#imagine not being able to have your own portraits because your king and future queen and have to always look like a perfect couple

[thetimelordbatgirl]

The portraits of younger heroes and villains in totally-not-EAH-and-SFGAE-rip-off Merlin Academy, if anyone's curious. And like, before anyone goes at me for that nickname for Merlin Academy: the villains group portrait literally has 'V.K students' under it, implying they themselves are children of villains, which just opens up the idea that these kids basically became evil like their parents before them and the only ones to not be evil are the prior Descendants main characters, aka, similar to main characters in EAH and SFGAE. At this point, Disney is losing their right to complain if EAH does ever return because the only one copying right now in Disney.

#disney descendants #descendants #descendants the rise of red #the rise of red #seeing ella's blue hair...god its a crime still like older her's hair and chloe's hair #again what is wrong with their natural hair color... #and why does bridget aka younger QOH have pink hair and red as an adult #could have fixed this with black hair like animated just saying #non-magical hair colors isnt a crime just pointing that out #granted not over mal and ben having to share a portrait for their students one #if that even is their students one #it has no writing so like #so it could be king and queen one for all i know but its got D3 mal who was only engaged at the time not coronated #so like i dunno but if they are sharing a portrait for former students rip #imagine not being able to have your own portraits because your king and future queen and have to always look like a perfect couple #also thats the mal mention counter up to 2 times now #uma mentioned her and uh now this portrait #that wasnt even properly defaced like the other portraits like come on #dont be scared to deface bal portrait #i would do it instantly

[lokis-lady-death]

When World’s Collide Pt 9

Loki x Reader/ Arthur x Reader

Arranged marriages, blood oaths, and kingdoms trying to become united ultimately end up divided. The reader is the princess of Vanaheim and her hand in marriage has been promised to both Loki of Asgard and Arthur of  Atlantis. Her choices could ultimately build or destroy the realms.

Prompt, Part 1 , Part 2 , Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8

Recap: After meeting Prince Loki of Asgard and accepting your engagement to him, things took an unexpected turn when you were taken to Midgard by the king of Atlantis, Arthur Curry. He showed you proof of a horrible massacre Loki ensued onto the people of Midgard, but you remained vigilant to return to Asgard before things got out of hand. In the meantime, Loki was left to deal with the tragedy of losing both his mother and father while trying to find you. After learning where you were and who you were with, he sent Thor to retrieve you all while your treacherous uncle Zaire furthered his own agenda. 

Chapter 9 A Change in the Tide 

This day had played over and over in Loki’s imagination for what felt like his entire life, building up this immense occasion that would be spoken of for centuries to come by generation after generation. 

The coronation. 

He imagined the golden palace would be lit up with laughter and hope, that the banners of his ancestors would decorate the columns of the throne room all the way up to the altar where Odin would stand. He’d hold Gungnir high to gather the attention of all the Asgardians and the other world visitors in the way only the king of Asgard could do. 

On this day, he would be so proud, knowing the future of his kingdom, his legacy, would be carried on the capable shoulders of his most powerful son. 

The problem with this fantasy? 

It was always Thor that came down the aisle between masses of adoring people, not Loki. 

No, Loki would be in his rightful place to the side with his mother, watching in satisfaction as his brother bowed before the throne. 

Then Thor would rise, turn to the crowd, raise Mjolnir and unleash a grand display of lightening theatrics as everyone cheered for their new king. 

But then for a while, even that version manifested into something else when he was imprisoned for unleashing the Destroyer on Midgard. Where once it was a day of celebration for his family as a whole, it was a day he no longer imagined himself in. 

Instead, he would be down in the deepest pits of the dungeon with the rest of the filth of Asgard that couldn’t live up to their king’s expectations. Even after being released from prison and told he would be crowned in his brother’s stead, he could never see himself in that role.

It wasn't until he saw the first portrait Zaire had sent to Frigga and Odin that the vision changed. 

It was, instead, himself he saw walking between people who chanted his name, and as he kneeled before his father, he would look over to see you and his mother, watching him with eyes full of love and admiration until finally he would turn and everyone would cry out in unity. Despite your initial reaction to meeting him, he did truly believe in that fairytale happy ending, for just a moment.

Yet in his darkest days, in all his dreams of how this day would go, he would never have thought this is how it would play out. 

Standing at the head of the table in the councilors meeting room, surrounded by the Asir that helped manage the kingdom for his father, Loki was quietly accessing to the throne of the most powerful kingdom in all the nine realms in the presence of merely a handful of noblemen and Heimdall. 

With his father and mother dead, and you and Thor on Midgard, he truly felt utterly alone in this life changing, monumental occasion.

And after dreaming of this for so long, now he simply wanted it to be over. 

Once all the legalities of the ceremony were complete, the sleepy eyed councilmen offered their condolences to Loki over the death of the king and queen. He managed to keep his head up, thanking each one then accepting their praise and good wishes. 

“You’ll make an excellent king,” one said. 

“A level headed leader is just what we need in these harsh times,” another commented. 

He took their words with what felt like a stake running through his heart before being left alone in the room with Heimdall. He had quietly stood in the corner as the ceremony took place, keeping his thoughts to himself while he bowed his head in solace. 

“They’re right, you know,” he told Loki, “You will make a great king. And you’ll make it through this trial.” 

“Trail?” he repeated, looking up. “In the last few hours our king... my father, was murdered in his sleep while my mother bled out at his side. And in that time,” his face scrunched up as if he had smelled something bad, “That Atlantean managed to leave with my bride to be. I would certainly call this a bit more than a simple trial.” 

Loki’s head fell while a hand came up to rub his eyes, feeling a nagging ache forming just behind the bridge of his nose. 

“Your highness, forgive me if I’m overstepping, but have you slept?” 

The new king slowly lowered his hand, realizing he hadn’t. With everything happening so fast, he hadn’t had a moment of peace since well before last night’s gathering. 

“How can I sleep knowing whoever has slain my parents is possibly walking the halls of my home or, worse, stolen Lady y/n away to Midgard?"

Neither of them had spoken that thought aloud, but hearing his king make the allegation, he couldn't hold back agreeing, "It would seem a rather large coincidence that such travesties would take place at the same time and not be related… And on the evening I wouldn't be keeping watch on the Bifrost." Hanging his head, the gatekeeper's voice lowered, "I have failed to keep my king and queen safe, but I swear, your majesty, I will see to it we find out what happened to them."

Loki took in a deep breath, trying to take just one moment to himself until a hasty knock rapped at the door.

"Enter," Heimdall commanded, and in walked an armored soldier. 

"Sire, Ambassador of Vanaheim, Lord Zaire, would like to speak with you in his chambers."

Squaring up his shoulders, Loki was about to make his way out the door when the gatekeeper grabbed hold of his shoulder. Their eyes met and he offered, "Do not forget to rest. You are wise and capable, but unrested minds, no matter how brilliant, can make grand mistakes."

Tightening his jaw, Loki gave a curt nod before walking off. His pace quickened as he passed the soldier, who had to awkwardly scramble to match his step. 

"Did Lord Zaire tell you what he needed from me?" 

The soldier answered, "Only that he has made a discovery about Lady y/n’s disappearance."

*****

There was no definite way to tell time. The light outside remained so clouded that it could have been thirty minutes or two hours while you sat in alone in that room aboard Arthur's ship on Midgard, staring at the folder laying open on your cot. 

The bloodshed. 

The destruction. 

All laid out in brilliant, detailed color, including date and time, the images of Loki's supposed crime cried out in horrific detail something you had always feared: war with the Asir. 

You weren't able to tear your eyes away until the overwhelming cold set in. The gown you wore the evening before, you just realized, was dried and stiff with parts twisted up and some even ripped off. 

A memory flashed, of a time when you were younger, when you spent the day off lessons in the garden. It was the first time in weeks you had been allowed a break, but only after sworn secrecy to your tutor. When your uncle found out, he whipped you all the way back to your room where he locked you away for the next three days with no food or water. 

On the fourth day when you resumed your studies, you were met with a new instructor. 

Zaire's voice was practically in your head when you imagined his reaction to your gown in this disgraceful condition, "That is no way for someone of your blood to be seen, clean yourself at once!" 

Your fists clenched thinking of him, knowing that you were in this horrible situation because of him. 

There was no way to understand his reasoning without speaking to him and though you knew he held animosity towards the Asir, you couldn't fathom him coming up with such a scheme that would bring more people to war. 

You needed to return to Asgard. 

Swallowing hard, you closed the folder and stuck it back into the duffle bag then removed the bundle of clothes from inside. The bundle turned out to be a full body, white suit made of thick, stretchy and soft material. You noticed an “WayneCorp” insignia stitched on the upper left of the chest. Reaching further into the bag, you found thick, fluff socks along with large black boots. 

You had never seen such things, and though at first you weren't sure about the style at first, once the outfit was on you fell in love. 

It was nice to be in something more flexible than the overly layered, frilly gowns your uncle insisted on. 

Petting over your head, you could feel the tangled mess of tengrills that were left over from your intricate updo Mariana had worked so hard on. For however long you had already stayed in the room, it must have taken you another half hour to finally detangle it with your fingers. You let it fall down your shoulders, unwilling to bother with it anymore. 

It was time to leave the room. 

The door was clunky in your hand, making a terrible creaking sound as it opened to reveal a narrow hall. There were only two other doors besides yours, but up ahead was a ladder that opened to the top deck. Grateful for the thick rubber on the bottom of your boots as you trekked up the slippery ladder, you stood in stunned silence as you stared out at an unexpected sight: a Midgardian village. 

The sky was vast and white from the mass of clouds looming overhead, but what struck you was that while all you had been able to see out your porthole was endless water, now you could clearly see the ship was docked. You could only make out the few brown, simple buildings up against the waters edge that were connected to a single deck that ran out into the ocean where boats, including the one you were on, were docked. Out in the distance, the ground formed low hills that had stone homes built following the flow of the earth with thin dirt roads running between everything. 

Turning, you could see the ship was spotless and well kept, with a third of the upper deck encased in a glass box. Inside, you could make out Arthur and another man you recognized from the bar you had originally woken up in, realizing he must have been the Old Man he was referring to. 

Arthur's sharp blue eyes locked onto yours and you felt a thump in your chest as he made his way out to you. 

"Nice to see you decided to come out, princess."

Your eyes narrowed at the nickname before turning back to the buildings. "Where are we?" 

"If I told you, would you even know?" 

You cut your head around to face him, ready to rhetoric, but upon realizing he was right you chose to stay quiet. 

The Atlantean sighed. "We're up north of Iceland, in a small fishing town. Low key place. I'm waiting for some friends, but in the meantime," he held out a hand to you, "Would you like to get a drink?" 

Before you could speak, to your great and utter annoyance, you felt a tinge in your stomach followed by a deep growl. 

"Or… Something to eat?" he offered with a small chuckle.

Your hand cusped your belly while you looked out to the village and then back to the king of Atlantis. Still shaken by the documents he had given you on Loki but still torn by your desire to get back to Asgard to avoid any conflicts, you realized starving to death wouldn’t help your cause. “Alright,” you answered, though you didn’t take his hand. 

He instead changed stance and pointed towards the docking ramp to the side. “After you, princess.” 

The two of you made your way out onto the deck where a few others were busy working, some toting nets full of live, jumping fish, some working aboard their own boats, while many just stopped what they were doing to watch as you passed. 

It wasn’t for another second that you realized they weren’t watching you, they were watching him. 

The king of Atlantis, ruler of the seven seas, a man among men. Towering over most of them, Arthur didn’t hold the same level of cockiness you had seen in him before. As he waved to the few that called out to him, you couldn’t help notice that they all held the same look of praise in their eyes while he looked out with a humble tone.

Down where the deck met the land, an older boy was trying to move an overloaded wheelbarrow filled with logs. He was trying to compose himself, but the struggle was evident. Arthur hurried his pace towards him, calling out, “Would you like a hand, Kristofer?” 

The boy looked up immediately, gasped something in another language and shook his head, “Oh, no, I couldn’t ask that of you-”

“Come on, be like that, here.” Arthur grabbed hold of the wheelburrow’s handles, beaming a large smile to reassure him as he asked, “Where are we headed?” 

The boy thanked him profusely as he led the two of you down a dirt path between two storefronts. Around the back, the boy opened a door into one of the shops and had Arthur wheel the wood inside. The boy bowed a head to you and let you go in before closing the door behind himself. 

Inside, it was illuminated by a single lightbulb hanging overhead that gently flickered on and off. It was a seperate room from the store, a storage area you assumed based on the amount of crates setting around. 

“Please allow me to show my thanks, I can get something for you from the kitchen! And I know my modir would love to see you!” 

Glancing back towards you, he agreed once you gave a nod of approval. The boy showed Arthur a spot to park the barrow then asked you both to follow him through the door into the main area. There were tables set up with a few patrons that were chit chatting away until they turned and saw the Atlantean appear. 

They stopped speaking, stopped eating, all to admire the king. He either didn’t notice or brushed it off as he followed the boy to a table in the farthest corner. The two of you sat down while the boy eagerly ran off to get his mother. 

