelion.  Asuka is this abrasive, cocky teenager and many hate her and think she’s a bitch because of that.  She does her best to be the best and if you doubt she is the best, she’ll put you in your place.  That attitude, however, is just a cover for how broken she is.  When things start to fall apart for her she doesn’t deal with it well.  Now that I’m older, I don’t relate to her as much, but when I first saw the series I was in my late teens, myself, and definitely understood the need to project this confident exterior when you’re hurting so much inside.

11. What is your current favorite song? So, this morning I heard a track from the album The Mountain Goats are launching soon.  The song was called Rain in Soho and the track grew on me as it played on.

Sooooo I don’t even think I have 11 different people in my notifications.  If you want to do this, consider yourself tagged!  Here are my 11 questions:

1.  Besides your keys, wallet/cash/id, and phone, what is an item you always or almost always carry with you?

2.  If you could have one superpower or supernatural ability, what would it be and why?

3.  What was the #1 song when you were born?

4.  Did you eat lunch today?  What did you have?  Was it good?

5.  You are given a time machine and it will send you back to the time and place you choose for only five minutes.  You can only use the machine once.  If you decide to use it, where do you go and what do you do with your five minutes?

6.  What is the farthest distance you have traveled in one trip (you may count connecting flights and such)?

7.  Is there a hobby or skill you have that you’d like to improve?

8.  What is the very first video or computer game you’ve ever played?

9.  What is your favorite thing about the place where you live?

10.  Do you have any pets?

11.  (Because as I write this it’s April 25th) Describe your perfect date.

[confusedunit]

Universe of Unreality - Chapter 6

Chapter 6 -  "Benrey said WHAT?" 

The Science Team has lunch. Bubby remembers. Dr. Coomer wishes that he could. Tommy tells a secret. Benrey missteps. Deeper in the facility, someone wakes up. [Content warning: Minor Body Horror? The aliens struggle to keep their human forms stable when feeling strong emotions.]

No matter how many things change, so many things stay the same. Bubby had heard the phrase before, but had never thought of it in a positive light.

Most of the time, in Black Mesa, it didn't refer to growing up, growing stronger, while maintaining a stable circle of individuals. Most of the time, it referred to changing of experiments, but still being trapped in those same white walls. Seeing people change around you and knowing you'd never be allowed to leave.

But here, standing at a vending machine in a mostly blood free cafeteria, watching the ragtag group of the Science Team going about their business from across the room, felt like a positive time for the phrase to come to mind.

Tommy had insisted on eating an actual meal of some kind, vaulting the counter to dig into the kitchen for some real food to make, while Benry had decided on playing cashier. What 'playing cashier' apparently meant, to him, was improving with Dr. Freeman to try to get him to laugh.

"i'm so sorry sir, we're out of burgers. we got, uh..." He looked over his shoulder. "yo, tommy, what's the number four?"

"A salad!"

"we got four sah-lads, you got- uh, you got money?"

Dr. Freeman still wasn't doing to well, it didn't take a genius to tell that, but Benry's nonsense pushed him into laughter. And Benry's smile proved that he thought of that as a win.

Bubby didn't want to interrupt the moment. He had his own person he had to take care of. He pressed one of the drink buttons on the vending machine, before reaching down and taking the two cans of soda into his hands. He checked them, to make sure they were the right drink, and let out a breath when they were. Root beer. An old tradition, left to the side for too long. He could only hope Harold remembered it.

Tommy's words had stuck with him, needled at his memories until finally something cracked, and he'd been glad that everyone was so focused on Dr. Freeman that they didn't see him almost stumble as a moment came rushing back. He'd gone too far, pushed too much against the status quo, and they'd decided to punish him. And he'd decided to make sure it didn't look like an accident. Not to the one who mattered.

But seeing Harold now, sitting at a table alone, the distant look in his eyes as he seemingly struggled both to think of and not think of something at the same time, Bubby wondered if he even remembered that moment. If he remembered many of their moments, before...whatever happened here. Before 2003, or 2004, or whichever option was true, whatever year it was now. How much did the man who taught him how to be human remember of the human experiences they'd had?

He shook his head, returning to his own thoughts. He didn't have time to wallow in concerns. Harold needed him. He slowly moved across the room to the table, making sure to enter Harold's line of sight before he sat down.

"Oh, hello Bubby!" He put on a smile, one which might trick anyone who didn't know him as well as he did, lacing his fingers together on the table. "I thought you were getting food?"

"Line's a bit backed up." He glanced over to the counter, where Dr. Freeman was leaned onto the countertop, wheeze-laughing. "Tommy'll make sure you eat something."

"You need to eat as well, you know." Shit, there came the concern for others again. Back to distracting from himself. It'd been years since Bubby had seen him do that, and that wasn't promising.

"Yeah, yeah." He slid the can across the table. "Can't some friends have a drink together?"

Harold caught the can, blinking as he lifted it up to look at it. "...Bubby, this is root beer."

