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jpitha · 1 year

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Just a Little Further 40 - epilogue

Part 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39

The playback ends. A woman leans over her large metal desk and takes the device, putting it in a strong metal case. It closes with a satisfying click. The woman pressed a button on her desk and the lights in the room dimmed.

"From here on out, this interview is being recorded in a full sensorium. Audio, visual, tactile and spatial recordings are being made. State your legal name and confirm your consent."

"I, Gord Beaverbrook, consent to the recording."

"Are you known by any aliases?"

"None that haven't already passed the Statute of Limitations."

"Thank you Gord, Interview commences." She makes a note on a pad and looks up at Gord. "The recording you heard was a compiled diary from Empress Melody Mullen that started as she departed on FarReach and ended right before she linked over to Sol." The woman busied herself locking the case as she spoke. "Melody's diary coupled with some interviews from residents of the Reach give us a pretty complete view of Melody's time as Empress.

The woman takes out a complicated looking key and opens a drawer in the desk. She puts the case in a drawer, closes and locks it, then turns back to the man in the chair. "You're up to date now. You know what we know. You went out to see her right before the invasion. Anything you care to add?"

Gord leans back and runs his hands through his sandy blond hair. "You should have seen the place Meg, there were 13 million people on that Starbase. They all were happy, healthy, living their lives, loving their Empress."

"And yet, the AI coalition unilaterally decided to assassinate her and remove her from the Sol system by any means necessary. From what I understand, after the anti-nanite gas was deployed you additionally destroyed sixteen Calamity Class super Dreadnoughts." Meg raises an eyebrow.

Meghan Felasheer was the current head of Intelligence for the Outer Planet Alliance. Officially, the OPA is a loose federation of Orbitals, Starbases and scientific research stations and each handles their own day to day operation. But, since first Venus and then Melody started to expand, they have condensed into a much more coherent polity.

With that condensation comes agencies and authorities to help with the operation of said polity. Meghan is the output of this natural process. She does not like her job. Meghan would much rather garden or work in environmental processing or join the Fire Brigade or do anything other than what she's doing now. Still, needs must.

Gord sighs and looks at Meg. This interview was demanded by the OPA after the last of Melody's ships were destroyed and Reach of the Might of Vzzx was linked to Sol. Relations between the AIs and BIs are... strained right now. "Meg, do you know what happened when we recaptured Venus? When we retook Luna?"

"No Gord, tell me what happened when the AIs captured Venus and Luna?" She pointedly did not say 'recaptured.'

"The same thing that happened at every place we took back. They begged us for her return Meg. Begged us." Gord looks haunted. "We had to tell them all the Builders were dead and were never coming back. Meg, there were riots. We quelled the riots and-" Gord sighed. "-lots of innocent people died that didn't have to."

Meghan stares stonily at Gord. "My name is Meghan, Gord." She was on Luna when Melody came. She saw her Empress in person.

Melody's super dreadnoughts caught everyone completely by surprise. Her fleet linked in near Venus, and after a very nominal defense mounted by some tired orbital rear guard, they almost immediately surrendered. Venus was on the brink of starvation anyway, and the Emperor's inner circle saw in Melody a chance of survival. The Emperor suffered an "unfortunate accident" and Melody was contacted. The Emperor was cold and forgotten before Melody even landed in Regantown.

The King is dead, long live the King.

The Mercury Array went just as easily. She didn't even send the whole fleet. Two of her Calamity Class super dreadnoughts linked in near the main offices of the Array and they surrendered. Their first request? Fresh water. Venus hadn't delivered any in months and their recyclers were nearly spent. Everyone had spent the last 4 months there drinking metallic tasting water.

Empress Melody immediately rendered aid. A group of her Builders went down to the array and replaced their water recyclers and brought them gigaliters of water.

Melody spent a month around Venus, visiting all the Floating Cities, using her Voice on the administrators - never the populace - and explaining that they were there to help and give aid however they could. She brought over more Builders and they worked to shore up the cities and make sure all systems were working as they should.

She was loved. She did things their previous Emperor never did. She visited, she spoke with people, she listened.

Only once she was convinced the Floating Cities were in good hands did she set her sites on the domed cities of Luna.

Once again, the moment her fleet linked in, everyone surrendered. Anyone was better than the Venusians, and Melody was gaining a reputation as a just and caring ruler in Sol.

Just like before, she visited all the locations, made a speech, used her voice on the Administrators only and... fixed their problems. Meghan was in the crowd for a speech in the domed city Armstrong. Melody was... radiant. Beautiful, with golden wings and a golden crown, she stood there with her wife Ava and told everyone that things were going to change. Melody would take care of them. She would make sure they weren't forgotten. For people too used to only hearing about what was going on with K'lax and the Independent Starbases and Colony worlds, hearing Melody tell them she was there for them and would look after them? That was worth loyalty to their new Empress.

Earth... was another story.

Earth was very used to people coming to power, making grand proclamations about who was in charge of what and what would or would not change when Empress Melody was in charge. Earth fought back.

It was a bloodbath.

Earth, the Lagrange Orbitals and the stations in LEO formed an uneasy alliance and worked to repel the invaders. Forces that normally were against Venus pivoted immediately to Melody's forces. Being the cradle of Humanity, Earth had people and resources to spare, and they threw them at Melody's empire.

It was then, that everyone saw what Melody's forces would do when pressed. They would hammer an Orbital until it surrendered, then come aboard and Voice everyone - not just the administrators - explain what was happening, that they were in charge and would move on to the next. Empress Melody accepted no compromise, no power sharing, nothing. It would be Empress Melody, or destruction.

Some Orbitals capitulated when this was learned, and some... chose destruction.

With Low Earth Orbit and the Lagrange points captured, Melody gave the planetary forces another change to surrender before orbital bombardment would commence. The deadline passed, and her terrifying Calamity Class super Dreadnoughts Began their work.

The bombardment went on for only two days before Earth surrendered. Millions perished. This time, due to the size and population, Melody did not personally go down and use her Voice. 3 dreadnoughts were left in orbit as a reminder and she continued on. She had planned on coming back after the rest of Sol was captured.

Melody and her fleet and then linked near to Mars and opened a dialog with the OPA. Everyone was tired of war, frightened of Melody or both, and here she comes, fresh off of a successful devastating attack on Earth, the home of Humanity itself.

The OPA was prepared to offer her nominal control as well as recognition and taxes in exchange for safety and support. Everyone was getting ready to sign a treaty.

Then, the AIs came.

Over fifty Starjumpers and easily that many ancillary craft linked in over Mars and immediately starting attacking Melody's new super dreadnoughts. There was no radio contact, no demands of surrender.

If Melody had more ships, she would have won.

As it was, the AIs took terrible losses. Melody's Calamity Class super Dreadnoughts were deadly. They had the power to take on two Starjumpers at once and hold their own.

Centimeter by centimeter the AIs pushed Melody's forces back. The sky behind them littered with the burnt out hulks of Starjumpers and Calamity Class super Dreadnoughts.

It was then that the everyone learned that the AIs had personal wormhole generators. It was long rumored, but the AIs had swore up and down that even though their bodies were powered by the same kind of reactor as their ships that "a personal wormhole generator is a fantasy. Nobody can shrink them down that far."

It was a lie.

The AI troopers would link into Melody's ships and release their anti-nanite gas and link away, without firing a shot.

When people learned about the anti-nanite gas they were horrified.

It was assumed by the Venus, Luna, the OPA and others that the Nanites were sapient. Melody agreed with them and had said how she was treating her Nanites as if they were sapient almost from the beginning. The AIs seemingly didn't care.

The AI's learned about the Nanites from FarReach. Her air was filled with Builder nanomachines. Upon her return, AIs scientists were able to collect, reverse engineer, and develop a disassembly command for them. As they released their anti-nanite gas, the nanites would take themselves apart.

The Builders, who received their augmentations as a result of the Nanites died almost immediately after the gas was released.

As the Builders died, Melody's war of conquest died as well.

Melody fell back, first to Luna, then to Venus and finally back to Reach of the Might of Vzzx, each time inflicting terrible losses on the AIs, but all the while, she was being slowly taken apart by the anti-nanite gas. The AIs had the upper hand now, all they had to do was wait her out.

Six months to the day after she had launched her attack she was killed.

A group of AIs linked into the Reach from a Starjumper that was light-years out of sight, a surprise attack. They released their gas in key locations around the Reach and into the environmental systems.

After a day, they AIs came back with their Starjumper and strode in. The AIs confirmed that Empress Melody Mullen and her wife Ava Williams died in the bath, in her Palace, on Reach of the Might of Vzzx.

With the death of the Builders, and the anti-nanite gas ensuring no more would be created, the AIs had to decide what to do with Reach of the Might of Vzzx. Starjumpers were strapped to the outside, and it, along with the Heinlein and Besmara Shipyards, were linked back to the Sol system. Over AI objections, the OPA took the Reach for their own, and worked with the residents to shore up the Builder systems and install systems that would work without Builder control.

In the Sol system, the AIs were not seen as the rescuing liberators they thought they would be seen as. Everywhere they went, the AIs were asked why was the Empire being destroyed, why were they persecuting Melody, why were they trying to prevent the people from getting the help they need.

Gord looks at Meghan. "Meghan, you have to understand. Melody was too dangerous."

Meghan stared at Gord.

"She was nice, yes, and she took care of her people, yes and the Reach was frankly an amazing place, and we will even admit that she was helping people in Sol, but her power... it was too much."

Meghan stared at Gord.

"All that had to happen was for the next Empress not be as kind or loving as Melody, and you would have been under her heel, forever."

Meghan stared at Gord.

Gord's face screws into a snarl. "We were looking out for all of you! Melody's power was too much. Nobody should be able to give orders that can't be disobeyed. Humanity should not be under the rule of a single person! Did you see Earth? Earth said no and she glassed at least three cities! I know what it looks like." Gord sighed. "Meghan we-"

"Enough." Meghan holds up her hand. "Gord. Who is the leader of the AIs."

Gord looks confused. "We don't have one. We're not a nation."

"Under what banner did the AIs band together to destroy Melody's empire?"

"None. We came together as a group and decided to act."

"Who speaks for the AIs? If not you, then why did you accept our summons?"

Gord crosses his arms. "I am not in charge of the AIs. I'm old. Most AIs respect me and listen to me."

Meghan turns and looks out the window of her office out onto Hyacinth. She looks out at the people walking below, going to work, living their lives, trying to get on without their Empress. She turns back.

Meghan looks through Gord. Her eyes flick and she meets his gaze. "Gord, Do you know what this looks like to us? I mean, really? It looks like you forced us to trade one tyrant who cared about her people, who worked very hard to make sure everyone had what they needed and were taken care of for a different tyrant who only wanted to keep the status quo. You never once asked us if this was what we wanted. You didn't ask, because you were afraid of the answer." As she speaks, Gord looks away.

Meghan looked down at her pad, and flicked to another page. "Gord, do you know what's happening on K'lax?"

Gord looks back and blinks. "No, wha-"

Meghan slams her pad down on the desk. "There's a holy war going on at K'lax right now Gord. The Pro-Empress faction is fighting the Anti-Empress faction. Reports coming back to us are saying it's quite bloody. Both sides have requested human help. There are also reports that the Anti-Empress faction is receiving AI help."

"Gord throws up his hands. "Meghan, we did what we had to do. Even if you don't believe me, even if humanity never believes us, know that we think - no, we know that we are right. We are better off without the Builders, without the Nanites and without Empress Melody and her Voice."

Megan looked at Gord for much longer than was comfortable. Finally, she nodded to herself. She opened a desk drawer and took out a folio. Opening it carefully, she took a paper printout and handed it to Gord.

"What's this?"

"It's an edict. Note the signatories. OPA, High Mars, Luna, and the provisional Venusian government. Due to the 'unfortunate' actions taken by the AI faction against the Empress Melody and her Builders, the AI faction is hereby banned from the Sol system until further notice. Any current AI residents who wish to stay may remain behind, but all Colonial AIs will vacate."

Gord leaned back as if he was slapped. "What?" he whispered. "What about Earth?"

"Earth was not consulted. If they wish to coordinate action they will need to go through Luna. You are no longer welcome in Sol. You took it upon yourselves to remove someone you felt was a danger to you. This is the price you pay for your unilateral actions."

Meghan turned and faced the window. "You and all Colonial AIs within the system have twelve hours to vacate Sol. Any remaining Colonial AI ships will be fired upon by the nearest OPA ship." Turned back and faced Gord. "This interview has finished. The sensorium recording shall be encrypted and uploaded to all relevant parties and shall be seen as binding." She pressed a button on her desk and the lights in the room came up.

Gord stood. There was nothing else to do. "You'll be back. When you're over your snit, and realize we are right and you want to talk again, reach out. We'll be waiting." Without another word, he turned and walked out of the office. The door closed behind him with a soft click.

"Hail Empress Melody the First." A single tear fell from Meghan's cheek, and splashed onto her lap.

Meghan picked up her pad, and quickly sent out a message. From a location on the other side of Hyacinth, a beacon linked away.

Gord strode across the quad of the OPA Administrative offices towards the docking ring. He contacted his ship. "Hat" he said tersely. "We're being kicked out. You scan any friends who need a ride here?"

"Kicked out? I.. No Gord, it's just us."

"Good. Let's delta before they decide to make 12 hours 6."

Gord walked aboard his friend Medicine Hat. He climbed into the old familiar interior and cast his eye around. All around him were mementos of his travels and especially of Canada, where he originally from. Canada, like most countries on Earth is long gone, but he keeps her memory alive.

Gord looks down at a console. "Any AI ships in system? We need to let them know they gotta boogie before the OPA opens fire." He sent a digital copy of the edict to Hat who whistled low when he read it.

"Gord, they're kicking us out? We're being targeted by 3 separate ships. They are all flying OPA colors. Weapons aren't hot, but they're using active pings. They want us to know they see us."

Gord narrows his eyes. They aren't playing. "Colonial AIs are no longer welcome in Sol, yes."

"But... we saved them."

Gord sat in his command chair. It was overstuffed and soft and upholstered in flannel. "They don't see it that way, friend. We acted too late it looks like. Earth understood what was at stake, but the former Venusian territories just saw a nicer version of what they had already."

"I mean, I didn't expect a ticker-tape parade when we were done, but this? This feels too much. What about AI residents? I admit there weren't too many who stayed in Sol after Venus and everything, but there were some."

"They accounted for that. Any permanent AI residents are allowed to stay with full rights and privileges. They just want the 'interlopers' out." Gord sounded sad and bitter when he was explaining to Hat. "Let any of them that we still have numbers for know that heading to Earth is probably a smart idea right now. FarReach really scared us with her report. When I went out, I was concerned but, not really like, worried until she tried to use her Voice on me."

"You said it didn't work though."

"It didn't stick is what I said. It worked for about six hours. Long enough for her to convince me that everything was fine and for us to trade some maple for some tea and for me to leave. I came to my senses right after I linked home. By the time I gave my report, she had linked to Venus and begun. She must have realized it didn't work and that if she didn't go right then we were going to assassinate her."

"But, we weren't going to assassinate her Gord, right?"

Gord sits in the chair, and starts sending the edict to AI ships in system, letting them know it's time to go.

"Gord?"

Gord sighs and leans his head back, staring at the ceiling. "No, she was completely right Hat, that's the bitch of it. We would have had to assassinate her. This was the only way it was going to go down. Our only hope was that we would have to deal with a broken Reach of the Might of Vzzx, but we were too slow. Earth said no, and she started glassing cities. She wasn't going to take any other answer than "All Hail Empress Melody."

"Well what now then Gord? You're still legally a resident of Earth."

Gord sighed. "I am, but I can't say I'm too... excited about the thought of hanging around here right now. We'll obey the edict for now. Let's link to Meíhuā. We haven't been there in a while, I bet some folks will want some maple syrup."

Medicine Hat sighed. "You got it Gord."

****

Near Venus, a message beacon appeared, beamed a message and then destroyed itself. The report was decrypted and read under Regantown.

"Hyacinth reporting."

"And?"

"The edict has been delivered. Gord and the AIs are leaving Sol now."

"Do they suspect anything?"

"No, Helen. Melody's plan worked completely."

Helen Raaden wiped a tear from her eye. "She should have hid with us. She did not need to sacrifice herself."

"She needed it to work Helen. She knew that her body was going to be the only thing that satisfied the AI faction." Um'reli looked up from her chair in the Command Deck of the Lavinia. "the AIs have been given 12 hours to vacate."

Helen leaned back in her chair, exasperated. "I still don't see why it has to be me."

"It was Melody's last wish. She said you would be best able to lead after her."

"We can't be the only Builders left though, can we?"

"You know we are Helen. Omar died when our Dreadnought was caught in the firefight early on over High Mars and the others perished as the anti-nanite gas tore through them. Frankly, I'm surprised that the Reach survived at all." Um'reli sniffs and wipes a tear at the memory. She was onboard Raaden's ship when her ship was taken by surprise and destroyed by the AIs.

Grand Admiral Helen Raaden sighed. "I'm glad it did. If the AI faction had murdered the 13 million people on the Reach, especially all those different sapients who live nowhere else it would have been unforgivable. As it is, everyone in Sol is not a fan of the AIs right now."

Um'reli looked up at her. "What about Earth and the colony worlds?"

"We heard from Parvati and Meíhuā before things fell apart. They had officially recognized the rule of Empress Melody in Sol so long as she wasn't planning on visiting. I can only assume they'll recognize the rule of the next Empress. As for Earth...We'll take care of Earth this time. Did anyone ever hear from K'lax?"

Um'reli's ears flicked frustration. "I heard that there's some kind of civil war going on. The Pro Melody faction against the Anti Melody faction." She turned away. "It's rough right now. She got up from her chair and walked over to Helen. She put her small hand on her shoulder. "I wish Melody was here."

Helen reached up and squeezed her hand on her shoulder. "I know. Me too."

"This won't be as easy as it was the first time."

Helen shrugged. "It will and it won't. We don't have the firepower to back up the words, but most everyone in Sol liked Melody. They'll see us - me - as an extension of that rule. I think it'll work." Helen looked up to the navigation officer. "Take us down. Use the coordinates the Empress gave us."

"Aye, Grand Admiral."

The Vengeance of Lavinia II detached from underneath Regantown where it was hiding and sank into the thick, heavy atmosphere of Venus. As it went lower and lower, the huge Calamity Class super Dreadnought creaked and moaned in protest to the higher pressures. She was well built though, and the atmospheric control surfaces aided in control.

A few hours later they were above the location given to them by Melody before she and Ava linked back to the Reach for their final stand. Slowly the massive ship settled lower and lower until it touched the hot surface of Venus.