“Everyone here seems to know you,” you couldn’t help but remark. 

“Ha, they should, I’ve been here several times in the last six years.” 

“Why?” 

He shrugged, “Different things. They had a nasty problem with whaling ships coming through and killing off the humpbacks that migrated this way. Another time a band of pirates tried to take the town hostage. But it’s not always big things, I’ve come to help them figure out why their fish populations were dropping, I’ve led some kids up to another island to help rescue some abandoned baby seals.” 

“It sounds like you’re a blessing to them,” you couldn’t help but note, “No wonder they look at you like they do.”

In his normal, arrogant way, he leaned over the table towards you then rationalized, “It’s almost like I’m a hero.” 

Rolling your eyes, you straightened up in your chair at the sight of a short, round woman speed walking her way towards your table with an assortment of things arranged precariously on a tray. She set it on the table, huffing out of breath before looking between you and Arthur with a grand smile stamped on her face. 

“It’s an honor to have the Konungur here. Thank you so much for helping my sonur, please feel free to ask for anything while you are here.” She waved her hands over the smorgasbord she brought, “Enjoy, vinur.” 

He thanked her as she left, reaching out to the tray to set up a bowl. You stared at the piles of things, not exactly sure where to start with the arrangement of things in front of you. 

“Here,” Arthur offered, setting the bowl he prepared beside you, “This is hafragrautur, it’s basically boiled oats. What you do is,” he spooned on a mixture of seeds and fruit, “See, these are sunflower seeds and some goji berries. It’s how I like to eat it.” He gave you a sincere smile as he set a spoon inside the bowl. “Go ahead, give it a try.” 

You quirked your head to the side, lifting the spoon to eye level to examine the mixture. Taking a sniff, you breathed in the sweetness and warmth of the sugary oats. You took a tentative bite, then hummed in delight as you went to get another taste. 

The Atlantean watched you gorge in satisfaction before offering, “Here, try this.” On the plate was a sliced loaf of brown bread with dark red goo piled on top. “Rye bread and some jam.” You took it from him and chomped down, letting out a longer hum as the flavors mingled on your tongue. 

You hadn’t even realized how hungry you were until you looked down at your empty bowl and plate. Giving the last bite an extra hard swallow, you noticed how dry your throat had become. 

“Oh, sorry, here,” he handed you a small white cup with black liquid inside. “Drink.” 

Taking it, you hastily went to quench your thirst but as soon as you had a mouth full, you were stunned by the overwhelming bitterness filling your mouth. In pure instinct, you wanted to spit it out but after years of preparation of acting like a dignified representative of your people, dealing with bad tastes of traditional cuisine was something you had mastered. Swallowing what had unfortunately made it to your mouth, you set the glass down. 

Having seen the entire breakdown on your face and watching you force the coffee down your throat, Arthur went to absolute hysterics as you pushed the cup away and solemnly offered, "I appreciate it immensely, but I'm not sure I can stomach that."

"I'm sorry," he got out, "Here, this isn't so bad." 

He handed you another cup, this time with something you recognized: milk. You drank it gladly as Arthur kept watching you with the same lucid grin on his face. When you finished you looked up to meet his gaze. 

"Thank you. For the food," you specified. 

"You're welcome, princess." The two of you finished off the tray in just minutes before the boy from before came by with a tall jug and two mugs. 

"Modir wanted me to bring you some bjor-" 

"Yes, absolutely!" Arthur exclaimed as he took the pitcher and glasses. The boy hastily removed the tray with one final smile before departing. "Now this is what I wanted," he admitted while filling up both cups and presenting you with one. 

Your brow quirked at the deep amber liquid, taking a suspicious sniff. "It smells like mead?" 

"It's pretty close from what Thor's told me. Less sweet, though. Give it a try." 

He held up his cup to yours and after a second of hesitation, you raised it to clink against his and drank it down in one swallow. 

"Oh, so, you drink drink, huh?" he laughed. 

"I've had my share."

"Want another?" 

You took in a breath, not feeling anything relative to a buzz you'd normally have from drinking alcohol from Vanaheim. Looking back at the pitcher, you surmised this Midgardian brew must not be as strong as what you normally consumed, so you agreed. 

If you were going to be stranded in this otherworld, then you could at least try and ease some of the stress that came with it. 

After all, what was the worst that could happen?

   *****

Loki got to Zaire’s door but rather than let the soldier announce his presence, he took a moment to compose himself. Running a hand over his face, he took in one last deep breath before nodding an approval his way. 

“King Loki,” he presented, though Loki was already walking past him. 

The sooner this was handled, the sooner he could rest. 

"Your highness," Zaire pledged, lowering himself to a bow. Your chambermaid, Mariana, curtsied at his side, but didn't look up. 

Loki didn't pay much attention to her, feeling himself feeling anxious to hear what he was summoned for. 

"What is it you have to tell me, Lord Zaire? It's been a rather long night-"

"My niece's maid has something to confess."

Loki couldn't hide the immediate surprise and confusion he felt as his eyes darted to Mariana, who hung her head even lower, her shoulders giving a slight tremble as she spoke. "L-last n-night I-I…" 

Zaire, his voice chillingly calm, pressed her, "Go ahead, girl. Tell the king what you told me."

Her fingers dug into her dress and though she still didn't look up, she went on, "I, I helped…" Like a bad taste, she managed to spit out, "I helped dr-drug my mistress." 

Loki's eyes widened, his blood ran cold. 

"What?" 

Zaire placed a hand on the back of the maid's neck giving her a sharp shake. "Go on."

"The, the king from At-Atlantis. He had me put, put something in her, her tea so-so he could take her." Her words shook as tears began coming down her cheeks. 

Loki felt absolutely dumbstruck by this information. 

Thor might have felt his friend was trustworthy, that he was a hero, but what kind of man would do such a thing? 

"Your majesty, I don't think I need to explain why I am unsatisfied with you simply sending your brother to collect my niece." Zaire released the maid with a slight push, moving towards Loki as he expressed, "Thor brought that man here. He invited him into this kingdom, as far as I can see it, he is just as much to blame as the Atlantean."

"I told you, my brother will bring Lady y/n back to us, to you. He will be back by nightfall, he gave his word."

The newly appointed king of Asgard felt a heavy weight in his chest at the notion, knowing that his brother could very well may not be willing to fight someone he deems a comrade. Or worse, could possibly come to change sides. 

It wouldn’t be the first time he turned against his brother. 

Not to mention what if the king managed to take you to Atlantis, a place in which no one was able to locate in a millennium. 

But he wasn't about to voice that concern. 

Seeing the turmoil in Loki's eyes, Zaire went further, "I demand something be done to bring her back."

"What exactly do you propose I do, your lordship?" 

Holding out his hands like he was on the brink, he pleaded, "Go yourself. Ensure my darling y/n is returned without harm." 

At the suggestion, Loki's jaw tightened as his eyes darkened. "You want me to go to Midgard?" 

"Not just you, I will accompany you. I mean to see my niece safely returned, and I mean to see it with my own eyes."

Loki turned his eyes to the still sobbing Mariana and then to the floor. He didn't know how it would appear to the 'heroes' of Midgard if he just appeared, demanding his bride be returned to him. 

"King Loki, if I may speak freely?" Rather than answer, his eyes went to the ambassador who continued, "The kingdom just lost their king and queen. You just lost your future bride. This is the time to act to ensure you can get her back unharmed. As a king, you need to show you are not a man to be trifled with." 

"That sounds like a war declaration, Lord Zaire," Loki noted coldly. "And I don't mean to break a peaceful alliance with anyone." When your uncle looked like he would protest, Loki spoke in a chilling tone. "But I have no such alliances with Atlantis. Give me a moment to make arrangements," he started walking towards the door, "We leave for Midgard in the hour. Be ready, and meet me at the Bifrost."

The soldier nervously followed his long out the door, which Zaire closed them. 

A sly grin stretched across his lips before calming enough to turn to the still upset handmaiden. 

“Oh, stop your crying,” Zaire snapped, stepping towards her. “I need to get ready to leave.”

“I, I just do-don’t understand, m’lord…” she cried once more, “Why, why did you have me l-lie? It was y-you...” 

“Sh, sh, sh,” he consoled, bringing her into an embrace as she convulsed from trying to control her tears. He took her head gently in his hand and turned her to look up at him. Her face was contorted in grief from crying since the moment you had been taken, and the slobbering mess of her was enough to make Zaire want to lash out, but he calmed down enough to keep his voice level. “Dear girl, the reasons are beyond your understanding. Just know this is the best for the larger scale of what is to come.”

“Wha-what’s to come, m’lord?”

His smile reappeared, making Mariana want to recoil but unable to move from his grip. 

“A revolution.” 

His hand moved around from the back of her head, taking a moment to clear some of the tears still falling from her swollen eyes. “But, I’m afraid for this to work, I must be sure you will never tell a soul about this.” 

The grief in her eyes gave way to instant fear as she stared wide eyed up into Zaire’s face. 

“I, I would never, I won’t, no, m’lord, I wouldn’t, I swear.” 

“Sh, sh, sh,” he affirmed, bringing her head back against his chest to cry. He presented a small knife, about the length of his finger, behind her head as his brushed his fingers through her hair. “I know you won’t.” 

*****

There was nothing quite like being wrong, and where you were right now, you hadn't even realized just how wrong you were.

It turned out Midgardian alcohol was potent, enough so that your inhibitions were gone. 

You and Arthur drank three more pitchers, opening up more and more to one another as your walls got lower and lower. You told him about growing up in Vanaheim, about different lessons you had, things that you painted, how you had once broken a man's arm at an event when he had groped you. 

That made Arthur laugh so hard beer came out his nose. 

You also learned more about the god of Atlantis. He was actually half Midgardian and half Atlantrean. He didn't even get accepted into Atlantis until he had to imprisoned his war hungry half brother and inexplicably inherited the king of the seven seas and a Triton powerful enough to stop just about anything. 

For a split second, the faintest thought of his Triton against Gungnir came to mind. 

But you shook that sobering thought away and chased it down with another drink. 

You were so busy distracting yourself, you hadn't noticed how close Arthur had become until his arm brushed against u ours. Glancing over the rim of your glass, you arched a brown before closing your eyes and taking in a deep breath. 

"Has your chair always been up against mine?" 

The usual jokable girn he held subsided to a more sincere smile. He leaned in, so close in fact that you could smell the salt of the sea in his beard, tangled with the slight scent of alcohol and spice on his breath. “No, but, you see, the view from this particular seat here, it’s just,” his large hand came up to your delicate face to brush a strand of hair back from your gaze, “It’s incredible.” 

You lost your breath, but as soon as you inhaled, you cut your eyes away. “You shouldn’t speak like that.”

Arthur tilted his head to the side, his eyes squinting as if he simply didn’t see your meaning. “I’m only paying you a compliment.” 

“You know nothing can come of this,” you reminded him, still unable to look back to him. “I’m engaged to Prince Loki.” 

“Can I ask you something, princess?” You only turned your eyes towards him as he went on, “Why? Why are you so hell bent on going back to Asgard?” 

Taking a slow breath, you turned your body to face him, only slightly hesitating at the feel of his thigh against your own as you tried to answer him as well as you could after all the alcohol in your system. “I have been raised as far back as I can remember to be a bride to the king of Asgard. It’s my soul duty and purpose in life to keep the peace between the Vanir and Asir.” 

“But why?” 

Blinking you were confused by the follow up question. “What do you mean why, it’s because I was raised-”

“You don’t do things because you’re raised a certain way. You choose to do them.” His head gently shook as he argued, “If someone told you from the start that you were a rock, would you believe them?” 

Your mouth opened but closed again as you kept in a huff. “Are you comparing being entrusted with my people's well being to being a lump of granite?”

“No, I’m simply saying-”

Standing so abruptly the chair flew back, you stared down at Arthur though as tall as he was, wasn’t far from your own face. “I think I’d like to retire to the ship.” 

“Y/n, I’m so-”

“I am doing as you asked, King of Atlantis. I’m choosing.” Walking towards the store’s front door, you picked up speed as you heard Arthur get up from his seat to follow. 

The whole way back towards teh ship, as you angrily stomped your way without giving him a single glance, you could hear him calling out to you, only to be stopped by villagers who recognized him. Not wanting to be rude, he didn’t brush past them, giving you ample time to get away. 

On deck, the Old Man was asleep in the captians chair behind the steering wheel in the glass box. Flying down the ladder, you went back to the room you were in before and sat down on your cot. 

In no time, Arthur came through the door. 

“Y/n…” 

“Please,” you requested in an even tone without looking up, “Please, just go away.” 

“No.” 

This time you did meet his eyes, and seeing the tears swelled up in them was enough to leave you breathless. 

“Y/n, I’m sorry. I really am, I didn’t mean it the way it sounded.” When you didn’t immediately ask him to leave again, he came closer. “I just, I don’t think you realize what you’re getting into, or what I’m really offering.” 

There was an unmistakable rattle in your chest as you managed to speak. “Did you know I was first promised to Thor?”

Arthur stopped in his tracks. 

