#i am still fooling myself to think people will follow me for my raw talents and ambitions and not bc i write a jungkook fic

[theharrowing]

if you want more followers write more jungkook!

iF yOu WaNt MoRe FoLLoWeRs WriTe MoRe JuNgKoOk

#i know okay anon lmao #i fucking know #please don't remind me #i am still fooling myself to think people will follow me for my raw talents and ambitions and not bc i write a jungkook fic #it honestly makes me so angry how right you are #but here we are #lovely anon #you've got mail 💌

[itsuki-minamy]

LIMITED KINGSHIP, WAR STORIES:

CHAPTER 2: HEKIREKI & SENDEN

* Mini Episodes KFCN (List of Chapters) * Projects & Chapters

Translation: Naru-kun Raws: Ridia

Suddenly he realized that the enemy was gone.

The surroundings were full of the dead. Most of the folded corpses belonged to members of the "Purgatory" clan who wore black clothes. Fifteen minutes ago, a hasty force led by Gouki Zenjo raided that warehouse after being contacted by the intelligence department. And then the warehouse turned into a terrible battlefield.

With "Hekireki" bloody on his shoulder, Zenjo started looking for the next enemy to attack. But that no longer existed.

The battle was over and the remnants were hunting. There were still some in black who resisted, but it was only a matter of time before they were crushed or smashed. While he was thinking that, Bado's iron spear pierced one of the black ones, and Azuma's twin sword stabbed another. The "Purgatory" clan member, who had decent fighting ability, didn't seem to be staying anywhere.

"How boring."

He hit the field in an unsightly way and lowered "Hekireki" to the ground.

The next moment, the pile of corpses exploded.

"Zenjo!"

Fresh blood came out from the sword wound all over the body, and flames came from both feet, the one in black clothes was good at fighting. A deadly surprise attack that hid the corpse of a colleague. Long before he understood it, Zenjo tried to shake "Hekireki" with his own super reaction.

He could not.

According to a later investigation, it was an inadvertent collaboration between those in black. One in black that lay behind Zenjo was dying, but was still breathing. With the last of his strength, he grabbed the "outside" blade, regardless of whether his fingers fell.

That caused a delay of a few seconds. Zenjo was just looking at the flaming fingers approaching in front of him, holding "Hekireki's" fixed handle.

But he just grabbed Zenjo's nose.

"You need more than that..."

The one in black clothes who attacked Zenjo stopped in midair. Blood poured from the edge of his mouth which opened and closed with bloody eyes wide open. A thin saber protruded from his chest, and the saber that pierced his chest diagonally from below suddenly stopped the one in black clothing.

"Ah!"

A cheerful voice that did not seem to belong to the place, resounded behind the one in black clothes.

"I'm sorry I made a mistake! Zenjo-san, can you take care of it please?"

It was as easy as asking him to take the remote there. After blinking, Zenjo passed by "Hekireki" and frequently shook the ones in black clothes.

The flames that clung to both feet disappeared.

The body of the man in black, who had lost his neck, was thrown to the ground. A young man standing there waved his saber and wiped off the blood. The friendly look reminded him of a laughing dog.

"No, I made a mistake. If you tap it, it can't be the case, huh? Hahaha…"

"Kuze. You saved me."

Young Kuse laughed cheerfully and waved.

"I just did something extra. Zenjo-san, you could have handled it with a margin."

"No, I couldn't react now. I would have been 'without a nose' at best, because it was aiming at my head."

"Well, is that so? That's good. Soon it's new soba season!"

Zenjo smirked as he tapped on Kuze's shoulder, saying that he was out of focus.

"This season's buckwheat noodles are pretty good too. I'll use chopsticks when I get back to the barracks. Thanks for your help."

"Oh then, make it soba."

"What? Are you going to ask me to make arrangements again?"

Kuse was smiling. Zenjo saw the smile as if he was amazed. Not suitable for a bright appearance, this young man had a very persistent character.

"Well, I wish I could go home."

"Oh, thanks!"

As Kuze struck a gutsy pose, Zenjo shrugged and walked towards a group of hurrying troops who had begun to take care of the remaining work.

++++++++++

The war was escalating.

Kagutsu Detention Center "Red King" crackdown operation. The attack from "Scepter 4" intended to kill Kagutsu Genji was unsuccessful in retrospect. Although the force of "Purgatory" was greatly reduced, the original purpose of the operation was not finally achieved, and Kagutsu left his territory and fled, and the remaining clan members divided into thousands and went into hiding. The hive was destroyed, but the queen bee and the soldier bees were flying now.

The activities of the scattered members of the "Purgatory" clan were almost the same as before. Whenever something happened, there was a danger that they would explode. "Scepter 4" chased after them and they were incapacitated as soon as they were discovered, but "Purgatory" wasn't just silently hunted to death. The damage caused by a fierce counterattack who did not care about his own life was turning into a social problem that could not be covered even by "Tokijikuin".

There were two pressing issues.

One was the search and murder of Kagutsu as soon as possible. As long as that "King" will continue to exist on earth, this war would never end.

And the other was to increase the strength of "Scepter 4".

The battle with "Purgatory", who burned the people, burned the city and even burned themselves, was slowly shaving the staff of "Scepter 4". To make up for the loss, they touted that they had the cause of the war and recruited a large number of talented personnel from the relevant ministries.

Shuichiro Kuze was one of those supplemental staff members.

Originally a police officer, he achieved outstanding results on both his aptitude and skill tests, and joined the "Scepter 4" running unit at exceptional speed. He was a rare human resource who had already been dispatched several times and was not afraid to fight the deadly "Purgatory", but instead displayed a simulation as if he was enjoying it.

For some reason, Kuze teamed up with Zenjo.

Even now, Kuze and Zenjo were undergoing simulated one-on-one training in the training ground of the "Scepter 4" barracks. Except for the fact that the product was a bamboo sword, it was a form of training that came as close to the actual battle as possible. Even attacks on key points were tolerated wherever they were covered by armor.

Kuze raised the bamboo sword to eye level and turned its blade towards Zenjo.

Zenjo carried a large bamboo sword on his shoulder and was about to attack him.

Kuze's specialty was "pushing". His stab, fired by explosive acceleration with a different ability, was roughly equal to the speed of a bullet. It would be impossible to react if it were the perception of an ordinary person.

But, of course, Zenjo was not an ordinary person.

"Let's go!"

The next moment that Kuze said that, the figure disappeared.

An extraordinary light that glowed fluttering blue like the tail of a meteor. Before recognizing it, Zenjo's body was moving. The speed God's sword judgment darted into the void on the right.

Zenjo's bamboo sword touched Kuze's sword that jutted out without fail.

"Ah!"

As he wielded the sword of pursuit, Zenjo was impressed. Viewed from above, the location of the different abilities would have looked like a rank "nine". A blow from outside the field of vision due to explosive acceleration, but it did not exceed Zenjo's reaction speed.

"Che!"

Kuze sped up again, leaving a childish click of the tongue. As he repeated sharp turns ignoring the laws of physics, he jumped incessantly. He was like a spring-loaded toy that swept across the training ground.

Zenjo stopped chasing him with his eyes and closed his lids.

Behind.

Before he felt it, his body was still moving. He turns and cut the space behind him. The cut that was shot deflected Kuze's thrust horizontally upward and hit him like he was a face shield.

"Damn!"

With a stupid voice, Kuze struck and fell to the ground of the training ground. If he had been serious, he would have lost his nose.

"This is the ninth."

Carrying the bamboo sword on his shoulder again, Zenjo said that without pride. Kuze, who had stretched out into a large shape, lifted his upper body as he rubbed the back of his neck.

"I thought I could pull it off now... Zenjo-san, do you have eyes behind you?"

"Well, it's clear. You can understand it even if you can't see it."

"Mm... Zenjo-san, another one! Please."

When Kuze lifted his index finger, Zenjo was truly astonished and showed the training ground clock with his chin.

"It's closing time. It will be tomorrow."

"Really? Absolutely tomorrow!"

"I wish they hadn't sent me."

Saying that, while he was a bit crowded, Zenjo headed for the exit. Kuze also put the bamboo sword in a bag and bounced after him.

After taking a shower together, they had dinner later.

The barracks cafeteria was quiet, probably because it was late. Zenjo ordered a hazaru soba and Kuze a kitsune udon, and they ate together.

Kuze talked to Zenjo all the time while he ate.

"Zenjo-san, are you attached to the army?"

"Hmm?"

" I belonged there. There are a lot of people like that in 'Scepter 4', right?"

Surely it was so. The personnel of "Scepter 4" came mainly from other security organizations. Unless they didn't lack combat training on a daily basis, they couldn't withstand the battle with "Purgatory."

However, the situation was different for Zenjo.

After slurping his soba, he said...

"I am from a mountain."

"Mountain?"

"When I was waving a stick in the mountains, I met Habari, so I followed him."

Kuze blinked twice as he pinched the fried food with chopsticks.

"Well, what was that? What kind of situation?"

"Thanks, like I said."

Answering only that, Zenjo took a sip of soba again.

Kuze stared at Zenjo for a while with a surprised face, and then...

"Fu…"

He shook his shoulders and started laughing.

"Hahahahahahahaha! What's wrong, did you meet the commander in the mountains and follow him? Hahaha, Zenjo-san, are you a youkai?"

Zenjo was disappointed in Kuze, who bent over his body and laughed like a child. It was surprising that he was laughed at, although it was not his intention to make him laugh.

"No, sorry, I'm not going to make a fool of myself. But that was very interesting."

"Is it interesting?"

"It's incredibly interesting! I've never met such a person!"

"Mmm...?"

He wondered if that was the case. Originally, Zenjo was a guy who didn't understand many things. If they told him it was interesting, it would be true.

"No, you're good at 'Scepter 4' after all. It's not boring."

As he cheerfully said that, Kuze drank the udon from him. As Zenjo ate the soba noodles, he looked at Kuze as if he was looking at something strange.

"Bored?"

"Yes. The workplace in front of me was already boring. Anyone can do it, such as document preparation, on-site verification and traffic control. More like this, a fierce car chase with the criminal! Fighting battle! Shooting! I was imagining it."

He lifted the bowl and drank the soup.

"So it's so boring that I shouldn't do it. When I was thinking about it, they asked me and I came to try it. I can do what I want every day! It's a lot of fun, right? That's why I think you adapt very well to "Scepter 4"!

Zenjo scratched his cheeks while Kuze drank, wiped his mouth and clasped his hands with a "Thanks for the food!"

"Uh..."

"Isn't that the case with Zenjo-san? Don't you do it because it's medicinal?"

"Eh?"

He wondered if that was the case. Was he enjoying the battle with "Purgatory"?

There was no doubt that he was elevated during the battle. On the battlefield where a momentary judgment divides life and death, that feeling that inspires all cells cannot be experienced anywhere else.

But he didn't think he was struggling to taste it.

When he swung his sword under Habari's command in "Scepter 4", he felt that he was breathing properly. It seemed natural to do so and it "fit." He didn't know if he could describe it as funny.

"Well, that's correct."

It became difficult to think of the way and Zenjo answered that.

"That's right! Well, I'm glad you feel the same way as me!"

Kuze laughed in a friendly way and then a mysterious light fell on his eyes.

"But lately, it's more fun practicing with Zenjo-san than interacting with 'Purgatory'."

"Really?"

"Yes, because Zenjo-san is much stronger than them, so it's fun to do it. Hey, Zenjo-san. Someday, with me…"

Kuze cut off the words when he suddenly remembered. After blinking several times, the mysterious light disappeared. Then suddenly he stood up and held the bowl of kitsune udon in his hands.

"Sorry, it's nothing! So, good night!"

With a smile, Kuze went to the place where the dishes were being returned.

As he drank his soba, Zenjo rebelled against Kuze's words.

(Well, I'm glad you feel the same way as me!)

Maybe it wasn't.

Although they belonged to the same "Scepter 4" and wielded a saber, he felt that something was decisively different between him and Kuze.

He didn't know what it was. He didn't want to think until he knew. Thinking again that he was okay, Zenjo dropped the green onion seasoning into crushed chunks.

++++++++++

Three days later, the hidden member of the "Purgatory" clan in Minari-cho, Fengze-ku, was discovered.

According to the information department report, there was only one member. However, the problem is that he was hiding in the houses of common people. They threatened the inhabitants and parasitized their lives themselves. A bully lurked in his house and behaved inattentive. The father of the family, who could not bear such a situation, rushed to a public institution and discovered his existence.

In response to this, "Scepter 4" quickly formed a unit that rushed over. They ran to the site to "exterminate" the abominable parasite.

However, this time, it was not possible to get through the gate with the transport vehicle and cut it randomly. After all, the other party was alone and the detained hostages were a mother and two young children, according to the father's information. If they took action inadvertently, it would have the worst consequences.

The operation required speed and stealth. "Scepter 4", the deputy director, Gen Shiotsu, selected the appropriate personnel and devised a strategy.

Shuichiro Kuse was included in the staff, but it was boring for him.

Kuze was toying with that idea while biting his yawn in the car.

It had already been three hours since they arrived at the place. Because "Scepter 4" stood out in a transport vehicle, they used an ordinary sedan type and stopped from hiding to blind spot. Kuze sighed softly, looking at him stagnant out the window.

He wished he could rush in and kill him.

It would be easy. He would jump out the door, go through the second floor and invade, and drive the saber into the heart of the guy in black. That was all that was needed.

Kuze understood why he was selected as a runner. The small body was suitable for infiltration, and the "Senden" saber he had was also a slim custom-made one, so it should work effectively in a small room.

So he wanted to do it as soon as possible.

Finally, the long-awaited command came from insiders.

"The target has taken the hostage. I enclose the location."

"Yes!"

He sprang to his feet, grabbed the saber, opened the passenger seat door, and Kuze broke into a run.

In seconds, the target house came into view. When he was hiding behind the wall of a neighbor's house and observing the situation, the transmitter spoke a voice again.

"The target is in the bathroom on the second floor. The children cannot confirm the whereabouts of their mother in the next room. Each member must pay the utmost attention and do everything in their power to secure the hostages."

"Kuze, ready!"

With a light tone, Kuze pulled "Senden" out of the scabbard.

He held his breath and waited for the moment. The plan of the house is engraved on his head. All the images of how he would move, what kind of path he would take and how he would kill the one in black clothes were created in Kuze's brain.

Kuze himself did not know that there were no hostages there.

"Fast!"

By the time Shiotsu's voice echoed, Kuze was jumping.

He jumped off the wall, landed on the ceiling, and ran. At the edge of the field of vision, he could see a blue trail that went through him in the same way. There were a total of four runners, all their own competitors, who aspired to the life of a single man in black. Kuze licked his lips and accelerated to the point where the shingles broke.

He jumped with the same impulse, he broke the second floor window with his body and ran inside.

"Eh?!"

He heard a high-pitched voice. Kuze invaded the children's room on the second floor. According to the information, two children who were less than elementary school students were shaking in a corner of the room.