"Contact, Grand Admiral. We're down."

Helen nodded. "Thank you. We'll suit up and walk to the coordinates." Um'reli stood from her station and looked at Helen, who also stood to leave.

An Engineering officer looked up. "Please make haste Grand Admiral. We can only stay at this depth for a few hours before we start to take damage."

Helen and Um'reli suited up in special high pressure suits. The Venusians were familiar with going to the surface, and their designs were well tested and safe. Um'reli's suit had to be tweaked a bit for her K'laxi frame, but she was able to work with the printer team to get it fitted. They completed checks and cycled the airlock.

The surface of Venus is intense.

Dark, rocky and windy, it was difficult going even in their suits. After 10 minutes of hiking, they found the wreckage.

Helen and Um'reli looked over the pile of twisted metal towering over them that Melody's coordinates led to.

"This is a Gate?" Helen sounded exasperated over the radio link.

"Melody says it's the Sol Gate. It showed up in her Gate census, so she says it still has power."

"Ugh. Okay then." Helen looked around and saw what could charitably be called the remains of a doorway. "I guess... we'll go in and look."

As they walked in, the howling wind of the Venusian surface quieted. It was still incredibly hot, but at least they didn't have to lean into the wind now.

Um'reli reached out with her Nanites. The feelings she got were very faint but... "I think I can feel it Helen. Try reaching out."

Helen reached out as well and... there, over in the corner. "Yes, I feel it too Um'reli."

They walked over to the corner that they felt, and laying on it's side, with corners chipped but otherwise intact was a directory stone.

Helen looked over at Um'reli "What do I do?"

Um'reli flicked her years in worry, but that was hidden by her helmet. "Melody said to just touch it, and the Nanites will do the rest."

"Well, here goes nothing then." Helen reached out, and with an armored glove, touched the directory stone. There was no flash, no dramatic lighting, no noise, just...

Hi Helen! I'm so glad you made it!

Melody? Aren't you dead?

Yes, I am. But I am also the memory of her that was recorded by the Nanites and uploaded. As long as there is an Empress, I will never truly die. And now, neither will you...

Helen came to on the floor with Um'reli shaking her. "Helen! You gotta get up. I can't carry you myself. It's time to go!"

Helen put an arm up to stop Um'reli. "Ugh. Okay, I'm up, I'm up." She sat up. "How long was I out?

"30 seconds maybe? It wasn't long. You touched the stone and threw your head back and fell over. What happened?"

"I... I talked to Melody, or the memory of her, or something. She said that the Nanites record memories and pass them on to future Empresses."

"So that's it then? You're Empress?"

Helen stood. She - at the same time - felt like herself and also felt different than before.

Oh you're taking to this much easier than Melody did. Good work. She was right, you'll be a great Empress.

She turned to Um'reli. "Yes, I am Empress."

Um'reli bowed low. "Empress. Welcome back."

Helen looked down at Um'reli and for a moment, her perception was felt... down time across as She looked at her subject. This was right. This was how it was supposed to be. Empress Helen Raaden nodded.

L̵̠̖͗ḛ̵̥̟͇̣̟̪̐͌͛̇̐̿͛̀͐̍̈́̽͂̐̌͠͝ͅt̷̬̞͎̱̞̤̯͓͖̭̺͛̅́̓'̷̨̧̞̖̯̏̀̈́̈́s̷̡̢͕̥̦̤̯̜̫̱̰̱͉͚̆̈́́̓͋̈́͂̏͋̏́̃͒̀͘͠͝ ̸̰̲͈̥͚̥̼̤̱̃̒̀͜g̸̨̪͍̱͇̤̰̼͚̰̬͖̪̝̦͑̈́̂̀̾͋̅̎̄̊̍́̑̌̃͛͝o̴͈͓̱̪̬̞̊͊̑̂̚.̵̡̢̠͙̰̘̫̗̾̈́̐͒̀́͋̃̂̕̕͘͝

And that's it! Thanks so much for reading. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing. This was a real challenge for me, it was my first time writing long form first person, my first time trying out a YA-ish style of story and my first Villain Perspective.

So yes, Word Of Author, Melody was not the Hero. She thought she was, and she surrounded herself with people that thought she was too. By only (deliberately) including her POV it was tough to tell.

Like at the end of HD, I'm going to take a week or two to rest, and compile this into a single doc and do some first pass editing. The writing really is the fun part, all that other stuff after is less so. Someone needs to hire me a team of editors to take care of that part! :D

I have a few ideas for the next one too. I liked how most of JALF took place only in one location, I might try and narrow focus down even further. Maybe in a single city or something, give it a real cyberpunk vibe. My universe is large enough that there can be all kinds of different settings available to play in.

Thanks again for reading!

#humans are deathworlders #humans are space orcs #humans go on adventure #humans are space oddities #sci fi writing #writing #humans and ai #humans and aliens #the k'laxiverse #jpitha #just a little further

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yandere-kokeshi · 2 years

Text

Yandere Ejiro Kirishima / Red Riot Headcanons

Warnings: Cursing, stalking mentions/actions, killing mention/actions, black mailing mention/actions.

Author Note: This was supposed to be posted before my Hawks headcanons but I got writing block, also, there may be some spelling mistakes. I couldn't find the time to fix them, plus Kloe is sick. Stay hydrated!

Ejiro Kirishima, also known as Red Riot is posted as a man, someone who is strong and devoted to never stopping at anything. He loves helping people, including hugging young children, and posing for photos and videos for his fans to save.

Ejiro would fall for someone who is gentle, caring, and almost like a parent-figure to others: one that was always sweet, especially smelled wonderful, and was always willing to do the right thing. He would immediately latch on like a mosquito, seeing you being so nice, gentle to kids, and owning a small shop made his heart explode. Before you could even leave to move on with your day, you’re approached by the Red Riot and his gentle smile (and maybe his intimidating height, he is 6’7”).

He would try to do everything in his power to hang out with you, even if it was a small interaction. This would also include him stalking you, almost like his life depended on it. He would take pictures of you doing anything: going to the store, laughing while eating dinner with your friend, showering, and sleeping. This is just the normal example of the many, many pictures he has of you.

Kirishima would rather not kill anyone, but scare them away if he deems them as a threat to your ‘relationship’. He will black mail them, finding some information that they wouldn’t want to destroy their reputation. However, if they don’t stand down, he will kill them in the most brutal way.

Kirishima is so delusional with you that he believes you two were meant to be, including being in a relationship. Before you are friends for a good two (2) weeks, he is already shopping for wedding rings, a honeymoon, and a beautiful dress you’ll wear for the important day.

Kirishima is the king of guilt-tripping and manipulating. He will sabotage any relationships he deems as a threat, whether he believes someone is falling for you, flirting, or in some way trying to steal you away from him, he will come up with excuses for their ‘villainous actions’. He will show you messages of them falling for someone else, being villains, or hell; doing something behind your back. He’s always there, hugging you (and purring) while whispering sweet nothings into your ear, ‘Clearly, everyone is not what they say. Please love me baby, I won’t lie or leave you’. Once you’re under his trap, he’ll ask you to ‘move in with him’ so he can ‘keep an eye on you’.

He would slowly but surely stop you from leaving the shared apartment. He would beg you to stay home, throwing excuses on how a dangerous villain is on the loose and he’s terrified that they might hurt you. Slowly, you’ll stop working at your work but instead at home; but of course, Kirishima is there, begging you to stop working yourself out and that you should quit so he can take care of you.

Soon, you’d beg him to go outside, but of course; ‘Baby, you know you can’t. It’s too dangerous- hun, maybe for your birthday we can- kay? Love you so much.’

He never locks you up, more so scares you with his height if you decide to ‘hurt him’ or ‘break the rules’. Due to him being so delusional with you, he never ever gets mad at you if you decide to break his rules. He figures you want attention, or that you must be in pain and don’t want to bother him due to him working all the time.

Kirshima’s affection is very well noted. We’ve all seen how he is with Denki and Bakubro; he’s touch-starved, literally hugging you any chance he gets. He tends to pick you up, throwing you over his shoulder as he walks you towards your shared bedroom. He loves kissing you, specifically on your soft lips and neck, maybe leaving some bites as he hugs you from behind. He reminds you daily that he’s yours as much as your his.

Kirishima’s yandere behaviors contain a lot of obsessive, delusional, overprotective, and of course; manipulation and guilt-tripping. He practically would kiss your legs if you asked him, he loves you so much. The way he shows his affection is by being physically, verbal, and giving gifts.

The gifts you will receive are much like the other pro-heroes; he will buy you whatever you like, whether that’s where you love gaming, dancing, or drawing. He will buy you as much as you like, the only thing he expects is for you to show him how much you love him.

This also goes the same with spoiling you. If you want a phone, he will allow you to have a phone but it will have a time limit for (8 hours or longer depending how long he works(?)) how long he shows, once he’s home; he expects you to have full attention on him, I mean. He does everything for you, all he wants is your love and attention.

In the end, Kirishima and you will be posted as a ‘perfect couple’.

—

Masterlist | Requests are open!

Do not plagiarize, repost, modify, translate or copy my work.

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imakemywings · 9 months

Text

Fandom: The Silmarillion

Ship: Galadriel/Luthien, Galadriel & Luthien (+ background canon ships)

Summary: Galadriel felt she had a well-matched friend in Princess Luthien, and she did not expect that ever to change.

De-anon of this kink meme prompt for a quasi-romantic friendship between Galadriel and Luthien that ends with complications.

Length: 9.1k

AO3 | Pillowfort | SWG

Photo credit to Ricardo Tamayo on Unsplash.

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Doriath was alive with gardens, an endless riot of trees and flowers and trailing vines, more than Galadriel had ever seen in one place. Already she has gotten lost in them a dozen times, and wandered around in increasing frustration, unwilling to admit to passers-by that she couldn’t find her way out of a garden. (If that news had gotten back to her brothers, they would never have let her live it down. She could hear them lamenting their poor baby sister who needed a chaperone to even make it to Thingol’s back door.)

However, she was also unaccustomed to long stretches spent underground, and at times—coincidentally, often when her lessons with Queen Melian were going poorly—Menegroth felt positively claustrophobic.

Melian hadn’t even agreed to teach her yet. She’d only shown Galadriel parlor tricks, as she had petulantly called them in an unsent letter to Aegnor, but even those were apparently beyond Galadriel’s mastery she thought sullenly as she swept past a clutch of bulbous purple blooms. She stopped beneath a small cluster of thin, knotted trees, hands fisting beneath her sleeves. It was right that she should learn from Melian—or perhaps it was only that she wanted it so badly she could feel it like a toothache.

“Blast these lessons,” she said aloud, sourly.

“Mother wearing on you?” A melodic voice floated down from overhead, making Galadriel jump and snap her attention to the trees. Above, partially obscured by small, glossy green leaves and swells of orange fruit, was Princess Lúthien, lounging on a tree branch.

Galadriel cursed her momentary lapse.

“Never,” she replied far more graciously. “I fear only that my abilities are not up to par.” Lúthien laughed lazily, fiddling with something in her hands. A bit of yellow-orange rind fell to the base of the tree. There was a moment, not yet come to be, when she would place sweet chunks of this fruit’s flesh into Galadriel’s mouth, and Galadriel would have to refrain from licking her fingers as she did it, seeking the taste she craved more. “…what are you doing?” she asked, when Lúthien said nothing else.

“Being dreadfully bored,” said Lúthien. “Daeron promised me he would be back this morning so we might continue work on our new routine, but he is not, and so what am I to do?” She swung a foot through the empty air. Wood-elves were casual about heights and trees in a way Galadriel still found alarming. “What is Mother working you at?”

“’tis nothing,” Galadriel demurred, but Lúthien was not deterred. She shifted above, casting the remains of her fruit out into the foliage, and then dropped down into the grass and rose up to her feet in seemingly a single fluid movement.

“Perhaps I can help,” she offered. Up close, Lúthien was taller even than Galadriel, and certainly taller than her brothers. Her almond-shaped gray eyes, so dark in the right light they looked black, seemed to see some other dimension to the world invisible to mere Elves. “I have some expertise with these matters.” The smell of fruit clung to her porcelain skin, contrasted against the twilight blue of her loose gown.

“Magic?” Galadriel asked.

“Mother,” Lúthien corrected.

Expertise in the matter of the queen was no small achievement—even when she spoke kindly and moved gently, there was power in Melian, and something unknowable to the Children. Galadriel did not know what kind of Elf wed with an Ainu.

“Come! We will review what she has told you and she will be very impressed when she sees you again!” Lúthien did not make it sound like an invitation. She strolled off into the plants, bare feet against the dirt, and after only a momentary pause, Galadriel followed.

***

Perhaps underground was less strange for Wood-elves as they had already become accustomed to the shaded light of the forest. It was not so for Galadriel, habituated to the open streets of Tirion (and later, to the relentless exposure of the Helcaraxë), and she at times found herself vexed with the dim light, which was inescapable outside the height of day, unless one wished to climb.

Lúthien led them into some fresh quarter of this garden into which Galadriel had not ventured—nor even known to exist—until she found some location which satisfied her, where she seated herself cross-legged in the gloom, half obscured by shadow.

“Is there something special about this place?” Galadriel asked, looking around before lowering herself down across from Lúthien. The growth here was heavier, the paths virtually nonexistent. The air seemed thicker. The princess shrugged and flashed a toothy smile. The swoop of the bridge of her nose was particularly elegant, befitting a princess.

“I like it,” she said simply. “Give me your hands.” Galadriel reached her hands out, uncertain. Lúthien’s fingers were cool and smooth against hers, the skin of her palms unexpectedly soft. She held Galadriel’s hands but lightly, and Galadriel wondered how much strength was hidden in those neat hands.

She made Galadriel run through her earlier lesson from the beginning, which was irksome enough that Galadriel was tempted at times to refuse, but she still obeyed. Lúthien was another kind of teacher from the queen—but she found this gave her a new perspective on the same thing the queen had been trying to show her. Lúthien seemed to see the whole thing differently—as if Galadriel were looking at a painting of trees, but Lúthien was standing in the woods. When Galadriel got a taste of the princess’ magic it shocked her with its breadth, but the moment Lúthien drew back, Galadriel wanted more. Thoughtlessly she reached out, seeking a closer connection with the electric power of Lúthien’s mind and spirit.

“Now,” Lúthien reprimanded her lightly, throwing up a barrier that pushed Galadriel’s questing mind back from her. “That isn’t what Mother is showing you today.”

Galadriel drew in a quick breath and straightened up, blinking as if she had just resurfaced from a deep dream as she was jolted away from Lúthien’s expansive spirit. What had she been doing? At once, horror at her own misstep washed over her—what had come over her? She had never felt such power in another Elf.

“I’m terribly sorry—” she began in a rush, but Lúthien put up a hand and interrupted.

“No need for that. But if you wish for my help, you will need to learn more restraint,” she said. “Such things are my own, unless I choose to share. But it was an…interesting response.” She tilted her head slightly, regarding Galadriel, and the young Noldo had the uncomfortable feeling Lúthien was cataloguing her apparent intoxication by Lúthien’s magic.

She assumed then that Lúthien would call an end to their little tutoring session, but to her surprise the princess merely set aside the incident and carried on with her efforts. Still, Galadriel thought she sensed Lúthien keeping her more at a distance when they connected after that.

“Did she give you such lessons?” Galadriel asked at length, when there was sweat beading at her hairline and beneath her breasts from her focus. Lúthien’s hands were still cool and soft.

“As a child, yes,” Lúthien said, smiling. “She wished to see how much of her power I had inherited.”

“And how much is that?” Galadriel asked. And how long ago had it been? She realized then she hadn’t the slightest inkling of how old Lúthien was, except that she was younger than Cuiviénen.

“Not much,” Lúthien said. Galadriel thought she detected a thread of disappointment, but perhaps she imagined it—perhaps it was her disappointment (or disbelief). “But not nothing,” she added, reaching out to thread her fingers through a patch of grass—in the wake of her touch, niphredil sprang up dewy and white. Lúthien smiled and flicked her eyes back over to Galadriel, whose gaze was fixed on her.

It seemed to her it would be rude to ask questions about her blood, but the curiosity burned in Galadriel’s breast.

“Are there others, like you?” she asked at last.

“Of course not,” said Lúthien, kicking her legs out with a smile. Her toes wiggled, bottoms dusty brown from their walk. “There are none like you either.”

“’tis not what I meant,” said Galadriel.

“You meant about my blood,” said Lúthien. She ran her fingers through the niphredil and plucked one out, twirling it between two delicate fingertips. “As far as I know, I am the only one. I know of no other Maiar who wed with one of the Children. But who can say for certain?” She took another by the stem and began to make a chain of them.

In the darkness of the woods of Middle-earth, to learn that there was an Ainu who had wed with an Elf and lived among them as one of them was shocking enough that Galadriel had to reform her expectations of what life was like on this continent. Maybe there were other Ainu/Elf marriages there. The rules of Aman seemed to govern less here.

Galadriel sensed she was edging along territory which might not delight Lúthien to discuss, and the thought of either annoying or boring the princess was intolerable. She withdrew and left her questions stinging her tongue.

“I hear the Noldor are poor climbers,” said Lúthien, rising up. “Is that so?”

“Compared with yourselves? I imagine we are,” said Galadriel, looking up at the princess. Lúthien made a faint moue.

“Will you not argue for your pride even a little?” she asked.

“Against a woman whose life has been spent half in a tree? I think not,” said Galadriel. Lúthien’s expression did not change, and for a moment Galadriel braced herself for a snit of royal temper (being of a prodigious royal line herself, she was familiar with these), but Lúthien’s face relaxed into a faint smile.

“Pity,” she said. “Perhaps I shall have you another time.” With this, she grasped a low-hanging tree branch and disappeared up into the trees, leaving Galadriel in the dirt, along with the chain of niphredil.

***

Galadriel got the sense Lúthien had not expected her to keep up so well on this walk. When Lúthien had invited her out, Galadriel had agreed at once, before considering what a half-Maia princess considered a suitable casual walk. Unsurprisingly, Lúthien’s stamina was considerable—and more, she seemed to be trying to tire Galadriel out, although it was possible Galadriel was crediting her with more intent than was warranted.

They were several hours out under a toasty autumn sun, the thick, damp forest air clinging to Galadriel’s skin and urging her to drain the waterskin at her waist, though she refrained—she needed to parse it out sparingly, with no idea how long Lúthien intended to keep them out.

For the last hour they had been on an increasingly steep incline.

“The view is one of the best in the forest,” Lúthien promised Galadriel, her eyes bright, her throat slick with sweat. Despite this sign that the long walk was having some impact on her, Lúthien’s step remained perky and she led them on at an uncompromising pace.