“That is, until he took up in Midgard and fell in love with a local woman. Then I just followed the rule of succession and, " you waved your hand into the air," landed at Loki’s feet. He will be crowned king of Asgard and I will be his wife. Both arrangements orchestrated by my uncle.” Now you stood, taking a step towards him. “So forgive me if I’m not ready to accept any help from a man I hardly know that thinks sharing a blood bond with Zaire is worth its weight in anything.” 

Your lips pressed tight as you fought not to cry, hearing the words come out so dry and simple. 

But they weren't simple. 

And they weren’t dry. 

This was your life and everyone tossed you back and forth like a bone amongst a pack of dogs.  

Arthur's eyes darkened as he his hands came out and took yours, their warmth surprising from how cold the air was. "It doesn't have to be like that, y/n," he spoke in a low tone, "I'm giving you a way out, I'm giving you another option."

You went to look away, feeling the sharp sting of tears threaten to fall when the Atlantean took your chin and held your gaze. His mouth opened to speak, but rather than let out coherent words, his brow furrowed as if in confusion. "You're eyes…"

Your brow furrowed at the half made remark. "What about my eyes?"

"They, they just…." He gently traced his thumb across your cheek as he elaborated, "It's like when you see a storm brewing in the distance: the waters are a deadly still, the sky dark, the wind begins to pick up. But… even though it's about to unleash hell, there's that one, extraordinary moment where the world just freezes in time, giving them this one last second to realize how beautiful life is before its swept away."

You wanted to pull away. 

You wanted to slap his hand from your face. 

You wanted to tell him he was making a mistake. 

Yet even as you watched his eyes close and his face lean in, you did absolutely nothing to stop his lips from meeting yours. A tidal wave crashed into you as you fought the urge to kiss him back. 

Slowly, Arthur pulled back and pressed his forehead against yours, his eyes first closed before opening to meet yours. “I know how you feel, y/n. I'm the kid of a human and an Atlantian, my birth was meant to unite the two. Before I could even say my first words, my life had been given this...  incredible purpose, this meaning that I didn't even understand when I finally saw it. So, I do know what it means to feel the responsibility of the world. Two worlds, even. I didn't mean to sound disrespectful. I only meant… there is a way to protect your people that doesn’t require giving yourself to Loki.” 

“Why?’ you snapped, taking a step back, out of his hold. “So that I can give myself to you?”

At that his demeanor shifted. He closed the distance between you in one long stride, neither one of you breaking contact or backing down. His eyes held a darkness you had never seen, like the calm right before the storm, that  eerie stillness just before everything came crashing down.

That’s when he kissed you for a second time, though this one was much less gentle. His arms wrapped around your shoulders, cupping the base of your skull while the other brought your lower back against his body. Your arms went up immediately to push him off, but just as his lips crashed into yours, you were too stunned to actually move. His lips parted against yours, and no matter how hard you willed not to, your body wouldn’t cooperate. In a moment of pure passion, his tongue flooded your mouth. Your flavors danced between you while hands hungrily grabbed at one another through your clothes. 

It wasn’t until his fingers began undoing his own pants that you gathered yourself enough to pull back, “No, no, no,” you repeated. Arthur raised a hand up to your face, lacing his fingers back through your loose hair. 

“What’s wrong?” 

“We, we can’t do this,” you spoke in hurried whispers as you fought the urges that started eating away inside of you. “If Loki were to find out…”

“Y/n, Loki isn’t here. And even if he was, it wouldn’t matter.” He reached forward, taking hold of your hips and bringing them against his body. There was something animalistic about the icy stare he gave you, the deep husk of his voice as he told you, “I want you to come back to Atlantis with me.”

You shook your head, stepping back while narrowing your eyes up at him. “No, Arthur. It doesn’t matter what you want, you’re a king. You have your people to think of, just like I have mine. And I’m not afraid of Loki, it’s his father who will come with his armies. The same armies that nearly decimated my home.”

“I don’t care what they can do, don’t you see? I want you, y/n,” Arthur spoke with absolution, his strong hands moving down the length of your body, keeping you against him. “And make no mistake, once I want something, I don't stop until I get it.”

You shook your head. “Not this. I’m not yours to take. You need to send me back to Asgard. I can explain this was all just a misunderstanding, I can soothe it over before it becomes a war between the realms, I can-”

“Your uncle made your traditions pretty clear,” the king spoke darkly, raising his bandaged hand so you could see. “This blood oath is binding. I swore to protect you and that’s what I intend to do. Going back is out of the question.”

Bringing your hands up between your bodies, you shot out, “And what did he offer you in return?” When he looked stunned by the question, you took advantage and stepped back from him. “Was it me? Are you just supposed to be the next man I’m to pledge myself to based on what he says?” 

You were disappointed. In him. In your uncle. In yourself. 

“You’ll start a war over me, your highness? You’ll cost innocent people their lives all over some woman you don’t even know, based on the words of a man you just met...” 

“Wars have been fought for far less, princess.” His words startled you to the point you didn’t move away when he came forward, his hand going around your waist. 

“Please,” you breathed, barely above a whisper for fear of letting loose a cry, a whimper, a moan, just before his lips met yours. “Please don’t do this.” 

His eyes stayed focused on yours, and you couldn’t help but see a storm forming inside of his soul. “Y/n-”

The abrupt darkness was enough to get both of your attention for a split second, but it was the loud, horrendous lightening that light up the sky that sent a jolt through both of your bodies. The following thunder erupted in such a way that you thought you could feel it in your very bones. 

The two of you looked back to each other in a panic and at the same time knew what was happening. 

The god of thunder was on Midgard. 

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[rexscelestus]

Confrontation with the Common Man

Mobster Kingpin Last Friday at 12:20 AM

> PI may be sticking to desk jobs for some time, but that doesn't matter. Jumping him out on the street during duty would have been too crude anyway. Too tasteless and without style. But even if he holes himself up all day, he will need to leave sooner or later. To get to and from work, get groceries, whatever PI does in a span of a week. On one of these days, a car is waiting right before the door. When PI exists the door, a young man gets out. Small frame, a hard face and a very sharp voice when he adresses PI. "The Kingpin sends his regards and would like to invite you over." Of course, PI could decline. The Diligent Assistant had neither the means nor the intention to force him. However, PI should be aware that it wouldn't exactly improve his situation. The next invitation may not be quite as polite. Crude still remains an option.

PI Last Friday at 1:16 AM

The option to decline is considered, if only because one rarely wants to attend their own funeral.  The inspector spends a few seconds weighing his options, suddenly feeling more like a chess piece than ever.  To refuse would ultimately not change the inevitable...and frankly would just give the impression he was a coward.

To be considered a brazen idiot or a spineless coward...not exactly the options he liked. But hell, he put himself into this corner so time to damage control.  And he'd rather step into things headlong than be dragged. "Very well then." Was this a trap or a setup? Perhaps. Though PI didn't really see Kingpin as the type to offer an invite just to lead PI into Snow's fists.  She certainly would be capable of that herself and the idea of her needing assistence would be insulting to the both of them.

In any event, may as well get this over with. No sense delaying an inevitable.  With that, PI climbs into the car being offered.  If no one is inside, he'll take the time to send off a couple messages before turning his phone off.

Mobster Kingpin Last Friday at 10:48 AM

The messages are expected, but not an issue. May he contacted who he wants, it won't change the plans at all. No need to hide. The car ride is quiet. DA isn't very talkative and even if PI tries to make casual conversation, he won't respond much. (It's... not that's he's nervous, he just doesn't want to embarrass the Kingpin.) PI is brought to the Regalia Hotel and lead inside, past a few very obvious white suited guards and into the elevator. Once unlocked with a key, the top floor is available for access. When the doors open again, a very lavishly decorated but absolutely empty and quiet hallway greets PI. DA leads PI to one of the doors towards the middle - of course the hotel's spacious King Suite, now turned into office and living quarters. There, you sit at the other end of the room in front of the giant window, behind a heavy desk on a chair that very much resembles a throne (I mean. It practically is https://sta.sh/0j8fetfa9ag). The decoration is just pompous enough to be worthy for a King, including, of course, a statue of himself, but it almost pales beside the paintings on the walls. A few of them portray the natural carpacian beauty of the Black Queen, but one shows Snowman in her current human glamour - a quite beautiful and tasteful nude. Should PI look around enough, he would find a matching painting of MK himself on the opposing wall. You take notice of your guest, but you hardly bother looking up from the paperwork you're handling at the moment. "Welcome, Inspector."

PI Last Friday at 11:29 AM

No one else in the car, and the driver is focused on task and uncaring of if he's using his phone.  There's a certain level of confidence to it, if not a slight twinge of insult to how little regard is given.  Or perhaps that is the real burn of it all, forcing you to spend the time stuck in your own head as you try to go over all the tangental what-ifs.   It's times like this that you really regret having a healthy imagination...there are a lot of what-ifs to go down. The Regalia Hotel feels almost too painfully obvious a name that you practically want to kick yourself. Any moreso and it likely would have been called Kings Inn.  The suited guards and entranceway are acknowledged in passing glance as you quietly follow along in your best attempt to step confidently without stepping too confident and walking past DA.  Long legs, the curse of confident walkers everywhere. You follow, and take note of the ostentatious decor...how perfectly fitting.  Once a king, always a king you suppose.  And royalty always love their baubles.  As you enter the suite, your eyes scan the area...and immediately ricochet off the glossy paint of the tasteful nudes to find the lighting fixtures on the ceiling fascinating.   Of course.  Kudos for the healthy self esteem.  Well then. "Welcome to you as well." you say out of a reflexive habit then die inwardly.  That made no sense, you aren't welcoming him.  Get your focus back.  "I mean, thank you for the invitation....Rex? Mister Kingsley? Kingpin?  You're racking up quite the tally of names...any preferences?"  Your voice is a bit more upbeat and less biting than you would have preferred, but you just chalk that up to stupid distracting portrait jitters.

Mobster Kingpin Last Saturday at 1:59 AM

Oh god. He's so.. deliciously awkward. That even manages to blow away your annoyance for just a moment. The grin on your face doesn't last long though. "Whichever. It doesn't matter. Though, if you ask me for my preference, just 'King' would be perfect." You very well aware that he never will. But hey, he asked. You finally put down your work and get up. There's a very notable sigh as you get up and walk around your desk to lean against the front. This may also be the moment PI notices you're a good bit taller than during your last meeting. Your full size, a much more comfortable shape to be in - and most importantly almost two heads taller than PI. You sign your assistant to leave, then direct your attention back at PI. "I'd love to offer you some tea or.. any other drink, but that would feel somewhat inappropriate. This isn't a fun little get together for a game or.. a date. More like a business transaction - unpleasant but unavoidable."

PI Last Saturday at 2:41 AM

"I shall keep that in mind..." you say as your arms fold.  He's right, you have no plans to ever call him that.  Careful name avoidance in conversations it is then. As he rises up to his full height, there is that momentary double-take as your mental cards shuffle. Right, his figure in the alley was much more notably large albeit carapacian.  Not the worst look admittedly, but probably not the most subtle for someone trying to not openly scream Guess what model I am on the streets of Derse.

"The height suits you." is all you say on that, if only because it's rare for you to have to tilt your head up to look at anyone in this city.  As he speaks, a resigned sigh does manage to escape your throat.  The unavoidableness wasn't that much a surprise, but the sudden feeling that this is actually some sort of charity case for your benefit wasn't sitting with you well.  Nor the concept that whatever comes would be considered a mercy in comparison.  Fingers flexed, you tilt your head from side to side.  "Of course.  A pound of flesh as they say. Well then, let us get to business. Is this the part I try to beg or barter? Or shall we just not pretend and cut to the chase?" Your posture shifts. While you are expecting anything in this place is horribly one-sided against you, you are also not going to just lay down and let yourself be flogged.  Your attendance was requested and given, cooperation less so.

Mobster Kingpin Last Monday at 7:18 PM

His demeanor surprises you. Positively,,  that is. Bold little worm. Does to be able to fight back? Admirable, although idiotic. You give him a long, hard stare, then sigh. "This... is not satisfying. You're not only mocking me, no. You deeply insulted my beloved wife. For that alone she could tear you apart. And then the.." You choke some in oure disgust at the memory. ".. appalling aftermath you brought on. I mean, you're basically not leaving me any choice. I can't just ignore this." You growl and grumble some more as you start rolling up your sleeves.

PI Last Monday at 9:24 PM

The words said take you a bit out of your defense as you frown, suddenly feeling like a chore to be done.  You watch him roll up his sleeves and sigh yourself.  "For what non-existant worth there is to it, I will say this.  Had I known my words would be a catalyst to well...that aftermath, I would have held my tongue.  It was certainly not my intention to give the forces that be ammunition in which to publicly humiliate the two of you.  And for that...I do apologize.  And have no plans to repeat that line of insults in the future." You give a shrug.  "That said, it all still happened and doesn't negate the experiences.  So...mm."  This is so awkward, this may in fact be worse than had he just started by breaking your bones one by one in silence.  As much as your pride is hating the idea of apologizing for anything, it also apparently is too proud to be dishonest on the matter.