Kuze ignored it.

The problem was that of black clothes. If he killed him, everything would be solved. So that should take precedence. Kuze thought that way and stepped out into the second floor hallway.

Their eyes met.

There was a figure in black clothes in the bathroom that was left open. However, when Kuze found him, he was strangling and using the children's mother as a shield.

"Stay away, blue clothes! This woman will die!"

He could barely see the one in black who was angry. Very firmly, he was hiding behind the woman. The scared woman shook her head, while she shook her head, he looked and disappeared his face burned in black.

Before thinking of anything, Kuze was kicking the ground.

If he killed him, that would be it. That was the only priority, and everything else was wiped from Kuze's head.

Many things happened at the same time.

"Kuze, stop!" One of the rushing staff members yelled.

"Damn it!" The man in black's burned face turned red, and the flame-filled woman screamed in tears.

Time seemed to flow slowly. He could feel precisely the extraordinary light of "Senden", the heat of the flames that sprouted from the face of the man in black and the smell of the flesh that enveloped her.

In the slowdown time, Kuze analyzed various factors and...

(Oh, this person can't be helped anymore.), he thought.

Too easily, he cut off the hostage's life.

This being the case, the hostage's body was no longer a problem. It was just a corpse, a wall of flesh less than 8 inches.

It did not hinder "Senden".

With a half-smile, Kuze stabbed hard forward.

A bright blue tip pierced the woman's chest, and the heart of the man in black was skewered and glued to the bathroom wall.

"......"

The woman opened and closed her mouth. Kuze tilted his head and looked at her face, thinking that she looks like a dying goldfish.

When Kuze drew the saber, the woman and the one in black fell one on top of the other. Their bloods mixed.

The bodies clung to each other and wet Kuze's shoes.

He takes a breath and inform the others.

"We have deactivated the objective. The mission is complete."

At the same time, an angry sound rang out from behind.

"Kuze! Damn! What did you do?!"

He thought, and looked at the owner of the voice as if he was confused. It was Shinohara, who belonged to the same group as him. He was yelling something when he flushed with anger, but Kuze couldn't understand the meaning of the word. He turned his neck and face away to keep them from flying off.

The frozen facial expressions of the two boys, looking through the door, were reflected in Kuze's field of vision.

++++++++++

"Do you know what you did?"

"Scepter 4", Shiotsu made a heavy voice in the barracks interview room.

Shuichiro Kuze, standing in front of him, replied as if nothing had happened.

"I killed the member of the 'Purgatory' clan. I think it was an unavoidable decision in that situation."

"Right now, 'Purgatory' is not the problem. The problem is Kuze, you stabbed the hostage and killed her."

"I did not murder her. At that time, the woman had already been killed by the one in black clothes. Should I be so reprimanded for damaging her corpse?"

Shiotsu had various reports in front of him.

"Shinohara's report is different. At that time, Shinohara said that the woman was still alive. However, he testified that you ignored the warning and approached the black-robed one and went through him."

"In my eyes, she looked dead."

Kuze spoke clearly.

"I think it would have been difficult to help her, even if she had a break. Is it the right decision to leave the dangerous clansman to help a dying woman? If the action was delayed, hers, two of her children and I could have been euthanized."

"It is not you who should judge whether the woman would be saved or not."

"The judgment of the site should be left to the members of the site."

Shiotsu groaned softly.

What Kuze said was correct in some respects. In the battle with "Purgatory", a momentary misjudgment could be fatal. And that moment came innumerably. It was not enough to have many lives if they were all compared with the regulations of the body and the current law. Above all, Kuze said that a certain amount of excessive acts should be allowed to protect one's life.

But…

Shiotsu watched Kuze's expression.

There was no expression floating there. Self-blame, regret, remorse. He couldn't read any of the emotions the one with the almost innocent human hands would have.

Shiotsu muttered to himself that that was the real problem.

"Kuze..."

At that moment, Shiotsu silently inhaled, and then...

"Where do you think the meaning of 'Scepter 4' is?"

"Eh…?"

"Answer it. What's 'Scepter 4' for?"

For the first time, the color of hesitation reached Kuze's expression.

As he listened to Shiotsu, Kuze replied.

"Kill the enemy. Annihilate "Purgatory" and bring peace to society."

Shiotsu sighed deeply and said.

"No. You are definitely misunderstanding."

"......"

"Our mission is to protect the general public. The sword to protect those who cannot resist the weapon of incompetence, that is 'Scepter 4'."

"It's the same as I said, right?"

In the words that Kuze muttered, unprecedented emotions appeared.

He was frustrated.

"Killing those in black clothes is to protect the general public. If they are left unattended, tens or even hundreds of people will die if they are not treated well. To avoid that, isn't it natural to leave two people alone?"

"Still, we should not be the ones to kill. We should be the ones to protect the people. If there is a defenseless civilian, that is why we have the power to protect ourselves."

"It's stupid."

Kuze laughed through his nose. His dark and bright gaze seemed harsher, as he generally had a friendly gaze.

"Why do we have to do that? It is so stupid for a good person to be sacrificed for an inferior person."

Shiotsu closed his eyes.

What swirled around his chest was not anger at Kuze, but responsibility for himself.

He may have been too impatient to make up for the personnel lost in the battle with "Purgatory". He had hired a person who lacked the most important qualities, distracted only by the ability to fight. He should have known well what would happen if that person had a different ability and special power.

People who cannot control themselves will eventually use their different abilities as they wish.

How is it different from "Purgatory"?

Shiotsu slowly opened his eyes and said in a low voice,

"Shuichiro Kuse. Say goodbye to "Scepter 4" from now on."

++++++++++

Kuze, who came out of the interview room, was looking vaguely at the ceiling of the hallway.

(I blew it.), he thought.

With that in mind, he sighs. This time, he looked down at the ground and started walking.

When he was called by Shiotsu, Kuze had decided what he should do. That was a field decision and he didn't think he had done anything wrong. He intended to stick to that statement.

It is the members of the field who exchange lives. However, it was not uncommon for him to be blamed for a later trial. It was a common feeling not only for Kuze but also for the ER personnel.

Shiotsu was smart and looked closely at the members. That is why he thought that he would not give such a severe punishment based on his thoughts.

"He was telling me something strange."

Kuze lied and looked at his hand. When he focused his consciousness there, the blue glow of the extraordinary shimmered.

It was proof that he was an excellent person and a chosen one.

Kuze couldn't respond well to Shiotsu's words asking the meaning of "Scepter 4". That was because Kuze didn't know. Therefore, he got a rag out of there. It didn't matter if the general public died or lived, he knew that his true intentions would probably not be forgiven within the organization, so he hid it.

The important thing for Kuze was to use that power in all directions to fight. Fight "Purgatory", bypass the momentary deadline and end the life of the enemy. Never in a dull life until now, was it a bright day.

That was stolen from him.

Because he took a boring life from a boring human.

Kuze sighed again and suddenly raised his face.

A familiar giant was walking down the hall. Kuze laughed and raised a hand.

"Hey, Zenjo-san."

"Oh, Kuze?"

Zenjo's eyebrows widened when he noticed that Kuze was there for the first time.

"What are you doing in a place like this? Is it training?"

"No."

Kuze laughed bitterly and...

"Hey, I've been preaching to the vice principal. I'm here for that."

"Oh, Shiotsu? It's loud."

Sympathy reached Zenjo's eyes. Seeing that, Kuze's smile changed to a natural one.

That person knew himself.

He had always felt that way. Zenjo, like himself, rejoiced in the fight. He was a person who should have the nature of killing people rather than helping people. So, Kuze was sure that if he talked about the situation, this person would be on his side.

"But you're almost right."

Zenjo simply denied the idea.

"Eh?"

"Shiotsu is loud, but he's always right. If he claims something from you, you're wrong. I wonder what he was. Apologize properly."

"......"

Kuze looked at his toes.

"Yes, what is that?"

"If that is all."

"I see."

Kuze scratched his head again with a bitter smile.

"In a way that's correct. I thought it was suitable for 'Scepter 4', but surprisingly, isn't it?"

"Eh?"

Zenjo mysteriously shook his head, thought for a moment and then nodded.

"That's right. You said you were the same as me, but I think you are different from me."

"......"

"I can't put it right. You might not be good at 'Scepter 4'. You should stop in time."

Zenjo said that in a wonderful and irresponsible way.

Kuze was about to start laughing. Interestingly, he didn't get mad at all. This was because it had been broadcast that Zenjo was saying that from the bottom of his heart without any malicious intent.

After all, Kuze didn't dislike Zenjo. He was clean, natural, and stronger than anyone. That's why he liked dealing with this person, because he could fight without shackles.

He regretted thinking that he couldn't do that from now on.

Then, Kuze suddenly glowed.

"Ah!"

"Hmm? What's wrong?"

"Sorry Zenjo-san, I just remembered my errand now! I'm done!"

In a hurry, Kuze ran down the hall. Zenjo said, "Oh...?", and gave up, but Kuze suddenly stopped and looked back.

"Please help me again later!"

Zenjo laughed and nodded.

"Oh, I have to be sent."

"Still, please!"

Kuze ran away, saying just that with a smile.

It was that night that Shuichiro Kuze disappeared with "Senden".

++++++++++

When he got out of the transport car, a warm wind caressed Zenjo's cheeks.

The policeman raised his face and smelled a faint smell on the wind. He was delving into the battlefield with "Purgatory". He smelled like sticky, burnt blood.

According to the map, the back alley where the discovery of the men in black was reported was divided into T-shapes. The unit split into three hands, blocking all exits. The most important thing to prevent was that those in black clothes escaped. They had to make sure to capture or neutralize them, even if they took some risks.

At that moment, in front of Zenjo, the entrance to the back alley was black and open.

"Over there."

At random, Zenjo entered an alley.

The back alley was narrow and dark. Polyethylene buckets and outdoor units blocked the street, and the walls of the building that approached from the left and right blocked the sunlight. If one in black clothes came out of the shadows and emitted a flame of extraordinary skill, there would be no way around it. It could be said that this was also a dead place.

Still, Zenjo was not afraid and advanced slowly.

The process suddenly stopped.

Shinohara, who was following Zenjo, said groaning.

"What is the situation? What is this?"

One in black clothes was dead, as if his back was against the wall of the building.

Wide-eyed and in a pool of blood. The burned right hand was soaked in the blood clot, burning and producing black smoke. This was probably the cause of the smell.

In the first place, it was a mystery from the initial discovery report.

It was said that several of the black clothes were fighting. At the time, there were no "Scepter 4" units deployed nearby, and since the Hiiragi incident, the police had been told to stay away from the men in black. Most likely it was a fight between those in black, but in the current situation where they were hiding in a scattered way, he did not think they would do such an outstanding act.

So who was fighting the ones in black?

Zenjo, who was inspecting the corpse in black, said the answer.

"It's Kuze."

"What…?!"

"It is pierced all over the body. This is due to 'Senden'."

Saying that, Zenjo stood up.

Since that night, Kuze's whereabouts have been known to be uncertain. Kuze's legal status was the same as an "Illegal Strain" since he was fired from "Scepter 4". They had to capture him and put a skill suppressor on him, but there weren't enough personnel to track him down in "Scepter 4".

Kuze killed the ones in black and, perhaps, he was still hiding in that place.

"But why is Kuze here?"

Shinohara said that, and suddenly closed his mouth.

Someone slowly emerged from the darkness behind the alley.

It was also one of black clothes.

"Oh, fufu...!"

His face was distorted with anger and hatred, and blood was pouring from his entire body to the point that his black suit was still drenched in red and black. Legs wobbly, the one in black slowly approached.

"Gah!"

The tip of the saber protruded from his chest.

The saber was instantly pulled out and the one in black collapsed to his knees.

Zenjo spoke the name from behind him, standing there.

"Hekireki."

"Oh, Zenjo-san!"

Dressed in a dark green raincoat, Kuze smiled at his face, which had been bathed in blood, and called out to Zenjo cheerfully.

"No, I'm lucky! I can't get it all of a sudden!"

"What are you doing?"

"What?"

Eyes blinking, Kuze looked around him, and mysteriously at himself.

"What's wrong? It's not a job. I got fired from 'Scepter 4'."

He shook "Senden" to spill the blood.

"But if you look for the black clothes, 'Scepter 4' will come, right? Maybe Zenjo-san is there! I thought it was good."

While he smiled, Kuze,

"I never thought we could meet at once! I'm lucky! So…"

He crouched down and pointed the tip of "Senden".

"Let's go."

Before Zenjo thought of anything, Kuze was kicking the ground.

The glow of the blue genie was diffusely reflected in the narrow back alley. He bounced off the ground, scaled walls, emergency stairs, he went up, down, left and right, and hit everything, drawing an unpredictable trajectory like a pinball.

Shinohara, who was behind Zenjo, couldn't even follow Kuze with his eyes. But Zenjo reacted.

It was also an action before thinking. The thick blade of "Hekireki" flipped up as the wind scattered.

The dark green raincoat split in half.

Kuze was no longer there. He twisted in midair, tossed his raincoat, and landed on the ground.

Zenjo kept "Hekireki" jumping and stopped in an unprotected posture. Looking at his empty torso, a fierce smile appeared on Kuze's mouth.

(I caught you!), he thought.

With extraordinary power in his legs, Kuze tried to strike a stroke of luck.

He felt the shock in his chest.

"Eh?"

He lost the strength of his leg. His soles did not separate as if they were stuck to the ground. Interestingly, he looked under his feet and saw a saber thrust into his chest.

"Ah?"

When he coughed, a blood clot spilled from his lips.

Kuze slowly looked at Zenjo.

Zenjo was flipping "Hekireki", with just his right hand.

Before he knew it, he held another saber in his left hand. That pierced through Kuze's chest.

"Oh, wow...!"

Kuze distorted the edge of his mouth when he heard Shinohara make a panicky voice.

"Hey, Shinohara. It's a pay cut to have a saber stolen from you."

When Zenjo drew the saber, Kuze sank into place.

The blood was overflowing. The color of his face was white and transparent. It was clear to everyone that it was no longer useful.

Still, Kuze was somewhat satisfied. He looked at Zenjo and laughed weakly.

"After all... you are amazing, Zenjo-san. I couldn't get over you."

"Kuze."

There was no anger or sadness in Zenjo's expression, just confusion.

"What did you want to do?"

"What?"

Kuze shook his shoulders and laughed. Eventually the laughter turned into a cough and the exhaled blood created a series of stains in the alley.

"I wanted to. A real and potentially deadly battle with Zenjo-san."

Breathing out, Kuze fell onto his side.

"It was fun."

That was the last word from him.

Zenjo, holding a bloody saber, shot a confused look at Kuze's corpse.