“Let me know if you wish a rest!” Lúthien called from a few steps ahead, as she had several times before.

“I will!” Galadriel said, with no intention of doing that. Her be the one to call a rest? She’d cough up a lung first, especially in front of Lúthien.

Nevertheless, Lúthien predictably reached the top of the cliff first, though Galadriel soothed herself that it was not by much.

“See?” she said, gesturing out. They were indeed above a considerable portion of the tree canopy, allowing for a view that stretched out in swaths of green and made Galadriel once again aware of the vast size of Doriath’s woods. From this height, there wasn’t even a hint of the many Elves who lived beneath that canopy. She let her hands drop from the straps of her backpack and marveled at the far reach of the horizon and the brilliance of the sky’s blue backing the vibrant colors of the earth. “Is it not beautiful?” the princess sighed. “On occasion I look at this and I want to walk all the way yonder!” She pointed to some indiscriminate point out on the horizon.

“Why there?” Galadriel asked.

“To see what lies there,” said Lúthien with a grin. She exhaled a gusty sigh and slipped her backpack off her shoulders, lowering it down to the grass. “How do you feel about making this climb again?” she asked.

Galadriel lifted her chin.

“Why, did you wish to race?” she asked. Lúthien laughed.

“I think we know already who would win that,” she said, not unkindly.

“But I would make you work for it,” said Galadriel.

“You would, I am certain!” Lúthien agreed. “But ‘tis not that which I had in mind.” She removed the pouch at her waist and set it beside the backpack on the ground. Galadriel leaned over the edge of the cliff to spy a body of water below.

“No,” she said, deadpan. Lúthien smiled a sweet smile.

“Bring my things down, won’t you? Or else we will have to come back up for them,” she said. Presumably this was if Galadriel intended to join her. She took several steps back from the cliff edge.

“Lúthien,” Galadriel began, but Lúthien did not stay to listen. With a running start, she flung herself off the edge of the cliff, still dressed in her tunic and trousers, shrieking with delight, her black braid whipping out above her like a ribbon as she plummeted towards the water. She drew her knees up to her chest and hit the surface with a colossal splash. For several moments, the water began to still, and Galadriel felt a surge of anxiety. She resisted the urge to call out for Lúthien. Moments later, the princess resurfaced and waved up to Galadriel, calling something that Galadriel couldn’t hear.

“Confound it,” she sighed, looking down as Lúthien began to cut a backstroke across the water. She moved her backpack over by Lúthien’s, and dropped her waterskin beside it. She loosed her braid down from its bun, knowing her pins were unlikely to survive from cliff to shore, and tucked them into her backpack. Then, before she could give it much more thought, she copied Lúthien’s running start and leaped over the edge.

Conceptually, it was not far removed from things she had done back home. This was just higher than she was accustomed to. The air rushed by, blowing her hair back from her face, cooling the sweat on her body, until she hit the water like an explosion, driving straight down into the plants and muck at the bottom. She heard Lúthien crying out until the water filled her ears and the world went still but for the bubbles streaming up around her. It was not as cold as she had feared, and after the initial shock it was deeply refreshing, as if she were a thirsty plant suddenly drenched. She hovered there in the water until her chest began to ache and then she surfaced.

Lúthien was waiting nearby and she grinned at Galadriel, beads of water gleaming on her face and hair like a dew-washed meadow.

“I was uncertain if you would come,” she said.

“And let you have all the fun?” Galadriel scoffed. Lúthien splashed her, so Galadriel splashed back, and they chased each other into the shallows and then back out into deeper water.

“I love coming out here,” Lúthien sighed, floating on her back. “It’s so marvelous, isn’t it?”

“It is,” Galadriel agreed, treading water beside her, looking at the Elf beside her rather than the landscape. Her fingers tingled lightly in memory of where they had grazed Lúthien’s skin during their horseplay.

“I’m glad you came,” Lúthien said, turning her head to look at Galadriel. “Now that I know how well you keep up, I shall have more adventures for us!” Galadriel was quite content to consign herself to adventures that did not involve frostbite or murder. A smile tugged at her lips. “Ah! There, I knew I would have it eventually!”

“Have what?” Galadriel asked, sobering again.

“Your smile,” Lúthien said, kicking her feet to drift just past Galadriel.

“Do you find me so serious?” Galadriel asked, the corners of her mouth turning down.

“You are, rather!” said Lúthien. “But no matter, it isn’t a problem. Only I should like to know you enjoy your time in my kingdom.”

“I do,” Galadriel said genuinely. “And it has been most kind of your family to welcome me here.”

“And you enjoy your time with me, too?” said Lúthien. Galadriel snorted, and splashed the princess in the face in response, making her duck under the water. When she resurfaced, Lúthien was laughing.

***

If there were only a few things Galadriel had learned about the Wood-elves since she had come to Middle-earth, among them was certainly how they loved a good party. Doriath seemed to have a kingdom-wide party at least twice a season (Thingol always seemed to have a party prepared when Finrod or Aegnor or Angrod stopped to visit) and they bore a closer resemblance to the bacchanalias of some of the stranger Ainur-worshipping sects in Aman than the formalistic affairs of court parties in Tirion. The Iathrim had made a close study of the effects of various mushrooms, and they were prevalent when the sun went down on a festival.

Generally, Lúthien took well to them, dancing wildly among her people until the sun had come up above the horizon once more, often followed at the heel by Daeron in his crown of ferns, piping whatever tunes most pleased the princess, if she had not pulled him into a dance along with her. They were together then, not feigning not to speak, as they did sometimes in court, when Galadriel was certain they were conversing volubly by ósanwe even as they stood passive and still by the side of the king and queen.

Galadriel had been looking for her.

As Lúthien leaned down to put her lips by Daeron’s dark head, she touched the great ruby at her throat, and Galadriel was reminded of their preparation for this party:

Lúthien had swept into her rooms, wanting to see what Galadriel planned to wear. Lúthien herself was radiant in lavender and yellow, as she would have been dressed in a burlap sack. There was nearly a glow about her, which came at least as much from the energy with which she carried herself as the loveliness of her face and form.

“Help me with this,” she had said, and somehow managed it in a way that made one wish to help, rather than merely be annoyed at the demand. Even when Galadriel had the thought that Lúthien had been spoiled as a child, she could never do it with malice. Lúthien had held out the necklace, which Galadriel had taken. The metal was warm where Lúthien had held it.

The princess had turned, leaving it to Galadriel to gather her thick inky hair away from her neck and shift it over Lúthien’s shoulder. She had stood behind Lúthien, transfixed by the nape of her neck and the ridges of her spine and the dusting of delicate hairs there. The smell of Lúthien’s gardenia perfume had enveloped her like an dreamy embrace invented by Galadriel’s own mind in the middle of the night.

“If you would lower yourself a little, my lady,” said Galadriel through a dry mouth. It wasn’t strictlynecessary, but it would make her job easier.

“Ah! My mistake,” Lúthien had giggled, crouching slightly to put her neck more within Galadriel’s reach. “Better?” With one hand, she held her hair out of Galadriel’s way.

Galadriel had slipped the silver chain around the princess’ graceful neck. Her fingers brushed against the warmth of Lúthien’s throat and her shoulders as she brought the clasp together. Her breathing trembled; her chest felt hot. She did not want to let go of Lúthien, did not want her to move away; there was a kind of swelling in her throat and tongue; she thought of how she and her cousins had slept all piled together on the ice to stay warm and thought of lying so pressed near to Lúthien, sharing the warmth of her breath and the heat of her body. When she’d hooked the chain in place, she gave it a tug to make sure it was secure, and then Lúthien twirled away from her, her hair falling back into place, and she beamed into Galadriel’s vanity mirror.

“There, that will do, won’t it?” Her expression faltered for a moment, but she brushed it off and had turned back to Galadriel. “Are you ready to go?”

Seeing Lúthien’s fingers on the necklace again drew Galadriel temptingly back into her room, where she had hung that jewel about that throat, touched her fingers against the pulse of life in that neck. Did Daeron clasp her jewels as well? Lúthien was smiling at something Daeron had said (in Galadriel’s mind, Daeron’s best personality trait was his ability to make Lúthien laugh—and his willingness to do anything to that end), but when he moved away from her, that more solemn expression which had been only briefly on her face in Galadriel’s room returned.

Galadriel began to push with more insistence through the crowd towards her, but when she finally made it over to the tree where Lúthien had been standing, she was gone again. Catching sight of straight-backed Mablung, she briefly turned towards him with the intent of asking if he had seen where Lúthien had gone, but then held back. She didn’t wish Lúthien to think she was chasing her down if Mablung found her first.

“Looking for someone?” Elves simply seemed to bleed out of the mass of revelers, so Galadriel should not have been surprised to be addressed. She turned to see Lord Celeborn, a flute of mead pinched between his fingers, a wreath of dark green leaves upon his fair head.

“The princess, she was just here,” Galadriel said, allowing some frustration to bleed through her tone.

“Ah, I believe I saw her over yonder,” said Celeborn, pointing off in a wholly different direction. Galadriel sighed. “Care for a drink, my lady?” he asked, holding the cup out to her.

“No, I believe I have more walking to do,” she said. “Excuse me, my lord.” She turned away, tugging her tunic flatter against her chest, and waded off through the crowd once more in search of Lúthien.

***

She didn’t find her until the next morning. At some point in the raucous night, Galadriel had simply given up. If Lúthien wished to find her, she would. And if Lúthien did not wish to be found—well, she had other friends. There was no requirement she spend time with Galadriel, even if it left a sour taste in her mouth that there might be others with whom Lúthien preferred to spend the party. So Galadriel had surrendered the chase, taken several cups of mead, and followed Lord Celeborn to a friend’s house where a dozen of them had lounged for some hours over food and a few tender, bitter mushrooms before Galadriel had finally fallen asleep on a floor cushion.

It could not have been more than an hour or two at most when the rising sun cast its rays through the unclosed shutters of the treehouse, dragging Galadriel back to the physical realm with the sticky, blurry feeling in her eyes. Groaning, she hauled herself upright and picked her way through the slumbering Elves carpeting the floor, wishing she had gotten herself back to the palace before falling asleep.

Not terribly desirous of taking a ribbing from the palace personnel about her current state, she decided to slide around a side entrance, which involved stairs and one of the many labyrinthine balcony systems common in Doriath.

It was on one of these balconies in the tender glow of the dawning day that she found Lúthien.

Lúthien also looked like she had not been back to her rooms since the night before, but the difference was that on her, it was a look of careless and carefree lack of concern for trite things like night and day and the passing of time, and not a look of having spent the night on a wood floor with a baseboard digging into the back of her head.

“Good morning, Arwen,” she said, only turning to flicker a tired smile at Galadriel after she’d said it. “It looks that you had fun.”

“Oh, I was foolish to stay out so late,” Galadriel sighed in mild vexation, plucking a tiny brown leaf from her hair and tossing it aside, too worn out to keep up appearances. “I spent the night on someone’s floor.”

“Whose?”

“You know, I don’t even know.”

Lúthien laughed quietly and looked back out at the brightening orange of the sky. Galadriel tentatively came to join her at the railing.

“I did not see much of you last night,” she ventured.

“Ah, forgive me, little daffodil,” said Lúthien, turning to tuck a bit of Galadriel’s hair back behind her ear, instantly silencing the Noldo’s ability to speak. “Were you looking for me? So much of last night is a blur!” She spoke to Galadriel, but her attention was on the horizon. Galadriel followed her gaze and for several minutes they stood in silence, the warmth of the climbing sun washing over them, making Lúthien look as if she herself was responsible for the return of the light, as if Arien returned at the call of the princess of Doriath.

Galadriel’s feet and back and eyes still wanted her to get down to her bedroom and fall into bed, but she was reluctant to pull away from this moment alone with Lúthien. However, as the silence went on, she began to wonder if Lúthien had come here to be alone, and now Galadriel was intruding on that. As she gathered herself to say goodbye and carry on, Lúthien spoke.

“Have you ever had the feeling,” she asked, “that you are not where you are supposed to be, or that you are missing some grand events which you could be party to if only you were able to seek them out?”

“…I have not,” Galadriel said slowly, turning her attention to the princess’ profile. Lúthien sighed and tilted her head from side to side. Abruptly Galadriel felt that she was looking at something raw and exposed.

“There is a restlessness in me sometimes,” Lúthien confessed softly, the ruby glinting at her throat. “I have thought it an effect of my mother’s blood yet…I have never known her to be restless.” There was that look again, the one Galadriel had seen on her face at the party.

“No?”

“If there was more to her life before she wed, she does not mourn it. She has always seemed wholly content, with my father, with me, with Doriath…Perhaps because she knew something more, she can afford not to miss it. My mother has known the unknown. But I…I wonder if one such as myself can ever be ‘settled.’ How can I, when I have never wandered? I feel I grow less content over time.”

“One such as yourself?”

“I think you forget sometimes that I am only half an Elf.” If you think for even a moment I forget how special you are…Galadriel thought. “There is another half which is ill-contented being so restrained, yet lacks the power to be anything but what I am.” She sighed from low in her belly and for the first time, Galadriel saw something approaching unhappiness on the princess’ face, and it was baffling.

“Where would you go?” asked Galadriel, who had all the excitement and potential she could hope for there in Middle-earth. “What would you do?” For a moment, she had a vision in her mind of their leaving Doriath together, side-by-side on horseback, riding off into the great unknown of Beleriand, but she batted that aside.

“Oh, I wouldn’t know,” said Lúthien. She flicked her eyes over Galadriel’s face. “It it such a strange idea?”

“You are safe here, in Doriath,” Galadriel pointed out. “And there are few who would deny you anything and even those would keep little from you.” Galadriel had rarely known the king to ever say “no” to his daughter, and she had a near-endless font of power and wisdom in the queen.

“Ah. Worry yourself not,” said Lúthien with a faint half-smile. “Shall we find Daeron to play us a tune? He can always lighten the mood.”

While it was true Daeron had a talent with jaunty tunes—as he had a talent with all tunes—his freestyle tended more towards trembling notes of aching yearning, such that Galadriel wondered that Lúthien should characterize his playing as ‘light.’

Fortunately, Lúthien observed Galadriel more closely for a moment and then said:

“Oh, how thoughtless of me. How tired you must be, poor thing! Go and rest.” She put a hand on Galadriel’s upper arm and squeezed lightly. Galadriel felt the press of her fingers long after the princess had let go. “I have selfishly kept you. Go, we shall talk another time.”

But Lúthien never did raise the topic of her restlessness again, at least not with Galadriel.

***

If Galadriel closed her eyes, she could hear Doriath’s cheery chorus: crickets among the leaves, birds chasing them down, the chatter of the frogs in the reeds, the slosh of water as Lúthien kicked off the muddy pond bottom. If she opened them, she could see Lúthien’s pale breast gleaming against the dark water, slick and pebbled with faint chill as she floated on her back. The heat of the day was fading fast in the darkness.

The very first time they had done this, Galadriel had managed to perfectly humiliate herself by blurting out something about Lúthien’s parents wondering where she was, to which Lúthien had just laughed. As if Galadriel hadn’t sneaked out herself! She couldn’t imagine why such a thing had passed her lips.

The princess drew in a deep breath and straightened up, water cascading down over her sleek black hair as she turned her sharp, heavily-lidded eyes on Galadriel and made her shiver.

“We should stay out tonight,” she said. Faint beams of moonlight filtered through the trees and fell along the calligraphic line of Lúthien’s cheekbones. Galadriel thought of her warm, dry bed in her small apartment. She thought of combing the pond water out of her hair, and dabbing a bit of scent on her wrists before pulling on a silk nightgown and burrowing down among the covers. She thought of the absence of mosquitos indoors, and a good night’s sleep.

She looked into Lúthien’s eyes. They were not luminescent in the way of Galadriel’s or Thingol’s, as Lúthien herself had never seen the Trees—but there was a shifting glimmer there, a whisper of Melian’s blood which once again made Lúthien unique, even among the Calaquendi.

She didn’t argue.

Lúthien came out of the water to lay beside Galadriel on the great boulder, water streaming off her and pooling onto the rock beneath, the thatch of black hair between her legs springing up again at once.

“Tell me something about where you come from,” she said, closing her eyes. The topic of Aman had fascinated her initially, then repelled her when the truth of the Kinslaying at Alqualondë had come to light, but had begun to open up as a topic again when the king’s forgiveness had had time to settle. For her part, Galadriel was simply relieved to not have been cast out, nor put aside as Melian’s student, though she sensed she had lost Melian’s trust in a way that could not be regained. But now wasn’t the time for those thoughts.

“Oh, never mind about there,” Galadriel said. “Things are far more interesting here.”

“Are they?” Lúthien peeked open her gleaming eyes. “Do you mean ‘more dangerous’?”

“I mean there is more opportunity,” said Galadriel.

“You miss it not?” said Lúthien.

“I do not,” Galadriel lied. “I harbor no regrets about leaving. There was nothing for me there.”

“Well, then, I am glad you came,” said Lúthien, smiling. “For I have benefitted of your friendship, Galadriel.” Galadriel breathed deeply to stave off a flush and Lúthien giggled. “’tis a lovely nickname, truly. And very appropriate! Why, when I heard, I was cross I had not thought of it myself!” She reached out to twine a lock of Galadriel’s hair around her finger. “Radiant you are indeed!” She sat up and stretched. “Shall I braid your marvelous golden hair for you?”

“If it pleases you,” said Galadriel, belying, she hoped, the way the offer made her stomach twist and churn. She knew by then that such offers did not carry the weight among the Sindar that they did among the Noldor, but the shocking intimacy of it made Galadriel’s heart leap all the same, and purr with satisfaction at the thought of being dear to Lúthien.

Lúthien hummed and sang as she plaited Galadriel’s damp hair, her sweet voice filling up the space around the trees, lulling Galadriel into a place apart from the rest of the world. Her deft fingers brushed irregularly against Galadriel’s bare back and shoulders until Galadriel nearly trembled with desire for a more forceful touch from her. That night, after they had wandered enough, she took them deeper into the woods—Lúthien never seemed to lose her way—and found a satisfactory (in her mind) place for them to sleep. The ground was lumpy and cold under Galadriel’s light robe and her cloak, but the stars glimmered up through the holes in the tree canopy and Lúthien lay awake beside her, watching the wispy clouds drift by overhead.

“Are you cold?” Lúthien asked.

“I’ve known colder nights,” Galadriel said. Lúthien liked her nights out in the woods, and Galadriel would not be the cause of their returning. Nor was the cold anything worth complaining about—not for her. As long as she could still feel her fingers and toes, she would not complain. But Lúthien drew off her own deep blue cloak and threw it over both of them, with the better part over Galadriel.