Mobster Kingpin Last Tuesday at 12:18 AM

"Right, right." Well, you give him that, his apology sounds honest. It just comes a few frog jokes too late. He's aware that he can't possibly hope for any mercy here, least of all from you. The mere attempt is irritating. And frankly, that are way too many words than you are up for at the moment. PI hardly finished the last sentence when you lunch forward and bring your fist down on his face. At least you did him the favor of not wearing any (but one) of your rings today. Just the purest form of pain your knuckles can bring.

PI Last Tuesday at 12:40 AM

If you had any idea he considered your apology a request for mercy, you'd likely be insulted.  You have an entire speech about the nature of apologies that you could go into after all.  Still, you don't have much time to really consider this hypothetical since in your hubris you made the biggest rookie mistake of lowering your guard as the punch comes in. Seconds later you find yourself a few feet back scrambling to get back on your feet because lets face it, you aren't exactly made of lead.  You're seeing stars, tasting copper, and you're pretty sure your glasses are now somewhere across the room.

"...right then." is all you spit out as you rise to your feet.  Considering bullets did nothing against him, you highly doubt your fists will feel anything short of butterflies.  Then again, he is glamoured...so there's always the chance of breaking skin and causing a sting.

With that in mind, you use your ankle to hook one of the chairs close to you before using the momentum to swing it towards him.  If you were Ace, this likely would be far more impressive and actually do something like lift up and smash into him...but you're not Ace so the most it can do is cause someone to slow their movement and put their hands forward to stop it's skidding. Which is really what you want, to occupy his hands as you lunge forward and spring off the seat to attempt to knee him right in his pompous face.

Mobster Kingpin Yesterday at 8:55 AM

You're gladly giving him the time to get up. Kicking a man on the ground would be too low, even for you. A noise makes you startle up. It sounded like someone else was in the room, as impossible as that should be. That definitely gives PI more time than you wanted to give him. Only after the chair comes sliding your way, you react. You manage to keep him from hitting your face, but he manages to bump into your arm before you shove him and the chair away. You let out a frustrated grumble. Resourceful he is. Was the noise his doing too? It still feels like there's something else in the room.

PI Yesterday at 9:41 AM

You're fast, but he's fast enough and that in and of itself is annoying.  There's really only so much dodging and dipping around that you can do before it wears out what patience he has.  As the chair is knocked back, you jump off back onto your feet.  This is so...abyssmally one-sided.  You've seen the aftermath of him facing off against both Sleuth and Slick...and you are quite certain they weren't just swinging fists at him. Alright, perhaps the thing to do is change the parameter of what constitutes a win.  You aren't going to beat him physically, that goes without saying.  So, time to change tactics. "Then hate me when thou wilt, if ever...now. Now, while the world is bent my deeds to cross, join with the spite of fortune, make me bow, And do not drop in for an after-loss." You circle around him, keeping out of arms reach as you quote the bard himself.  If you can't bring yourself to him, maybe you can goad him into a lunge and bring him down to your level.

Mobster Kingpin Yesterday at 2:10 PM

It takes you a moment to register what is happening, but when you do, you notably roll your eyes. At any other encounter you might have found it amusing. Right now, "Save that for the book club, Ingleton," you growl. "If you don't want me to prolong your suffering, you should keep still and get over with it." There's still this weird uncomfortable sensation you can't shake off and all of this is starting to really get on your nerves. And there he is, tiptoeing around you. His strategy is obvious. He has no chance of hurting you, so he wants to keep his distance, mock you and wear you down. But just like in your chess games, you're not one for playing it safe. You take the offensive, swinging another punch at him, though you know better than to let down your guard around him.

PI Yesterday at 8:53 PM

You aren't sure if it's the poem or something else, but something seems to be twigging him.  Granted he's right...but your pride would never let you live it down if you just accepted the inevitable.  Your life has been a montage of you doing things you shouldn't have, defying the expected roles.  And like hell you plan to change now, and especially for someone like him. The punch comes in, much like in your chess games he's definitely an offensive player. And normally you'd try to sidestep back and keep trying to keep out of harms way, play up that defensive approach.  But in this case? A delay of inevitable suffering.  So may as well get this over with...on your terms. "Ah!  Do not, when my heart hath 'scaped this sorrow, come in the rearward fo a conquered woe. Give not a windy night a rainy morrow, to linger out a purposed overthrow." You say as you dodge the swing but move in closer,  grabbing the front of his shirt to pull yourself up so that you're face to face with him.  "As the old addage goes Mister Kingsley, make me." you quip...and then kiss him.  Or at least attempt...he may flinch back.  Regardless your next move is planned...like in chess always two moves ahead.  Be it him recoiling back or you pulling back seconds later, you continue to hold the cuff of his shirt with one hand as your other arm reels back to strike directly towards his face.

February 7, 2019

Mobster Kingpin Today at 1:35 AM

You don't flinch back, if only because this move honestly catches you by surprise. You're still stunned when the punch comes for you, and boy does it hit you. The worst part about the human glamour is probably that soft protruding spot in the face. Way too vulnerable without any shell to support it underneath and well FUCK that hurts. What a shit awful and inefficient design. You flinch back now - only to jolt back forward and bring your forehead down on his. You step back, finally free of his face near yours, growling as you run a thumb over lip. "You. Got some nerve." God. Damn. Fuck him. FUCK him for repeatedly managing to catch you off-guard in the worst ways. Fuck him for being so damn reckless regardless of consequences. Fuck him for being THIS DAMN BOLD. You honestly can't say when the last time was that someone dared to come on this strongly at you. At you. If anyone, you're the one making such moves. This wasn't even supposed to be a meeting like that HOW FUCKING DARE HE- A sting in your side reminds you that you should not let your emotions get the better of you. But you want nothing more than to pay him back for the audacity. "Any last words, Ingleton?" you growl, hopefully louder than the pained wheeze you try to suppress. The thing about not kicking a man on the ground... you may just change your mind.(edited)

PI Today at 2:27 AM

You'd like to say you'd cherish the look on his face and the moment, but right now you're currently reeling from the forehead smash.  Well, nice to confirm that water is wet and his skull is indeed thicker than yours could ever be.  Ow. It was a poor move tactically, but a bold one you didn't regret.  This fight was his physically the moment you arrived, but damned if you weren't going to get under his skin in another way.  It's not hard to tell that your balance has taken a slight hit and you doubt you'd be able to dodge further swings.. Especially now that you're still too close to easily move out of range.  Still, the risk was not regretted...you'd almost say worth it.  He was right after all, any further moves would just prolong.  But now, now at least you feel empowered enough to stand your ground.

Which in hindsight you'll likely be kicking yourself over, curse this bastard for raising your proud hackles the way he does.   But for now, only one word comes to mind.  A final snub perhaps, and would likely only make this hurt more than less. But...well...he did say you have some nerve. You look at him as you stance off, knowing full well you'll not get another hit on him when he comes but damned if you aren't going to try anyways.  With that, you look him in the eyes and smirk.

"Check."

Mobster Kingpin Today at 10:29 AM

Under your skin he mamages to get. You're not going to admit it, but he knows and you know and you hate it and hate him. Maybe you should have just left him to your Queen and her wrath. That last quip throws you off. Again. Of all the things he could have said, you didn't expect that. Actually, why didn't you? You notably roll your eyes, and annoyed grin forming on your face. "Check, my ass." He feels like winnig, yes? Urgh. Insufferable little worm. Sure, you could beat him into a bloody pulp and as tempting as that sounds, it would only make you feel like a sore loser and prove to him how much he got to you. You stare down at him in disdain. "Get out." You didn't nearly hurt him as much as he deserves yet. You're letting him off easy and he'll know it and he'll probably be smug about it. But you don't have the patience to deal with this. Any longer and you might really forget yourself. You're not forfeiting, you're having mercy on him.

PI Today at 10:43 AM

You're bracing, readying for what comes next...but of all the things to happen, his words was the last thing you had expected and your expression betrays the surprise. Even a momentary flicker of confusion.  Was this a trap? Wait...why would he need a trap in the first place?   With all the build up leading to this you....this feels far too simple and easy. He wouldn't just let you go after that. Or maybe that's his plan, to let you go and wipe his hands of the whole thing while Snowman crushes your head with her heels? Or maybe not but make you stress??  Oh no you're going to overthink this... You look to the left, right, back at him.  Another second of awkwardness...oh no this is starting to get awkward. How do you even walk out from here without looking like a fool.  You can almost feel the bravado leeching out of your body at a critical rate. "Ah...all. Alright then." you muster, stepping back a few steps, turning to walk out, turning back around to walk backwards a bit to see if he's following, bump the door with your back...you guess, you're leaving now? Later on you'll remember your glasses were left here, somewhere. Probably lodged into the wall from that first punch knowing your luck.(edited)

Mobster Kingpin Today at 11:05 AM

"Have a nice day," you reply drily. You return to your desk and ignore him till you leave. You allowed him to leave and you're not going back on that unless he further tests your patience. (But you take notice of his discomfort. At least a tiny joy in this whole annoying ordeal.) Outside, your assistant stands ready to guide PI to the elevator without another word. Once he's gone, you're tending to your nose with a tissue. It's definitely at least bleeding, maybe worse. Your medic will need to check that out later. And you'll surely have to endure his snark for not only starting another fight, but getting such a solid hit in the face too. Urgh. You're keeping the glasses. At least you got a little trophy out of this.

PI Today at 11:17 AM

There's nothing to say as you follow the assistant into the elevator. Sure you look roughed up, later on you'll have time to notice the bloodied nose and slight split in your lip as well as what will not doubt be an impressive black eye.  But in the scheme of it all this was...what was this even? The elevator ride is in silence, well externally. Internally you mull over what all happened and try to replay the events to figure out where things went wrong. Or did they go right? This feels too easy, too light a thing...dammit maybe you were supposed to stay after all?  This feels so unfinished. Did...did he just leave you hanging? This is awful, and suddenly you feel self-concious to a degree as you realize you have to walk out of this building past the guards and...god dammit you hate him.  You look more like you've had a light tussle than a fight with someone who likely bends steel girders for sport.  Ugh...you hate this. You should have stayed and hoped he would have just knocked you unconcious so you didn't have to walk out of here. By the time you leave the elevator you realize your glasses are gone. God! Dammit!  You were so close to having one up over on him and he pulled his overpriced carpet out from under you.   You should have tried to punch him again.  Bastard.

#logs

[elliemarchetti]

A Red Lover (part 2)

An old fic revised for AO3

Words: 3173

Thomas was posted, along with three other snipers, in the niche of a window. They were nothing but shadows to which no one would give importance, which not even the guards would’ve noticed, and such would remain, even once the act was done, even once the silvers were killed. Too quickly, it was time to shoot. Thomas had a perfect aim, but they had entrusted him with a magnetron, and a powerful one, moreover, so he wasn’t surprised when he saw the bullet directed at Ptolemus Samos’ heart pierce his shoulder. Not that he had time to cry on himself: the silvers had begun to scream, the lights blinking above their heads. When they completely shut down, Thomas knew that they had only one minute to reach the sewers along with everyone else. A minute wasn’t much, but it would be enough to get confused in the midst of the screams, among those people who were trying to escape from the odds.

"In the niches near the windows!" a voice thundered above the terrible din.

"They are fleeing!" added other voices, and Thomas couldn’t explain that surprised tone. Did they really believed they would let themselves be so easily caught?

"Seek them out!" shouted a sentinel on the balcony, the shotgun aimed right at his head. He wouldn’t shoot, Thomas was sure: after all, he was nothing but a shadow.