#k #k project #k fan clan #scepter 4 #habari jin #shiotsu gen #zenjo gouki #kagutsu genji

[bangtan-sonyeonddaeng]

Hoseok Scenario: He finds out you can dance professionally

You were in your own makeshift dance studio in a small apartment you had rented fairly close to your own. You were dancing to a new choreography you were working on trying to learn. Dancing was your passion, you had the skills to be a professional but you just hadn’t had your big break yet. So for now you were content with dancing your heart out in your studio alone. 

You had even posted a few covers on youtube and had amassed quite a following on there. Many people questioned why you hadn’t been discovered yet and you just figured it wasn’t your time yet. 

You were currently working on trying to learn the entire dance to the new song your boyfriend’s group had just released a few days prior. Hoseok was an amazing dancer, one of the best if not the best you had ever seen. And to be honest the thought of dancing in front of him made you incredibly intimidated so you never had told him you could.  Your youtube channel and social media associated with it was under a different name, and you always wore a mask so you wouldn’t be recognized. The last thing you wanted was to be given an opportunity just because of who you were dating. 

You had almost got it down and were about to set up the camera to record your dance cover until your phone chimed with a notification. You smiled and opened it to see you had a new DM on twitter. You opened it and nearly dropped your phone on the ground. 

Hey! I know this might sound a little odd but, I saw your cover of our song Fire and you are absolutely amazing! Our company would like you to come audition if you’re interested? Let me know! -Hoseok

Oh shit. You think to yourself. Your boyfriend doesn’t even realize it’s you. But his company thinks you’re good enough to audition? And it’s not even during a scheduled audition time period. They must really want to give you a shot. You smile to yourself as you realize this might be the opportunity you have been waiting for. And you were given it because of your skills as a dancer. You decide this might be a really fun surprise for Hoseok so you begin sending your reply back. 

Hello Hoseok! Wow I am really shocked to be honest. I don’t really have any interest in being an idol though... are you guys looking for a choreographer? Or maybe a backup dancer? You hit send and wait for his reply. Which is almost immediate. 

A choreographer possibly I can ask! I just saw you dance and knew I had to ask you to come audition. You really are amazing! One of the best I’ve seen in a while. You smile at his compliments. 

Thank you! Will you be at the audition? And when should I come? You have to wait a little longer for his response this time, probably going to ask his manager and the other staff when you should come by. 

Yes I will be there! And would you be able to come tomorrow? Say around noon? You agree and say you’ll see him then. You continue working for the next few hours, wanting to really impress them with how quickly you are able to learn a new song. It was now nearing midnight and you finally felt confident enough in your dancing that you can audition well tomorrow. You pack up your belongings and head home. 

When you arrive there you see a familiar pair of shoes sitting in the entry way. Hoseok must have stopped by. You walk into the living room and see him fast asleep on the couch. You wonder how long he was waiting for you and immediately feel bad when you see there also was dinner prepared for you and waiting in the kitchen. You decide to let him sleep for a little bit longer while you eat and clean up. He must hear the clanging of the dishes because soon you hear a quiet shuffle approaching behind you and are enveloped in a back hug. He kisses the back of your neck and you shudder slightly. 

“Hi Hobi.”

“Hey, baby. Where were you tonight? I tried to wait for you but I fell asleep.”

“Ah, I just had to work late. I’m sorry if I would have known you were here I would have came home early.”

“It’s okay! I wanted to surprise you that’s why I didn’t text you. I hope that’s okay.”

“Of course it is. Thank you for the food by the way it was delicious.” You turn around in his hold and peck him on the lips and he smiles into it. “So.. got any big plans tomorrow?”

“Oh! Yes! Oh my gosh I found this amazing dancer on youtube! I contacted them on social media to see if they would audition and it’s happening tomorrow at 12!” 

“Oh really? That’s so cool! I’m excited for you.”

“Me too! Do you want to see the video I found?”

“Sure!” You both go settle down in bed and watch the video together. Hoseok is constantly praising you and you try not to let your happiness show too much since you don’t want to blow your cover just yet. “Well you’ll have to let me know how they do then.”

“I definitely will. I have a good feeling about this.” 

You are now standing face to face with the staff watching your audition, plus Hoseok. you keep your face mask on, thankful that they don’t question it or ask you to take it off. You try to disguise your voice and speak in a deeper tone hoping that Hoseok won’t recognize you until it’s over.  When the music kicks in, your nerves completely melt away. You lose yourself in the music. You are getting more nervous as the song goes on because at the end of it you planned to take your mask off and reveal to everyone who you actually were. After the final line rings out you glance around those who were watching you. Their emotions give little away to what they think of your audition until you see a ghost of a smile crack on Hoseok’s face.

“Wow, y/n that was amazing. I’m very impressed that you managed to learn our choreography so quickly!” You smile. 

“Thank you, Hobi.” 

“Wait a minute.. I know that voice.” You take the mask off and your beanie and ruffle your hair trying to get it back into place. Needless to say Hoseok’s jaw drops to the floor when he sees that it’s you. 

“Y/n?! What the hell? That was you the whole time?!”

“Yeah. It’s me. I run that account but I disguised myself because I didn’t want to be given an opportunities because of my relationship with you.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you could dance like that?! Oh my god you were amazing! You totally killed it! Gosh you could give me a run for my money. Seriously that was flawless.” He continues to gush over you and you can’t help the giggles that escape you. Suddenly he turns to the staff members. “Okay so I know we’re dating and all.. but you can’t deny that y/n has raw talent and would be an asset to this company.” 

“We don’t disagree with you Hoseok. Obviously we still have things to discuss and finalize but I believe having y/n on as a choreographer here would be wonderful.”

“Really?! You guys really want me here?”

“We’d be fools not to. We’ll be in touch.” With that everyone leaves the room except Hoseok and you two are left there staring at one another.

“You really think I did well, Hoseok? You aren’t just saying that?”

“Of course not. You were amazing. Gosh if you would have told me you could dance sooner I would have had you at the studio with me helping me when I get stuck.” You smile at that and pull him into a hug. 

“That means a lot to me. To be honest I didn’t tell you because I was intimidated by how well you danced and I was worried I wouldn’t be good enough.”

“You are more than good enough, jagi. You’re an amazing dancer and an even more amazing person. I can’t wait to have you here dancing with us! It’s going to be so much fun!” Suddenly you start remembering all of the times the BTS members had called you begging you to ask Hoseok to go easy on them. You swallow loudly. 

“Y-yeah.. Fun.”

#bts reaction #bts reactions #bts scenario #bts scenarios #bts imagine #bts imagines #bts #jung hoseok #jhope #hoseok x reader #reader x hoseok #Hoseok scenario #hoseok imagine #hoseok reaction

[reliciron]

Decided to write out the important bit of my jedi consular’s backstory. 

It should be noted that he doesn’t technically want to die, he’s just very scared of his master and doesn’t see any way to escape. 

That said, at the end of the day he does try (and fail) to die by throwing himself at some jedi, so please don’t read if you’re uncomfortable with that.

Go to the northern reaches of Brentaal IV. There you will find a small Jedi temple: the place where Grand Master Satele Shan first trained.

It has enjoyed relative anonymity since, but this must change.

Infiltrate the temple. Slaughter everyone within. Show the Jedi that nothing is safe from the Sith.

Do this, my clever acolyte, and I will raise you from the shadows.

You will be my apprentice.

Dust kicks up as he races across the northern plateaus on his stolen speeder bike. It will take hours to track properly, with the damage he left behind. But by then he’ll have either completed his mission…

Or he’d be dead.

He clenches his teeth.

She was mad. She HAD to be.

No.

He shakes his head.

No. His master is many things, but not mad.

Just calculating. And he may be a mere acolyte, but he hadn’t survived this long without learning some of the game.

If her words were true, the Sith would send a platoon, or at least a full squad. Make a show of the massacre to demoralize the Republic and Jedi Order both.

One lone acolyte would not be enough to guarantee victory. Indeed, it was very likely that he would not survive the attempt at all, even with 6 years of careful training from his master.

He’d been her faithful servant. Her knife in the dark. She’d liberated him from Rattatak and kindly taken him under her wing as a boy. He’d learned to wear the Force like a shroud. Hide himself from sight and strike from the shadows.

She gave the word, and he carried out the sentence. A name, a picture, a place, and they’d be dead in a matter of days.

He couldn’t be her apprentice. No matter his talent, he was Rattataki. And as far as the anyone else knew, he didn’t exist.

He KNEW this. She’d said it so many times. But now she was offering it to him.

It wasn’t real.

And the impossibility of the task only affirmed his suspicions.

He was not MEANT to succeed.

He did not exist, yet as more Sith and Imperials fell before him it became harder and harder to keep his existence secret. And she would never let him go, not when he knew so much of her secrets.

He was a liability now. One she hoped would take care of itself in a pointless attack on a temple.

He should run. He SHOULD, but he CAN’T.

His throat goes tight and he slows down a bit as the temple’s coordinates loom on the navigation computer.

He’d tried to run once, before he’d truly understood how much of a PRIVILEGE it was to have been chosen by his mistress. He couldn’t recall the ‘how’s and ‘why’s anymore, but he remembered the punishment had gone on for well over a week.

Run and I’ll find you, little one. And I will not be so merciful the next time.

If he tries to abandon his duty, he’d die all the same, but she’d make sure to make it hurt. At least the Jedi would make it quick.

Yes.

If its one thing the soft-hearted fools abhorred, it was making a being suffer.

There was no way out for him, but an end by their sabers would be better than by her hand.

–

It had been laughably easy to enter the temple. The roomy interior had given him plenty of space to cloak himself and slip through without being noticed by the guardians. He’d made it all the way into the empty training room, where he’d entered a vent near the ceiling and used it to gain access to the meeting room.

Inside there were a handful of masters and their attending padawans, likely a collection of the strongest jedi in the temple. An incredibly foolish target.

But that was the point, wasn’t it.

He could have killed a great many by now. Picked off padawans one by one has he slithered through the building. Had he actually believed the lie his master had told him, he would have.

But he didn’t. And now these Jedi were his best chance for a swift end.

As he grips his lightsaber, he wonders, not for the first time, what his mother would have thought of him. He didn’t remember her, or much of Rattatak for that matter. But he hoped he’d grown to be a strong son, one who might have made her proud, had things been different.

He muffles the sound of the grate being opened, curls his toes over the edge of the vent frame, and leaps.

–

The creature had seemed to come from thin air.

A calm discussion with his fellow masters about possible changes to the curriculum one minute, and a whirl of dark robes and red light the next.

By the time he and the others managed to pull their lightsabers, 3 padawans lay crumpled on the floor with the attacker ready to strike again.

The battle had been vicious.

Master Evren nearly had a leg taken off, and Knight Balrus fell in a burst of lightning before Ixal finally got in under its guard to slice up through it’s hood.

It screamed, bringing its saber up in mindless defense as it clutched its smoking face, but it was a futile effort. He followed through, ducking its arm and spinning around behind to carve his saber deep across it’s back.

It folded like a house of cards, crashing to the floor in a heap of dark robes.

Not dead, but also not getting up any time soon.

Healers and medical droids are called, and to everyone’s relief no one was killed. But it still left them with a host of very injured jedi, and a deeply wounded assailant who should have never made it this far.

–

Once the others have been seen to, he and the few other jedi of rank gather in the assassin’s room.

The scans the droids provided them with were both enlightening… and disturbing.

A juvenile rattataki male, approximately16 years of age. Signs of extensive, long-term electrical trauma, 18 healed fractures, and general malnutrition. And that was all underneath the damage he himself had caused in the battle. Evidently he’d blinded the man - no, boy - in one eye, and his final strike had severed his spine. He was now paralyzed from the waist down.

Stars above.

It’s about an hour more before the boy comes to, numbed heavily around his injuries but not sedated.

They needed to speak with him, and it absolutely could not wait.

Even so, none of them are prepared for the tsunami of terror that all but knocks them off their feet.

He chokes and tugs desperately at his restraints, every inch a panicked child despite the destruction he’d wrought only a few hours ago.

It makes his stomach roil to know he’d not fought a man, but a boy.

“Peace, young one,” he says softly. And the single remaining eye fixes upon him.

A muscle jumps in the rattataki’s jaw before his face goes eerily blank, at odds with the fear still saturating the Force around them.

“My name is Master Ixal. I’m afraid you’ve committed some rather serious crimes here today, but I would like to talk, if you wouldn’t mind.” When all the boy does is stare at him, he smiles, “May I ask your name?”

There’s a long stretch of silence before the answer.

“Acolyte.”

His accent is Kaas-ian, but given that he’s an alien, there’s a very good chance that he was a slave.

“Is that your name, or the one you were given?”

He blinks, as if trying to parse the meaning.

“Did you ever have a different name?”

Something small and fragile flickers across the part of his face that is still visible.

“…. Faun.”

He sighs. Good. Not so far gone that he won’t answer questions entirely, “Faun then. Can you tell me why you’re here?”

“My master sent me.”

A sith then. Were they truly so desperate as to use children?

“They sent you to attack us?”

His eye closes and he seems resigned.

“Yes.”

“Who sent you? Are there more coming? Why is the temple being targ-?”

“It doesn’t matter, kill me and be done with it.”

“What-?”

“I killed your people and infiltrated your temple, is that not enough?!”

He seems desperate then, like a frightened animal, and the fear redoubles in the Force.

“Easy now,” he assures, “You killed no one, all those who were injured survived.” He frowns, “And you will not die for it. We certainly won’t be letting you go, but you will live and be treated fairly. But I can promise you, the more you help us now, the easier things will go for you in the future.”

Instead of being assured, the young man barks a harsh, bitter laugh.

“What, future?! I failed to die! Now my master will come for me to correct my failure!” He positively whimpers and shrinks in on himself, “She’ll be so angry! She’ll make it hurt! Why can’t you just kill me!”

They’re all taken aback by the outburst, but as his words start to sink in a sick feeling begins to settle in to Ixal’s stomach.

“What do you mean you ‘failed to die’?”

“You think I am a fool?!” he spits. “What else am I to believe when she gives me such an impossible task and promises rewards I knew could never be!” He sags onto the hospital bed. “I do not exist. She cannot allow me to be tied to her, and I was no longer worth the risk.”

He truly feared this master of his so much that he would willingly undertake a suicide mission? Stars above, what had this woman done to him?!

He shakes his head. They knew the why now, but not the how.

“How did you manage to make it all the way into the meeting room? You would have had to pass several guardians.”

The boy huffs, voice still raw and wavering, but evening out as they entered more neutral territory. “Your security is poor and my master trained me well. I cloaked myself in the Force, muffled my presence, and walked right passed them.”

A hint of pride threads through the fear in the air, but already a few of their number have left, unable to take such overpowering emotions.

Cloaking is a rare gift. That this young man is capable of doing so, well enough to fool full fledged jedi, is both dangerous and intriguing. Between that, his combat ability, and the hyper-projection of his emotions, they were dealing with a powerful force user, no matter his age.

It only occurs to him now that the young rattataki could have likely killed dozens of padawans and younglings before being discovered.