“Get some rest,” said Lúthien, and Galadriel had the strange feeling Lúthien did not intend herself to sleep. But the day had been long, with the queen testing Galadriel’s power to its limits, and she drifted off quickly, replaying the scenes from the pond over in her mind. Memory bled into dreams, dreams where she dragged her tongue over Lúthien’s fair breasts and her imagination supplied what the princess’ cries of pleasure might sound like. Galadriel woke atremble and could not see Lúthien beside her in the darkness, but she squeezed her eyes shut and went back to sleep, which offered no relief.

In the morning, Lúthien was there, pink-cheeked and full of song, and Galadriel could not decide if she had dreamed of Lúthien’s absence or not.

***

Lúthien’s restlessness eventually turned all of Doriath upside-down. Galadriel had oft considered Daeron impulsive and short-sighted, yet she could not disagree with aught that he said about Beren of the Edain, and she wondered at what madness had come over Lúthien that she would think to pledge herself to a mortal Man.

Through many trials, Beren and Lúthien returned once more to Doriath, but Carcharoth haunted still their steps, and the king prepared his warriors to take down the great wolf. Galadriel had sat in the throne room as Beren and Lúthien gave the tale of their quest to the king and queen, and she watched Thingol soften to his daughter’s will, and release the resentment and mistrust which he held for Beren, and was shocked to feel herself reject his change of heart. It could not be, that he meant to allow this mortal to claim Lúthien’s heart! Who was Beren, to lay claim over one so treasured by all of Doriath?

But before his throne Lúthien took Beren’s hands, and Galadriel perceived that Lúthien was slipping away from her, that the sweet days in which they had passed their time since Galadriel passed behind the Girdle were coming to a close, and she fought against despair that Beren had succeeded so well in his appointed task.

Lúthien had no further patience for those who did not understand her. Galadriel had tried to speak to her before, but Lúthien allowed none but her old friend Daeron into her treehouse prison. Galadriel still was not sure what she would have said—how could she of all people counsel restraint? Yet how could she encourage this pursuit, which would surely only end in fatal grief for Lúthien, taking her so far beyond Galadriel’s reach? Even now, Galadriel hesitated, but she could not leave so much unsaid between them.

Lúthien answered the knock on her door with a prompt call to enter, and Galadriel did. There was a new tension in Lúthien’s voice, in the way she moved; a new wariness in her eyes: she had something to protect now, something she feared to lose, and she carried herself differently for it. Galadriel understood more in the last few weeks about Lúthien’s power than she ever had in the years before.

“Is Beren here?” Galadriel asked.

“He is with Mablung,” said Lúthien at her loom. “He would learn to fight with just the one hand, now.”

“I have not seen you much since your return,” Galadriel said.

“There has been much afoot,” said Lúthien. She was weaving bandage cloth. “What troubles you?” She paused, then lifted her eyes, and seemed for the first, uncertain. “I have yet to give condolences for your brother,” she admitted, rising to her feet and moving away from the loom. “Finrod’s passing has grieved me greatly; I have known fewer souls kinder or more well-intentioned.”

Truly, Galadriel had not meant to speak of Finrod with Lúthien. The grief was still a shock to her; despite the losses of Aegnor and Angrod, she had somehow still believed that she and Finrod would survive longer. The better part of her mind continued to insist he was off in Nargothrond, learning about Edanic weaving techniques or lounging around the baths or plotting new summits among the Elven lords. It would take time for that to settle in, and she could not afford it to now—she needed to focus. She could not think of Finrod now.

“Mean you truly to do this? To leave?” Galadriel blurted out. Lúthien was only momentarily flummoxed by this response before switching gears along with her guest. Her back stiffened.

“I will swear no oaths on it, but presently it is our intention,” said Lúthien. “Mother and Father would welcome us here now, but I have decided I wish to experience more of the world.” What about her experience nearly being forcibly wed to Celegorm or battling Sauron and his minions in Tol-in-Gaurhoth had made Lúthien want to see more of the world Galadriel couldn’t fathom.

“A sojourn,” Galadriel said. Lúthien tilted her head from side to side.

“It may be a very long one,” she said. Not longer than Beren’s life, Galadriel guessed. When her mortal love was gone, then Lúthien would come back—if she survived his passing. The alternative struck her to the quick and she found herself resentful once again that Beren had ever found his way into Doriath.

“There is something on your mind,” said Lúthien, nearly short in her tone. “I would have you say it, Arwen.”

“I am sure it is nothing you have not considered already,” said Galadriel.

“Still, I would have it said.”

“Mean you truly to bind yourself to a mortal?”

The way Lúthien looked at her then made Galadriel wither in a way she had not felt since she had been a silly child. There was a kind of cold disappointment there, as if Lúthien had expected this, but had hoped Galadriel would surprise her. It was not a look Galadriel had ever received from the princess.

“I believe I have made myself quite clear on this point,” said Lúthien. “Have you a new criticism to launch at me?”

“It is only…how short are their lives, Lúthien! And this man...is he truly worth the cost?” It was a losing battle, of course—Lúthien was not even on the battlefield with her—yet the anguish in her heart urged her on. “You would surrender everything you have here—”

“How like the rest of them you sound!” Lúthien cried in frustration.

“I am only concerned with—”

“Oh, so everyone is concerned!” Lúthien jerked away and paced several times, snapping her dark gaze back over to Galadriel, a wrathful smolder there unusual in its intensity. “Even now, even after all I have done, you think I know not what I desire? You think I do not see the world clearly? I have lived many more years than you, Arwen, perhaps you ought consider that! Perhaps it is you who is failing to see things clearly!”

“My youth does not negate what I have experienced already!” Galadriel snapped back.

“Perhaps you would have more perspective were you not convinced perpetually that you are the cleverest person in the room!”

“I do not think that, except when it is true, and you will not even stop to consider you may be doing what spoiled children always do and grabbing for what you want with no thought for—”

“I am the spoiled child?” Lúthien demanded. “As if you have not considered it your right to learn at my mother’s foot since first you came here, even when you concealed your bloody truths from us?”

“Will that never lie!”

“You merely seemed so keen to dredge up the past!” Lúthien replied. “If you have come only to dissuade me, you may take your leave. I have not done all that I have done to be chastised by you. Make your decisions. I have made mine.”

Galadriel drew in a breath and forced herself to try to calm. Was this how she wished to bid goodbye to Lúthien? Truly?

“I do not understand you,” she confessed, lowering her voice. “That is all. I wish to understand.”

“You do not need to understand,” said Lúthien. “I need none to understand.” But then she softened and approached Galadriel. “This is what I want,” she said, almost urged. Some of the tension Galadriel had not realized she was holding bled out of her shoulders. “Surely you understand seeing so clearly the direction of one’s future! I have no doubts, Galadriel. None at all—I have never been so sure of anything in my life. I know many of our kind see a tragedy in this, but that is not what I see. Someday you will feel this kind of love,” she said, pressing a hand to her breast. “The kind that fills you to the brim, that wraps around you like a warm fur, that reaches into your core. Then, you will understand my choice.”

Galadriel did not understand it. She did not understand what was so special about Beren. She did not understand willingly giving up her life for anyone. She did not think she ever would. Then, unbidden, she thought of her brother whom she had been trying not to think of—and how Beren said that when Sauron’s wolf came at last for him, Finrod had burst his chains to throw himself at it, and died to spare this mortal another day of life, not knowing Lúthien was right on their heels.

It occurred to her dimly then, that Finrod might have done such a thing for her. Would I have done it for him? she wondered.

“Worry yourself not,” Lúthien said at last when Galadriel had been silent a time. Before she took her seat at her loom again, she said: “You need know only that I am making the right choice for myself. Someday, you will see it.”

***

Menegroth was not still, never still, but there was a subdued air over it, and indeed over all of Doriath. Beren and Lúthien had gone on good terms, with Beren seated at the left hand of the king himself, and so while at the end Lúthien’s parents had willingly parted with her—and indeed, been in great joy after the end of her seeming death and the restoration of Beren—it did not lessen their grief at her departure, nor over the fact that she was bound now to a mortal life, and would then pass beyond their reach until the breaking of the world.

Thingol was melancholy, distracted, perpetually looking east in the direction which Beren and Lúthien had gone. Even Melian was withdrawn; she pressed little during Galadriel’s lessons, and despite her earlier prescience that Lúthien would part from them, Galadriel guessed she bore still a mother’s loss. Daeron had simply never returned; no word had come of where their chief loremaster had gone, nor even if he knew that Lúthien lived.

Galadriel thought for the first time in a long time—she had grown quite practiced in sequestering her thoughts even before she’d first touched a toe in the mud of Middle-earth—of her own mother, sitting alone in a house suddenly still. Did she look out over the sea, as Thingol looked to the edge of the wood? Did her hands grow still all of a sudden at her tasks, as if some memory had gripped her tight, as Melian did? Was there silence too in her house, an emptiness where there had once been joy?

But mostly she thought of Lúthien.

Often she took out the things Lúthien had gifted her, simply to run her hands over them. There were quite a few from just before her final departure, when Lúthien had pressed into Galadriel’s hands things she insisted she would not need in her new home with Beren. Sometimes, she sneaked into Lúthien’s own rooms and sat there, still, focusing her mind on the past, as if she could use some lesson of Melian’s to conjure up Lúthien’s ghost and the sound of her laughter, her teasing, her touch. As if she need only focus hard enough, and she could feel the brush of Lúthien’s hands through her hair or hear the sweetness of her voice.

“You cannot bring her back that way,” Melian had said when she’d caught Galadriel sitting in the nook where Lúthien had once read—where they had once read together. She felt as if she’d been caught pawing through the queen’s silks.

“I had not meant to,” Galadriel lied. It had been a very long time since she had tried to lie to Melian—it never went well, so at some point she had given up. Easier to lie with what she did not say.

“It does not do for the Children to dwell in memory,” said Melian, “and the Quendi are particularly susceptible to this. You must enjoy your recollections of her without losing yourself in them.”

Galadriel almost said something about Eärwen, but held her tongue.

“Forgive me,” she said instead.

“There is nothing to forgive,” said Melian, but Galadriel took her leave regardless, and stayed away from Lúthien’s rooms afterwards, if she passed by them more often than necessary.

Her lessons became less frequent. Galadriel did not press the matter—she could not, not so soon into the queen’s mourning. Instead, she tested herself, driving her to stretch her abilities until she swayed on her feet and nearly swooned. Celeborn fretted, but Galadriel brushed his worries off. It kept her mind busy, and helped her fall into bed at the end of the day too exhausted to ruminate or even dream much. When she did dream, it was of running through the forest, with a presence by her side she could never quite see; or of swimming endlessly through one of the murky forest ponds, seeking something; or strangest of all, of Valinor and the places she had once occupied.

One afternoon, on one of the balconies near the rear of the palace, she found the king leaning forward against the railing.

“Am I disturbing you, Your Grace?” she asked

“No,” he answered. “Stay, if it pleases you.” He was looking east. Galadriel came to the railing and looked out, a faint breeze stirring the hair at her temples. Somewhere out there was Lúthien. Happy with the fate she chose? Galadriel could only imagine it was so. So absorbed was she in this consideration that it startled her to hear Thingol speak. “Do you miss her also?”

She turned to look at him, and for a moment there was not Elu Thingol, King of Beleriand, an emissary to Aman and the Valar, an Elf of great age and power—only a father, struggling to let go of his only child. Startled, Galadriel said:

“I do.” Then she said: “Do you wish that she had stayed, Your Grace?” Thingol exhaled and turned his weary gaze out onto the trees.

“I cannot,” he said, “for if she had stayed she would have been unhappy. When I understood her feelings for Beren were not a temporary madness or some spell, I knew she could never be happy in her old life again. I knew I had already lost her. But as long as she is happy…as long as she is safe…” Galadriel couldn’t tell if he was trying to convince her, or himself. Lúthien’s fate after death must have occupied him a great deal—Galadriel knew it occupied her. He turned his Tree-lit gaze once more on Galadriel.

“You loved her,” he said, and Galadriel felt as cold as if she had just been stripped to the skin. Speechless, she fumbled frantically for a response, and then Thingol said: “She inspired that, didn’t she?” He made a quite noise that did not quite pass as a laugh. “After she came into our lives, we never even considered other children. Lúthien took all our time, and that felt right. And why should we want for others, when we had her?”

“I told her not to go.” The words tripped right out of Galadriel. “She…” She was disappointed in me. She thought less of me. She made me feel like a child.

“There was none who could dissuade her,” said the king kindly, inclining his head to Galadriel. “This was a pivotal choice for Lúthien.”

I was a poor friend. But Galadriel could not decide if it was because she had not persuaded Lúthien to be less hasty, or because she had even tried.

“I do not understand her,” was what she said.

“I think there are few who do,” said the king reflectively. “She is, after all, one of a kind. And yet…as the queen has pointed out…she is perhaps not so different from ourselves. I should have seen that earlier.” There was a rueful chagrin in Thingol’s voice at the tardy realization that his daughter’s marriage drew some near parallels with his own. A child of Lúthien’s, even if she had been pure Elf, would also be one of a kind. “Some things are the same. That’s her brooch, isn’t it?” He gestured to the clasp at Galadriel’s throat. She nodded.

Grief had made her stupid: Galadriel began to unpin it.

“No, no, it is yours to keep,” the king reassured her, pressing a long-fingered hand over hers to stop her. For a moment, his touch made her remember his daughter’s, and her throat constricted. “All of Lúthien’s gifts are yours to keep. She would wish them to be used.” His touch lingered just a moment, a fresh unhappiness in his gaze. “There is something else for you, as well. I had meant it for—ah, I had meant it for Finrod. But now it shall be yours. A book—a piece of Daeron’s treatise work. It may not be of particular interest to you. But I should like you to have it all the same.”

They had spoken already at length about Finrod’s death, and while Thingol did not share much with Galadriel of his feelings on anything, she could see how much her brother’s death weighed on him. They had buried him, Lúthien had said, in the grass on Tol Sirion (for so it was called again). That was perhaps for the best; what use had Galadriel of her brother’s lifeless body? His spirit was gone—he was gone. Gone to join Aegnor and Angrod in the Halls of Mandos. Gone, leaving her the last of Finarfin and Eärwen’s children in Middle-earth. Galadriel found she could only nod; there was too much to say, too much she risked saying, and her throat had grown achingly tight.

“Thank you, Uncle,” she whispered. That was what Finrod had called him; he would prance into Menegroth after months abroad, his eyes agleam with tales of what he had seen, ready and eager to ask more questions of Thingol and have his updates on Galadriel’s life in Doriath.

Breaking away, she excused herself before she could be more foolish than she had already been, and she returned to Lúthien’s rooms for the first since Melian had caught her there. She shut the door behind her and paced three times around the bedroom.

“I don’t understand you!” she cried aloud, throwing her hands out, her frown turning into a scowl. “To make such a choice! For this man! Who is he to take so much from you? From all of us?” To willingly walk away from her crown! To walk away from her immortality! To walk into obscurity! To let go of her Maia’s power! Galadriel wished to see her friend’s perspective, but it was obscured from her; Lúthien may as well have said she intended to kill herself and was pleased with the choice. She had gone from the possibility of death to the certainty of it—to choose a mortal life! If Galadriel knew slightly less of Beren, she too would have wondered if he had cast some ill spell over Lúthien.

She jerked open one of Lúthien’s armoires and drew out one of the fine silken dressing robes Lúthien had not found time to give away before leaving, and gathered it in her hands. She buried her nose in the collar, seeking a last trace of Lúthien’s scent, but found nothing, and a cracked noise of pain parted her lips. She sank to the carpet, pressing Lúthien’s robe against her face.

“I don’t understand you,” she said again, and she wept.

***

Shortly thereafter she sought out Celeborn, and came to him matter-of-factly in the stable.

“I am leaving,” she said. “It is time for me to go.” He regarded her a long moment, but Galadriel said nothing else, and then he said:

“I shall pack, then.”

#rocky writes #galadriel #luthien #galadriel x luthien #the silmarillion #fanfiction #tolkien tag #tolkien fanfiction #the silmarillion kink meme

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redgoldsparks · 11 months

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May Reading and Reviews by Maia Kobabe

I post my reviews throughout the month on Storygraph and Goodreads, and do roundups here and on patreon.

Boys Run The Riot vol 2 by Keito Gaku

I really wanted to like this series, but unfortunately, I don't. The pacing feels rushed, the characters aren't very realistic and burst out into outsized emotional reactions that don't feel earned, and at the end of this volume the trans character is outed against his will on a youtube channel with a million followers. I'm going to have to give up on this story.

Unmasking Autism by Devon Price

This book is short, accessible and very informative! Price is trans and autistic, and was only diagnosed later in life. He blends narrative of his own lived experience with many interviews and thorough research. This book encourages compassion, self-knowledge, community building, and unmasking- the process of shedding the habits many autistic people employ to hide or mask their autistic traits. As a queer person pondering my own potential place on the autism spectrum, this book was an excellent introduction and gave me a lot of food for thought!

Thick as Thieves by Megan Whelan Turner read by Steve West

These books continue to delight! This deep into the series, I don't want to summarize the plot, as one of the pleasures of this series is how each book has built on the previous ones. The volatile political machinations between the the three peninsula countries of Eddis, Attolia, Sounis and the Mede Empire grow increasingly complex. Eugenides continues to make moves that appear petty and childish, whose deeper purpose is only revealed much later. I continue to be amazed at the character arcs, both of new characters and returning favorites. Read these books! I can't recommend them highly enough!

White Cat, Black Dog by Kelly Link

Another magical short story collection from Kelly Link! These stories are more directly inspired by existing fairy tales than Link's other work, but each one has been moved into the modern day, and generally changed so much as to be only loosely recognizable. A Game of Smash and Recovery, inspired by Hansel and Gretel, does feature a brother and sister; but they have been stranded on a foreign moon by their space-traveling parents, and live by scavenging supplies from vast warehouses left behind by previous inhabitants, while evading the vampires which flutter around the edges of their downed spacecraft. As the younger sister gets older, she comes closer and closer to a realization that neither she nor her brother nor their parents are who she thinks they are. The Lady and the Fox, based on Tamlin, does involve a young woman clutching her beloved to her chest through a series of painful magical transformations, but the woman is a charity case goddaughter of a rich actress who's family hosts ridiculously elaborate Christmas parties in their family mansion. Skinder's Veil, loosely Snow-White and Rose Red, does contain two nearly identical sisters, but the main character is a grad student struggling to finish his thesis who takes on a house-sitting job in a cabin in Vermont that might be visited by immortals. And so on and so on, Link weaves her threads. This one didn't unseat Get in Trouble as my favorite Link collection, but I enjoyed it very much.