"And?" He cracked open his can, hoping beyond hope that he remembered.

He paused for a bit, setting the can back down and staring at it. He looked like he was puzzling out why the can was there. But Bubby knew better.

"...Drink your soda." He glanced away again, hoping to give him a bit of a break.

"...Thank you." He opened the soda as quietly as he could, taking a small sip. "...No." He started, answering the unasked question. "...I do not believe I am alright."

Bubby let out a breath, relaxing a bit at the reveal that Harold did indeed remember their pattern. He looked back over. "...Do you want to talk about it?"

"I would." He took another sip. "...How to do so is another question of it's own, however."

Ah. He sipped his own soda. That would explain everything. Originally, Harold had been careful talking to him, seemingly afraid that others could hear him. But he'd learned soon after that it had been a fear of Black Mesa itself that had caused that. But now, no one was there except them. Which meant...they must have done something to Harold to keep him from being able to talk.

…If that was the case, Bubby was terrified for him.

"...Bubby?"

"Yes, Harold?"

"...What would...hmm." Harold looked down at his soda for a few moments. "...Hypothetically, what would you do if you were unable to access your own memories?"

Shit, that confirmed that concern, then. "I suppose I would reach out to someone I trusted."

"And what if you couldn't do that?" He fidgeted with the can. "What if whenever you tried, your head started to hurt severely, purging whatever question you had from your mind due to the distraction?"

"...I don't know."

"...Bubby, I told you once that you were more than a Black Mesa experiment, correct?"

"You did." He remembered that night very clearly.

"...What would you do, if after all of that convincing...you didn't believe that anymore?"

"...Oh." That was bad. Something to do with the clone project, getting mashed up into whatever Harold was thinking about being an AI, plus whatever they'd done to his memory...that was severely bad.

"...Hypothetically...what if you were stuck like that?"

He reached his hands across the table before he even thought, resting them on Harold's. "You aren't. Whatever they did to you, we'll fix it."

He looked up at him, locking eyes. "...What if you can't?"

That was a hell of a question. There was always the chance, of course, but when it came to Harold? Bubby refused to even think of the possibility. "Well," He started, a grin forming on his face. "You've got the perfect human, a theoretical physicist, an alien, some sort of dimensional god, and his son, on your side." He laughed. "You think Black Mesa can stand up to that?"

For a brief moment, it looked like he wasn't following along. But after a moment, Harold smiled and laughed as well. "Well, when you put it like that..."

"Once we get to Bio, we'll figure out what's going on. We'll get you fixed up, and we'll get the fuck out of here." He gently squeezed his hands. "...I promise."

He squeezed his hands back. "...I'll hold you to that." He gave a smaller smile. "Professor."

"Doctor-"

"yo, uh, who ordered the two burgers and fries, hold the mustard."

The two startled, looking over to Benry as he stood at the table.

"oh, yo, looks like there's three burgers. guess i'll just have to sit with you."

Bubby narrowed his eyes. "Did Tommy tell you to go away?"

"...mayyyybe?"

Harold burst into laughter, taking his hands back to cover his face.

Bubby smiled too. Maybe...maybe everything would be okay.

-

Dr. Freeman didn't entirely understand what was going on, but that was okay. Maybe he didn't have to. Maybe he just had to keep pretending that everything was fine, and just coast through whatever the hell was going on around him. ...He was pretty sure that Dr. Coomer would call that dissociation, but really, he'd just lived through accidently starting the apocalypse. He felt he was due a few unhealthy coping mechanisms.

…Okay, that was a bad thought. Time to twist that thought a different location. Uh...

Tommy saved him from floundering in his own mind, walking over and sitting at his table. "Here you go, Mr. Freeman. A- a plain burger, and- and lightly salted fries."

He smiled, starting to pick at the fries. "Thank you, Tommy."

They sat quietly together as he ate, thought Tommy kept fidgeting. Something was obviously on his mind, and was Dr. Freeman a good friend if he just left him hanging?

"Tommy, what's on your mind?" He set down the remaining half of his burger. "You seem antsy."

Tommy startled, fidgeting with his hands instead. "...Well, I, uh- …If we're going to be, uhm, traveling, to- together, I..."

"It's okay, take your time. I can wait." He smiled again.

"...I need t- to tell you...something."

"Okay, sure thing. What's up?"

"...I- I know it's scary, right now, and uhm...y-you're worried, but...but my dad's gonna- gonna get us out of here!"

…Something didn't add up there, but okay. "...Your dad? I thought you said you were an orphan. Unless it's recent good news?"

He tensed up a bit. "...I lied! I'm- I'm sorry Mr. Freeman, but- He- he told me n-not to tell anyone, especially not any- anyone at Black Mesa. It wasn't- wasn't safe!"

"Hey, it's okay. You needed to keep a secret, and that's okay. But...can I ask why he said it wasn't safe?"