But he didn’t.

An idea starts to form but he’d need to consult his fellow masters first.

“Thank you, Faun, you’ve been very helpful. Please rest for now. We will speak again later.”

The boy looks wary as they leave, but more than likely the sedatives are already being administered through his drip. He won’t be conscious for much longer.

–

The discussion is heated, with several knights and masters arguing against it, but after consulting the Jedi Council, they finally come to an agreement.

They would attempt to rehabilitate Faun.

Turning a sith was notoriously difficult, but his youth would work in their favor.

The skills of an assassin, Force-cloaking especially, where nearly impossible to teach to jedi. Too close to the dark side for many to want to risk learning. But as much as they may wish otherwise, sometimes those skills were needed, and if they could earn Faun’s loyalty they’d have an invaluable ally.

It would be a long and delicate process. Mind healers would be needed to try and break the chains his master had instilled in his mind, and the physical reconstruction and recovery would be just as taxing.

There was no guarantee that it would work at all, but he genuinely believed it was worth a try.

The poor boy had been through so much. With a bit of work they might give him a second chance at a fulfilling life.

Dark-side or no, the Force practically hummed around him in a way Ixal had not seen since young Satele. He didn’t know what part this young man might play, but he had a feeling he may yet prove essential in the future.

This would not be the end the young man had sought, but a new beginning.

======

From there it takes a long time to deprogram him, and they need to install several internal cybernetic bypasses in his spine to get around the damage. At the end of it, he’s got a pretty serious scar that runs from right shoulder to left hip, a few numb patches on his lower back, and his eye is still blinded. He learns to hide his accent, too. And he’s somewhere in his late 20s-early 30s by the time the game starts.

He was sent to Tython as a fresh start for his padawan training, since no one there would know who he was, aside from the Council.

His companions don’t find out until they’re fighting the First Son and Syo tells them to try and get them to leave or turn on Faun. Zenith almost does leave afterwards, but after a long discussion they all stick with him.

#swtor #jedi consular #character backstory #sith acolyte #he was kidnapped from rattatak and enslaved i just was trying to put it through the lens of what a brainwashed person would see it as #satele shan DOES come from brentaal 4 but everything else is completely made up #so if there is actual information from her backstory that contradicts this then *shugs* whoopsies #tw: suicidal thoughts #sort of

[diddlesanddoodles]

DUMPLING ch 48

Warning: Mild mentions of gore. 

Nenani could not take her eyes away from the walking corpse. It’s flesh hung loose from its bones and the it was further discolored beneath the rope that still hung from its neck. As she stared, Nenani realized it wasn’t simply a rope. It was a noose. Whoever the man use to be had been hung and though the body was decaying, its was largely intact. He had not been dead for too terribly long.

A flash of silver velvet drew her eye and she watched bewildered as her mother all but ran down the steps and onto the floor and towards Aidus’s dead avatar. Courtiers parted with alacrity, too shocked and taken aback by the dead thing to remember any of their possible prejudices as Oira passed them.  

“Mama!” Nenani called, getting up from her chair, but as she turned to follow her down the steps, a large hand swept in front of her and fingers wrapped around her middle before pulling her up. “Ah-!”

“No, Nenani!” Warren said forcefully as he plucked her off the table. “I won’t have you throwing yourself into harms way. We don’t need a repeat of the time before.”

“But Mama –!” she started to say, but Warren paid her no mind. He turned swiftly to Rosanna who sat frozen in her chair, pale and wide eyed. He stepped up to her and pressed Nenani into her hands. “Keep her here, dearest,” he instructed in a gentle whisper. Rosanna shook herself back to attention and took Nenani, wrapping her arms protectively around the girl and pulling her close. But she did not say a word.

“Aidus!” Nenani tried to turn in the Queen’s arms to see her mother as she heard her voice and could barely manage it. Oira stood several yards from the corpse, looking so small among a sea of giants, but clearly the only one who seemed to not shrink and shy away from the intruder.  

“Such revelry and celebration, my good gentlefolk,” said the dead puppet, it’s jaw miming along to Aidus’s words. A black ooze seeped from the gaping hole in the side of it’s face and mouth. “How easily you all forget that your frocks and silken coats are still stained with the blood of my people.” A thin and bony hand rose to point a finger at Oira. An accusation. “Her people.”

The crowd stared at the dead thing in open horror and morbid intrigue.

“How eagerly I recall you all were to follow Nerthin down his bloody path. How he threw our sons daughters to your mercy. But there was none to be found in your company. No, instead they found stew pots and pie crusts and knives and hooks and roasting pans. I imagine a good many still of your estate gardens hold their bones. Generations of noble blood lost. Thousands slaughtered.” Aidus looked passed Oira and the other giants to glare up at the head table and to where Warren stood. “And those that remain cling to the dirt floored pen into which His Majesty so graciously tosses them.”

The corpse’s head tilted as white eyes focused back around to Oira. “And you. My Queen. Do the screams of your family not still ring in your ears? The father of that one there...he killed your father. Your brothers and their wives and your sister. Their little sons and daughters.” The corpse began to walk in a large and lazy circle, each step painfully slow. “The poor wee grandchildren. Some just mere babes. What does it sound like, I wonder, when a giant squeezes the head of a newborn. Does it pop? Or just squish like an overly ripe peach.” Oira matched Aidus step for step, always keeping him in her sights and at a distance. Her face was hard and furious.

“The screams much have been horrific,” he continued. “The last thing your father heard was his bloodline ending. And I wonder still how many in this room might do the same again should they have the chance.” Aidus’s laugh filled the room. “Just consider your son. Dear little thing he is. The young prince. Which one of these fine gentlemanly monsters would gladly crush him and break him apart like last night’s mutton?”

“Your words are a vile poisoned wine and I will not drink,” Oira snarled, her voice rising high above them all. Her features curled into a vicious sneer. “You hold yourself so high, hiding behind a corpse, Aidus. But I know you. You are nothing but a boy. A cruel little man who always wanted the shiny thing someone else had and you would sink lower than the filth upon our boots to get it. You murdered Prince Thadeus. My friend! And by that single action set Silvaara and Vhasshal on a path to mutual destruction.” She spread her arms to indicate the room. “And still you are here, clearly not satisfied with the thoroughness of your work. But do not make the mistake of underestimate me or his Majesty. We see you plainly now, Aidus. You are laid bare...”

She stopped forward, squaring her shoulders, eyes burning, and she flicked her hands. Bright yellow and red flames licked at her fingers and then all at once they roared to life and into great columns of flame. All around the room, the Vhasshalan courtiers panicked anew, pushing and shoving as Oira’s flames danced and hissed. But Oira paid none of them any mind. Her focus was purely on Aidus and in a loud voice declared, “...and we come for you.”  

The corpse’s features were too far degraded to deign any sort of expression, but it looked to Nenani as though it were trying to smile. “Barely a month among them and already you sing their praises. How disappointing a daughter Haeral must have considered you. Put you in a pretty dress and suddenly you fancy yourself Queen, my girl? But I know you as well Annie. You are a spoiled, scared little girl

playing at a game you were never bred for. You spread your legs for a commoner who only needed to say a few pretty words in your ears before you threw yourself at him.”

“Hayron was a hundred times more a man than you could ever hope to be.”

“And yet he died like the common swine he truly was; in the mud. But if you are so confidant of yourself, my Queen, you know where I am. Where you may find me. The door is open, your highness. Come.”

“You must think I am a fool,” Oira hissed. “No, Aidus. I know your games.”

“Do you now?” he asked in amusement. “Then you must have acquired this knowledge very recently.”

“You will grow tired of waiting for me to play your game, to make the first move,” Oira said, taking a deliberate step towards the corpse and seeming to catch it off guard. “But your machinations that have served you so well all these years are beginning to fail you. Your upper hand is not as steadfast and lasting as you had anticipated. And my allies grow more numerous and they wield power you could only grasp at. As do I.”

“You speak of that magician? Admittedly, he is more competent than I gave him credit for. His efforts are commendable…but ultimately in vain. I may not be able to pass through my physical form or any living avatars, but I have plenty of corpses at my disposal.” The avatar’s arms opened wide. “Thanks in large part to the generous efforts of those attending tonight’s festivities. And then of course...there is the curious matter of your daughter. The bastard.”

Every muscle in her body tensed up and Nenani wanted desperately to be released, but seeming to sense her impatience, Rosanna placed a hand across her shoulders turned her away from the center of the hall.

“No, please,” Nenani begged, wiggling. “Let me see!”

But Rosanna only held her more firmly.

“How strange that such an ill-bred piglet,” remarked Aidus lightly. “Could posses such a raw talent.”  

“Do not speak of my daughter,” Oira growled. “I won’t let her name cross your vile lips.”

“The wonders I could show her...”

“Quiet!”

“The marvels I could teach her...”

“I said enough!”

“So much more potential than your son,” He said smugly. Nenani felt her anger surge. “I had hoped he would have carried the flower such as you. But he is just another in a long line of useless men. Like his father...”

“Is this you calling yourself useless?”

“Myself? No, my girl. You mistake me. Or perhaps you think a bit too much of your schemes. You did not think I ever fell for the idea that he was mine did you? Please, he is the spitting image of Hayron. I’ve known since the day he was born. No, had he been my true son, I would never have used such archaic disciplinary measures on him. You do not beat a purebred. A mutt however...”

Nenani both heard and felt her mother’s rage filled cry and the whooshing sound of flames, but before she could beg for release, Rosanna was on her feet, being guided by Warren away from the table to where Master Donal was waiting. “Take them to the keep and have guards posted!”

“What?” Rosanna demanded, twisting and looking to her husband with fear. “You aren’t coming with me?”

“I won’t leave Annie to face him alone. Even if he is only controlling a corpse,” he said, pushing her towards Donal’s outstretched arms. “Aidus is too dangerous a rogue to ever underestimate. Go with Donal, love.”

With extreme reluctance, Rosanna allowed Donal to guide her by the elbow to the small room in the back and out another door before spilling out into a side garden where the cold night air met them. However, they had not moved but a few dozen yards away when Rosanna stopped in her tracks.

“Your Majesty?” Donal asked. The poor man looked frazzled and deeply concerned.  

“I can’t,” she said, voice wavering and on the verge of tears. “That…that thing killed Thadeus. I won’t let him take Warren from me too.”

Rosanna pushed Nenani into Master Donal’s arms. “Take the Princess to the keep.” And with that one command, Rosanna turned on her heels and ran back inside. Donal fumbled as he reached out to grab a hold of Nenani and looked on after the Queen with horrified bemusement.

“W-what? You’re majesty!” Nenani was trying very hard not to lose control of her flames, but her limbs were shaking and her finger tips were glowing.

“Donal!” Master Donal turned at the sound of his name and Nenani was feeling distinctly dizzy by this point and her stomach roiled with the motion.

“What’s goin’ on?” When her head stopped spinning, she saw Keral jogging towards them. She did not see Jae with him.  

“Oh! Keral, thank the Gods,” said the steward in relief as the ranger met them. “Is Master Jae safe?”

“Hidden,” Keral replied shortly. “Safe.”

“Very good, very good,” Donal replied breathlessly and then held Nenani out to him. “Take the Princess there as well, my good man. The Queen went back inside and I must retrieve her.”

“She what?” Keral asked in disbelief as he readily took Nenani into his hands. She grabbed onto his index finger as his hand wrapped around her. But Donal had already turned to run back inside, leaving Keral alone in the garden with his new charge. He growled. “Well, fuck...”

“Put me down!” Nenani snapped as she wiggled. “I need to help Mama!”

Keral barked a sarcastic laugh, shifting his grip as he turned to jog back from where he had come. “The hell ye are!”

Her further protestations were completely ignored as Keral made his way through the garden and into a side corridor and down a long flight of stone steps. At the bottom was an unremarkable wooden door so worn with age it nearly blended in with the stone walls. He pulled the door ajar, slipped inside, and pulled it closed behind him. He then bolted it closed.

The only light was a single lit candle on a broken stool in the corner and what little light it provided seemed enough to illuminate the small space. It looked to be a disused storage closet. Near the base of the back wall, an old blanket had been folded to create a makeshift cushion and sitting there, knees to his chest, was Jae. When they entered, his head snapped up, but his initial alarm calmed when he saw it was only Keral.

“Nenani,” Jae said from his spot on the blanket before getting to his feet. His eyed were red and swollen as though he’d been crying. “Are you all right? What’s going on out there? Is Aidus really here?”

Keral bent down to release Nenani onto the floor, nudging her towards Jae. From his boot he pulled out a long bladed knife before pushing himself up against the door. His ear was pressed to the wood and his expression was set into one of stern concentration.

Nenani looked up at the ranger, huffing through her nose. “Let me out!”

Keral did not move away from the door or even look at her. “No.”

She went to the side of his boot to push at the thick leather. Unsurprisingly, it did not move. “Please!”

“Go sit, Nenani.”

“Come on, Keral!” she yelled, stomping her foot in anger as her hands burst into flames. To drive her point across eve further, she then kicked the giant boot with her thin slipper and regretted immediately it as her toes cried out in pain. “Ah!”

Only then did he look down at her with a fierce glare, brow furrowed deeply. “Not gonna tell ye again, Princess.”

“I can’t just...not do anything...” she pleaded, her anger ebbing into sorrow, and the flames from her hands began to flicker and die.  

“Ain’t yer place to be doin’ anythin’ but plantin’ yer keister down and being quiet,” he snapped, pointing purposefully at the folded blanket. “It’s my job to make sure both of ye stay alive while the others deal with that fucker. ‘Cause if either of ye get so much as a scratch, I’m gonna have not one but three monarchs, plus my brother, crawlin’ up my arse. So let me do my damn job girl and sit down.”

Nenani was breathing hard, trying to return the ranger’s hard glare with one of her own, but her lip began to tremble and every bit of fight in her seemed to dissolve as the worry began to set in. Every time Aidus came, he seemed to have something new to flash in their faces, some new power with which to taunt them. He was trying antagonize them, she knew that. But to not be able to answer him made her angry and the pent up energy seemed to buzz all through her body. But the moment she remembered her mother, all that anger shifted into fear. Her flames flickered and died. What if her mother did something foolish and got hurt? Or worse...

She felt hands on her shoulders and she jumped.

“Come one, Nenani,” Jae said gently, steering her back to the wall. “Just come sit with me.”

The blanket was old and dusty and smelled like mildew, but she did as she was told and sat down. Jae pulled her to his side, wrapping an arm around her. She laid her head against his shoulder and wrapped her arms around his middle just as the frustrated tears began.

“I hate him...” she murmured into the fabric of his doublet. “Aidus. I hate him.”

Jae rested his head against her. “I know,” he said quietly. “But Keral’s right. You can’t just go run after him. He’d kill you.”

She wanted to argue the point. She had power now and much better control than the last time he sent one of his avatars. She wasn’t useless anymore. She wasn’t the same needy little girl she use to be.