Return of The Thief by Megan Whelan Turner read by Steve West

Once again, Turner introduces a new POV character, and once again she knocks a complicated, emotional, satisfying tale of historical fantasy out of the park! I can't get over the fact that this six book series book the author over 20 years to write, and yet is so internally consistent, it feels as if she knew from the very beginning exactly how to she wanted everything to go. This series is technically YA, but the majority of the characters are adults; it was started in the era before YA existed as the genre we know it now. If you are a fan of any Tamora Pierce books, or Steven Brust's Jhereg series, or Katherine Addison's The Goblin Emperor, I think you'd like these too.

Different for Boys by Patrick Ness illustrated by Tea Bendix

This illustrated book tells an impressively nuanced story in a very short space. The narrator, Ant, ponders the meaning of virginity as a high school boy questioning his own sexuality. Ant and his best friend from childhood, Charlie, regularly mess around with each other, performing sexual acts which are blacked out in the text. The characters themselves are aware of this textual censorship and comment on it, adding a level of meta to this already nonlinear and nontraditional narrative. Charlie is sweet in private but vocally homophobic in school, hurling insults at another mutual friend, Jack, who isn't publicly out but is read as queer by his peers. Ant struggles with how much, or when, to step in and defend Jack without outing his and Charlie's secret relationship. The story has an open but hopeful ending, and its questions and unresolved aspects feel deeply true.

Several People Are Typing by Calvin Kasulke

Told entirely in slack messages, this nontraditional novel unfolds the minor and major dramas of a public relations firm with a speculative twist. The main character, Gerald, has accidentally uploaded his consciousness into the slack app and is unsure what is happening to the body he left behind. The slackbot is becoming increasingly sentient as he sends it help query after help query. His co-workers think this is an elaborate ruse to take advantage of their company's lax work from home policies during a particularly snowy New York winter. Meanwhile, his coworker Lydia is being haunted by spectral howling, Tripp is regularly the only man in the on-site office and keeps leaving the heating on overnight, Deepu is feeling left out of office in jokes and Doug, their boss, is convinced that someone is sabotaging his office furniture. This story is snappy, queer, and never gets bogged down by what could have been a gimmicky premise. It took me one Saturday afternoon to read!

The Thief by Megan Whelan Turner read by Steve West

After finishing this whole 6 book series I went back to re-read book one and it is DELICIOUS to catch all of the hints and foreshadowing once you know how the story ends. Here’s the review I wrote after my first read in 2018:

This book was DELIGHTFUL. Set in a fantasy Mediterranean Renaissance world, the prose is simple and the initial plot set up is uncomplicated. Gen is a master level thief who made a mistake and ended up in the King's prison in Sounis. After months of imprisonment he is summoned by the Magnus, the King's most trusted adviser, who threatens Gen into joining a covert mission. A small party (the magus, the thief, one soldier and two of the magus' students) will sneak into the neighboring country of Attolia, in search of a powerful and ancient artifact. But every member of the party is intentionally or unintentionally carrying secrets, and in the end few of them are who they appear to be. I already feel like I've said too much. Go and read this book to find out the rest!

Hungry Ghost by Victoria Ying

I'm refraining from giving this book a star rating because I feel genuinely unqualified to rate its effectiveness. This story deals with two very heavy topics- a character struggling with an eating disorder and grief after the death of a parent- which I have no experience with. The book portrays the main character binging and purging, which could potentially be very triggering for some readers in ED recovery, but could also be extremely cathartic to those who haven't seen their experiences reflected before. That's really going to depend on the reader. What I can say is that the art is very beautiful, I enjoyed the limited color palette, and I hope this book finds the readers who need it.

Freestyle by Gale Galligan

Eighth grader Cory is part of a tight friend group of dancers who practice every weekend. It's their last year of middle school and they want to make the most of this year- and hopefully win the annual winter Bronx Dance Battle! Unfortunately, Cory's parents aren't thrilled with his grades, and they hire a tutor three afternoons a week after school, cutting into his free time with his friend crew. Worse yet, his tutor turns out to be the best student in his grade, a girl named Sunna who he immediately clashes with. But then Cory realizes that Sunna also as a secret talent: she can throw a yo-yo like no one he's ever seen. The art in this book is fantastic, colorful and energetic, with beautiful panels capturing the movement of dance, running, yo-yo tricks, and physical humor. I had to set aside a little bit of disbelief that any eighth graders might be this motivated and organized; I've also seen a couple minor critics of the way Sunna, a hijab wearing Muslim character, was portrayed as attending a school dance and spending time tutoring Cory in his bedroom with the door closed. However, the overall tone of this book is so joyful, positive, warmhearted, and well-intentioned that I'd still absolutely recommend it.

Deaf Republic by Ilya Kaminsky

I am not a very active reader of poetry, but this collection contains one of the poems I think about possibly more than any other: "We Lived Happily during the War." I first read it in the New Yorker magazine sometime before 2017, though I don't remember exactly when. I saw the poem circulating the internet again when Russian began to invade Ukraine. Kaminsky was born in the former Soviet Union, and the majority of the poems in this collection unfold a story of an Eastern European town occupied by enemy soldiers. Reoccurring characters tell of the violence and tragedy of this occupation: a newly married couple expecting a child, the owner of a puppetry theater, a young deaf child killed by soldiers, neighbors who defend and betray each other. Read it almost like a poetic play in two acts, relevant to our times.

#book reviews #comic book reviews #reading #audiobooks

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jyndor · 1 year

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i see cassian getting bix out the torture chamber not being just romantic in nature but to show what kinds violence the empire inflicts on people like torture and the long term effects of it and that you can choose to not leave people behind, even in a dangerous rebellion. at that point bix was very broken and barely holding it together. the riot allowed someone to get her out, naturally that person would be cassian but it could have been the guy that hit the fascist with maarva’s brick if things had been different. i guess its more merciful than luthen’s approach to kill cassian because he knows too much and better than just leaving bix there. cass already feels guilty for ‘leaving’ maarva. i see more layers than romance there but i don’t see romance as a motivation first although its probably a factor but not as much of a pressing one

YES. cassian is someone who doesn't want to leave people behind, especially not people he loves. in his mind, he's left his sister, left maarva, left bix to get tortured - and also she does make some comments throughout the show that give me the impression that him leaving her to do other shit, putting other things ahead of her, is a sticking point for why their relationship hasn't worked. but he doesn't want to leave people behind.

yeah I mean I think they obviously love each other (and I think it's possible, like adria said in an interview, that if timing were better they could be "meant to be" in the sense that they end up reconciling and working things out as adults. it's not in the cards though) but it's a matter of what kind of love - is it romantic love? to some extent yes clearly, is it platonic? partly. they are friends, they are close, they love each other. is him rescuing her romantic? I mean it's a CLEAR reference to him saving jyn on scarif (or perhaps jedha) and also the way he carries her is very much like how jyn carries him to the beach on scarif. there have been similar shots of bix and cassian and jyn and cassian throughout the show. that's not a coincidence.

but also cassian saves bix because cassian is that person. he goes back for the people he cares about. he IS a hero.

i do think it's also meant to juxtapose cassian's actions and luthen's. i'm beginning to think that luthen in many ways might be a potential PATH that cassian might have taken: cold, bitter, alone - but always in service of the cause. the differences are significant - cassian inspires without intending to be (think of kino and jyn but also nemik), luthen motivates others with resignation (lonni and vel). they're both reluctant to kill allies (luthen clearly doesn't want to have cassian murdered but he absolutely is willing to do it; cassian's face after killing tivik says everything we need to know about how he feels in that moment) even if they are ruthless. they, like saw, have clarity of purpose and can use their judgment if their plans are flawed.

cassian actively saves bix; luthen is found by cassian, and given the choice between killing cassian or taking him on (thus saving him in a sense) he chooses to bring cassian into the fold. in that moment, cassian unintentionally brings out the best in luthen - and we see that in the first honest smile on luthen's face in the entire show.

you've got a role reversal - cassian gives luthen the order to choose life or death, give the cause an asset like cassian or tie up that loose end and kill him.

which makes me think about what their relationship will become in season two. what cassian will become in season two. and to tie it back to your ask, what that means for bix and brasso and the rest of the ferrix crew.

knowing they are not likely to make it through the season because cassian HAS to lose everything (all of his old lives) by rogue one, I have a feeling that cassian won't just lose everything. he might have to make choices that could cost him everything. cassian isn't luthen, but he is cinta. cinta, who is kind to the dray and shares a blanket with vel because she loves her but also always, always puts the rebellion first.

I hope that bix is able to have some agency in s2 and I hope even more that she lives but I think that scene really did mirror scarif. where jyn and cassian died. that cassian has basically damned them with the climb word and also idk that ending had my tragedy senses tingling - not that they won't arrive to their destination or die offscreen like that ugh but that cassian won't see them again.

#star wars andor #andor spoilers #bix x cassian #bix caleen #cassian andor #asks #answered #anonymous #meta #luthen rael #jyn erso #rebelcaptain #rogue one

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clarks-letterman · 4 months

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Wally anon: Oh, he LOVES gummy worms. Really any kind of sour candy, he's a fiend for, even as a ghost. You get itttt. 👍 He'd be moaning & sending vibrations all over your dick, getting spit everywhere trying to keep you in his mouth, & you'd be getting his hole all sloppy, stretching him out & getting him loose. 😮‍💨 (Yupppp, exactly. You'd be having to stockpile on so much of it & you know he'd have a favorite flavor from how fast it would specifically be gone).

Mhm mhm. Cause we know he loves to really get silly when the time calls for it.

(truly the most perfect holiday for innuendos like that 🤭) But, yup, it should've been more of a general theme of ~family~ cause like...Idk what that man was thinking when they were having an affair to begin with & it quite literally. was not the faults of every person on his hit list that she died. Just goofy shit. 😶 (it's why I'm so mixed on him not. being the killer cause I think an ~obsession~ motive like that would work more in an OG than a sequel if they happened to make him a killer; we just kinda lost in general except for seeing Milo have another role💀) Okayyy threesome with double Milo characters. I see the vision (even if I have less familiarity with Zed lolll). 👀 Of course @ less complex. But that's what fics are for. 😉

lolllll, you might be onto something there. Can't believe the thought didn't cross my mind (but I'm also not the most knowledgeable on football so 😶‍🌫️).

And you're about to have even more very shortly djdhsj. Gonna be full of Wally/Ryan requests for a whole year atp. 😭 Sonar for your nose fr.

Understandable since it's such a tiny thing to overlook but it was soooo funny to me. Yupyupyup to all of it. I mean, the movie was veryyy clearly trying to do what both versions of My Bloody Valentine did by doing the whole ~love triangle involving a guy who left town & a guy the final girl is with now~ but at least that. made sense cause Valentine's Day, but the half-assed juggling of Ryan & Bobby as red herrings just kept getting in the way of everything else. ❌️ Exactlyyyy @ loving how. into her he was. He was chasing & Bobby was caught slacking (which offers up infinite fic potential cause he just wants it so. bad)! 🙌

Cause Milo is perfect, yup. ❤️ Good to know cause I've got an even mix of ideas for them coming. 🫣 Yesss, happy to hear. 😁 Truly a case of the year coming full circle to give you your gifts as it closes. 👍

Ugh, allllll of it is just so. hot. It's the thing he figures out drives you the most wild when he's teasing you cause the anticipation/promise of it is so close with him putting himself on display like that while only emphasizing his dick, but it's t h a t enticing seeing it flop out & gradually get hard while he manspreads & stretches out, acting completely casual while you can't even care about what's being said in class. 🥵

I can see him just absolutely begging you to bring some into school so that he can take the ghost version of them like how they do in the show. He’ll get subby for a bag of gummy worms with how much he begs. And totally, he’s making a mess because of you just completely unraveling him with his good you play with his hole😮‍💨 I wonder what his favorite flavor is? Strawberry, mango, watermelon, hmm

The silliest🤭 he’s absolutely pounding into you yet making you laugh sksjsk

The only people that made sense were the ones wheeling the shopping carts that hit her. Everyone else was just guilty because that happened to be in the store/contributing to the general riot. But they didn’t specifically have a hand in killing her, so idk why he went after who he did. (plus, we missed out on getting a sex scene with Milo‼️‼️😪 if this was friday the 13th ik we would gotten to see it from the front and front the back and from every angle for several minutes but noooo let’s just see another girl’s ass why don’t we) Also, anon, Milo was in another movie called Prom Pact that was honestly better than any of the Zombies movies. It came out back in March of this year and he plays the “nerdy best friend role with zero friends except one.” And while I thought they were gonna have him be the second love interest (given that the main character is female and the poster shows her between Ben and the guy she ends up going out with, i could’ve sworn it was going to take that direction.) but it never did! Ben (Milo’s character has his own love interest (sadly not male, but he does have a gay coworker and i thought he should’ve gone for him for the rep) And honestly Ben feels like a completely different character from from Wally or Ryan in the best way possible. (I could always do Ben and Wally since they’re both in high school and just make Ben move or something, but yessss Wally and Zed seemed like the perfect paranormal pairing because it’s funny how they’re both undead, play football (with one absolutely loving it and the other not wanting to do it but did it cause of family) and I could just see the potential of two big dicks, two charming men, and double milo (and quadruple cheeks sksjsk) 😮‍💨🫣

Same on football, idk much about it. I know like the stuff surrounding it thanks to highschool and that I always went to the games, even if I had no clue what was happening.

I’d rather drown in Wally/Ryan requests than water tbh🫡 (it’s like his own personal built-in emf detector. you don’t need one to know where that ghost is)

He wanted it so bad that he was willing to fight Bobby several times for it🫣 It was just so hot seeing him take it, then he possessive over it once he had it. Unfortunately, I have yet to see any Bloody Valentine😪 (shocker because Jensen is in the remake and I’ve been loving Supernatural) but idk that movie was one that never really stood out to me in terms of holiday horror movies. (This is coming from someone who’s watched Happy Death Day at the start of each college year or semester if i’m up for it skshdh) But I get what you mean!! They just gave it too much time to where it felt forced and dumb. no contest in that department from thanksgiving.

Yesss I know it’s not Christmas yet but who says you can’t give gifts a few days early?🤭 Like I said, I’d rather drown in Milo requests so keep them coming🫣🫡

He doesn’t even draw your attention to it because it’s so big that it’s a gravitational magnet for people’s eyes naturally. He’s just slouching out more in his chair, letting it grow bigger and stick out the more he does it. He’s rubbing his things casually, not even touching his dick and it’s just still growing, you wonder if it’s ever going to stop because how is he that big?🫣 It might be math class rn, but you’re only focused on the problem next to you and finding the length of that with a ruler sksksjhfs

#wally clark x reader #wally clark x you #wally clark

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tenebraevesper · 2 years

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Sonic the Hedgehog Analyzer, Bad Guys Issue #2: Smash & Grab

Welcome to the next Issue of Bad Guys. After Starline managed to stage a jail break, it is time to finally see what exactly everyone’s up to.

From what we can see, Mimic, Rough and Tumble, and Zavok are in a direct fight with Eggman’s Badniks, with Starline providing the narration of the team he had formed.

He’s hiding behind the truck, allowing the fighters of the team to clear the way, still believing that they’re all following his plan because they want revenge on Eggman, while Starline himself wants to get back in Eggman’s good graces. We already know that isn’t completely true, as Zavok has his own plans and is aware that Starline is just using them. Mimic just wants to be deleted from the Eggnet and Rough and Tumble are kind of tagging along because they were promised weapons.

The only reason they even work together is because all of them are getting something out of this, but I gotta say, it is really a lot of fun to see them work together and observe how they’re bouncing off of each other.

Starline thinks to himself that, once he’s done, he’ll be welcomed back by Eggman (keep dreaming, buddy), but he first needs to find the power to keep pace in the world with a supersonic hedgehog. We then get a flashback, with Starline introducing the crew to the Power Cores.

Each Power Core represents a different ability: Speed, Fly and Power; and if you haven’t figured it out by now, they’re energy cores used to upgrade each team member in Sonic Heroes. We have Speed for Sonic, Shadow, Amy and Espio; Fly for Tails, Rouge, Cream and Charmy; and Power for Knuckles, Omega, Big and Vector.

Rough and Tumble are wondering what they’re supposed to do with the Power Cores, while Mimic is worried about using Eggman tech because he might tick him off even more. Starline tells them that they need the Power Cores, especially if Mimic wants to be erased from the records.

Zavok wonders what the Power Cores do, so Starline explains how they can amplify their physical abilities. In Zavok’s case, it would be his strength. It can be done by touching their cases, but Starline keeps that secret, revealing how he’ll supply them with special adaptors. Mimic wonders how this is supposed to help him disappear, with Starline basically calling him dumb as Rough and Tumble for not figuring out the obvious; which the skunk brothers think is a riot.

Starline then proceeds to explain how they’ll infiltrate an Egg Hub and take control of the flow of information. Mimic realizes that with this kind of access, Starline can easily erase any records of him. Zavok adds how he could also rewrite the command line for Eggman’s armies and turn them against him. Starline informs him how there are fail-safes, but everything close to the Egg Hub will be prone to their control.

Zavok seems to be surprised that Starline is willing to go that far against Eggman, but Starline acknowledges that they cannot use half-measures. It is all or nothing, and they need the edge the Cores give them.

Zavok then takes over, noting how they know the target and how he will be the one to lead them, telling them to follow his orders without any question. Starline thinks to himself that he’ll just use Zavok to assure his own victory, only to scold himself for his egotism and notes how all of his teammates are a liability.

He reiterates what I had stated before: Mimic is only in it to become harder to track and too dangerous to be left loose; Rough and Tumble may be dumb, but they are driven and vengeful, and they need to be eliminated too; Zavok poses the most danger here and allowing him to keep power is out of question. Starline admits that he did toy with the idea to keep one of them around, but he cannot afford it and decides to dispose of them once the time comes.

I gotta say, Starline is incredibly smart and he is also right in all accounts, but his problem is that he tends to overthink stuff. Sometimes, you cannot plan everything ahead and think it’ll go exactly according to how you thought (as seen during Starline’s attempt of taking over Eggman’s base in the previous Issue).

Anyways, back to the action - Zavok tells Tumble to throw Rough and Mimic over the gate so they can open it and there is a fun moment where Rough and Tumble go for their rhyming gimmick, only for Mimic to tell them to knock it off, completely annoyed. Rough goes for a smoke-screen, while Mimic shape-shifts into a Badnik and takes down the other robots.

Tumble gets impatient, while Zavok realizes that the gate was electromagnetically locked once the alarm sounded. So he opens it, letting Tumble to run in to fight the Badniks. Starline picks up Zavok, who comments on how the new team isn’t the Deadly Six, but they’re adept. I guess that’s a big compliment coming from Zavok.