"Stop them!" other figures rapidly approached, and it must have been the royal guard. A blaze rose in the crowd and twisted in the air like a snake of fire. It was still too far away, but if the king tried to kill him, he would savour the taste of fire and ash. Leading the group that reached them wasn’t a normal sentinel, nor a member of the royal guard, but the crown prince himself, a gun in one hand and the flame ready to cook them alive in the other. If only Tristan hadn’t been shot in the leg, they would’ve managed to run away, and he would never have crossed those amber-red eyes, so different from his brother's. Cal Calore was a real hunter, and Thomas wouldn’t have been surprised to discover that among his favorite activities there was red hunting. It wasn’t something that really existed, at least he believed, and he was amazed: the silvers were sadistic by nature and saw the reds as beasts, so it was strange that none of them decided to take some reds prisoners and release them in a reserve, giving them the possibility, the hope, of being able to escape, when, however, in a group, they would’ve only vented their skills on him. Or maybe they already did it, but the news hadn’t yet leaked. In any case, Cal Calore was the perfect candidate: he snarled orders, running as if he needed them for his own life, with sentinels and security agents who could only try to keep up with him, like a trail of red and black smoke that follows the flame. There was almost no battle: they dragged them into a dark service corridor, and weren’t distracted even when the floor began to tremble beneath their feet. They weren’t afraid of dying; they were trained to be the kind of invincible machines that doesn’t step back in front of death. The door before them blew up, destroyed by the flames, which Cal, as Maven called him, absorbed into his own hand as if nothing had happened. The ballroom was still shrouded in smoke and flames, but Cal seemed implacable, determined to extinguish even the slightest chance of a fire, and to want to increase his strength, as Thomas had done at the front, years ago. He would’ve paid for Cal Calore to decide to use that damn flame on him. They crossed at least three more doors, and then descended a long stairway that seemed to lead directly to the Hall of the Sun’s bowels. They threw them into a cell, regardless of Farley’s dislocated shoulder or Tristan's leg. But what did it matter to them? They were traitors and soon they would have interrogated and executed them. When the bars closed behind them, Cal disappeared as quickly as he had arrived, leaving them alone with the masked sentries. They made the prisoner shiver, but no more than all the other things that lurked in that building. Not long after, the prince returned, accompanied by his wife, a tornado of anger dressed up for the party, the father, the king himself, and two other figures walking behind them. Undoubtedly, one must be Mare. So their game ended so quickly? Did that newblood betray them so quickly? Next to her, holding her hand, there was Maven, his pale skin in perfect contrast to the girl's more amber one. Whatever torture they had decided to impose on him would hurt him less than those tenderly entwined fingers, even in a situation like that. Then Maven turned, and scanned their faces, Walsh's swollen eyes, Tristan's blooded leg, which Thomas had bandaged with Kilorn's shirt, Kilorn himself, miraculously unharmed, just like him, and Farley, with the dangling arm, leaning on the newblood’s friend. Only in the end, their eyes crossed, exactly when Farley decided it was time to try to spit on the future queen. Everyone was distracted by that scene, which gave Maven a few extra seconds to recover from that discovery. Maybe he hadn’t noticed it, but he had left Mare's hand, while Cal asked her why a friend of her was at court, together with the Scarlet Guard, and had taken a step forward, towards the cell, as if to reach him. Thomas looked at him sadly, but said nothing, not even when he commented absently that they really looked like servants. It had always been like that: he had to pretend not to care about him, and there was always something between them, this time was the bars of a prison, once it was the blood status. Cal gave a brief account of how things had gone, and Thomas found himself pleasantly surprised to hear that he wasn’t lying. The silvers’ world was built on a mountain of lies, and finding a sincere one was a rarity. Maven had never lied to him, but Thomas knew that he was a great liar. All thanks to his mother: she believed in the mental manipulation as a way to make him stronger, to make him the loyal little dog she always wanted, instead she had created something that, if triggered in the worst way, could be a real monster. Even Evangeline, in her annoying voice, had interfered in the conversation, suggesting that perhaps it was time to torture them. Thomas didn’t move, but he saw that Maven was fumbling for a way out of that situation. Thomas smiled internally. As long as it was possible, he had always tried to protect him, but he should’ve known well that now there was no way to do it. Those were years in which he could no longer protect him.

If only he had been lucid, if only he could come up with a credible lie... But how could Farley have done such a thing? And Thomas? How long had he been hiding with the Scarlet Guard? Not that it mattered. He wouldn’t be able to watch while they tortured him, screaming in pain. Perhaps Thomas believed he knew the suffering, after the front, but among the silvers things weren’t so simple and suffering was a relative concept, because for them the reds weren’t people, but only sacrificial pawns, toys that once broken were replaced. It seemed that Thomas could read his thoughts while he looked at him with those piercing green eyes. Even in that horrible place, they shone. It was perhaps what attracted him more, that spark of life that others didn’t have. Everyone on the front seemed to have lost hope, but not Thomas: he believed he would come out alive, and for this Maven was pushed toward him like iron with a magnet. Because he was the first to not feel alive, he was the one who didn’t see a light at the end of the tunnel that was his life, but Thomas seemed to see it for him. And in that situation, despite, eventually, his brother would come to torture him too, Thomas silently swore to him that he would lie to him, that even if they had frozen his blood in his veins, and had torn and cured him to exhaustion, a word wouldn’t have come out of his lips.

"You don’t need to watch the scene." Maven muttered, turning to Mare, but above all to have an excuse not to hear Thomas screams, not to add that sound to the terrible nightmares he already had. Yet he couldn’t abandon him, not now that he had found him. Mare shifted him angrily and kept her gaze on Kilorn. Even Maven was unable to stop looking at Thomas.

"Let her look." croaked Evangeline. She seemed to take pleasure in their malaise. "So she learns to treat reds as friends."

When she said it, however, she didn’t look at Mare, but at him. What did the magnetron know? Maven froze as he watched her spread the bars of the cell with a wave of her hand. With a white finger, she pointed to Farley.

"Start with her, cut her apart." she said to the sentry, who nodded, grabbed Farley by the wrist and dragged her out of the cell, regardless of her pain. The bars closed behind her, trapping the others back inside. Walsh and Kilorn rushed toward the metal bars, both the portrait of fear, while Thomas didn’t move. He knew what would happen, he knew that eventually his turn would come, and he knew that there was no way to escape, not from there, not at that moment. Maven felt a sense of pride in his stoicism: he showed no fear, just like a true leader. Just like Farley, kneeling, with her mouth closed and her teeth tight, ready to die in silence.

"Start from the arm." Cal ordered, and Maven didn’t need to see the little red circles appear on the girl's white skin to know what the Gliacon sentinel was doing. Even Mare, at a certain point, had to look away.

"That's blood." she whispered, and Maven, if not for his immense self-control, would have slapped her. What did she think it was? Why was she so appalled? Torture was still torture, which would cause the blood to freeze or someone to rummage in your head. A torture, by definition, wasn’t pleasant, and the silvers were sadistic enough to imagine at night the tortures they could inflict on the reds only to facilitate sleep. For some of them, their shouts were music, for some of them, death was just an unpleasant inconvenience. They were murderers, and of the worst kind. And yet, even the Guard had blood on their hands, probably even that of innocents, because if the silver didn’t see the reds point of view, the reds, for their part, didn’t understand that not all the silver were the same.

"That's enough." Cal ordered coldly, also tearing Maven from his thoughts. Another sentinel, a healer of the Skonos family, crouched beside Farley, who seemed about to collapse. With an absent gaze, Maven watched her arm return to a normal color, imagining Thomas in her place, his skin pierced by a myriad of frozen blood blades. He felt like throwing up.

Farley smiled sadly: "Just to be able to do it all over again, isn’t it?" she asked, her big blue eyes turned toward Cal, who turned pathetically towards his father in search of consent. That was the big fault of his half-brother: he always needed someone to tell him what to do. Maven was sure he would be a bad king.

"That's right." he said with a sigh, and Maven felt pity for him. It was another feeling that his mother had tried to take away from him, but from time to time, it returned to the surface. Cal had never wanted to be king; he had never loved that kind of thing. He was a soldier, and he was comfortable among soldiers like him, strategists with a sharp mind and full of intuitiveness.

"Where is she?!" shouted a terrifying voice behind them, and Maven took off his path before Ptolemus Samos could invest him with his anger; he wouldn’t care if he was the prince, he would’ve landed him anyway. He didn’t even cared for the heir, which he dodged, causing him to stumble backwards. He didn’t even have mercy on Evangeline.

The bars creaked and gave way, and the cell opened. Not even the sentries managed to restrain him; he advanced with too decisive and quick steps. Kilorn and Walsh backed against the wall, and Maven shuddered with terror: Thomas was already with his back against the wall. Ptolemus, however, was a predator, and as such, attacked the weaker: with an injured leg and unable to move, Tristan had no hope.

"You will never risk my sister's life again." the magnetron roared. Maven saw his eyes only for a moment, but it was enough: Ptolemus wanted to kill them all. Before he could react, Mare’s hands lit up with sparks, and before Ptolemus could see it, a lightning struck him. The electric discharge made him waver, while the metal of his armor sizzled, beginning to smoke. Maven was grateful that Mare had been faster than he had: it would have avoided many problems but, above all, many uncomfortable questions.

Only when Ptolemus collapsed on the ground, convulsing, Mare recalled her lightning. Evangeline was immediately by his side, and she tried to caress her brother's face, but she took the shock and was forced to back off with an angry grimace. Maven would’ve been willing to let himself be electrocuted, so that he could touch Thomas, even if only for a brief moment.

"How dare you!" Evangeline shouted, but again, even before his intervention was necessary, Mare saved herself. He liked that prerogative, although sometimes it frightened him.

"My mother, the queen, can take care of the prisoners later." Maven said, before the moment of silence could end. "But the people above will want to see their king," he continued, this time looking only at his father. "know that he's safe."

If that farce worked, they would have gained time.

"So many people are dead, father." he resumed, after a pause that served to impress his words in the mind of his interlocutor. His mother was a monster, but she had also taught him something about speaking skills. In a sense, from time to time, he was grateful to her, but it was probably another of the things she had positioned in his head. It was exhausting, living that way, and yet he had to do it, he had to keep asking himself whether a thought, an idea, even a feeling, were his or his mother's, if it was all fiction or if he really had managed to break away from her control for one moment. Another of the reasons why Thomas's memory was untouchable: Elara hadn’t had the chance to bribe it, even if she wanted to.

"It is good that you give comfort to those who remain." Maven concluded, but he was no longer talking about the court or to his father. He recovered quickly, however, and switched to Cal, telling him that even the heir to the throne would’ve to go. He almost smiled at seeing his perplexed reaction, when Mare said he was right. She was also insightful, the girl. If he hadn’t loved Thomas, he might have liked her too. Silver blood dripped from Mare's sleeve, leaving a trail of droplets behind them as they headed toward the throne room. If someone had decided to follow that macabre trail, he could have seen the prisoners, and two sentries to guard them. Maven wondered how his father could underestimate again the strength of the Scarlet Guard, but then he remembered that they were all unarmed, with a fallen man to mourn and a seriously injured boss. Other sentinels and security guards guarded the immense doorway, with guns pointed towards the corridor. When they passed, they stood motionless. His brother could’ve been one of them. They were ordered to kill, if necessary, but it would never really be their fault, only those who ordered them to do so. It was a luxury that a king couldn’t afford, a luxury that not even Maven had. Beyond the threshold, in the immense majestic hall, echoed anger and despair. Maven would’ve liked to rejoice, at least a little, for the victory obtained, but the image of Thomas behind the bars dampened any enthusiasm. He had to think of a way to get him out of there, and the others could burn, for how much he cared. He followed Mare, who held his hand, and dragged him near Cal, who began to list, atonic, the number of dead and wounded, among whom the healers shuttled. Maven looked at the faces of two wounded children, who was the first to be healed, and a little further at the corpses, lying before the throne. Bellicos Lerolan's twins lay beside him, while their mother cried in despair and watched over the bodies of her broken family. Maven held a moan. He had sold him, not his offspring. Yet it was the best decision, because children deprived of parents become vindictive, and those oblivion twins could be a big problem for the Scarlet Guard, within a decade. Not that the Scarlet Guard believed they were going to waste so much time to take over the silvers, but Maven had studied a minimum of strategy with his brother, and the first rule was always not to underestimate the enemy, and in his opinion it was just what they were doing. He moved Mare away from that gruesome scene, leading her to their place, next to the throne.

"The time of tears is over," Tiberias thundered, and Maven found himself thinking that he surely wouldn’t have started the speech that way, not when in front of them there were still the corpses of whom had lost their lives because of what he would later was obliged to call madness.

"Those terrorists, those murderers, will be brought to justice."

Maven heard only excerpt of that pathetic speech. He was thinking of Thomas, of how he would never have allowed him to die, how, he swore to himself, he would’ve sacrificed anything to keep him from being tortured. He had already suffered too much and certainly didn’t deserve what was going to happen to him.

"Power!" the court shouts. Maven remains motionless, while the acrid smell of blood oppresses his lungs.

"Power! Death!"

Maven turned wide-eyed towards Mare, in desperate search for a help she couldn’t give him. Now, what would be his next move?