“I know I could help,” she said very quietly.

“You’re already doing plenty,” Jae replied.

“Doesn’t feel like it...”

Jae sighed. “I know it doesn’t. Don’t know why I said that. At least this way they don’t need to worry about us.”

“What good is having powers if I can’t help?”

“...well,” Jae said with a shrug. “Look at it this way; you’ll never be in want of a candle again.”

She pulled her face from his shoulder to level and unimpressed flat look at him. “...really?”

“What? I can’t be perfectly witty all the time,” Jae shot back. “It’s been a really stressful night.”

It seemed as though they stayed inside the closet for close to an hour or so. Keral remained on guard the entire time, head pressed to the door and waiting and did not say a word or even so much as move. There were several times where they could hear someone running passed, but no one ever seemed to pay the door any mind. It was present in Nenani’s mind to ask if it might be safe when there came three loud and heavy handed blows against the door and they seemed to startle Keral. He stared at the door, eyes narrowing as he gripped his knife tighter. The door’s hinges made a light tinkering sound as the one on the other side of the door tried the handle and found it unyielding.  

“Keral, open the fuckin’ door ye greasy prat!”

Nenani’s head perked up at the familiar voice and she scrambled to her feet.

“Farris?” asked Keral. He bent down to slip his knife back into his boot. “That you?”

“Of course it’s me. Now open this fuckin’ door!” replied the kitchen master, sounding more agitated than normal.  Keral stared at the door with an irritated glare, but he suddenly did an about-face and he broke out into a cheeky grin.

“...what’s the password, then?” he asked lightly.

There came another heavy handed bang on the door. “Oh, I’ve got it just here,” Farris replied pleasantly and then his tone shifted down into his more usual threatening manner. “In my fist. Open up so I can give it to ye.”    

Keral shrugged, sensing the quick demise of his joke and unbolted the door. “Aye, that’ll do.” He paused. “Just don’t be swingin’ at me. Don’t wanna be gettin’ any blood on my good jerkin.”

The door swung open and a very unamused Farris stood in the doorway. He glared at his brother. “I’ll think about it,” he said as he walked inside. Nenani was on her feet and ran towards him.

“What happened with Aidus? Is everyone all right? Where’s Mama –?”

“Easy now, Dumplin’,” he said, the gruffness of his tone replaced with a gentle one. He crouched down to cup a hand around her back, his thumb brushed her cheek as his green eyes studied her. “Ye all right then?”

“I’m fine, but what happened with Aidus?” Nenani asked, her tone bordering on desperation as she clutched the base of his thumb. “Or...the corpse, his avatar.”

“Didn’t see it fer myself,” he said. “But one ‘a the footmen said yer Mum burnt ‘im to cinders. The lanterns have all gone out, so I suppose that means he’s gone fer now. But Maevis is still sayin’ he’s sensin’ somethin’ else so he’s got every available guard doin’ another sweep just to be safe. Most of the courtiers are all leavin’ save fer a handful of ‘em that are stayin’ in the guest wing.”

“Casualties?” Keral asked.

“Only Lady Tafford’s dress and hair it seems. Heard her wailin’ about it across the damn castle,” Farris said as he looked up to see Jae sitting on the folded blanket. “How about ye, Jae? Still in one piece are ye?”

Jae just gave a weak thumbs up, looking tired. Farris nodded, bringing his other hand to Nenani and scooping her up. “When no one could find the two of ye anywhere in the keep, I figured I’d check Keral’s old hiding closet.”

“Keral’s hiding closet?” Jae asked and then regarded the ranger with a curiously grin.

“Use to hide in here when I was a squire,” Keral replied with a lazy shrug. “Good place if ye don’t wanna be found fer a while.”

“Aye,” Farris growled. “And his majesty’s right pissed no one’s been able to find any of ye. So we best get them both back to the keep before he issues a damn warrant fer yer sorry arse.”

With a nod, Keral walked over to where Jae was sitting and crouched down in front of him. “Come on then, Pup. Let’s be gettin’ ye back to yer Dad. Not good to worry him any more then ye already do.”

Jae nodded and got to his feet. “I guess so.”

………………………

“Didn’t think I’d get to see ye in yer court dress all done up,” Farris said as they walked back up the steps and into the servants portion of the corridor. “Yer lookin’ like a proper princess and everythin’. Too bad that smokey bastard had to go and ruin yer official debut.”

Nenani flapped her arms to show off the length of her sleeve. “I don’t understand the point of these sleeves. I look like a goose.”

Farris laughed and raised his eyebrow at her as he caught sight of a sliver of leather under the fabric. “...Dumplin’? Ye ain’t wearin’ them vambraces Connar made ye are ye?”

Nenani pursed her lips and slid her sleeves back down over her hands. “...might be.”

Farris laughed louder. “Seven hells lass, ye don’t have yer dagger too do ye?”

“No,” she replied with a pout. “I couldn’t figure out where to put it and my new belt was too bulky under the dress.”

He eyed her. “But ye thought about it...”

She nodded.

“Seven hells, girl.” he said, shaking his head.

“I wanted to be prepared,” she replied with a shrug. “Like you said.”

“Not quite what I meant. But good to see ye finally started listenin’ t’me,” he said and pinched her arm lightly. Keral walked alongside his brother, carrying Jae, but the boy was listless and seemingly lost in thought. Farris eyed him from the side and said, “So I heard a rumor the King’s gonna make it official and adopt ye, eh?”

Jae nodded, but did not meet Farris’s eye. “Yeah. I guess he is.”

“About damn time,” Farris replied with a small smile. Jae finally looked up only to blink at him in confusion.

“Does everyone but me think this is a good idea?” he asked.

“Didn’t say I thought it was a good idea,” Farris chuckled. “But it is the right one.” A paused. “Just don’t be expectin’ me to start callin’ ye ‘yer grace’ or none of that shit.”

Jae rolled his eyes, but was now smiling. “Wouldn’t dream of it, Farris.”

………………………..

They reached the King’s study to find Warren, Oira, Rheil, and Maevis collectively grim faced and pouring over a large map spread over the whole of Warren’s desk. Her mother, still dressed in her silver velvet gown, was on her hands and knees pointing to a portion of the map.

“...the way is narrow, but there is a wider path closer to the peak,” her mother was saying. “It has the advantage of being well hidden, but as it is the only path that a Vhasshalan could take, it won’t offer much hope of a possible surprise assault.”

Warren had his hands planted on the desk and was leaning over where she was pointing and as soon as they entered, his gaze tilted up and straight to Jae. Likewise, Oira looked to Nenani and got to her feet, but struggled with the heft of her voluminous skirts. Maevis gave her a helping hand.

“Nenani, are you all right?” she asked, the sternness of her expression lightening for a moment. Farris stopped to give a respective bow, keeping one hand pressed to Nenani to prevent her from tumbling out of his arms. When he righted himself, Nenani felt the room spin.

“I’m fine,” she answered, blinking away the vertigo. “What happened though?”

“Not much actually. It was rather anticlimactic considering it was Aidus. He was only trying to get a rouse out of us,” she replied. “Once it was obvious that was all he was doing, I burned the avatar. Though I feel sorry for whatever poor maid has to clean that mess up.”

“No need to worry,” Warren added. “I’ve already instructed Donal to make sure her wages duly reflect the size of the task.”

“So why crash the party at all?” Keral asked, stepping up to the desk and setting Jae down. Beside him, Farris followed suit.

“He’s hoping we make a hasty decision and give him the upper hand.” Oira replied as Nenani went to her, wrapping her arms around her mother’s waist. Oira ran a hand across her head and down her face tenderly. She tipped her daughter’s chin up and grinned at her. “But we won’t fall for his deceptions.”  

Warren was at Jae’s side, bending down and cupping his hands around him. Quietly he asked, “Are you all right, my boy?”

“I’m fine,” Jae replied, staring at his feet.

“I think we need to have a talk,” Warren said, brow furrowed. “About what I said to Eldherst and the others.”

“Yeah,” Jae said, rubbing his arm nervously. “I guess we do.”

“But not tonight,” Warren replied, using the crook of a finger to lift the boy’s face to meet his gaze. “I sense you could do with a good night’s rest and a little peace and quiet. So we will speak first thing in the morning. I promise.”  

“Okay,” Jae replied, looking almost disappointed. “Yeah...”

Warren’s eyes looked just as tired as Jae’s and both seemed as though they wanted to say something, but neither spoke. Finally, Warren stood and looked over to Rheil. “I want guards posted at the doors and each end of the corridors. Aidus’s threats may have been only to antagonize us, but I won’t leave it to chance that he might very well try and harm the children.”

“I’ve already assigned the posts, my lord,” Rheil replied. “Two to each room and three for every corridor in the keep to be on rotation and each team is equipped with a lantern. If Aidus comes, they will know.”

“I will further check the barriers and make sure they are steady and stable,” Maevis added. “He did attempt to push through, but it held firm. The rogue magic I’ve been sensing worries me though. I want to make sure there isn’t another avatar somewhere inside the barrier.”

“Very good,” Warren replied with a nod.

“I am actually very glad you are here, Farris,” Maevis said, turning to the kitchen master. “I had wished to speak to you about inbound shipments.”

Farris eyed the magician in confusion. “Aye? What about ‘em?”

“I’d like to install two lanterns near the back gate where your orders are received. I suspect that might be the entry point Aidus used to sneak his avatar inside the castle grounds.”

Farris snorted. “Ye’d think someone would’a smelled a rottin’ corpse if it came waddlin’ through that way.”

“Lately, I am trying to keep myself from all assumptions,” Maevis replied, looking exhausted. “Too dangerous a pastime.”

“Before we make any further plans,” Warren said. “Let us retire the children to bed. I think they’ve had enough excitement for today.”

……………………….

Lolly was the one to bring Nenani back to her room. Her mother stayed behind in the King’s study to discuss future plans. Though she felt neglected in being cast off to bed so soon after so much excitement, Nenani could not deny that they day had been a draining one and promise of a soft bed sounded wonderful. Haiyer was already sound asleep in his bed, having been put down hours beforehand.

As Lolly helped Nenani out of her dress, she caught sight of the leather vambraces and gave Nenani a look.

“What am I going to do with you?” she asked, shaking her head. Nenani could only reply with a helpless shrug. Lolly shook her head with a small laugh and made a shooing motion. “Right then, little miss knight. Off with your armor and then into bed with you.”

Nenani loosened the laces and slipped them off her arms and sat them next to her belt and dagger underneath the skirt of her bed. Slipping under the covers, she wiggled herself into place.

“I hope today wasn’t too much for you, sweetie.”

“I’m fine,” Nenani replied. “It was going well until Aidus came.”

Lolly snorted.

“I will be glad when we are finally rid of that monster,” Lolly said as she lightly tucked Nenani in. “Your poor mother does not need that ghoul hanging over everything as she tries to rebuild an entire kingdom.” Her eyes focused in on Nenani as though suddenly recalling who she was speaking to. She smiled sadly. “But that’s nothing for you to worry over. Peyton and William will be on watch tonight, just outside. And I’m sure your mother won’t be much longer. Try and get some sleep, all right?”

“Okay,” Nenani replied. As she left the room, Lolly blew out the oil lamp and closed the door behind her. After hearing her footsteps recede down the hall, Nenani flung off the covers and fell to the floor, scrambling under the bed to grab her belt and dagger and vambraces. She pulled them back onto her arms and swung the belt around her waist. It took her a few tries, but finally she was able to snap the last fastener on her belt and only after checking to make sure the dagger was properly attached did she climb back into bed, pulling the thick blanket over her and wiggling back into place.

Though she held nothing against Peyton and William or their abilities, Nenani was determined not to be caught off guard again.

……………………………...

She dreamed of Aidus and his smoke, the black vapor curling into the air to take on the form of a large hand that reached out. First it came for Hiayer, the little boy crying out and reaching for her. The blue quartz stone she’d given him crumbled to ash in his hands as blackness took him. Then it took Jae, pulling tightly across his throat to silence his terrified cries as coils of black curled around him until she could not see him anymore. At last, it reached out for her, trying to squeeze the last drop of breath from her lungs as it pressed into her. She tried to scream, but she could not breathe. She felt like she was drowning...

When she opened her eyes, her hand went to dagger, fingers wrapping around the hilt as she breathed heavily. Around her she saw only the room, faintly illuminated by the moon’s light, and she relaxed back into soft down of her mattress and pillow. Her heart pounded loudly in her ears. The feeling of leather against her arms and around her middle was comforting, but would not shake away the lingering dread.

Turning her head, she looked to check on Haiyer only to catch her breathe in her throat.

A tall black shadowy mass loomed over her brother’s bed, a dark hand reaching down to scoop the child, blankets and all, into its hands. Nenani sat up in bed, drawing the shadow giant’s attention to her.

“Hey!” she cried. “What are you doing with my –?”

Her words cut off as the shadow giant reached out, the outlines of its hand and fingers glowing a bright yellow and the blankets under her suddenly came to life and began to wrap themselves around her, muffling her cries and binding her arms to her sides. From between the closing folds of the blanket she watched as the giant hand reach out for her with its long seeking fingers and just as in her nightmare, the blackness took her.

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BONUS ART:

Fun Fact: Keral nearly always has a boot knife on him. If he’s wearing boots, he’s got himself a boot knife. They’re very handy. 

#DUMPLING #g/t #Giant/tiny #G/t story #g/t writing #Nenani #Jae #Keral #Rosanna #Donal #Farris #Warren #Oira #Aidus

[aoitrinity]

An Apology

CW: Brief mentions of mental illness, depression, and suicidal thoughts; general feelings of sadness, hopelessness, and loss.

Message below the cut.

Hi guys.

After the hellish whirlwind of the last few days, I am here because I have to tell you guys that I’m sorry. I’m sorry for this whole mess that I feel partly responsible for.

After the SPN finale, I was, like many of you, deeply upset. I was stunned that a show that it felt like we had followed so perfectly for four years wasn’t living up to what seemed to be the inevitable ending. I was genuinely shocked and horrified that we would be subjected to such a depressing message as “you cannot find happiness or peace unless you’re dead,” that free will is nothing but the freedom to choose your method of dying, or that the showrunners would have baited us so thoroughly with the Deancas storyline. I found it impossible to believe that they would wound a fanbase known primarily for being made up of queer people with mental health issues--people like myself, who literally struggle some days to find a will to keep living, who struggle to believe they are worthy of love--like this. I couldn’t believe that THIS was the story they had felt so strongly about telling, that THIS was the story they were going to tell after they painted this very ending as the horrible, hopeless, nefarious villain’s ending so early in the season.

I was so wounded. I spent all night sobbing on and off. I felt sick; I thought I was going to vomit. I was barely functional on Saturday and most of Sunday. I spoke with a couple of other fans just to try and get my head on right enough that I could take care of my work responsibilities on Monday.