What follows is one of my favorite conversations in this comic.

Zavok questions Starline and Eggman’s over-reliance on robots, with Starline replying how machines are efficient, tireless and loyal when programmed properly - all traits Zavok should hold in high regard.

Zavok notes how the cost here is their flexibility, passion and ingenuity. Strong warriors can do what robots can and more. Starline just responds in a frustrated tone how, in the time Zavok finds a dozen, Starline can build thousands. None of them will disrespect him or ignore his hard work, or throw him away just because of a disagreement with a knee-jerk reaction- aaaand there it is.

Starline nervously glances at Zavok, who tells him that Eggman will never take him back. Starline notes how they’re here for revenge, but Zavok interrupts him, saying how Starline doesn’t need Eggman.

Now, I’ll stop here. Whether you take Starline being an Eggman fanboy at face value or ship them together, it doesn’t really matter - the point is, Starline wants recognition from Eggman and he’ll do anything to please the former, even though we know Eggman will never give him any recognition. He is literally in a toxic relationship with Eggman in his own head, unable to recognize how this is influencing his decisions. Zavok sees that and he tell Starline that he is better than that. That he can do better than stay in Eggman’s shadow.

Now, I’m not stupid. This is Zavok we’re talking about, so his speech might not be as genuine as it sounds and he’s just sensing Starline’s weakness and manipulating him. Still, I find it amazing that Zavok even goes to talk to Starline like that.

Starline is shocked, but Zavok continues, mentioning how Starline’s plan to control the Metal Virus and the Zeti was solid and how he just made one miscalculation while attempting to right what Eggman had done wrong.

Starline just responds how that was Eggman’s plan and he was just adding notes, but Zavok replies how Starline has potential to surpass Eggman.

Now, I kinda disagree with this. As a villain, there is hardly anyone who can surpass Eggman. Most bad guys had been easily taken out (some being literal Gods), while Eggman is still around. Nevertheless, Starline did win in one regard - memorability. You can think of him however you want, but Starline actually is quite interesting as a villain on his own and stands out as a character, and his legacy will be felt long after his... well, I guess I’ll leave that for Issue #50.

Starline seems to be conflicted, unsure whether he should really take his ambition to the next level. Mimic interrupts them, while Rough and Tumble decide to pull a Legolas and Gimli in who smashed more robots.

Starline then accesses the control panel, telling Mimic to change into Sonic. Mimic questions him, but Starline lashes back with covering this as a bit of heroic vandalism and Eggman would be too distracted thinking Sonic destroyed one of his bases to prepare for countermeasures against them.

It sounds like a solid plan... except this is Eggman we’re talking about. Eggman may be obsessed with Sonic, but even he knows his arch-enemy well enough to be aware that Sonic wouldn’t just go around destroying his bases. I mean, we just had a moment of them getting under each other’s skin.

Sonic!Mimic goes along with it, only to get ambushed by a T. rex Badnik. Not gonna lie, it’s kinda awesome!

Sonic!Mimic tags out, with Zavok taking over (dude, this really feels now like Sonic Heroes), but the Badnik is immune to his power. So, Rough and Tumble tag in to help, with Tumble throwing Rough right into the Badnik’s mouth and clamping its mouth shut.

Cue the Badnik exploding from the inside, impressing Starline, Mimic (who hates it) and even Zavok, judging from his expression. Rough and Tumble might be dumb and easily lose to Sonic, but in the right situation, they are quite dangerous.

Starline tells them to move on, leaving. Mimic wonders where he’s going to, but Starline notes how he’ll let Eggman see the story they want. After a short montage of Starline manipulating the footage, an exasperated “Why am I working with these idiots?” Mimic, Rough and Tumble, and Zavok grabbing the Cores (and Zavok briefly absorbing the Power Core), they exit the base.

Zavok and Tumble stay at the gate, punching to make it look like Sonic spin-dashed into it. Note how Zavok had earlier absorbed the Power Core, which is why he doesn’t feel pain as Tumble does. Nice touch. Then, they leave.

The next day, Eggman arrives, wondering what the hell had happened at the base. Orbot gives him a report, saying how Sonic is to blame, with Eggman noting how they’re missing databases and the security footage is incomplete, questioning why Sonic would do that. Orbot suggests that he tried to cover his tracks, but Eggman points out he mocked him right in front of the surveillance camera. He also adds how Tails wouldn’t be this sloppy either if he tried to cover for Sonic.

In short, he has already figured out that someone else is messing with him. Told ya this wouldn’t work.

Back at the repository, Starline acknowledges that Zavok was right - none of the robots would be capable of feats like Rough and Tumble did. But he still refuses to rely on a team like Zavok does. He decides to focus on the present to enable the future, taking a look at the stasis tubes which contain... someone.

He also puts something on his glove, noting he won’t have to rely on anyone again.

He reveals the Tricore, which replaces the Warp Topaz, allowing him to speed around, fly and use incredible strength against anyone who confronts him.

Now, he’s ready to face against the heroes.

Links:

#Previous Issue

#Next Issue

#Sonic the Hedgehog Analyzer (Masterlist)

#Sonic the Hedgehog Analyzer #sonic idw #bad guys #dr starline #mimic the octopus #rough and tumble #sonic the hedgehog #dr eggman #orbot

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chrisbannor · 7 days

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531

Chapter Twenty Eight: Rusty

Author: Chris Bannor

Wu DaQi had never felt more helpless in his life. The news played on the large screen across from him, but his head was full of live video feeds as he watched the chaos that took the lower levels of the city.

His heart was breaking for Yi.

More than anything, he wanted to pull Yi into his arms and keep him from the mayhem outside their safe house. It wasn’t who they were though. Hiding from the world and the horrors outside wouldn’t make anything better. They had to face it and see where this new horror would lead.

Yi hadn’t moved in hours, not since martial law had been declared. Yi stood silently staring out into the city, resting his head against the window. DaQi saw Yi’s back straighten at the same time the news across from him flashed to alert them to an urgent report.

“We have just received breaking news. The police have released a statement concerning the case of possible AI let loose on our city streets. A doctor has been taken into custody by agents of Mann Enterprises. There is no indication of what chargers Dr. Atieno Obuo might face, but the doctor was a part of Mariner Tech’s science division before she was fired for selling corporate information to Safe-E Tech.”

The screen turned off the reporter and showed an image of Obuo being led into Mariner Tech’s corporate office.

“As you can see, the doctor is now in custody. Police will soon know what hand she had in the development of sentient artificial intelligence and what she knows about the current location of these two dangerous robots.”

DaQi muted the screen as it moved on to images of the Piles again.

“I thought she’d made it out safely,” Yi said. He walked away from the window and took a seat on the couch across from the screen. “She had connections to stay alive that long. I hoped they’d see her outside of this mess.”

“You know what this is.” DaQi needed him thinking clearly tonight, but it was obvious he was worried about his friends.

“Yeah, but that doesn’t change anything, does it?”

Wu DaQi ran a hand through his hair. “No. Even if it is a trap, we need to get her out of there. She did too much for us over the years.”

“They won’t hurt her.”

“We don’t know that for certain though.”

Yi nodded. “And that’s exactly why we have to get to her. They won’t keep her at the corporate offices. They made too much of a show of bringing her in there. They’re using the crowd to help keep an eye on us and any escape we might try to make.”

“We don’t know who she’s connected to, but it’s high enough they’ve kept her alive this long. They’re using her arrest to bait us, and they’ll move her someplace safe.”

“So, we just need to figure out where that someplace safe is. So how do we do that? She gave me an earpiece that would reach her, but even if she managed to keep them from finding it, she’d have made it untraceable.” Yi said.

DaQi thought about Mariner and the information he’d learned over the years. About what he knew from the last seven years working in various positions around Mann Enterprises and Mariner itself. “The stolen tech,” he realized. “They knew where it was, but Salin kept putting us on the detail because he was trying to get you to come back for me. I don’t think he knew what was going on. Which means he probably didn’t pass along the fact that we were tagging the stolen merchandise. Before they let the Piles burn they would have retrieved it and taken it someplace safe.”

“Follow the tech and you think they’ll have her there too?”

“They aren’t going to worry about securing too many of their locations against the raids and riots. The ones they do are important.”

“So, we just need to find the merchandise you tagged, tap into the properties owned by Mariner Tech, and see which ones they’re securing.”

“And then we go get Obuo.”

“Oh good.” Chan Yi smiled for the first time since they’d come home. “It’s been almost a week since I last broke into a Mariner Tech building. I was afraid my skills might get rusty.”

Author's Note: And now Obuo has been pulled into this mess! Do you think she's really alright? Is the person who kept her out of trouble so far powerful enough to keep her alive now? Or are Yi and DaQi going after a corpse?

#531 #cyberpunk #mm scifi #lgbt fiction #chris bannor #lgbt scifi

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if-you-fan-a-fire · 1 year

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“Prisoners Revolt At Dorchester,” Toronto Globe. January 9, 1933. Page 1 & 2. ---- Five Penitentiary Rioters Shot Down and Two Guards Injured --- Missiles From Tiers Rain Upon Warders And Rifles Answer --- New Brunswick Prison Is Scene of Latest Outbreak When Inmates Turn on Guards By Prearranged Plot - One Convict Seriously Wounded, Four Others Recovering, and Interior of Cell-Block Almost to Pieces ---- HOURS LATER GUARDS RESTORE QUIET EXCEPT FOR SPASMODIC YAMMERING --- (By DAVID B. ROGERS, Canadian Press Correspondent) DORCHESTER, N.B., Jan. 8. -- Pandemonium which broke loose on Saturday afternoon in this picturesque penitentiary had died tonight to an occasionally outbreak of. menacing yammering while down in the prison infirmary the groans of five wounded convicts bore grim testimony to the worst prison riot in the history of Eastern Canada. Additional evidence of the seriousness of Saturday’s outbreak was provided by the scene of devastation within the prison. A biting snow laden wind tore through jagged holes and hanging sashes of hundreds of window panes in the prison proper, rendering the interior almost as cold as outside. Convicts muttered and occasionally broke into wild yells of bitterness and rebellion as they sought sleep in the frigid atmosphere beneath their blankets.

Five Hour Battle Down in the prison yard lay huge heap of debris, the remains of missiles which had been hurled at the guards as they herded the prisoners back into their cells in battle which raged at fever heat for live and a half hours, Saturday afternoon.

A prison populace of 300 had tried their might against a mere handful of 40 odd guards directed by a cool-headed strategist, Warden George T. Goad, and led by a two-fisted man of action, Deputy Warden E. H. Cummings. They had tried their might and lost.

There were 476 convicts in the prison, every cell in the institution being occupied and an overflow lot of 25 being quartered in the hospital section, but only some 300 actually took part In the riot.

The cause of the trouble remains a mystery but Warden Goad declared tonight that it was in the nature of a demonstration rather than a deliberate attempt to break loose.

The warden also confirmed re ports that word of the projected uprising had leaked out two hours before the riot got under way. Exactly how the warning had reached him Warden Goad was not at liberty to say.

“What would have happened if you had not been tipped off that trouble was brewing?” he was asked.

The warden shrugged his broad shoulders.

“We can’t say,” he replied, “but I do know that it would have been much more serious than it turned out to be. In a measure we were prepared for what took place, but we did not anticipate that it would reach the proportions that it did.“

Warden Tells Story. Warden Goad’s account of the riot in chronological order was as follows:

"At five minutes past four Saturday afternoon, 27 prisoners who had been working in the stone cutting shed walked out of the building into the yard, refusing to obey the orders of the two guards who gad been watching them. The men customarily work until 4.15 Saturday afternoon.

"As they crossed the yard in the direction of the boiler room, they were joined by ten other prison ens from the excavation labor gang.

"On reaching the bunker section of the boiler room, they were challenged by Deputy Warden Cummings, who on seeing the men leave the shops had stepped from his office to the roof of the boiler room. The deputy warden was armed with a revolver. He ordered the men to stop. They did and some of them put up their hands, but when he ordered them to go back to the shop they refused.

"The deputy warden then fired one shot into the air. The men immediately ran shouting back to the crushing shed, but instead of settling down commenced to smash things up. A few moments later they emerged from the shed, many of them armed with pick handles. Others who had forced their way into the pipe-fitting shop armed themselves with lengths of pipe.

57 Participating. "At that time there’ were about 37 prisoners taking part in the riot.

"As soon as the trouble started, the alarm had been spread and when the group of rioting prisoners came out into the yard the second time, five officers took up their stand in the yard opposite the boiler room commanding the entrance to the carpenter, tailor and shoe shops, the laundry and the stores. The officers were armed with regulation, 303 rifles and .38 calibre revolvers.

"The men stopped when they saw the armed guards. They were immediately lined up, the pipe lengths and pick handles were taken away from them and they were searched fir other concealed weapons, none of which were found. This original group of rioters were kept under cover in the yard while the convicts who had been working in the tailor, shoe, and carpenter shops were marched out of the shops and ordered into the main prison building.

"The real trouble did not start until most of the prisoners got inside the prison, which is divided into north, and south wings opening off a large central dome four tiers high on one side and five on the other. Separate barriers open off the various dome levels into the cell landings each of which contains 25 cells. The barriers of the cell landings had been opened for the men to return to their cells and some 40 guards were on duty at the time. But the first prisoners to enter the dome refused to go to their cells and when a moment later the men from the cutting shed and yard gangs entered, pandemonium broke out in earnest.

Full-Fledged Riot "There were then between 250 and 300 men in the prison dome. In almost no time what had started as an incipient demonstration became a full-fledged riot. Shouting and yelling at the top of their voices the men tore along the landings and into the cell blocks and emerged along the dome galleries with everything they could tear loose,, including heavy wooden cupboards and chairs from the cells, metal trays and eating utensils, garbage chests and lockers. They started throwing these down into the floor and lower galleries where most of the guards had congregated.

"As the spirit of battle waged warmer, some of the stronger men began ripping up heavy toilets and wash basins and tossing them to the floor. Others were smashing windows all along the cell landings and along the cell wings.

"By that time the noise had risen to a deafening bedlam and the situation became so serious that we were forced to resort to firearms. Two riot guns were brought up and an additional supply of revolvers were issued.

"Officers were instructed not to shoot directly at the men except in cases of direct necessity. Fire at first was directed with a view to warning the men but when many of them still refused to enter their cells and continued the bombardment of heavy missiles it became essential to shoot to wound but not to kill. Prisoners ‘Picked Off’ "Shooting had to be carried out with extreme caution as in many cases guards were in close proximity of the prisoners. Men were picked off individually rather than being fired at blindly in groups.

"About twenty shots were fired altogether. This sufficed to bring order out of chaos so that by 9.30 p.m. the prisoners had all been forced back into their cells and were safely locked up.

"Rifle, riot guns and revolvers fire was confined to the dome section of the prison building, and in accordance with regulations armed men were not permitted to enter the cell blocks, the work here being done by unarmed guards.

"When the fighting was over, five convicts had been wounded, one quite seriously, and two guards had been injured. Wounds were as follows: Two prisoners received bullets through the right leg, one was shot through the left arm, one received four buckshot wounds in the body, and the fifth was shot through the groin. It was this last mam who to most seriously wounded. He will probably recover. All five men were taken immediately to the prison infirmary where they were treated by the prison doctor, J. F. Teen, M.D.

"Of the two officers who were injured, one was struck on the hip by a locker thrown from an upper gallery and the other was struck on the hand by a flying object. Reinforcements Called. "A short while .after the riot got under way a call for reinforcements was sent to R.C.M.P. and city police headquarters at Moncton. Fourteen men from the Mounted Police detachment and five city constables arrived from Moncton at 5.45 p.m. These 19 men were used as a standby detachment, the riot situation itself being handled entirely by our own prison staff.

"The situation was entirely under control at 9.30 p.m. Saturday The prison is now quiet and orderly except for a small amount of yelling.

"The prisoners kept up their yelling most of Saturday night and mere were also a number of outbreaks of yammering today, but nothing at all serious developed and the prison routine of feeding was maintained by the inmates being fed in groups of 25 at a time by the regular cafeteria system.

"The inmates are marched to the kitchen where they receive their trays, and carry them to their cells where they eat their rations.

"Today’s dinner menu consisted of fried baloney, baked potatoes, jam and tea. For supper they got cocoa, bread and jam.

None In Solitary None of the prisoners have been placed in solitary confinement as we do not use that system in this penitentiary. But five of the inmates, who were among the last to be quelled, have been quartered in an isolated block of five cells.

"Previous to this trouble, the inmates, generally speaking, had been well behaved. During Christmas and New Year’s their conduct was excellent. A splendid Christmas was arranged and staged by the prisoners. The programme included motion pictures and singing and dancing acts. Excellent order was maintained and many of the prisoners expressed to the warden their appreciation of the way they were being treated.

"In my opinion the officers of the penitentiary used fine judgment and deserve great credit for the efficient manner in which they handled a serious situation. I wish to pay-tribute to the behavior of every member of the prison staff and particularly wish to commend the judgment and cool headed action of Deputy Warden Cummings, who was actively in charge of the guards who took part in the conflict itself."

The Deputy Warden has been in the prison service for 25 years, having been stationed at Kingston and Edmonton before coming to Dorchester five years ago.

Warden Goad joined the staff as a guard in 1919 following his return from overseas.

Prior to 1925 when he was named Warden, he served as Warden’s Secretary and storekeeper, and for one year and a half held the position as Acting Warden.

During the period he has held the chief executive office there have been no previous serious outbreaks until now.

Released Men’s Praise —- Halifax, January 8. Neither of two former convicts who served out their sentences in Dorchester penitentiary and who are now residing in Halifax could hazard a guess today as to why inmates of the institution should riot. One said conditions were too good to warrant any such action; the other, that armed guards posted on the prison’s towers would prevent escape inevitably and thus nullify any possibility of escape. Both had a good word for Warden G. T. Goad. "He is a gentleman,” said one. “He is a right guy,”, averred the others.

Meals were good, dinner and supper menus changed every day, the first said. The men were not worked hard; eight hours labor a day was the maximum. Men were detailed to the various shops, while some went to work on the roads.

“1 don’t see -what the fellows in the pen would want, other than their freedom, and they can get that much more quickly by watching their conduct. Warden Goad is a gentleman. He will do anything in his power to give prisoners the best possible chance.’‘

Reading material was provided three times a week. Each prisoner in his cell had a bed, toilet, running water and folding desk.

"The curse of Canadian prison life is that it’s all work and no play,” said the second, who served cut nine years of a 12-year sentence for manslaughter and was released for good behavior. “The public has a false idea of tho life, gleaned from romantic fiction. There are no baseball games at Dorchester, no evening entertainment at checkers, chess or cards. I'tom the time a man enters until he leaves he is not allowed to talk to a soul.” Entertainment was limited to a motion picture and concerts four times a year. Magazines were censored until there was “nothing left.” Food was good.