#a red lover #thomaven #maven calore #thomas #mare barrow #mareena titanos #cal calore #tiberias calore #elara merandus #evangeline samos #ptolemus samos #diana farley #kilorn warren #walsh #tristan #bellicos lerolan #gliacon #oblivion #rq #glass sword #kingg's cage #war storm #victoria aveyard

[longforgottenunofficial]

Here Comes the Bride, Part Four: Constance, Hat Boxes, and the Meaning of The Attic

(Photo by Jeff Fillmore)

Warning label.  We're going to get pretty heavy here before we get light, but you'll get no apologies from me.  I happen to believe that people always and everywhere keep talking about the same old things, whether they're writing big, thick theology books or scripts for situation comedies.  Stupid jokes or philosophical systems—it doesn't matter.  We are all natural born theologians and moralists, and darn it, we just can't help ourselves; everything we discuss with each other echoes into and out from something vast and serious.  No matter how trivial and superficial we think we are being, Deep calls to Deep (Ps 42:7).  Connie will show up some paragraphs down, but if what goes first is not your cup of tea...well, no doubt there's a blog out there dedicated to hidden Mickeys in the Haunted Mansions.  Google, and go in peace.  Rest assured that there will be another installment of "Here Comes the Bride" to deal with some of the interesting inspirations for Constance and even some intimations of her future. It's all good. The current incarnation of the attic bride is a unique and ambitious attempt to swell the Mansion's cast of characters and expand and solidify its backstory.  No longer is the HM simply a retirement home for ghosts from all over the world, brought here by invitation but getting stuck in the fabric of the house itself until Madame Leota fixes the snag so that they can materialize and start schmoozin' and boozin'.  Until now, this basic plot has been the only backstory to the HM that could claim official sanction, and indeed it accords with what the Ghost Host tells you and accounts for most of what you see.  But it has never completely covered the phenomena presented.  For example, the Ghost Host has a further tie to the house.  (The other end is tied to his neck.)  What's with that?  Was he an owner at one point?  That would explain why the hosting duties fell to him, and perhaps the retirement home idea was his, but it suggests that the house had its own haunted history before that. The other thing that suggests a previous history is the attic.  Attics are places of concealment, of hidden horrible secrets. ��Moreover, the attic has always functioned as the asterisk on the big Marc Davis joke.  The first thing to do is make it clear what that joke is, because that joke accounts for 90% of the HM.  That joke is the broad, firm base from which other, smaller things may deviate. As we saw in an earlier post, at first you think the ghosts are malevolent and out to get you, but it turns out that "they pretend to terrorize" and really don't care about you at all; they just want to get to a state of comfortable materialization so that they can enjoy themselves.  Ha ha, the joke's on you:  you thought they were hostile, and you were wrong. The point of the joke, the moral of the story, the message of the Mansion, is that fear of death is overblown. That's it in a nutshell.  I mean, you really don't know if it's a chamber of horrors on the other side of the veil, do you?  No one really knows, right?  Perhaps the scary hauntings you hear about are just naughty pranks, perhaps all is forgiven and all is well and everyone's having a jolly good time over there.  So long as you don't know which is the case, you might as well take the optimistic view.  That's the vision presented to you by Mr. Davis.  In his portrait of the afterlife, the executioner and the knight he dispatched are now best buds.  There is no revenge, no bitterness, not even any residual hierarchy of power on the other side of the grave—kings and queens are playing like children!  Yeah, there are those two duelists still going at it, but it's more a matter of both of them being humorously stuck in a cycle of irresolvable earthly business than a tragic vision of implacable hatred.  You almost suspect that they're doing it as a game now.  After all, what happens when a ghost shoots a ghost?  Is he going to die or something?  See?  Joke!  Ever'body laugh. Without going even deeper than we need to, we might briefly note that there is a certain resonance between this joke and traditional Christian theology, wherein Death is defeated and rendered harmless ("where is thy sting?"), and ultimately the story of the universe is told as a comedy and not a tragedy.  In this sense, the Haunted Mansion is simply expressing an optimistic hope firmly rooted in Western culture.  "All shall be well." Okay, now the asterisk, now the "yes, but."  Equally part of the Western and Christian worldview is the notion that the afterlife is also the place where justice is finally served (it sure as hell ain't on this side of the veil, in case you hadn't noticed).  Justice implies judgment, and judgment is bad news for the bad.  That happy optimistic vision hopes that enough mitigating circumstances will ultimately be found so that everybody, or almost everybody, gets off, but if the wisdom of the ages is given any weight, there remains a residual pool of those who choose evil without any possible excuse for it and put themselves beyond the reach of even the most generous of post-mortem visions. Disney traffics heavily in traditional fairy tales, correct?  You'll note that the villains in fairy tales are often very villainous indeed.  It might sometimes be possible to understand them, but you cannot excuse them.  They have made their alliance with Death.  You cannot redeem them; what you do is, you kill them.  In truth, the world of traditional fairy tales is pretty stark and grim, and Disney has always faithfully represented this fact.  Fairy tales are also a good place to check out the aforementioned wisdom of the ages.  It's not surprising that Davis's warm bath of good feeling has a sober asterisk attached. The HM is just complex enough to give a nodding acknowledgment to this darker truth while celebrating the rosier vision.  This could have been accomplished in a number of ways, but the route the Imagineers chose (by intuition—don't ever think I'm claiming that they sat around and thought about all of this consciously), is the detective mystery.  What is it that motivates the sleuth in all of those whodunnits?  Bringing the criminal to justice.  Making sure the guilty party doesn't get away with it.  You don't associate Sherlock Holmes with forgiveness, do you?  Now ordinarily, writers of detective fiction banish the supernatural from their pages.  That's because the readers are supposed to be able to figure out who did it based on clues dropped along the way.  If you throw angels and demons and ghosts in there, it spoils the whole thing.  No one can reasonably be expected to anticipate a deux ex machina resolution to a mystery.  But the reverse is not true:  crime and detection are not absent from ghost lore.  Too many ghosts busy themselves with revealing where the body is hidden, or where the knife was buried, or by terrorizing the guilty into confessing their crime.  These ghosts, at any rate, are not in a forgiving mood.  They want justice. In our discussion of the Hat Box Ghost, we showed that the whole attic scene originally was held together by the head-in-a-hatbox symbol, which hails from the world of crime mystery.  You're in the attic, which is one of the two places in an old house where horrible secrets and crimes are hidden (the other is the cellar, of course).  You see that hatbox, and you have a dreadful suspicion that there's a severed head in it, and when your suspicion is confirmed, you realize you're looking at a murder, and you wonder what happened and who did it.  Like a good murder mystery, the attic gives you just enough clues to conclude that the bride is the guilty party, as we saw.  What's the Hat Box Ghost up to, anyway?  He'sshowing you what happened.  Got his noggin whacked off and hidden in a hatbox.  The murderer evidently got away with it, but now the victim's ghost has come back to reveal the awful truth to the world.  The crime is illustrated before your eyes and it is linked to the bride via the synchronized heartbeat.  Very efficient storytelling—this all takes about a second and a half.  These guys are GOOD. Note that the question of justice enters in here—you wonder who committed the crime—whereas when you see the knight in the graveyard, who is just as beheaded as the HBG is, you don't ask any such questions.  The perp is right there, after all, and neither of them care any more, and you don't even know which was in the right and which was in the wrong.  And you don't care either.  You regard the two beheading victims in completely different ways.  Creepy atmosphere + a hatbox in the attic = bingo,  you're in murder mystery land. Oh, all right, I hear those fingers drumming on the tabletop.  You've been good, so here.  Here's a few more Connie shots by Jeff Fillmore (aka ~Life by the Drop~ at flickr).  She's miserably hard to photograph, and I don't know how he does it, but IMO Mr. F. has got the best Connie shots on the Web.

From beginning to end, the attic scene has never been free of the grisly-hatbox symbol.  It is just as fundamental as the bride herself.  We noted how the two blast-up ghosts were skullish heads popping from hatboxes.  They were there from 1969 until 2006.  You can go back earlier.  Here again is a shot of the scale model, which we've seen before:

Let's pan to the right and see what got cropped out.  Well looky there.  I see two hatboxes, and one of them is suspiciously isolated.  You look inside, I just had dinner.

Next up, some Claude Coats concept art for the attic:

Well, I'm not so sure that it isn't an innocent hatbox in this case.  But this is an attic.  No doubt something horrid is hidden there.  Any guesses where the body is?  Possibly the trunk, but if you didn't think, "Maybe walled up in the brickwork of that chimney," you really need to read more books and see more movies.  See how it works?  They know that you just know these things. When they were kicking around ideas for a New Bride in the mid-2000's, there was a range of ideas put out there for consideration.  One widely-reproduced sketch that passes as "concept art for Constance" actually stayed very close to the then-current bride.  Still has the candle, still has the beating heart, still has the bouquet, and still has the blank white eyes.  Just a coked-up version of the "middle bride," really.

Oh, and if you come across a less-severely cropped version...well whaddya know:

Here's the Frank tableau in the finished make-over at Disneyland:

Nice.  And here's a piece of concept art for it.  (Nudge nudge:  lower left, atbox-hay on the oor-flay).

Just in case you think I'm imagining things, some concept art for Constance throws subtlety to the wind and takes us directly back to Hat Box Ghost territory.  Oh, and notice how close this Connie is to the finished character:

Ewww.  That'll put you off your Eggs Benedict.

Reportedly, there were plans to put a stack of five hatboxes across from Constance in the HBG's old spot, with the names of her five husbands on them.  Hatbox city.  One report even suggested that they would light up and glow from within.  That didn't happen, but they did put a hat-rack there, with hats on it matching Connie's hubbies in the portraits.  Heh heh.  When they put Constance into the WDW attic in 2007, they too got a hat-rack, but they also got the stack of hatboxes.  No name tags or lights though.

Wouldn't want to be in there on a warm day.  Notice the swords laying around.  You don't suppose that means anything, do you?

With the grisly-hatbox symbol, you've got CRIME looking for PUNISHMENT.  You've uncovered something deliberately hidden.  There's a murderer out there somewhere, a score to settle, a vengeance yet denied.  Question:  How has the attic bride always been different from most of the other ghosts you see?  Answer:  She's not happy.  No socializing for her.  Even Constance is only experiencing the lunatic glee of the criminally insane.  If you insist on calling it "happy," then it's kind of a Charles Manson happy, you know?  I wouldn't say she's happy.  She's not forgiven or forgiving, not within the embrace of any resolution.  But is justice being served?  Well, if she wasn't so utterly wacked-out, she'd realize that she's exposing herself and being exposed.  Hattie with his damning heart-beat box is gone, but now we've got five haunted wedding portraits with the husbands' heads disappearing.  Those portraits are five ghostly fingers from beyond the grave laying accusation.  And yet, those guys aren't happy either, and they don't even get the relief of being too crazy to care.  You don't see forgiveness, but you don't see just deserts either.  The ghostly revelations inspire no remorse in Connie, and she's suffering no reprisal.  Her madness has taken her to a place without punishment, but also without love.

This is a very sour note in the HM, and it may well be a thematic blunder.  The Connie addition is seriously flawed.  Unlike the knight and executioner, there has not been any post-mortem reconciliation in this case.  They're grim ghosts without the grinning part.  If there were a way to show the husbands yukking it up with Connie, all of them laughing at the silly fuss their earthly crime drama stirred up, then they'd be part of the Marc Davis all-is-now-well joke.  Or, alternately, if the hubbies were allowed to show some sense of satisfaction that at last the murderer has been caught out, putting their spirits to rest, avenging them, giving them something to grin about like the old Hat Box Ghost, then they would fit into the traditional role of the attic as the "justice must be satisfied" asterisk added to the otherwise merry universalism of the Haunted Mansion.  As things stand, the message of the attic is, "the Devil wins," however lightly and humorously expressed.  Yes, you will survive death and live forever; but no, there is no guarantee that you will find either justice or forgiveness on the other side.  That's a common enough stance in modern horror, of course, but it is utterly foreign to the Mansions.  Or it was, until May 2006.

Originally Posted: Wednesday, June 2, 2010 Original Link: [x]

#long forgotten #haunted mansion #hatbox ghost #attic bride #constance

[k-renne]

King of Pain Pt. III

Previously:  I, II

You watched the snowfall from the view of your window; it coated each branch in a soft layer of white. The sky was completely overcast, almost the same color as the snow. The cold from outside seeped through the windowpanes. It was invigorating. You were interrupted as Martha knocked on your door.

“Hello Martha, it’s lovely to see you again,” You greet Kylo’s handmaiden.

“You’re too kind my lady,” She smiles.

“Martha, I have a question for you about the King,” You start. She nods, signaling for you to continue. “I was wondering about his suitors, and if there was anything to indicate his interest in me, it just seems so random,” You voice your curiosity.

“Many women fancy the King, but he rarely pays them any attention. Speaking from personal experience, his majesty looks at you differently and after the duel he would ask around about you,” She explains.

“I see, I believe you, though I don’t appreciate that he expected me to marry him so easily.”

“Well he doesn’t have much experience with woman, he’s learning. But let me assure you that he has a great respect for you,” She justifies.

You take in a breath and let out a sigh, maybe Kylo was a bit demanding, but after getting to know him your initial opinion of him changed. You had suitors before, men trying to charm you, none of them had captured your interest like this one. His directness was almost refreshing, he knew what he wanted and he was honest. It was a change of pace from some of your past crushes who just wanted to play games.

Martha leaves you to reflect, Kylo was slowly worming his way into your heart, and you didn’t know if you really wanted to stop him anymore. Physically he was incredibly handsome, with his strong nose and pink mouth, all framed by his black hair. His stare was striking; it made you feel dizzy, and his voice. Oh that would be the death of you, just thinking about it made you flustered.

You open your door to see Kylo standing outside of it just about to knock on your door. His eyes light up when he sees you, flashing you a bright smile.

“Y/N, I was wondering if you would allow me to give you a proper tour of the castle today,” He offers.

“Sure,” You reply. Kylo offers an arm for you to take and you give him a skeptical look.

“Come on Princess, please,” He urges. He wanted to show you off to his people.

“Fine, I’ll appease you today,” You roll your eyes. You rest your hand on his forearm and you swear you can feel his muscles tense underneath. He smiles warmly at you before beginning to walk with you. He explains some of the history behind the castle, showing you various paintings a long with a self-portrait. 