And there were little bits of information about it all that just didn’t seem to fit, that didn’t sit right with me for any number of reasons. But rather than just accept that sometimes things don’t always make sense, I fell down the rabbit hole. I tried to make order out of what felt like absolute chaos. I wrote one lengthy post that really took off (I would ask you all to please stop reblogging it now, if you can) and another smaller one after the debacle of the Spanish-language dub that started last night, both attempting to piece together what I thought might have happened in a way that let me have hope and hang on to the vision of the show that I had believed so deeply in--a vision of happiness and love and family as a reward for fighting for years to retain one’s free will. A vision I have sorely, sorely needed this whole year, and honestly much longer.

But the truth was really there all along; I just didn’t want to accept it. I see that now, after the events of today, after spending time reading this post (thank you, btw, @teamfreewillbettertogether) and watching Misha’s video on Twitter. I was seeing what I wanted and needed to see, not what was there.

So I apologize to everyone that I gave false hope to. I apologize to everyone who read my posts and thought there might be any truth to them, to everyone I swept up in my nonsense. You all deserved better than a half-cocked conspiracy theory written by a frantic woman in the midst of emotional turmoil. And not that I ever expect them to see it, but I also want to sincerely apologize to the cast and crew who worked so hard on these last two episodes, only to have me shit on them because I couldn’t handle the reality of the situation.

I won’t lie, I am in a very, very raw place right now. I’m back to crying periodically and feeling sick to my stomach, and now I have the added shame of having put myself out there like a fool and of having pulled many of you into my vortex. And worst of all, I feel like I caused pain to the cast and crew with my ignorance, especially Misha. Let me tell you, there is nothing more awful than disappointing the person you look up to most in this world.

I don’t really know where I go from here. I don’t think I can let these characters or their story go, but I also don’t know how much I can engage with it right now either. I am very much for the idea of people writing the endings they wanted to this story, and for those who do, I will never stop cheering you on. This fandom is full of wonderful, creative, talented, passionate, loving people, and I love you all so much. Don’t let this finale or the accompanying disappointment steal that from you.

For me in this moment, however, I think I need to just apologize for the hurt that I have caused and try to step back so I can stabilize myself. I will probably still lurk on Tumblr in the coming days, but I won’t be reblogging much, if anything, at least not until I find an emotional equilibrium of some sort. In the meantime, keep up your chins, all. You’re a beautiful, brilliant, wonderful group of people, and I’m sorry for any pain I caused you.

#apology #spn finale #i love you guys #and I'm deeply sorry

[wessonba]

First, let me say that 5.01 “The Fiery Cross” was a masterful mix of old and new.  It was recognizably based on the book but told with enough new and yet plausible surprises to keep me glued to my screen. It totally could have happened that way.  And, although I love Diana Gabaldon, and her gathering, I’m relieved they didn’t feel the need to replicate it in this episode. Instead, they gave us the wedding of Roger and Bree. It was a wonderful and joyous reunion filled with the people I have missed during this long drought.  As each face was shown on the screen, I found myself smiling somewhat tearfully.  I really do love this story and these characters.

As usual, when I sit down to write after an episode, a blow by blow recap of what happened isn’t on my mind.  There are lots of talented bloggers out there who do a great job looking at EVERTHING! I admire their ability to do so, but that just isn’t how my brain works.  I find myself thinking about one or two things that stood out for me or an overall mood or theme for each episode.  This week I couldn’t stop thinking about Jamie.  The Jamie I saw on my screen this week was the charming, complicated, yet simple man I have been longing to see.  As he stood before Claire wearing his plaid and his father’s coat, it felt like he had finally come into his own; laird, proud Scot, husband, father, grandfather.  He is a man and “that is no small thing”.  His tear-filled eyes throughout this episode revealed his soul and I found myself proud to “know” such a man.

Jamie and Bree

Matt Roberts writes with such love for this story and its characters.  He holds all the previous episodes in mind when he creates and tends to the small and endearing details.  In this episode, he called us back to the three conditions Jamie made when he agrees to marry Claire; a dress, a priest, and a ring.   We are treated to Jamie trying his best to make sure his daughter’s wedding day is the best he can make it, just like he tried for her mother. I was charmed by Jamie making sure Bree had her “modern” wedding tradition of something old, something new (fairly raw whiskey, ouch), something borrowed and something blue and even a sixpence for her shoe. His obvious fatherly concern is compounded by the fact that their relationship is still so new.  He just got her back and now he has to give her away.

As he turns the corner and sees Bree in her wedding dress, you can chase the emotions across his face; awe, pride, gratefulness, and finally a need to hold it all in check for this beloved and found daughter.  He could never have dreamed of placing his mother’s pearls on his daughter’s neck. He is able to pass on a family heirloom to his own flesh and blood. She is his blessing.  She is the embodiment of the fact that his sacrifices were not in vain.  He is moved to tears by her confession that she needs him and will always be his wee girl and the gift of her knowing and repeating the Fraser clan motto, “Je Suis Prest”.

Jamie and Claire

Throughout the episode, we are reminded of Jamie and Claire’s deep, passionate, and abiding love for one another.  The looks that pass between each, the unspoken language of couples who are so close they know what the other thinks and feels, added so much to this episode. Once again, the writers or actors took care to be consistent in how this couple interacts with each other like the “let’s do this” nod when Jamie goes off to do something dangerous.  But, Lord the looks between Jamie and Claire at the wedding.  He looks around at all he has wrought, the family he is surrounded by, and then back to Claire. Who knows.  He is overwhelmed by all he has that he thought he had lost forever.  He is a laird, a father, a…husband.  I am constantly reminded of all they had been denied and wonder if Jamie feels like Job who was blessed in his latter days and given twice as much as had been taken from him.

Jamie and the Governor

I teach literature. When I help students analyze Shakespeare, we talk about foils.  Governor Tyron was perfectly menacing and a perfect foil for Jamie. You couldn’t help but compare the two.  Their motivations, their values, couldn’t be more opposite.  The Governor has the care of a land and its people.  Jamie has the care of a land and its people. The Governor is motivated by power and his own importance.  Murtaugh has made him look a fool and must be punished publicly to restore Tyron’s pride and preserve the perception of his power.  Jamie is motivated by love, honor, and duty.  The knowledge of the future lays heavy on him.  He knows who wins the war, but first, you must survive the battle.  Instinctively he knows the best way to protect his men and their families is to assure their loyalty to him.  He creates a clan from the remnants of their memories and Scottish pride.  When he called Roger “the son of my house” and Fergus “the son of his heart”, he gave them a public affirmation of his acceptance and his love. Pledging their loyalty to him on bended knee with holy iron was one of the most moving callbacks of the whole series.  I loved Roger’s initial confusion then Jamie’s surprise as the scholar moved from academic to real with alacrity.

Jamie and Murtagh

We began and ended the episode with these two.  Murtagh pledges an oath to Jamie, a promise he gave his mother to always follow him and have his back.  He gently reaches out and takes wee Jamie’s hand in reassurance. Men in this time are definitely defined by their word and once given it is a serious and binding commitment. Murtagh pledged his life to Jamie.  We have seen him keep that oath.  We saw Jamie’s joy at being reunited with his godfather last season. However, the real depth of feeling Jamie has for Murtagh could only be guessed at… until this moment.  How much that oath meant to Jamie and his love for his godfather was revealed in this final scene. To save him, Jamie must release Murtagh from his oath and send him away.   In true Jamie and Murtagh fashion, no gushy words are spoken in their final goodbye. Jamie is tearful when he tells him to go and attempts to smile as he tells him to make himself scarce.  Murtagh’s response is to gently reach out and touch Jamie reassuringly, thinking first of Jamie’s feelings and needs always.  He leaves and Jamie then collapses in grief emitting gut-wrenching sobs. I think having loved and lost is painful, but to gain that love back and have to let it go again is unbearable.  Jamie is feeling fear as he never has before and that is saying a lot.  He has a lot to lose and will fight to the death to preserve all that he loves.

This episode and Jamie’s tears caused me to reflect on my own life. I thought of how much more easily my husband and I are moved to tears.  I believe, like Jamie, our age is a factor.  We have a lifetime of painful memories and struggles, things that we have overcome to get where we are now.  And, I often find I am now moved to tears by the simplest of things like watching our youngest granddaughters ride a pony or their obvious pride in catching a fish all by themselves, or watching the teens in all of their various sports and activities.or their inexplicable joy in a pair of gifted footed pajamas!  Sometimes watching the looks of pride on our own children’s faces as they look upon their children moves me to tears and I will look at my husband and find that he too is tearful. Like Jamie and Claire, understanding, gratitude, and love will wordlessly pass between us and end in a brief kiss and a tremulous smile.

      ≈

The Jamie of the Ridge … a reflection on Outlander 5.01 “The Fiery Cross” First, let me say that 5.01 "The Fiery Cross" was a masterful mix of old and new. 

[kwrittink]

Bloody Love 8

Pairing: Park Jimin x Reader (princeBTS!au)

Genre: Fluff 

Warnings: Language, mentions of violence, mentions of blood, jealousy(?)

Words: 3,150

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“I still cannot believe you condoned your General's actions, all the while overriding my own orders! Changkyun clearly said Y/N isn't well to be walking around-”  

“Your Majesty, I am very sorry to have disobeyed orders on your own country, but you have to understand this is a critical situation that we can't ignore...” Jimin tried to explain, trying to not sound annoyed at the tone the king was using with him. It would be reasonable to scold us about this matter if Y/N was really put in a dangerous situation, or really exerting her body in some way. But she's smart, and wouldn't compromise her health like that anyways. At the same time, you placed a hand lightly on his arm, halting his speech as you stepped forward inside the Soldier's Room, where the king and the other Generals were talking while waiting for the prince to arrive after reading any letters received. 

“King Kihyun, I beg your understanding on this,” you started, walking past the Park prince and closing distance with the frowning royal, which eyes locked on your face at your almost sweet tone, a startle for them all, certainly. “It is a situation that needs all the thinking heads it can have, for the muscle part is already down on my side.” You chuckled, sitting at a lower bench nearby, a clear sign that you were putting yourself below his position and had no intent of offending or defying him. 

“I ask you to understand that it's a matter of my honor as a General and daughter of Park's previous General, as well as for the well-being of ours and every other friendly country and I cannot stand idly only watching everyone take action all the while being the figure of security of my home, a female to top it off, and let men from other kingdoms save me like a maiden in distress.” Jimin watched in awe as you spoke, low and calm tone, even lifting the small tension that wanted to harbor between Kihyun and him, at the same time appealing to diplomacy and his good will towards you. With a gaped mouth, Jimin realized you were absolutely fit to be an Queen, the born raw talent to conquer people with your intelligence and strength, and he'd gladly abdicate of his right to the throne if it meant you'd have it.

The others remained silent, watching the ruler's frown melt to a flustered blush while eyes diverted from yours in an attempt to hide his sort of embarrassed state. He understood most of all he was being unreasonable, Jimin noticed, for thinking that a physical wound would cloud your line of thought as well as the others. He wanted to be gallant and care for you, also wanted to have a strong hand and be respected, for he was a young king, but Kihyun needed to learn the importance of putting some feelings aside and access a situation without bias. 

“I understand where you're coming from, General. My sincere apologies for belittling you without any meaning to...” He started, looking up to your face and locking eyes with you with such intensity and pain that it gave the prince chills. “But please promise me you're not putting yourself in danger Y/N. Changkyun worked really hard to keep you alive and I'd like to keep it that way.” Sighed, and Jimin nearly rolled his eyes hard, seeing you nod and chuckle at the king's infatuated remark. 

“I would promise, but I'm afraid I know myself too well to keep from fighting if necessary. It's in my blood, Your Majesty.” You explained, then turned to the aforementioned healer, before Kihyun had a chance to counter her speech. “But rest assured, your efforts won't be put to waste. I very much intend on keeping alive.” With a smile, the boy was flustered a little, before he grumbled something along the lines of ‘better stay that way or I'll kill you myself’, which for the prince was really endearing, in a really brotherly way. He decided he liked the kid. 

“If we then have this matter resolved, I think it's better if all of us sit on the table to discuss our next moves, since time is pressing. A letter was received from Kim with further information.” Hyungwoo, which still seemed a little annoyed at you - not for your stubbornness, rather for fooling him earlier so easily earlier on - spoke, drawing everyone's attention to himself. The mood in the room tilted once more, tension setting in and intending to stay for long hours. 

“Very well Sir Hyungwon. We'll be under your guidance,” you nodded, getting up from the stool and - with a small wince - walking towards the wider table, where all the letters and maps were being displayed. It was perfectly clear to anyone that you valued the hierarchy and wanted to help them as much as you were able to. 

Jimin was a distraction you didn't think you would have. 

“So we need a way to infiltrate the castle the day before our official arrival, for Sonhyun will be unprepared to receive us, and probably planning to attack us.” he said, running his fingers through his hair, and you followed the movement, enthralled by his light soft locks. It made you want to touch it, see if the feeling was familiar as before when you were younger and... Okay General, what is happening to you? 

“That's also why we need to also have a protection plan for your parents, my prince,” you sighed, tearing your eyes from his face when his own glanced up to you. “His main objective is to dethrone your father, the only reason that he'd wait for our arrival is to make sure to wipe every signs of the old government.”  

“In that case we can try to move Min's forces to your grounds? If they enter as civilians and set themselves to prepare the terrain...” Shownu proposed, and you pondered over it. But Sonhyun was a man of the war, there were little to no faces he didn’t know, being someone from the old army. I mean, he’s probably trained a bunch before getting to counselor’s position, I recall Jimin had some classes with him...

“It's a little risky, because if they get caught, Sonhyun will feel rushed and do something stupid. But we could...” You trailed off, looking for something else you could do instead. It was a high-risk situation and you needed to be as careful as you could, nothing could go wrong in the least.

“We could ask for Seokjin to run things and ease the entrance of Min soldiers,” Jimin tried, and you turned to look at him and explain why that wasn’t the best option, but for a split second your eyes were set on his mouth, watching him speak...

“Or, we could send me there, as a healer apprentice.” Changkyun piped in, pushing a cup of recently made herbal tea your way and successfully snapping you out of your trance, as you cleared your throat. “I could use some of the delphinium on the water he drinks and-”

“No, that is not a good option, remember he's in a sect and another one can take his place and things can go south really fast.”  Wonho commented, giving the younger a pointed look that had you snickering.  

“Also, you really think I'd let you go and put yourself in danger like this? Are you actually insane?” King Kihyun frowned at the boy, which rolled his eyes. “You also don't have military training, even if you're really good with your words. That is completely out of the question.” The man nagged, a nervous tone on his voice that told you that the young healer meant a whole lot to him and the others - seeing that the two other Generals nodded in agreement. 

“Geez okay mom, forget I said anything,” Changkyun chuckled awkwardly, and you could tell he wasn't really happy with their reaction to his proposition. Pursing your lips, you turned to the king, hand touching his softly, ignoring Jimin's stare from beside you.  