There were a few “tough eggs” in Dorchester, he said. Most of these were numbered among the prisoners who had been transferred there in 1928 from St. Vincent de Paul. “It’s impossible to escape from the place,” he added.

Dorchester penitentiary, scene of rioting Saturday afternoon, is enclosed by a high wall. Armed guards keep watch at turrets on each corner and other guards patrol the wall. Guards on duty inside the enclosure ordinarily do not carry arms.

Administration offices are on one side of the prison entrance and a library on the other. Beyond the immediate entrance is a reception room with iron doors at each end. This leads to a large circular room called “the dome,” which is used as a yard in bad weather.

Two cell blocks extend off the “dome” in opposite directions. These blocks comprise three tiers of cells.

Behind the cell blocks, and paralleling them, are two yards. The kitchen, hospital, chapels and boiler room are located in a central position, and at the rear are the workshops.

#dorchester penitentiary #dorchester new brunswick #halifax #prison riot #prisoner protest #convict revolt #1933 dorchester riot #causes of prison riots #prison discipline #prison guards #ex-convicts #great depression in canada #crime and punishment in canada #history of crime and punishment in canada

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lthremouth · 2 years

Text

Talking about L.S. Dunes (and criticising the music business)

I've been a Frank-Stan for about 8 years, I love all the projects he's ever been a part of. This man and his music shaped me, made me who I am. Especially Stomachaches has given me so much... I would go in depth but I can't bc then this text would get wayyyy to long.

What you should know about me is, I'm a musician myself. When I discovered MCR and especially Frank Iero/ Stomachaches in 2014 (I think I was around 15 years old) I picked up a guitar for the first time. I looked for people like me, and I found a few friends who started a band with me. I'm now 23, the band has become a big part of my life. We released a few songs, and played many festivals in our area, even a few bigger ones. I met many people and got introduced to many scenes during these years. And here comes the annoying but, sadly, true thing I have to criticise (again).

When my band just started out, we had a few gigs, people liked us. Our local scene is mostly just Punk or Ska bands, we, as a Alternative Rock/ Indie Band were new and special. Though, we didn't know many people in the scene. We were super young and had no friends outside of the band. Thus lead to us not even having the chance to get booked outside of being the opener band. Outside of our local scene, we'd get booked for other stuff, some bigger things even. But at home, at our rehearsal space, with the people we started out with. Nothing. It felt like they were a closed party, and we didn't even get the chance of being included as a full band, who has fans and plays fun shows.

Then, new bands were forming, with people who already were in the scene and in the friend groups. And these bands got booked for bigger shows, slots even late at night without ever having to play any show before, note these bands were mostly, again, Ska and Punk bands. They got all that, just because they had a few friends in the scenes. While we, on the other hand, worked our asses off and still got nothing. Only getting booked as the opener, playing when everyone was outside smoking. I can't loose this feeling that this might even have something to do because everyone was male, while we had two afab people in the band during that time (now we're three afab people)

Back to L.S. Dunes. I love their music and I know how special this project is to the members. I appreciate that very much and I am looking forward to their album.

This criticism goes out rather to the music scene and business than to the band personally. But yeah.

We have a band of 5 dudes, well known dudes. Who have lots of money and a name in the business. These 5 dudes form a band and get a slot at Riot Fest, without even having anything released. It's just so easy for them to be there, as a band. And yes, I know they all got famous because of hard work, again I am in no way criticising the band members. They do what they love, as they should. But it's just hard, especially for female artists to get seen or heard. To get booked and appreciated. Especially at big festivals. I have no clue about Riot Fest, I've never been there. Hell, I hope I get the chance someday but I'm European so it's pretty expensive to get to Chicago. But a good example is Rock am Ring who keeps booking the same damn bands year after year. While there's so many amazing smaller artists who should get a slot at those festivals. Especially female artists. That's a big point a lot of people have to say about Rock am Ring. Too many men, not enough activism. Which leads to a lot of sexism on the festival, trust me, I've been there.

Again, I love Frank Iero and every project he ever has been a part of. But this specific time I'm just like.... ugh goddammit it's just five dudes who play rock music again. There's so much more to music. And I know that Frank probably has the same to say about the music business as me. I know that's the business. I just wanted to vent.

#frank iero #my chemical romance #ls dunes #mcr #thursday #coheed and cambria #gerard way #ray toro #mikey way #alternative #music business #sexism #feminism

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4amfnaf · 2 years

Text

Big Talk

Human! Montgomery x Rockstar! Reader

In which an up-and-coming singer meets a hotshot bassist with a knack for flirting. Was it the work of fate? Or the work of their friends who thought they might hit it off?

CW: Bar ambience/alcohol, some horny thoughts, and a little grinding on the dance floor

It was a Saturday night, the scent of summer in the air, and the scent of sweat and beer in the club. You sat next to one of your friends up at the bar, nursing an overly sweetened drink as your other two friends danced with the other summertime partygoers. It had been a long week (or a long few months if you were honest), and your closest buddies convinced you to go out with them to “let loose” and “have some fun.” You agreed you needed a break, but a bar wouldn’t have been your first choice. Being an “up-and-coming rockstar” as you called yourself meant the bar scene was familiar to you, since you had spent many weekends playing long nights at local joints. Going to a bar almost felt like going to work, but then again you loved performing, so its not like work was a bad thing. That’s why you decided to shake off said feeling, put on your hottest outfit, and go have a good time.

“Oh, Freddy, I’ve been meaning to ask you, did you ever find a new bassist? I know you guys have been looking around ever since Bonnie decided to hang up his guitar,” you questioned your friend as you took a sip of your drink. The man hummed as he looked over at you from the neighboring barstool, also taking a sip of his drink before responding. Freddy was a musician as well, along with your other two friends, Chica and Roxy, who were his bandmates. As a matter of fact, you had met them all through the local music scene. You would have loved to be in their band (it was a lot more popular than yours), and Freddy had offered you a spot before, but you were determined to be a frontman and unfortunately, that spot was already taken by Freddy himself. So, you decided to just continue on your own.

“Actually, funny you mention that. We just picked up a new guy a couple months ago,” the brunette smiled.

“Really? How’s that going?” You leaned your back against the bar, turning just in time to see Roxy and Chica returning from the dance floor.

“He’s… quite a performer,” Freddy chuckled somewhat sheepishly. You raised an eyebrow.

“Oh, are you talking about the new guy?” Roxy sneered, inserting herself into the conversation. “He’s such a riot, a real rockstar.”

“Huh,” you mused, watching as the wild-haired girl threw back a shot, her tatted hand slamming the glass back onto the counter afterwards. A real rockstar, huh?

There was a brief silence, and then Freddy cleared his throat. “You know, I actually think I saw him here just a minute ago, maybe we should say hi.” He seemed to shoot Chica a look, and at first the girl just stared at him dumbfoundedly, but then she let out a sharp little gasp and began fervently looking around the room.

“There he is! Hey!!” she shouted, waving her heavily accessorized arm in the air. You craned your neck trying to see who she was calling, but you couldn’t see anyone responding from the sweaty mass of dancing bodies in front of you.

But then he emerged.

He seemed to part the crowd like the red sea, swaggering towards your little group as if he owned the place. It was a mystery how you hadn’t noticed him sooner, he was all but massive. From 20 feet away you found yourself captivated by his loud attire and flashy red faux hawk, and as he got closer you became entranced by even minute details like the cocky smirk on his face, and the slight sheen of sweat built up from partying that made his muscular arms seem to glisten. You barely had time to wipe the utterly stupid look off your face before he was upon you.

“Hey, what are you kids doing here? I would have thought its past your bedtime,” the man teased, slinging an arm around Freddy’s shoulders. His voice was deep and raspy, and the sound of it scratched an itch in your brain that you didn’t even know you had. You sensed you had a stupid look on your face again, and lightly shook your head as a means to snap yourself out of it.

That was when he looked at you.

With his free hand, he reached up and pulled down his gaudy star-shaped sunglasses just enough to reveal his dark eyes that seemed to glow red from the lighting in the bar. He made direct eye contact with you, eyes half-lidded, before looking you up and down. You felt yourself heat up as his gaze trailed along your figure, and you tried to nonchalantly look in another direction. After all, that tended to be your first instinct in situations like these: act disinterested no matter how incredibly interested you were. Were you overcompensating a little? Yes. Could you think of anything better to do in that moment? Absolutely not.

Without taking his eyes off you, the man leaned towards Freddy a little before saying, “This your partner, Spazbear?”

You raised your eyebrows, allowing yourself to look at the bassist once again. His gaze was lazy, yet somehow you could feel it piercing through you. You swallowed thickly, hoping he couldn’t sense your nerves.

“No, we’re just good friends,” Freddy responded with a calm smile, ignoring the nickname. The redhead finally looked away from you just to shoot Freddy a short sideways glance before pushing his sunglasses back up over his eyes. Behind the glasses his gaze shifted back to you, and his face stretched into a crooked grin that made your heart beat wildly inside your chest.

“Did I happen to catch your name, sweet thing?” he drawled. You tried to keep your composure, but you felt yourself jump a little the second he dropped a pet name, and you immediately wanted to punch yourself in the face for it.

‘Come on (Y/N), you’re a rockstar, you’re better than this! Be cool or something!’

In the blink of an eye you composed yourself again, straightening your posture a little and giving the man a lazy half-lidded gaze that reflected his own.

“I don’t think you did.” You tilted your head. “Are you asking for it?”

‘That was so cool.’

Your flirtatious tone didn’t go unnoticed. Chica giggled quietly behind you as the bassist raised his eyebrows, finally removing his arm from Freddy just so he could pull his glasses down his nose again.

He snickered a little. “I guess I am.”

“Its (Y/N),” you stated, and you held your hand out for him to shake.

“Glad to meet ya, (Y/N).” Your name rolled off his tongue, which then protruded from his mouth for a second as he licked his lips like he was trying to savor the feeling. Then, he grabbed your outstretched hand and placed a kiss on your knuckles, giving you a playful wink as he did so. You were taken by surprise, but you managed to uphold your cool demeanor despite going crazy on the inside. If you were a machine, you would be overheating, malfunctioning, blowing a fuze, sparking up and catching fire and ultimately exploding- a complete system overload.

“Say, sugar, why don’t you come dance with me?” He inquired, still holding onto your hand. You watched as he ran his tongue along his teeth after his statement, and it made you feel a bit lightheaded. You didn’t say anything in response (you weren’t sure you were able to speak), you simply stood up from your seat and allowed him to lead you to the dance floor without another thought.

As you got pulled away, your friends all shot each other knowing glances, and shared some coy laughter.

“I knew they’d get along, but I didn’t know they’d get along that well,” Roxy snickered, throwing back another shot.

“We didn’t even have to tell them this was a set up! They did the work all by themselves!” Chica tittered. The three of them continued laughing amongst themselves, admiring their matchmaking.

Meanwhile, the hot bassist had led you into the crowd of drunk dancers, keeping a tight grip on your hand so you didn’t get separated. Once he found a spot he was satisfied with, he didn’t hesitate to pull you into him and firmly grab your hip. Internally you were screaming your head off, but your body had seemingly gone into autopilot. Without thinking, you gingerly placed your hands on his well built chest, allowing him to guide you as you swayed your hips to the rock music blasting through the room. In that moment, you could feel your nerves start to dissipate. Maybe it was because you started getting lost in the music, or maybe it was just something about him. Something about the way he was holding onto you, something about that crooked grin on his face as he checked you out, something about the electric shock you seemed to feel every time his hips bumped into yours. Whatever it was, you were grateful for it.

“Did I happen to catch your name?” you inquired with a playful smirk. The redhead let out a deep chuckle, then took your hand and pushed you away only to spin you back into him. Now your back was flush against his chest, and he placed his hands back onto your hips.

“I don’t think you did.” He put his lips right next to your ear. “Are you asking for it?”

‘I am so asking for it.’

“I guess I am,” you declared, once again swaying your hips with the music, and he moved along with you.

“Its Montgomery, but you can call me Monty, sweetheart,” he answered. Hearing his raspy voice right in your ear like that was doing things to both your mind and body, but you tried not to show it.

“Glad to meet ya, Monty,” you uttered in a sultry tone, just like he had not 10 minutes earlier. At the sound of you saying his name, you felt him dig his fingertips into your hips a little, and he pulled your body even closer to his (if that was at all possible). There was no words spoken for a while as you both just moved together, hips grinding against each other just enough just to get riled up but not enough to provide any relief. Your whole body felt hot, and at that point you couldn’t tell if it was from Monty’s advances or from all the other people dancing around you.

Eventually, he turned you around to be facing him again, which you took as a que to start up some sort of conversation.

“Freddy said you’re their new bassist. How’s that going?” you questioned. You were curious after all, you didn’t initially think they’d be able to replace Bonnie since he was such close friends with Freddy, but as great performers say, the show must go on.

“I could do without some of Freddy’s sappy love songs, but otherwise its not half bad.” He cracked that lopsided grin again, and you couldn’t help but chuckle along.

“So you prefer heavier stuff then?”

“Harder stuff is more up my alley, but I’d rather play his shitty 80s hair metal than play nothing at all.”

“Makes sense, Roxy described you as ‘a real rockstar.’”

Monty laughed as he twirled you around. “That I am.”

“What about you, sweetheart? What do you do?” He inquired, pulling your hips flush against his again.

‘You, hopefully’

You allowed your hands to rest on his chest again like you had before, but that time you snaked one up by his neck, causing him to subconsciously lean further towards you.

“I’m actually a rockstar myself, a frontman. I sing heavier stuff than Freddy does,” you exclaimed with a boastful smirk.

“Is that so?” Monty snickered. “Big talk from a cute thing like you.”

You scoffed. “Are you saying you don’t believe me?”

He let out another one of those low, raspy chuckles as he slid one of his hands up to your mid back, suddenly pushing you right up against him. There was no longer any space between your bodies, and you could feel his breath lightly fan over your lips. His sunglasses had slid down his nose on their own volition, and you swore you could count his dark eyelashes if you wanted to. You didn’t realize that you had moved your hand further up, tangling your fingers in the locks of scarlet hair by the base of his neck, you were too focused on the way he tightened his grasp on your hip, and the feeling of his muscular body wrapped around yours.

“I guess you’ll just have to prove it to me, rockstar.”

And with that, he began to close the gap between your lips and his. Part of you desperately wanted to indulge in that moment, to feel his lips on yours, to feel how close he could pull your body to his, to see where it might lead. However, just as his lips brushed against yours, you got a sudden, flirtatiously evil urge.

You pulled away from him.

Monty’s eyes shot open as he felt you slip from his grasp, your lingering hands gently dragging down his chest before you were completely separated. He blinked furiously, trying to compute what had gone wrong to cause that turn of events. You simply looked at him with a smug smile. The confidence you had built up on the dance floor put you in the mood to be a tease, so you decided to mess around with him a little.

“Then I guess you’ll just have to come to my next show, see for yourself.” You shrugged and shot the man a wink before turning on your heel and walking back to the bar, giggling lightly to yourself at the flabbergasted look on his face from being left high and dry right at the climax of your time together. At first, Monty couldn’t bring himself to move from the spot he stood as he just watched you slip away. There was a hollowness inside him as he stood alone on the dance floor, feeling as if he had somehow been robbed. He acted cool, but you had been driving him wild since the moment he saw you, and he had gotten so excruciatingly close to the next base, only to suddenly be left empty handed. The man laughed somewhat incredulously, running a hand through his spiky hair.

“So this one’s gonna play hardball,” he muttered to himself, grinning at the challenge. With that, he immediately started pushing his way through the crowd in the direction you had left. He found his way back to where his bandmates were stationed, but the barstool you had sat on before was empty.

“Did they leave?!” He exclaimed, beginning to frantically search the room with his eyes for any trace of you. Freddy chuckled at the bassist’s actions.

“You just missed them,” he stated with a sympathetic pat on Monty’s shoulder. The redhead groaned. How could you have gotten away so quickly?

“Damn, you are whipped, man,” Roxy snorted.

Chica teasingly pointed up at his face. “You’re even all flushed!”

“Shut up,” he grumbled in embarrassment, pushing his sunglasses up his nose with a huff.

“Oh, but before they left they said to give you this,” Freddy spoke, holding up a slip of paper for Monty to grab. He snatched it eagerly and examined the words scribbled on the note.

“Next saturday, 8:00 @ the pub on 4th st.

“See you in the crowd, rockstar”

Monty just chuckled, your sly invitation lighting a fire inside him. He was already anticipating seeing you again, and a week felt like too long to wait, but if you were gonna play games, he was gonna play along.

And so the chase began.