That made the fidgeting worse, until he pressed his hands flat to the table. "...B-because...my dad's not human, Mr...Mr. Freeman."

Oh. Oh! Oh holy shit, finally so many things made so much sense. "Oh, no yeah that makes sense. Black Mesa being full of scientists and all, they'd wanna experiment, right?" He took another bite of his burger. "That's entirely fair on your part, honestly."

Tommy stared at him in shock. "...Mr. Freeman?"

"Yeah?" He put his food down again. "You want to talk more? That's cool."

"......Mr. Freeman, that means- that I'm not human."

"I, uh, kinda figured that from the context clues you gave me. ...Wait, shit, this might be like-" He dusted off his hands, looking over at Tommy. "I'm very proud of you for coming and telling me, and trusting me with that, Tommy."

The man looked even more confused. "No! I- I mean, t-thank you, but- How are you s-so...calm, about this?"

"Oh." No, yeah, that was a fair question. "Benry already told me that he was an alien a while ago, so I guess it doesn't...really phase me? Especially right now, since I kinda...opened a portal for aliens to come through, and all."

Tommy's eyes narrowed. "...Benry said...what?"

He tensed up a bit, under Tommy's glare. "Uh, he...when we met, he told me...he wasn't human? And like, I thought it was a joke at first, but later realized he was serious, and-"

Tommy slammed his hands on the table, eyes glowing a bright red, glaring across the room at the security guard. "BENRY!"

Benry startled. "...uh, sorry, gotta go, meeting-" He sprinted for the closest door, phasing right through it.

"GET BACK HERE!" He tore off after him, warping through the door.

The three remaining scientists stared at each other, for a moment.

"...What the fuck just happened?"

"Uh...I've got no goddamn idea."

-

It wasn't hard to track down Benrey. The man could run, but he couldn't hide worth a damn. Not from Tommy.

Tommy grabbed him by the arm, slamming him back against the wall. His human disguise was cracking, glowing red showing through the cracks, as he tried to calm down his breathing. What the fuck. What the fuck? Tommy had hid this for years, literal years, and Benrey just, what, just shows up and declares his status immediately? Did he have no sense of self preservation? Was he just a fucking fool? What the fuck!

Benrey squirmed in his grip, body deforming as well as he tried to pull away. "tommy! tommy, man-"

"What the hell!" He shook his arm against the wall. "You can't- you can't just tell people-"

"no one cares here, bro!" He grabbed Tommy's wrist with his free hand, several eyes watching him. "you know that! i know that! they aren't- they can't watch anymore. no more vods for black mesa. your dad made sure of that."

He felt himself calm a bit. "What do you mean?"

"you gotta feel it, right? less eyes, since gordon came by. the other one, not ours. come on, man, first time someone's meddling in forever and there's less eyes watching. besides, freeman can keep secrets. he kept mine for this long."

Tommy thought over the words, before he slowly filled the cracks back in, eyes fading from red to yellow, before the glow simmered out. "...I had to hide for- for so long, Benrey."

"i know bro, and that's like, super sucks. but you don't gotta anymore." Benrey slowly reformed as well, adjusting his helmet. "we're all good now."

"...Okay." He sighed, leaning forward to rest his head down on Benrey's shoulder.

Benrey tensed again, before he slowly pulled Tommy into a hug. "...second hug request today..." He mumbled to himself.

Tommy laughed. "Good."

There was a lot that still hung between them, but they'd have to talk about it later. Right now, they just needed their space, away from their human charges.

-

Forzen startled awake, already on his feet, flailing his arms to keep himself from falling. Forzen, that was his name, right? It had to be, it stuck in his head too much not to be. Where was he? He looked around the room; a single chair, a vertical stasis pod, and a ceiling fan with light were all that the small room contained.

Why the hell did this feel like home?

He looked forward as the door opened, two soldiers moving in to look at him. They were bigger than him, taller and older, and they looked down at him with annoyance. He didn't like them. He knew them, but didn't know their names. He wasn't sure they had any.

He wasn't sure he was supposed to have one, either.

"Soldier, glad to see you could finally break out of your beauty sleep." The voice was harsh, annoyed, and he didn't like it.

"I-"

"Don't talk." The other man loomed over him. "We've got a job to do, soldier. Every member of Black Mesa is to be...dealt with."

"But-"

"What did he just say?" The first man loomed too. "Get your gun, and get out there. The faster we get this contained, the faster we can finally be done."

Finally? What did finally mean? "Wait-"

The two men glared at him, before they stormed out of the room.

Maybe he just had to play along. Maybe his friend would find him. He'd promised to come back, get him out of there. He'd help him...right?

Forzen made it to the doorframe, his legs weak, and he looked out at the white walls, the multicolored lines leading in different directions, the sign on the wall that said Biological Research.

"Wait...but...we're...we're members of Black Mesa..."

Forzen, eighteen year old soldier, stumbled off down the hallway, trying not to panic.