“Look, I agree we can't send Changkyun for this task, but his idea is pretty much the only thing that can work. We need someone with at least some basic training to walk inside the kingdom and deliver a letter in my Commander's hands.” you explained, biting on your lower lip. You needed to write instructions for Seokjin to protect the royal family - but without arising too much attention. We need someone that can pass off as just a traveler or... 

“I can go.” taking all of you by surprise - since he hadn't said anything since you've started discussing battle strategies -, Hyungwon piped in the conversation and drew all the attention to him. You've barely noticed his presence, and was surprised to see he was staring at you as he spoke, an interested glint on his eyes contrasting to his bored expression.  

“You're offering? But you've never interested on military before...” Kihyun frowned, questioning look towards his friend, as well as the others. The man - which was clad in well-fitted leather pants, black velvet coat branded with Yoo's crest and a white frilly shirt underneath, showing his finesse and looking as royal as his ruler and friend - shrugged, looking to the king unimpressed at the general surprise.  

“That's great but it's the same as Changkyun's case, Mr. Chae is a civilian-” 

“That's where you're mistaken my dear,” his stance changed slightly, facing you directly with a smirk on his lips. You tilted your head at him, not following, and by his side Shownu snorted in amusement. “I may not look like it, but I'm actually the best man for the job. I'm this king's spy.” He said, and even you had to fight off the sudden urge to laugh at the revelation, wasn't for Changkyun's eye roll you'd never even bother to take that seriously.  

“Yes, Sir Chae is from a family that served as Yoo's spies for generations, and he was going to be presented to take up his uncle's post on the job, but with all that happened...” The Marine General explained, and you nodded slowly, still not very convinced that he might be who you needed for the task.  

“You don't think I'm serious? Have you asked yourself how do our king knows so much about you?” The smug expression that took over his beautiful features almost took you aback, wasn't for what he just said. You glanced to Kihyun that under your questioning stare took over a bright pink color and didn't meet your eyes as he sighed, clearly embarrassed.  

Okay now that's just worrisome. You thought, taken aback and glancing at Jimin, whose jaw was hinged with preoccupation. He doesn't look so happy either to have Park's security breached... 

“What exactly do you mean? You've been to Park before?” You asked, fingers under the table touching softly the side of the prince's thigh, so he would get rid of that ever deepening frown. I am a little unnerved as well but surely this has an innocent reason behind it, coming from this king. Jimin jolted slightly from your touch, clearing his throat while glancing to the wooden table.

“Many times, to be precise. Sure, it was easy since I have some... Friends in the kingdom. And well, at first the king just wanted to know who was the so called General Y/N, but after I saw your beauty and strength, there was no way I could leave it out of my report, which actually interested King Ki-”

“Okay, okay! For someone who calls himself a spy you know no secrecy, heavens!” You pursed your lips in attempts to conceal the giggles that wanted to come out at the sight of that once charming ruler completely flustered for having his plans discovered. I think it's cute. And innocent, as I predicted. 

Smiling, you looked at Jimin, but beyond the attempt of an easy and light expression as the others chuckled wholeheartedly, you saw in his eyes he was very bothered by those motives. Is he... Jealous? No, that can't be, can it? Your gut churned at the thought, like butterflies were filling your stomach. It was a foreign feeling but all the same familiar, and it tug at the corners of your lips. 

“I have to congratulate you then, because no report was made of strange people in the whole kingdom, and I have a really strict policy about that,” you nodded slowly, impressed at his cunning ways. But still, you had a good idea of why his presence wasn't even deemed to be of interest, since as you had predicted, the man was a flirt. Kiss, but don't tell. 

“Oh but I'm not a stranger among the court, we just didn't have the pleasure of meeting before,” and you had to hand it to him, the man didn't miss any opportunity. “And surely over there the prince's name is common, though I’ve never seen him around as well...” tilting his head softly Hyungwon glanced to the man beside you, that visibly tensed up. 

Of course his name is famous over there. Though one is to expect that they met at some point... It was strange. Even more the way the self-proclaimed spy was commenting, like something was off in that information. From the corner of your eye you saw the prince smile tightly.

“It's unusual for me to have the time to prance around my court, as the next to the crown I have duties as a prince, like your Majesty knows.” What was unusual to you was to see Jimin drop the sympathy mask and glare at someone over such little matter. 

But also his speech was made you question some things you knew to be sure, such as the comments of some ladies about Jimin's escapades or something of the sort... I'll look into it later on. 

“But getting back to the point, you deem yourself good enough to slip past Sonhyun's spies and warn my Commander of the upcoming plan and helping with our infiltration later on?” you inquired, and having Hyungwon promptly nod once with confidence you sighed.

“Still, I gather we have to take some precautions. You need someone to meet with, an excuse to stay in land and not raise suspicions.” Kihyun commented, and you noticed he didn't meet your eyes as he had before, and it was funny to see him this flustered about such small thing. He's still a young man, after all.  

“No worry about that, I have the person for the job. Coincidentally I was going to pay a visit to her this week, so we have time till then.” The spy informed, a grin growing in the corner of his lips. The others scoffed at his silliness, but it was still something good.  

“Alright then, since we have this out of the way, let's go over what we need to do and bud the rest of our strategy.” You started, finishing the medicinal tea and wincing with the bitter taste.  

At the end of the meeting, the only thing you wished the most was to get rid of those tight clothes and sink in hot water for a bit, shoulders too tense to keep your head straight. Either way, you were satisfied to have settled everything in one afternoon, and without any qualms or quarrels from either parts.  

The whole operation would take place in three days time, and you needed to write some letters to your uncle - and Jimin as well to Yoongi, which you were informed was pretty worried about you - to get everything moving smoothly. For that matter you and Jimin walked out of the room together, in a hurry to get to each other duties.  

“Yoongi will be happy to know about your well-being, so I deem better if you write a word or two to him yourself, General.” Jimin's voice cut through the corridor where you walked, a lot tired and weary. He had done a great job with strategy, you had to admit and it was almost as good as yours, though you had an idea he let you have some points in planning.  

Turning to him you nodded, a sigh leaving your lips as your eyes met for a second, turning to a scoff as you noticed how annoyed he still was with that previous discussion. Reaching out, you held his hand. 

“Thank you.” You whispered, looking down to your feet, a little embarrassed.  

“Wh-What for? I barely said anything...” Jimin scrambled a little on his words, certainly shocked to have you touching him in such amicable way. You snickered, finding it funny but feeling a little guilty at the same time, knowing that he had every reason to be surprised. 

Looking up you stared back at his face again, trying to not feel distracted with his eyes, the same feeling of the other night taking over your body, begging you to step closer to the prince's body.  

“For standing up for me and helping me get the okay to act in this situation,” you explained, a small smile on the corner of your lips. His attempt earlier wasn't successful only because Kihyun didn't want to hear about it - clearly in his mind Jimin was somewhat a rival to you attentions - but you still felt grateful to him for having your back. He did gave me an opening to explain myself. 

“Oh, don't... Don't mention it, you're my Gen- I mean Park's General.” He gave you a tight timid smile, and you could only chuckle as his little slip.  

“Yes, my prince. Still, thank you.” You said with a small bow, fingers brushing his hands softly before turning around and heading towards your room in a rush, needing to write that letter with exact instructions for your Commander and hide the blush dusting your cheeks. Biting your lower lip you clenched your fists, fingers still tingling where you touched his. Since the other day where you woke on his bed, with the prince - very much naked - by your side, you've been feeling things you haven't allowed yourself feeling a long time ago. I didn't want to revisit those feelings again, but turns out this is a task even more difficult than any military strategy.  

You sighed. More yet when I'm not doing anything to stop myself from feeling these things all over again. 

#park jimin imagine #prince!park jimin #park jimin prince au #park jimin fluff #park jimin fanfiction #bts prince au

[mtwy]

Rolling Stone

USA November 22nd 1984

The singer doesn’t have to thank any lucky stars for her newborn success. She’s been planning this baby for a long time. Madonna and I are face to face at a corner table at Evelyne’s, a cacophonous but spiffily appointed French restaurant in the heart of New York’s most newly gentrified neighborhood, the East Village. Things are changing rapidly in this part of town. Its Ukrainian meeting halls and no-frills eateries are under siege from the upscale crowd invading with their asparagus ferns and health-club memberships. Although in transition, many of the neighborhood’s blocks still have the same seediness they had when the teenaged Madonna Ciccone first plopped herself down in her own digs.

“The first apartment I ever had all by myself,” she recalls between sips of Campari, “was on Fourth Street and Avenue B, and it was my pride and joy, because it was the worst possible neighborhood I could ever live in.” Back then she was a struggling dancer, the girl from the University of Michigan who was “dying for attention – but the right kind, you know?” She has gotten it. Her sirenlike voice and ultrasultry video presence have yanked her from downtown obscurity. She has notched two Top Ten singles, “Borderline” and “Lucky Star,” and her album, Madonna, has gone platinum and is still high on the charts after a more than forty-week run, postponing the release of the already recorded follow-up LP, Like a Virgin, itself as chock-full of hits as its predecessor. Consider Madonna, though, and it’s easy to drift away from her songs and prattle instead about her videos. They have practically rediscovered what it means to project raw sex appeal: feverish tugging on her dress in “Burning Up,” as if she couldn’t wait to tear the garment off her body; her pouty-lipped antics for “Borderline”; and the upfront eroticism of “Lucky Star,” her breasts and bottom thrust at the camera, index finger teasingly tucked into her mouth. Still, her most important bodily part has been her naked tummy, exposed by her two-piece outfits, the curve of it oscillating through male minds everywhere. Now Madonna has a spacious loft in even-tonier SoHo, a movie deal (she’s currently making Desperately Seeking Susan for Orion Pictures), and an expanse of money and stardom winging her way. Which is why she can glance out the window of this restaurant and say, “Feels great to come back to this neighborhood and know I’m not as poor as everyone else.” That rub you the wrong way? Too bad – that’s her style. She’s in the same sans-midriff getup featured in her videos, but in person, she doesn’t adopt the coyly fetching approach you might anticipate. This is a woman who saves her sex-bomb act for the times when the meter’s running. And don’t let her oft-flashed “Boy Toy” belt buckle fool you. The men who have gotten close to her – tough guys a lot of them – have gotten their hearts broken as often as not. Throughout her life, there has been one guiding emotion: ambition. “I think most people who meet me know that that’s the kind of person I am,” she says. “It comes down to doing what you have to do for your career. I think most people who are attracted to me understand that, and they just have to take that under consideration.” Some have; some haven’t and have lived to regret it. “You’d think that if you went out with someone in the music business that they’d be more understanding,” she says, “but people are the same wherever you go. Everybody wants to be paid more attention to.” Madonna Louise Ciccone – she was named after her mother – had plenty of attention early in her life. Born in Bay City, Michigan, twenty-four years ago to a Chrysler engineer and his wife, she was the eldest daughter in a family of six: Daddy’s little girl. But her world shattered when she was six, as her mother succumbed to a long bout with cancer. The tragedy brought her yet closer to her father, and there have been few women in her life ever since. “I really felt like I was the main female of the house,” she remembers. “There was no woman between us, no mother.” Her little world altered just as dramatically when Madonna was eight, on the night her father announced to the family that he was going to marry the woman who had been the family’s housekeeper. Madonna was shocked. “It was hard to accept her as an authority figure and also accept her as being the new number-one female in my father’s life. My father wanted us to call her Mom, not her first name. I remember it being really hard for me to get the word mother out of my mouth. It was really painful.”