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oh-katsuki · 3 years

Text

thinkin’ about big brother bakugou coming home drunk to fuck his pretty little stepsister

tw: stepcest, dub/noncon, drug use, breeding, finger choking, creampie, aged-up characters

MINORS DNI

step brother bakugou who loves his new little sister so much. she’s only a few years younger than him, college age and quirkless, living in the family home with him as he tries to get his start as a pro-hero. with his flashy quirk, its not hard to quickly move through the ranks, but he finds each day testing his patience a little more.

he finds himself disappointed when he doesn’t get home in time for dinner or before you head to bed. bakugou hates missing out on seeing you shuffle down the hall in those hot pink panties and oversize top. you think he doesn’t notice when you do it, too lazy to toss on pajama bottoms as you go to use the bathroom or brush your teeth, but he does. bakugou always sees you through the crack in his door, body leaning gently against the frame so as to not disturb it.

it became somewhat of a sinful nightly routine, watching you in the bathroom through the crack, palming himself through his shorts as you lean over the vanity to apply some skin cream he didn’t give a fuck about. until his hours got longer and suddenly he only saw you on weekends.

it wasn’t all bad though, because now his pretty little sister wanted to spend her saturdays with him on the couch, which means katsuki gets to watch you slut around the house in those tiny sleep shorts. he wanted you so bad that it hurt, gut twisting, constantly needing to adjust himself in his pants because everything you did got him riled up. what’s worse is that once he got to know you better, he found that you were quite a doting sister, hanging off his arm and asking to sit in his lap.

fuck, you drove him crazy with want. it was ridiculous how whipped he was at the prospect of getting a taste of the pretty cunt between your legs. he’d do anything if it meant he got to fuck you stupid, do anything if it meant he’d get to keep those boys you call friends the fuck away from you. katsuki swears that if you weren’t his little sister, if it weren’t so taboo, that he’d have you under him every fucking day.

sure, he felt guilty about it, but in the end he chalked it up to human nature. katsuki couldn’t even try denying his attraction to you because he thinks that anyone who isn’t is a fucking idiot. god, he’d have to be brain dead to not want to stink his cock between your thighs and fuck you silly. and he wasn’t the only one who felt that way.

you thought your new big brother was... needlessly attractive. he made your tummy twist into knots each time he got close, each time you got a whiff of the unique smell his quirk gave off after a day of hero work. so foreboding and with such a presence, not to mention that he was huge and looked at you like he was ready to devour you. and fuck, that uniform. just the thought of it had you creaming yourself nightly to the thought of him, fingers prodding at your puffy clit until it was sore.

so it was safe to say that by the time he paid the price of fame and his hours got upped again, the tension between you two was insurmountable and katsuki was at his wits end. he was hanging on by a thread, fucking his fist to the thought of you asleep in bed down the hall, what you might look like crying beneath him while he stuffs you full of his thick cock.

it was filthy, the way his mind ran wild each night, so wild that he swore he could hear you purring and keening in your room at night, whining his name. maybe you did the same, he thought, hand slipping beneath his waistband. maybe you fucked yourself on those little fingers of yours, whining because they could never fill you up like your big brother can.

however, all of that wanting came to an end after a particularly long night of drinking.

katsuki didn’t drink often unless it was the occasional beer before dinner, but tonight he was invited out with some colleagues and decided fuck it. he’d spent so many of the previous evenings frustrated out of his mind, spilling over his chest and fucking himself out to the thought of you. he knows that as soon as he walks into the house, he’d be filled with that same frustration. so he stays out, accompanying red riot and deku for drinks.

saying he got carried away was an understatement, even to the point that kirishima was giggling through a drunken haze at just how loose katsuki had gotten. by the time he left the bar, his head was so fuzzy with alcohol that he couldn’t see straight, parting from his friends with a gentle wave.

n then he came home to you, shutting the door to the house as silently as possible, locking it before heading up the stairs to where he knew you’d be sleeping. he was too drunk to think about what he was doing, all he knew was that he needed you, needed to feel you, fill you up. so he cracked your door open and there you were, splayed across the bed, t shirt riding up your abdomen and little panties exposed to the cold air of the room which grew thick in an instant.

katsuki could see the wet spot on you as he locked the door and padded into the room, no doubt leftover from the way you’d desperately humped your fingers to the thought of him earlier in the night. he leaned over you, hands kneading the flesh of your thighs as he called your name to rouse you from sleep.

“katsu...?” you mumbled, squinting in the dark to see his figure hovering over you. “w-what’s wrong?”

fuck, you sounded so innocent, so fucking tempting with that little upward lilt in your voice, heavy with sleep.

“want you... so fuckin’ bad.” he slurred his words slightly, dragging his hand up the inside of your thigh before resting over your crotch.

“katsu, no... we shouldn’t.” you said in a hushed whisper, eyes widening as they darted to the bolted door. “my dad is down the hall... it’s wrong.”

“but do you want me?” he asked, insisting, crimson eyes staring past you and scanning over your body. his fingers pressed against your entrance through your panties, earning himself a whine muffled by closed lips. “I think ya do.”

n you looked up at him with wide eyes, head falling back before you took your lip between your teeth and nodded slowly, a whimper falling from your lips. katsuki was on you faster than you could register, his fingers pulling your panties to the side roughly, calloused digits working against your clit and feeling just how slicked up you’d become.

“so fuckin’ wet.” he growled into your ear, wasting no time dipping his fingers into your soaking cunt, curling upwards.

god, you were tight. like a fucking virgin as he plunged his fingers into you, roughly spreading your thighs apart so he could get better access as he held his weight up on his other arm.

“k-katsu... w-wait!” you squeaked out, hand grabbing his forearm as he pumped his fingers inside of you.

it was fast, overwhelming and entirely too much. though you couldn’t deny that it was exactly the way you’d expected katsu to fuck and god, you were salivating, legs already beginning to tremble.

he couldn’t wait though, so fucking desperate for you as he finger fucks you into silence, kissing you with a rough tongue that lacks the delicate touch of the other boys you’ve kissed. katsuki just loves his little sister too much to stop before she’s creamed on his fingers. he waited far too long for this to not watch her come undone over and over again.

“y’gonna cum? dirty fuckin’ girl, so pretty.” he babbled as he watched you, your breath picking up as climbed to your orgasm, legs shifting on the bed. he brought his thumb down to your clit, eyeing you. “c’mon, show big brother how this pussy creams.”

n you do, like a good fuckin’ girl. you cream over his fingers with a whine while his free hand comes to soothe your hair down as he fucks you through it, fingers never leaving that spongey spot inside of you.

“that’s a good girl,” he coos. “gonna give me another, yeah? on m’fuckin’ tongue?”

and katsuki drops down, lifting your hips from the bed and connecting his lips to the little bud between your legs, tongue dipping to tease at your cute hole. he can feel the way your legs tremble as he holds you up to make a meal out of you, the little gasps and whines that break from your lips as he explores you with his tongue only drive him to press the pad of it to your hardened clit.

he’s rough with it and with no regard for your previous orgasm, threatening to bring you to another as he slides his fingers back into you.

“so wet f’me.” he practically moans into you. “tastes so fuckin’ good. could stay in front of this pretty pussy all day.”

his eyes meet yours, watching your expression, catching your embarrassed gaze as you feel the heat rise to your cheeks.

“this is my pussy, right?” he mumbles into you. “all fuckin’ mine now.”

n you nod, so close to spilling over the edge, so stupid on his tonuge that you can’t focus. you’ll say anything if it means that he’ll plug you with the thick stretch of his cock. katsuki groans into you, sending vibrations through your leaking cunt and pushing you well over the edge, your hand flying over your mouth to silence yourself.

before you can register it, he’s back over you, eyes drinking in your figure.

“gonna have to shut you the fuck up, huh?” he growls, lining himself up with your entrance and sliding his thick digits into your mouth. “gonna have to be quiet if you want this cock.”

you nod in obedience, taking his fingers into your mouth and letting him gag you while he spears you through, stretching you open with the fill of your step brother’s length. n katsuki finally gets to fuck his pretty little sister, fuck her stupid with her panties sloppily pushed to the side because he was too fuckin’ excited to pull them off. gets to watch her cream over his cock over and over again, until he was sure that everyone in the house knew just who was fuckin’ her so well.

katsuki stuffs you full, fills you with him, breeds that tight little cunt of yours with a groan and a mutter of oh fuck, fuck yeah take it. take m’fuckin’ cum, dirty bitch.

a/n: wrote this this morning because I couldn’t get it out of my head

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peakyblindersxx · 3 years

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May I request a john smut in which, despite being the cocky beast that he usually is, he manages to get all gentle and intense when, after years of mutual pining, he finally makes love to ada's best friend who's younger and totally inexperienced. Idk I just need this to be fucking intense, like John suffocating his desire for ages and now finally indulging in his worst temptation and showing her what lust is... please i'll burn in hellll

a/n: first of all let me say: this killed me. like, it’s literally all i can think about. god help me. but thank you so fucking much for requesting this bc i liked it sooo much that i decided to make a mini series out of it with the help of my babe @stxdyblr-2k who was sweet enough to offer to ghostwrite on the series 🥰 and to all my other angels who requested fics, don’t worry i will get them done! just wanna give you guys the best quality work i can. my 1st priority are some tommy requests i got, as well as some michael ones after :)

love, abi xxx

whiskey business - john shelby x reader (1 of ?)

warnings: nsfw! eventual smut, slow burn, john being sexy as all hell but also soft

John couldn’t tear his eyes off of you. From the moment you walked into the Garrison, arm loosely linked with Ada’s, clad in a black lace dress that hugged you just right, he couldn’t stop staring. Even Tommy and Arthur had noticed, cracking some joke about him being pussy whipped. The words floated right over his head, his mind on one thing only. The last time he had seen you, you were barely eighteen, cheeks pink as you waved goodbye out the train window to Ada as she sobbed. Ada had always had a flair for the dramatic, but the two of you had practically been attached at the hip your entire lives. So, he consoled her, reminding her that university wasn’t forever, that you would be back soon enough. And back, you were, red-stained lips sipping at a glass of something that Ada had practically shoved in your face. You weren’t a girl anymore, black heels crossed at the ankle as you sat across the room in a booth, laughing as Ada waved her arms, telling some sort of story.

“Just fuckin’ talk to ‘er, John-boy,” Arthur’s voice cut through John’s train of thought like a sharp knife, and he focused his eyes on his two brothers sitting at the booth across from him, clouds of smoke from Tommy’s incessant smoking heavy in the air around them.

“Fuck off,” John returned as he stood, earning a chuckle from Tommy.

“That’s right,” Arthur shouted as John made his way towards the bar, rolling his eyes at his older brothers. “Make sure you show her a real good time, eh?” Arthur’s voice was soon drowned out by the crowd around John, as they parted to let him walk through. He didn’t even see them, his eyes trained on your smile. Fuck, you were pretty.

***

“So, then I fucking kicked him in the balls.” Ada’s eyes sparkled triumphantly as she recalled the time she’d incited a riot, managing to cause great injury to a certain part of a policeman’s body. She did so casually, like it was no big deal. You couldn’t control your laughter as Ada grinned, pleased that she’d been able to make you laugh. “Fuckin’ missed you, Y/N,” she professed, shooting the rest of her gin and gesturing at the bartender to “leave the fuckin’ bottle, already.”

“Missed you too,” you smiled back at her, happy to be back in Birmingham in the company of an old friend. London was beautiful, but lonely. There was something inside you that missed the dirty streets, the crowded pubs bursting with familiar faces.

“Had to come over here myself to make sure it was you,” A deep voice interrupted your reverie and you looked up to see none other than Ada’s older brother John, looking even handsomer than the last time you’d seen him, in a grey-three piece suit, a cigar hanging from his lips. You’d had the hugest crush on him growing up, and the butterflies swimming around in your stomach seemed to confirm that you still found the tallest Shelby brother irresistible.

“Hi, John,” You offered him a shy smile and scooched over as he slid into the booth next to you, leaning in to press a chaste kiss to your cheek. You couldn’t help but drink in the smell of his cologne, the various drinks that Ada had encouraged you to down making you press yourself closer to him.

“M’kay, if you’re going to fuck, at least wait until I’m gone.” Ada’s voice snapped you out of it and you looked away, a pink blush staining your cheeks.

“Says the one who managed to fuck three of my best mates before you left school,” John retorted, causing Ada to roll her eyes, shooting her whiskey and pouring the three of you another glass each.

“I feel like getting drunk, and I’m not doing it alone,” Ada announced, causing both you and John to crack a smile at her forcefulness.

“Good thing we took a cab here,” you returned, before shooting your whiskey. If you were going to have to stare at John all night, you thought, you might as well be drunk doing it. Wasn’t like he was going to be staring back.

***

Ada was shitfaced, dancing in the middle of the pub. Luckily, Isaiah had stepped in as her partner, making sure her stumbling didn’t cause her to trip and fall. Unluckily for you, this left a tipsy you and John alone tucked into a booth in the corner of the room, out of view. The conversation was friendly, and you were trying your best to keep your mind off the way you could see John’s forearms practically bulging out of his suit. It wasn’t fair, you thought to yourself, for him to walk around looking like that. Especially when you knew that he was probably fucking the latest movie star, or something. It was almost impossible for you to keep your head straight, yet you managed to keep it civil. However, you couldn’t help your gaze from drifting to his lips. God, they were so pink and looked so soft, it was unfair. You couldn’t stop yourself from imagining how they’d feel on your mouth, let alone other parts of your body. Jesus, you were fucked.

A third of a bottle of whiskey later, you couldn’t help but let yourself slide closer to him, heart beating fast in your chest as you sat tucked into his side, his arm around you as you laughed at a joke he’d made, something about the stick up Tommy’s ass. Your eyes shone as they met his blue ones, his arm sliding down until his fingers were brushing against your waist, radiating heat into your skin.

“Y’know, I’d tell you how fuckin’ pretty you look tonight, but I think you already know that,” John rumbled into your ear, lips just barely brushing against your neck. Your breath hitched, and he noticed, a small grin spreading across his lips.

“You’re something else, you know that?” You shot back, a small smile threatening to take over your lips.

“M’not just sayin’ that. Couldn’t take my eyes off ‘ya, since you walked in.” John wasn’t kidding. For a second you didn’t know how to reply, staring up at him with a slight look of disbelief. The whiskey, however, had other plans, and had decided to respond for you.

“Can't keep your hands off me now." You smirked, waiting for him to escalate the moment, anticipation and liquor silencing the blaring alarm in your mind. God, you shouldn't want him as badly as you do.

"Can you blame me?" He muttered, dragging his fingers across the lace of your dress, tracing the pattern's loops absentmindedly, watching your jaw tense and lips part to take a gasping breath, your jacket having long vanished into the chaos of the pub. Your arms wound themselves around his neck, fingers twisting into his short hair. "Fucking come 'ere lass."

His strong arms lifted you onto his knee, gripping a thigh to help you balance, the friction of his rough hand against the stiff fabric pushing your dress up slightly. The need for more and the desire to know him completely intoxicated you far more than anything from a bottle; you'd never felt as though you were on fire from your drunk hookups. His fingers found the zip of your dress, tugging it down desperately, gripping the flesh of your exposed shoulder blades. A small groan erupted from your lips as you felt him chuckle below you, pressing a thumb to your lips to quieten you.

"John," you whined, pouting playfully against his thumb.

"I'll sort you out, I swear," He muttered, slipping his thumb between your lips. Instinctively, you sucked, locking eyes with him, his hand straying from your back to roughly grab your jaw, holding your gaze. "But if you're going to scream your 'ead off, we'll get caught."

"You wish you could make me scream, John-lad."

"Come off it, I could ruin you, Y/N." He stated, lifting your jaw, as though memorising the construction of your face, tone brimming with a cocky confidence only John could make attractive. "You want that?"

"More than anything." The words tumbled out of your mouth thoughtlessly, watching how his jaw tightened in response as you attempted to read his expression. He studied you for what must've only been a few seconds, but the moment passed so slowly, you could barely remember what it felt like to not be examined by his dominating blue eyed stare.

His grip guided your face to his, fingers tilting your chin so John's lips could brush against yours, before pulling you into a heated almost aggressive kiss, the straps of your dress barely grazing your shoulders, the hem of your dress bunching around your waist as he reached down your back to grab your bum in a firm squeeze. Your mouth gaped open in a gasp of pleasure, John taking the moment to run his tongue against your lips, gaining access and deepening the kiss. You were so caught up in the thrill of John's seduction that you hadn't noticed his hand suddenly pull away after moving your skimpy underwear to one side. You had instinctively ground your hips against him, he'd broken the kiss to let out a string of curses, complimenting you through his quickening breaths (“Fuckin’ wet for me already, aye?”), gripping your thigh. But as soon as he had pulled the thin silk from your thighs, the atmosphere shifted, his lip curling in frustration as his hands left your skin as though your flesh was suddenly scalding.

"John?" You prompted, resting a hand on his shoulder, noticing the dark shadows under his eyes for the first time.

"It's getting late."

"What?" Your voice sounded high and whiny, you mentally scolded yourself for sounding so needy. It was embarrassing to be rejected by the man you've admired for many years, but even worse to be openly vulnerable and so pathetic in front of your best friend's brother.

Ada.

Oh fuck.

Realisation hit you, it was either that or the unholy quantity of alcohol you'd downed which turned your stomach. You had gone too far this time. It was one thing to flirt with John and desire him from a distance, it was an absolute betrayal to have sex with him, knowing Ada's insecurity about being used to get close to her gangster brothers- sex, power and politics. You had sworn during those tearful walks around the canal that you'd never hurt her. You couldn't do that to her.

Your sudden panic must've been obvious, you tried to stand up from John's lap, stumbling slightly, only regaining balance due to a sudden arm across your back, anchoring you upright.

"No one has to know. It's our secret yeah?" He muttered into your ear, his words comforting.

You nodded silently, the reality of the situation settling in. Your hands are shaking by your sides, John catches them, locking his fingers with yours.

"It's fine, now. Nothing happened yeah?" He stood up in front of you, his muscular physique looming before you, the creases across his torso reminding you that just a few minutes ago his body was under yours, he was breathless, needing your skin against his, desperate and vulnerable. "I'll zip you up. Turn around."

His hands dropped from yours to fumble clumsily with your zip, struggling in the gloom and fog of intoxication, he eventually succeeded, the lace clinging to the curve of your hips, waist, back and chest again. You wished it was him instead that was skimming your figure but you pushed the thought away with a simple, "Thanks."

"I'll walk you home yeah?" He offered, as he straightens your skirt and his tie, allowing you to fix his crumpled shirt collar and the row of shining buttons below his throat which you'd ripped open as he whispered dirty nonsense in your ear, smirking at how you arched your back and swore back at him through your moans.

"Isaiah already said he would, it'd be better for us both that way. You know how people around here talk." You replied, glancing at the mirror on the wall of the booth to quickly smooth your tousled hair. Despite only recently returning to Small Heath, you'd already encountered the rife gossiping and quickly realised your neighbour was incapable of minding his own business. "Nobody has to know, right?"

John nodded, disappointed but appreciating your rationale and quick thinking despite your state, "Right."

"Good night, John," You said politely, ignoring the tension in his tone and the sudden soft sadness of his eyes, turning your back and walking to the door. Back to the sticky dance floor, back to Ada, Isaiah, Finn, Tokyo, back to spilling drinks, ashing cigarettes, back to noise, safety and far from the man who made your morals vanish with the same lines he uses on probably every single one of his conquests. Fuck it. You were going to enjoy it, you sped up your pace in your heels, trying to ignore your shaking legs. You tried to ignore the guilty twang in your gut when Ada screamed your name across the pub and stumbled over, dragging some lad on her arm, pressing drunken kisses to your forehead and cheeks.

You couldn't help but look back to see his shadow sloping away into the darkness of the booths closer to the dance floor, being bullied mercilessly by his brothers you assumed. You watched him fake a smirk, take the knuckles to his brow from Arthur, snap an insult back to Thomas and settle into his rightful seat. You only shifted your gaze to Ada for a moment but when you looked back up, he was staring at you, jaw tense, icy stare burning into yours, arms folded on the table, the gold chains of his sleeve garters barely glinting in the dim light. He looked away but you could see his cheeks were flushed with blood even in the glow of the oil lamps.

Pretending nothing happened was going to be impossible.

***

to be continued!

#john shelby smut #john shelby x reader #john shelby imagine #peaky blinders smut #peaky blinders imagine #john shelby masterlist #peaky blinders masterlist #john shelby fluff #john shelby x y/n

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