“You looked so stoic,” You comment.

“I guess I didn’t have a reason to smile then,” He grins at you.

“It’s also off center,” You add.

“That’s because traditionally a space is left for the Queen,” He explains, eyes full of mischief. You scoff, now he was teasing you.

He continued to show you the palace, in all its grandeur. There were a lot of reds, silvers, and black, to match the royal crest. It was very modern and sleek, designed for protective and aesthetic reasons. The ballroom by far was the most extravagant, huge arching windows and a grand staircase that led to an upper standing area.

“Here we have many events, the biggest one being the Winter Soirée, which is actually coming up in a few weeks,” He says.

“I see. I haven’t been able to come in the past but I can imagine that it’s wonderful,” You speculate.

“Why not? I always invited you,” He questions.

“Well I never really had a date to go with, or even a friend. I don’t like to go to such big social events on my own with a room full of strangers,” You explain.

“Hmm, I’ve never had a date either, but I guess it’s a little different when it’s your own party.”

“Yes, I’m sorry I let my fears get the best of me. Maybe this year I’ll gather the courage to come,” You hope.

“Don’t apologize, I understand.” He squeezes your hand in a comforting gesture. “Although I’d love to see you come this time, you could stick with me, be my date or just go with me as a friend if you prefer,” He suggests.

“Okay, I think I’d like that,” You accept his invitation.

“Wait, as my date or as my friend?” He asks.

“We’ll see Kylo,” You answer, smirking at him. He shakes his head at your ambiguity, unsurprised at your refusal to give him a direct answer. You liked to mess with him, he was certain of it. He would just have to go along with your little games.

He continues to show you his palace; though he can’t show you every room he shows you the most important ones and the things that might impress you. An example of this would be the throne room, where he spends his time greeting the court and his people.

“What? Kylo why exactly are you showing me your bedroom,” You question.

“I just thought you might want to familiarize yourself with your quarters, know where they are just in case. It’s not easy to find,” He flirts with you.

“You’re impossible, you know that?” You sigh.

“Only for you Princess,” He teases.

“I mean do you really need that big of a bed, it’s excessive,” You criticize.  

“You’d be surprised how much space one might need, why don’t you try it out?” He suggests.

“What! Are you serious?” You question.

“Always, come on try it out. It’s very comfortable, I should know I sleep there every night,” He goads you. You’re flabbergasted by his shameless attempt at flirting with you, at the same time you kind of love it. Seeing his bed of silken sheets, thinking about him lying there got something going in you. Probably not the best idea, but you decided to entertain him, flopping on to his bed like a starfish.

“Isn’t it great?” He asks, lying down next to you on his side, eyes appreciated your form on his bed.  You push him away playfully, but he only moves closer, barely budging from your hand. You decide to lie back against his soft pillows and close you eyes, enjoying the feeling of the cool smooth fabric against your head and the delightful smell of fresh linen mixed with Kylo’s scent.

This gives Kylo a great opportunity to stare at you openly, admiring your features while at the same time trying to ingrain them in his memory, so he could see you clearly in his dreams. He shifts so that he’s just hovering above you, face just inches from yours.

“Kylo, What are you doing?” Your eyes snap open at the feel him his breath against your face. His brows furrow, he feels like he can’t control his own actions. Your eyes hypnotize him.

“Y/N-I, can I kiss you?” He says barely above a whisper. Your eyes widen, and before you can think you blurt out yes, too caught up in the moment. He leans in slowly and you tilt your head and close your eyes, anticipating the kiss. It’s so gentle and soft, like he’s afraid he’ll hurt you, and before you get the chance to deepen it he pulls away. He looks at you again, cheeks pink, completely bewildered that you would humor his request. 

“Uh, I should probably show you the library.” He gets off the bed and looks at the floor like he’s about to ask it a question.

“Oh yeah, right,” You agree, beginning to come to your senses. There was something about this man that made your brain feel all fuzzy, thoughts muddled. You felt your heart beat just a little bit faster at the sound of his voice; you couldn’t believe that you’d ever find anyone that made you feel this way.

You walk over to him, “What you aren’t going to offer your arm this time?” You tease him. He shakes his head, against better judgment you grab his hand and begin walking. You don’t see him smiling down at your hand, fingers intertwined with his own.

Kylo leads you to the library, where you’re greeted by a bunch of kids. They all come up to you and Kylo, leaving their story time. “Who’s this Kingy?” They asked, calling him by their nickname for him.

“This is Princess Y/N, she’s my guest,” He presents you to them, crouching down to their height.

“Wow a Princess! You’re even prettier then the story!” A boy remarks.

“She is pretty isn’t she? Just beautiful,” Kylo asks the children, they all agree with them in a chorus of voices.

“Aw you gonna get mawwied?” A little girl asks. Kylo laughs and you become flustered at the relevance of the question.

“Maybe if I’m lucky, it’s up to Y/N though,” He answers. The girl turns to you and gives you big puppy dog eyes, “Pwease?” She pleads. You laugh at her cuteness.

“I won’t say yes, but I won’t say no either right now. We’ll see,” You answer vaguely.

“Can I be the flower girl?” A girl chimes in. “Yeah and I’ll be the ring bearer!” A boy adds enthusiastically. In their minds you basically said yes and they’re already thinking of the future. Kylo laughs seeing your frown, and he can’t stop himself from smiling at your answer. No longer was it a complete rejection, it was much more possible now.

Next the kids all join hands and encircle you two, dancing around while singing ‘Here comes the bride’. Kylo gives you a penchant look, before snaking an arm around your waist. You let the kids have their fun with their little game.

“Kingy can you read us a story?” One kid asks and others join in until Kylo finally agrees, asking you first if you mind.

You’re surprised that Kylo has such a good relationship with these children; they’re completely unafraid in his presence. There’s always something charming about seeing a man good with children, it’s a sign of good character, patience. Kylo can be pretty monotonous, but he reads the story with enthusiasm, putting effort into entertaining the kids.

By the end of the story they’re all leaning in, fully invested. You sit on the floor with the children while he sits on a chair. The kids are sitting close to you, holding your hand and sitting on your lap. Kylo smiles down at you and winks, seeing how much they are taking a linking to you.

After the story Kylo has to leave you to go and get some work done, he still has to run the kingdom after all. While he’s gone you go into the training room, where his loyal knights who are eager to speak with you meet you.

“Princess Y/N, it’s wonderful to finally properly meet the one that Master Ren keeps on talking about you, we’ve all heard great things,” A Knight greets.

“And we were particularly impressed by your swordsmanship, who taught you?” Another one asked.

“Thank you, I started teaching myself when I was a kid, sometimes taking a few classes here and there. Eventually I was trained properly by a veteran from my kingdom,” You explained.

“We’d love to spar with you sometime if you’d allow us,” They say eagerly.

“Ah more challengers, well someday we’ll have to, but I don’t think now is the best time. I’m sorry.”

“Of course Princess, we wouldn’t want to steal you away from Master Ren, he’d get jealous,” A knight answers.

“It was lovely to meet you all, but looking at the time it seems as I must go,” You say goodbye. They all wave and you leave to meet Kylo for dinner. He looks much more exacerbated then before.

“Are you alright? You seem tired,” You voice your concern.

“Yes, I’m fine Y/N. Even though I have great stamina in battle the proceedings of the court never cease to drain me,” He sighs. “But let’s not talk about that, I want to enjoy your company,” He adds.

“Well I am great company,” You boast.

“Yes you are my lovely, now let’s eat,” He directs, gesturing to the food. His term of endearment makes you breathless. You eat dinner with him, discussing your encounter with his knights and telling him more about yourself while he listened with rapture. After desert he places a velvet box on the table, he gives it to you to open and inside is a silver necklace with an opal framed by more silver.

“It’s for you, I hope you like it,” He addresses.

“It’s beautiful, this is too much. Thank you Kylo.”

“Nothing is too much for you, here let me put it on for you,” He offers. You nod and he gets up and walks behind you, taking the necklace in his hands. He gently brushes aside your hair, fingertips lingering on your neck before unclasping the necklace and putting it on you.

“Beautiful.” He coos, placing a kiss on your neckline.

“You’re too much,” You shake your head.

“You know I’d give you the moon if I could,” He speaks honestly.

“I don’t need you to spoil me, I’m already a princess,”

“That’s the whole point, no one ever needs to be spoiled, and if you think you’re spoiled now just you wait,” He promises.

“You’ll never give up will you?” You ask.

“Never,” He replies immediately. It was the truth, giving up was just not in his nature. He would fight for you till the very end; he was determined to win your heart. If you truly detested him you would’ve left and more importantly you wouldn’t have let you kiss him. He was more than willing to be patient for you if that’s what you wanted. He’d even give you his heart if you’d let him.

Kylo walks you back to your room and gives you a kiss on your cheek goodnight. This is when a messenger comes running over out of breath, Kylo, not knowing who it is stands defensively in front of you.

“Princess Y/N, I have important news,” The messenger breathes. You move in front of Kylo, reassuring him with a squeeze on the arm that he could trust this man.

“Yes, go on,” You urge. Kylo looks at you with concern.

“It’s your kingdom, we’re under attack from the North!” He exclaims.

Fuck, looks like something from the past was coming back to bite you in the ass.

A/N: Hope you guys enjoyed this, I’m having a lot of fun writing it and it really makes me feel inspired. 

#kop #kylo x reader #kylo ren #kylo ren fanfic #renne writes

[cwnerd12]

Men Into Beasts

“Men Into Beasts” Jack video conferences with King Warner. Warner, “You can’t just pull your manufacturing out of Ammon!” Jack, “Yeeeeaaaah, I can, actually.” Warner, “How the hell is CrossGen going to continue to make money, then?” Jack, “This was never, ever about money. I’m a fucking prince, I have money! Honestly, the only thing that’s keeping me from setting fire to this whole trash heap is that the rank-and-file employees of CrossGen don’t deserve that. But, now that I own CrossGen instead of my my terrorist-supporting, tax-evading uncle, Moab, Aram, Edom, and Jericho have all declared that they’re willing to re-negotiate their contracts. There’s going to be a lot of changes made in the future, of course, but, CrossGen will continue to show a profit, especially once I bring operations back into Gilboa. By the way, where is William?” Reveal William sitting in a corner of Warner’s office, out of Jack’s sight, listening in. Warner, “I haven’t seen him.” Jack, “Figures. The coward.” William scowls with indignation. Jack goes on, “Anyway, I have other meetings to get to. If you need anything else, Warner, we’ll see if we can schedule something. Bye!” The video ends. William, “I guarantee you, this is all Rose’s doing. There’s no way in hell Jack is smart enough to have done this all on his own.” Warner, “Rule number one of running an army, William, is know your enemy, and never underestimate him.” William, “I do know Jack. He has no self-esteem, and there’s nothing he won’t do for a scrap of validation.” Warner, “He seemed pretty confident just now. You know, the extradition warrants from both Gilboa and Moab are still standing. Now that CrossGen is out of Ammon, I have no real reason to keep you here.” William, “You wouldn’t!” Warner, “You’re right, I wouldn’t. As long as I don’t have a real reason to send you back. I advise you to watch your back.” William, “I don’t want to, but I can still go to Gath. Fortunately for you, in Gath, they wouldn’t know luxury if it fucked them in the ass. So I’d rather stay here.” Warner, “Make sure you pay your taxes, then.”

David, Abby, and Asher meet with Gerald in the palace. David, “With William Cross removed from CrossGen, you have no reason to keep us here.” Gerald, “You aren’t going anywhere, Shepherd.” David, “Sir, I thought you wanted to see Silas overthrown.” Gerald, “Oh, believe me, I do, but now, I’m going to be the one who does it, not you.” Abby, “If you let us go, David will be much more willing to cooperate with Gath once he’s king! Not only could there be long-lasting peace, there could be a real partnership between our nations, one that’s beneficial to both of us!” Gerald, “And the only reason that you aren’t currently sitting in a prison camp north of the arctic circle is because I’m using you as a bargaining chip against Jack Benjamin to keep CrossGen here in Gath. Don’t worry, though. I’ll let you go, eventually, but only when there’s no more Gilboa for you to return to, or be king of.” David, “This is absurd! How many people have to die for your petty grievances against Silas? This is your last opportunity for real and lasting peace!” Gerald, “The only way to ensure peace between Gath and Gilboa is for one to no longer exist.” Abby, “And you think Gilboans are just going to accept Gath’s rule? Sir, you saw what happened when Silas tried to give you the Borderlands. You’ve seen what we’ve done to our own wretched king. What makes you think that Gilboa will just happily sit back and accept a foreign despot as its leader?” Gerald looks at David, “I know you’re tired of fighting. I know you never wanted to be a leader, and the war you’ve been waging is starting to get to you. The guards posted outside your apartment door report your voice sounding panicked during thunderstorms. I know you’ve been seeing a therapist who works with veterans.” David, “None of that means I’m ready to give up.” Gerald, “You have a breaking point, Shepherd. All men do. Silas is past his, and you’re very close to yours. All I have to do is find your final weakness. I know you have a worst fear. Something you pray never happens. I suggest you give up before that fear is ever realized.”