“I hated the fact that my mother was taken away, and I’m sure I took a lot of that out on my stepmother.” Perhaps smarting from what she took for rejection by her father, Madonna threw herself into the world of the fantastic. In eighth grade, she appeared in her first movie, a Super-8 project directed by a classmate, in which an egg was fried on her stomach (even then he knew). She watched old movies at revival houses. She acted in plays at the series of Catholic high schools that she attended. She danced to Motown hits in backyards. Indeed it was dance that became the consuming passion of her adolescent life. She’d take all her classes early so she could leave school and head into the big city to take yet more classes. She saw world-famous companies whenever they came through town. And her ballet teacher became what she calls “my introduction to glamour and sophistication.” He showed his charge a world she didn’t know existed. “He used to take me to all the gay discotheques in downtown Detroit. Men were doing poppers and going crazy. They were all dressed really well and were more free about themselves than all the blockhead football players I met in high school.” Rigid, but with a sense of humor, he became Madonna’s first mentor: “He made me push myself,” she says. By all accounts, she was a wonderfully talented terpsichorean, and he thought she could make it big. “He was constantly putting all that stuff about New York in my ear. I was hesitant, and my father and everyone was against it, but he really said, ‘Go for it.'” Boasting a solid grade-point average in addition to her dancing skills, Madonna graduated from Rochester Adams High School in 1976 and won herself a scholarship to the University of Michigan dance department. Once there, the seventeen-year-old Madonna – no less luscious in a short, spiky, black hairdo – pored through poems by Anne Sexton and Sylvia Plath (“any really depressed women”) and attempted to wreak all manner of havoc in her hoity-toity ballet classes. One former classmate of Madonna’s recalls a grim plié exercise – deep knee bends with the stomach held in and the posture perfect – that dissolved when Madonna emitted a huge belch. Or the hot day when the lissome lass moaned what a drag it was to have to take class in leotards, and why couldn’t she just wear a bra? “I was a real ham,” she says, chortling. “I did everything I could to get attention and be the opposite of everyone else. I’d rip my leotards and wear teeny little safety pins. And I’d run my tights. I could have gone to a nightclub right after class.” That’s exactly where she wound up one night: the Blue Frogge, the U of M’s pastiest preppie disco. She was dancing away – engulfed in right-assed white boys doing their John Travolta imitations – when around the corner came this black waiter. “He was real cute,” she recalls. “Someone all soulful and funky looking you couldn’t help but notice. First time in my life I asked a guy to buy me a drink.” And he did. The guy she’d picked up was a musician named Steve Bray, and he would eventually change her life. Bray – witty, sophisticated, cool – was a drummer in an R&B band that did the lounge circuit. Madonna became a regular fixture at their gigs. “She wasn’t really a musician back then; she was just dancing,” says Bray today. Aside from her beauty, Bray recalls being captivated by the veritable aura around this feisty, footloose female. It was unmistakably the aura of ambition. “She stood out, quite. Her energy was really apparent. What direction she should put that energy in hadn’t been settled, but it was definitely there.” “Those were good days,” Madonna recalls. “But I knew my stay at Michigan was short-term. To me, I was just fine-tuning my technique.” After five semesters, she turned her back on her four-year free ride and headed for New York City. Steve? Oh, yeah. “Looking back, I think that I probably did make him feel kind of bad, but I was really insensitive in those days. I was totally self-absorbed.” It wouldn’t be the last time. Every item ever written about Madonna touts her membership in the Alvin Ailey American Dance Theater. Not so. Soon after her arrival in New York, she apparently won a work-study scholarship and was later asked to take classes with the troupe’s third company, which is a little like getting a tryout for the sub-junior-varsity team. Still, it was her first encounter with people who were as driven as she. “I thought I was in a production of Fame,” she giggles. “Everyone was Hispanic or black, and everyone wanted to be a star.” Madonna was not to the minors born. She left Ailey after a few months and hooked up with Pearl Lang, a former Martha Graham star whose style Madonna describes as “a lot of pain and angst.” This was not a match made in heaven, and she left the company soon after. Living a hand-to-mouth existence in the city and continuing to ignore the pleas of her father that she cease this silly business and finish college, Madonna started scanning the trades for less limiting work: parts where she would not only dance but sing. And that’s when she met Dan Gilroy. He wasn’t drop-dead hip like the other guys she’d known; he was an affable, self-effacing fellow from Queens. He and his brother, Ed, were both musicians and had rented out an abandoned synagogue in Corona, Queens, where they lived and rehearsed. Madonna and Dan met at a party and hit it off – she spent a couple of nights at the synagogue. “He stuck a guitar in my hand and tuned it to an open chord so that I could strum,” she remembers. “That really clicked something off in my brain.” She cut back to only one dance class a day. While the relationship was still in its infancy, however, Madonna was given what seemed like the chance of a lifetime; to go to Paris and do background singing and dancing for Patrick Hernandez, a disco lunk who had lucked into a “worldwide hit” with the forgettable “Born to Be Alive.” She would be given a beautiful apartment, a maid, a voice coach, people to guide her career. “I was in seventh heaven.” she remembers. “I kept thinking, ‘I can’t believe it. Somebody noticed me.'” In Paris, everything was as promised, but she wasn’t happy. “I was like the poor little rich girl,” she recalls. The guidance was a joke. No one would talk to her in English. They said they wanted to turn her into the next Edith Piaf, but how could they if she hadn’t written anything? She felt lonely, miserable and confined. “Once again I was forced into the role of enfant terrible. All I wanted to do was make trouble, because they stuck me in an environment that didn’t allow me to be free.” So she’d order three desserts in a fancy restaurant and skip the entree. She took up with a Vietnamese kid with a motorcycle. She went to Tunisia with the Hernandez tour, club-hopped with some lively locals and went swimming in a one-piece body stocking. You see, she just wanted to be noticed. Of course, there was still this guy in Queens, batting out letters to his loved one. “He was my saving grace,” she says. “His letters were so funny. He’d paint a picture of an American flag and write over it, like it was from the president, ‘We miss you. You must return to America.’ He really made me feel good.” A walloping case of pneumonia persuaded her to come back. As soon as she hit stateside, she rang the synagogue. She spent the better part of a year there, writing songs for the first time and learning how to play a variety of instruments. “My intensive musical training,” she says with a sigh. “It was one of the happiest times of my life. I really felt loved. Sometimes I’d write sad songs and he’d sit there and cry. Very sweet.” In that nurturing atmosphere, Madonna and the brothers Gilroy started a band called the Breakfast Club, with fellow ex-dancer Angie Smit on bass and Madonna on drums. They would rehearse every day there; Madonna had yet to move in with her beau. “I stayed there so much, but I hadn’t really moved there yet, and I remember when I said, ‘Can I just live here, Dan?’ And he said. ‘Well, we have to ask Ed.’ And I said, ‘Ed! You have to ask Ed?'” The Gilroys had been honing their musical skills for a number of years, but simple craft is not the surest way to success in the music business, and Madonna had something that was more useful: moxie. Dan Gilroy recalls it well. “She’d be up in the morning, a quick cup of coffee, then right to the phones, calling up everybody – everybody. Everyone from [local record dealer] Bleecker Bob’s to potential management. Anything and everything.” “I was just a lot more goal oriented and commercial minded than they were,” says Madonna. “I just took over in the sense that I said, ‘What do you know? Teach it to me.’ I took advantage of the situation. I wanted to know everything they knew, because I knew I could make it work to my benefit.” Cold words? Perhaps. She knew what to do. “Immediately, when I started working with them, I started thinking record deals, making records and doing shows and stuff like that. And, of course, most of the people you have to deal with are men, and I think I just was naturally more charming to these horny old businessmen than Dan and Ed Gilroy.” As Madonna herself realizes, Dan Gilroy “had created a monster. I was always thinking in my mind, ‘I want to be a singer in this group, too.’ And they didn’t need another singer.” Dan found himself torn between his girlfriend – who wanted to sing more, who wanted the band to use her songs – and his brother, Ed. After a year, Madonna announced her intention to return to Manhattan and pursue a singing career. The romance – and the instructional period – were over. “I knew that with that kind of drive and devotion to getting ahead something had to happen.” Gilroy says. Was she more talented than her confreres? “No, she didn’t strike me as . . . well, she was fun, you know? She’d be working at this design thing that I was doing and she would kind of break into a dance in the middle of the day. An incredible attention getter. So that’s got to tell you something.” Yes, but given the tensions, was Dan glad to see her go? “Well, no,” he says. “I missed her very much.” He had taken her in and had taught her the skills she needed, and now she was leaving him. Most of the time she hadn’t even had to work a day job. “Ah, well, I was doing a job anyway, so having her there was just a bonus,” says Dan. “It was fun. It was a good year. And besides,” he jokes, “I have a palimony suit now, you know? Marvin Mitchelson, where are you? Of course, he doesn’t win too many of those, does he?” Back in the big city once more, Madonna quickly summoned a ragtag band around her. Good fortune struck in the form of a telephone call from her old Michigan boyfriend, drummer Steve Bray – he was coming to New York. “I found out that, oddly enough, she needed a drummer,” he recalls. “So I said, ‘Fine, I’ll be there next week.'” “He was a lifesaver,” says Madonna. “I wasn’t a good enough musician to be screaming at the band about how badly they were playing.” Times were very lean as they began working together, playing and writing songs. They moved themselves, their equipment and personal belongings into the Music Building, a garment-center structure that had been converted into twelve floors of rehearsal rooms. It housed the cream – if you can call it that – of the post-New Wave scene in New York. Nervus Rex was there, and so were the Dance and the System. “I thought they were all lazy,” says Madonna of that scene. “I felt a lot of affection for them, but I thought that only a handful of people were going to get out of that building to any success.” Bray notes that Madonna was not exactly the most popular person on the scene. “I think there was a lot of resentment of someone who’s obviously got that special something. There are so many musicians out there, but there are only a few who really have that charisma. The community out there kind of, I think, frowned on her about that. She had trouble making friends.” It didn’t matter much to Madonna, who felt that most of the groups there wanted only to hit it big among their pals. She wanted to be big nationwide, and the scene didn’t approve of such a desire. “It was like living in a commune,” agrees Bray, “very close-minded thinking – if you’re good in New York, if you can get regular jobs at CBGB’s or at Danceteria, that’s fine, you’ve made it. And that’s definitely not the case.” Her band changed names like socks: first they were the Millionaires, then Modern Dance and finally Emmy, after a nickname that Dan Gilroy had given Madonna. (“I wanted just Madonna,” says she. “Steve thought that was disgusting.”) By any name, it was a hard-rocking outfit that was continually beset by snafus, especially when it came to guitarists. “She was playing really raucous rock & roll, really influenced by the Pretenders and the Police,” says Bray with a sigh. “She used to really belt. If we’d found that right guitar player, I think that’s when things would have taken off … but there are so many horrible guitar players in New York, and we seemed to get them all.” The money was too short, and the band finally split up. Meanwhile, a manager heard a demo that Madonna had put together (it was an early version of “Burning Up”) and signed her up. As part of the deal, she was put on salary and moved out of the Music Building, ending up in spacious digs on New York’s Upper West Side. Madonna was quick to pull Bray onto the gravy train. Her new band – called Madonna – started playing the circuit yet again. Madonna’s notion of music, however, was starting to change. It was the heyday of urban contemporary radio in New York, and Madonna was captivated by the funky sounds emanating from boom-boxes all over town. She started writing material in that vein, but the band and her manager hated it. “They weren’t used to that kind of stuff, and I’d agreed with my manager to do rock, but my heart wasn’t really in it.” She would rehearse rock & roll with her band, then stay behind with Bray and record funkier stuff. There were fights, arguments, the band was pissed off. She’d come so far; how could she turn back now? But … “I finally said, ‘Forget it, I can’t do this anymore. I’m going to have to start all over.'” And so she did, with the loyal Bray once more at her side. During the day, she and Bray would write songs; at night, she’d hit the clubs: Friday night at the Roxy; other nights at Danceteria, the offical home for white hipsters with itchy feet and a sense of humor. It was fun, sure, but it was also a way to press the flesh, to work the room, to bounce up into the deejay’s booth, lay a cozy rap on him and slap a tape into his hand. At Danceteria, she caught the eye of Mark Kamins, a widely respected club deejay with ties to record companies. “She was one of my dancers, you could say,” says Kamins. “There was a crowd out there that came every Saturday night to dance.” Did he know she had other ambitions? “Hey, everybody does at a nightclub, but she was special.” He was impressed enough with what he saw to hit on the young woman now and then. She gave him a copy of her vaunted funk demo, a recording she and Bray had made that included a song called “Everybody.” “I was flirting with him,” she admits. Kamins and she started dating. He listened to the record and liked it. He put the song on at the club – just a four-track demo! – and people danced to it. He went into the studio with her and produced an improved version. And he went to Sire Records and single-handedly got her signed to a deal. Bray was jubilant – at last he’d get to produce Madonna for real. What he didn’t know was that Madonna had promised Kamins that in exchange for his work on her behalf he would get to produce her debut album. Executives at Sire and its parent company, Warner Bros., had already given their okay. Madonna, however, had a surprise for them both. Neither Kamins nor Bray would be producing Madonna. The job instead fell to former Stephanie Mills producer Reggie Lucas. Why? “I was really scared,” she says. “I thought I had been given a golden egg. In my mind, I thought, ‘Okay, Mark can produce the album and Steve can play the instruments.’ Uh-uh – Steve wanted to produce. “It was really awful, but I just didn’t trust him enough.” The pair had a bitter falling out. “Steve didn’t believe in the ethics of the situation.” “It was very hard to accept,” he says today. And what about Kamins? “Similarly, I didn’t think that Mark was ready to do a whole album.” Kamins got the word, not from the woman who had promised him, but from Sire. “Sure, I was hurt,” he says gruffly. “But I still had a royalty coming from the record.” Madonna was still performing, but not with a band. Instead she’d hop onstage at dance clubs and sing to backing tracks or lip-sync, enlivening her performances with the sort of lusty dancing that has now become her trademark. That’s where Lucas – unaware of the intrigue that had preceded him – first saw his newest act. “I wanted to push her in a pop direction,” he recalls. “She was a little more oriented toward the disco thing, but I thought she had appeal to a general market. It’s funny about that thing with Kamins. The same thing that happened to him pretty much happened to me on her second record, when they had Nile Rodgers.” And the rest was history, though it was a history that was a long time in the making. The LP’s first single. “Holiday,” was not an immediate success, but Madonna was content. “All I said was, ‘I know this record is good, and one of these days Warner Bros. and the rest of them are going to figure it out.'” It’s likely that her videos were the breakthrough, as Madonna perfectly merged her dance training with her knowledge of the randier things in life. How did she manage to put across such seething sexuality where so many have tried and failed? “I think that has to do with them not being in touch with that aspect of their personality. They say, ‘Well, I have to do a video now, and a pop star has to come on sexually, so how do I do that?’ instead of being in touch with that part of their self to begin with. I’ve been in touch with that aspect of my personality since I was five.” Keeping her in touch with that side of her personality off the set these days is master mixer John “Jellybean” Benitez. The pair met during one of Madonna’s stints at the Fun House, the disco where Jellybean first earned his reputation. They have stayed together for the past year and a half, but Madonna flinches at the suggestion that this is her most stable relationship. “Why does it seem like that?” she queries before giving a throaty laugh. “We’ve had our ups and downs, let’s not fool anybody.” Still, the relationship was serious enough for Madonna to bring him home and meet her parents. Why has Jellybean held on where so many have fallen by the wayside? Would you believe ambition? “We both started to move at the same pace,” says Jellybean. “My career has exploded within the industry, and hers has exploded on a consumer basis. We’re both very career oriented, very goal oriented.” Which may mean that the relationship is safe . . . at least for the time being. Our dinner is finished. Along the way, Madonna has coolly sussed out the room for us: Yes, that’s Rudolf of Danceteria in the corner with his girlfriend, Diane Brill. You know, she usually seems like she’s strapped in her clothes, don’t you think? Madonna’s been all but unnoticed, but that’s okay. In your hometown, coolness is its own reward. Elsewhere her influence is becoming pervasive. The Madonna clones are ratting their hair, putting on rosaries and baring their bellies from coast to coast. It is an indication of the peculiar state of pop stardom these days that Madonna has gotten only the most fleeting glimpses of her own fame. She hasn’t toured – won’t, in fact, until next year – hasn’t performed live in a long time. She hasn’t even left New York a lot. She can count on one hand the numbers of times she’s been mobbed. For now, the buzz of recognition is still easily dealt with, even on a trip uptown to Danceteria. “It’s like going back to my high school,” she coos in the cab, and her arrival does bring out that exact mix of admiration, excess cordiality and what-are-you-doing-here puzzlement. She gets a hug from graffiti artist Keith Haring and is kissed on the mouth by a nearly endless series of hepcats. (“Gotta be careful who you kiss on the mouth these days,” she says, wiping her lips.) There’s no gawking, no crush of unknowns, no autographs requested, but her presence clearly delights everyone else who’s there. She’s an unqualified success. But did she exploit people to get there? “I think that a lot of people do feel exploited by her,” says Dan Gilroy. “But then again everyone’s got so many expectations about a relationship with her. She’s very intense immediately with somebody, very friendly. Perhaps people feel, ‘This is what our relationship is about,’ and then if there is any cooling of that, it’s taken to be a rejection.” And what’s the final tally? In addition to reaping a chunk of royalties from Madonna and for the one song he produced on it, Mark Kamins says that his affiliation with her has given his career a shot in the arm. Reggie Lucas is inundated with projects. Steve Bray eventually patched it up with Madonna – “the relationship’s too old to have something like that stand in its way” – and shares writing credit with her on four of her new album’s songs. And Dan and Ed Gilroy of the Breakfast Club (whose first LP is due early next year) were able to find a new drummer to replace Madonna: Steve Bray, who has the final word on those whom Madonna has touched. “Exploited? People say that, but that’s resentment of someone who’s got the drive. It seems like you’re leaving people behind or you’re stepping on them, and the fact is that you’re moving and they’re not. She doesn’t try to be that polite. She doesn’t care if she ruffles someone’s feathers.” True, Madonna? She smiles. “C’est vrai.”

#1984 #rollingstone #magazines #thevirginera