David talks to Joel and Shay over facetime. Shay, “We’re hiding out near the border. It’ll be no problem for me to lead in a team of Queens, take out your guards, get you out of there quick.” David, “They’ll see you coming. Gerald’s pretty intent on keeping me here. You can send a team, but it’ll be a big fucking mess and cost a lot of lives. I don’t want that.” Shay, “Well what the fuck do you want us to do, then, David? We can’t just leave you there and wait until Gerald takes over Gilboa” David, “I don’t know! There’s a way out, I know there is, I just have to figure it out!” Joel, “Don’t be losing your nerve, David.” David, “I’m not!” Joel, “Sometimes you just have to do something ugly.” David, “Can you just give me some time?” Shay, “We will, but if you can’t figure something out, we’re coming to get you, got it?” David, “If I see an opportunity, I’ll take it.” Shay, “Message us if something happens.” David, “Okay. Bye.” Shay, “Bye.”

In her palace apartment, Michelle serves Jack up a bowl full of mac ’n’ cheese, “Hope you don’t mind it’s just stuff from a box. Cooking is still on my to-learn list.” Jack, “That’s the best kind.” Michelle extends her arm, and her sleeve rises to expose a bandage on her bicep. Jack, “You get a new tat?” Michelle looks down, “Yeah. It’s a portrait of Seth. It turns out beautifully. I’d love to show it to Helen. I’ve been asking around, trying to figure out where she is.” Jack, “Do you thinks he’s even still alive?” Michelle, “She is. I don’t think Silas would just kill Seth’s mother. I think she had something to do with the scar on his cheek, but with school and studying, I don’t have enough time to do a proper investigation.” Michelle sits down and they both eat. Jack, “I think we might be able to leave soon.” Michelle, “What?” Jack, “Today Monique told me that Shay and Joel are cooking up some kind of plan to get David, Abby, and Asher out of Gath. She said once they’re back in Gilboa, it’ll be our turn to escape.” Michelle, quietly, “I’m not sure if I want to go with you.” Jack, “What? Don’t you want to be with Abby?” Michelle, “I do! I really fucking do! I just- I’m not even through my first semester!” Jack, “What was your plan when you signed up?” Michelle, “To get Silas to stop treating me like a little girl.” Jack, “Probably should have thought things through a little bit more.” Michelle, “I’ve always wanted to do this, you know that! Look, in the big picture of the AFG, I’m not an officer like you are. I’m just a medic, and there are other medics. I feel like I can do so much more once I’m an actual doctor.” Jack, “All right. I guess that’s understandable.” He raises his middle finger at her, “What bones am I holding up?” Michelle, exasperated, “Jack!” Jack, “I want to see what you’re learning.” Michelle, “The distal, middle, and proximal phalanges of the third finger.” Jack grins, “Okay. I’m going to assume that’s the right answer.” Michelle, “It is.” Jack, “I guess you are learning something.” Michelle, “This is something I’ve been thinking about. As much as I want to be with Abby, and helping the fight, I just can’t ignore the gut feeling that this is where I belong.” Jack, “I get it. Anyway, before we can go anywhere, David has to get out of Gath. I have no idea when that’s going to happen.” Michelle, “I hope it happens soon. Honestly… I don’t think the fighting is going to last much longer. With Silas wandering around at night, muttering about Kathleen… he’s in no shape to lead. Honestly, how much longer can he hold out?” Jack, “Mom wants him to leave the throne before it’s too late and he loses his shit permanently.” Michelle, “Are you serious?” Jack nods, “Yeah. I told her up front, me getting ownership of CrossGen meant I could go fight again. She still helped me take over.” Michelle shakes her head in disbelief, “Maybe I won’t have to choose between school and the AFG, then.” Jack, “Can you imagine being that lucky?”

Run-down synagogue in Gaza, Asher teaches shul, his guard, Theo watching over him. Abby cuts a piece of cake from the snack table, with her guard, Max, watching. David talks to Dr. Othman in the back of the pews. Othman, “Look, I’m glad to help you, but I have a strict rule about not meeting with patients outside of regular office hours unless it’s an absolute emergency.” David, “This isn’t about therapy. I talked to Gerald, he knows I’m seeing you.” Othman, “I see a lot of patients.” David, “I’ll bet I’m the only one with a guard who follows him into a synagogue.” He glances over at Adrian, the guard sitting across the aisle from them. David, “Agreeing to treat me may have put you in danger.” Othman, “I knew it would be a risk. Rabbi Levinson said so when he asked me. I may have retired from the army, but I’m still a soldier. I’m willing to do the right thing, even if it’s dangerous.” David, “Okay, good. Stop me if this gets too far into therapy territory, but, you really have been helping me. I’ve actually been eating and sleeping.” Othman, “Thrilled to hear it.” David, “Actually, I’m gonna go grab some cake. Enjoy the sermon.” David goes over to the snack table and slices himself a piece of cake. Suddenly, there’s a loud BOOM outside, causing everyone to jump. Adrian heads outside. With no one on him, David slips the knife into his pocket. Adrian rushes back in, and Theo and Max rush up to him. Adrian, “Everyone stay calm, and stay inside! A building down the street just blew up, I don’t know what happened!” Theo, “We have to go help, man!” David speaks up, “I know how to help!” Adrian, “Oh, no, I’m not supposed to let you out of my sight!” Theo, “We can’t just sit here and do nothing!” Adrian goes over to David and grabs him. Asher, “Hey, what are you doing?” Adrian, “I’m putting you three where you can’t get in trouble!” He pushes David into a small back room. Theo and Max push Asher and Abby in after him.” Adrian, “You’re staying here! Theo and Max, you go help, I’ll keep guard.” Theo and Max rush off. Adrian turns around and shuts the door. David, “What happened? Was it a bomb?” Adrian, “How the fuck should I know?” He starts to turn around, but David lunges for him, and stabs the cake knife into his throat. Abby suppresses a scream, “David, what the fuck?!” David, “Only got one guard, lots of chaos, perfect opportunity to get the fuck out of Gath.” He kneels down and cuts his ankle monitor off. He looks up at Abby, “Come on, lemme get yours.” Abby goes over, and David cuts off her monitor. Asher follows, “Do you have an actual plan here?” David, “I’ll just go hotwire a car. We can get close to the border, we may have to hike our way across it, but we can message Shay and Joel and have someone meet us.” He cuts off Asher’s monitor. Asher, “That sounds way too simple.” David, “You got a better plan?” The door opens behind them. David grabs Adrian’s gun and points it at the door. Dr. Othman stands there, staring down at the scene. David, “Can we borrow your car?” Cut to: In the parking lot, Othman leads David, Asher, and Abby towards his car. Othman, “I was going to tell you that you were handling the explosion very well, but now I’m not so sure.” David, “Sorry to disappoint you.” Othman, “They’re going to be expecting the three of you to be together, so it may be wise for two of you to hide in the trunk. David’s the most recognizable, and Abby’s the smallest, so it should probably be you two.” He opens the trunk of his car. Abby climbs in, and David follows, “I’m not squishing you, am I?” Abby, “Fuckin’ cozy.” Othman, “You good in there?” David pulls his phone out, “As good as we can be. I’ll message Joel and Shay.” Othman slams the trunk door shut. He turns to Asher, “You should probably take the kippah off. They’re gonna be looking for a rabbi.” Asher takes his kippah off and gets into the car.

David, still in the trunk, talks to Shay over FaceTime, “I dunno how far we’ve gone, but we’re headed toward the border.” Shay, “Where the fuck are you?” David, “In the trunk of my therapist’s car. Abby’s with me.” Abby, “W’sup?” Shay, “Tell me about the explosion. It wasn’t the Amalekites, was it?” David, “I don’t know.” Shay, “A building that just happens to be down the street from you just happens to blow up which just happens to give you a getaway opportunity. That’s not a coincidence.” David, “Yeah, well, whatever the hell it is, you need to send someone to meet us.” Shay, “Will do. See you soon.” David ends the call.

Up in the front, Asher spots a road block, “Oh, fuck.” Othman, “Don’t worry. I got a plan. Give me the gun.” Asher hands him the gun, and he sticks it in his waistband. They pull up, and Othman rolls down the front window. A soldier asks, “You got ID?” Othman reaches into his pocket, pulls out his wallet, and shows the soldier his driver’s license. Asher pretends to search his pockets, “Oh, shit, I must have left my wallet at home. Didn’t know there’d be checkpoints today.” The soldier looks at him, “Can you both step out of the vehicle, please?” Othman remains very calm and does as he’s told. Asher struggles not to panic. The soldiers searches the car, “Do you have anything in your trunk?” Othman, “Yes, I do, actually.” Asher looks at him panic fully setting in. Othman goes to the trunk and opens it. David and Abby look up, terrified. Othman gestures for Abby to stay put, and says, “It’s time to get out, David.” Slowly, David gets out of the trunk. The soldier points his gun at him, “Put your hands where I can see them!” David raises his hands. Two other soldiers come up. Othman pushes David down, pulls the gun out from behind him, and shoots the main soldier. He ducks and knocks the other over, and then shoots the second one, and then the one he knocked over. David jumps to his feet. Othman, “Get back in!” David squeezes back in the trunk, and Othman slams the door shut. He and Asher both get back into the car, and speed away. Othman whoops, “Just like the good old days!” Asher, “What the fuck?!” Othman, “I may be retired, but I’m still a soldier!” Asher looks at him in horror and confusion.

Rose, done up in an elegant nightgown and robe, sits down on the sofa in the living area, and calls out, “Silas!” Silas enters. He sees Rose looking beautiful, and his eyebrows raise in interest, “Yes?” Rose pats the seat next to her, “Come sit with me.” Silas sits down, “You look radiant tonight.” Rose seductively puts her hand on his shoulder, “I’ve had this dream, Silas, and I haven’t been able to get it out of my mind.” Silas, “Go on.” Rose, “It’s a cabin, up in the mountains. Far away from everyone else. No business. No responsibilities. Just you and me. Together. Happy.” Silas smiles sadly, “It’s a beautiful dream.” Rose, “It’s not just a dream,” she picks up a tablet, and pulls up a picture of a beautiful cabin in the middle of lush pine woods. Rose, “I bought it yesterday. There’s a good stream for fishing near by. Plenty of land for hunting. It’s the only building for miles. There’s even a small garden where you can grow tomatoes in the summertime. You deserve it. You deserve a good long rest, Silas.” Silas, “I can’t just take off in the middle of two wars.” Rose, “Perhaps its time you let Jack take over.” Silas, “Jack? I can’t let him take over!” Rose, “You’ve seen what he’s grown into. He’s a smart, capable leader! He’s strong like you are! He’ll be a good king!” Silas, “He’ll be king for five minutes and then hand the crown over to Shepherd.” Rose, quietly, “Perhaps that’s for the best, Silas.” Silas looks at her like she just uttered a vulgar insult. Rose goes on, “You wander around at night, muttering about Kathleen. You haven’t given yourself time to properly mourn for Seth.” Silas, “Seth has nothing to do with how I behave as king.” Rose, “Seth has everything to do with you as king! You never gave yourself the time to mourn for Kathleen, and look at what happened!” Silas, “I became king!” Rose, “Your children never knew she existed, and you were never happy! I know it still hurts you!” Silas, “I can’t give up!” Rose, “It’s not giving up! It’s doing the right thing!” Silas, “Even my fucking wife has turned against me!” Rose, weeping, “I’m not against you! I love you so, so much!” Silas, “Then why are you telling me all this?!” Rose, “You’re old, Silas! We’re old! You’ve worked so hard, done so much! It’s time to let it all go! You deserve peace!” Silas, “I can’t!” Rose, “Yes, you can!” Silas, “Giving the crown over means I’ve failed! I can’t fail! My father was a failure, and I am not my father!” Rose, “Please, Silas, please. While you still have the chance.” Silas breathes heavily, tears form in his eyes, “I can’t, Rose. I just can’t.” Rose, “I know this is what you want.” Silas, “I do want it. All I’ve ever wanted was a happy, peaceful life, to make you happy, to make my children happy. But I’m a king, and a king makes sacrifices.” Rose puts her face in her hands and weeps. Silas, quietly, “Maybe when the war is over.”

Gerald sits, surrounded by his advisors. One looks at his phone, “Shepherd just made a social media post, confirming that he, Hatch, and Levinson are back in Gilboa.” Gerald is non-plussed, “He had to have been the one who set the bomb off, then. Damnit, he’s smart.” Another advisor, “Sir, this was a suicide bombing, targeting civilians, two things Shepherd has sharply disavowed. I believe this was the work of the Amalekites.” Gerald, “They’re Gilboa’s problem, not ours!” Advisor 2, “The Amalekites aren’t bound by national identity. They’ve attacked Aram in the past. They could very well turn and attack Gath.” Gerald, “It doesn’t matter. It’s time to end the war once and for all. It’s time for the final invasion of Gilboa. Prepare the army. I want to attack within twenty-four hours.”

David sits in a border safehouse, having dinner with the rest of the AFG leadership, “God, I swear, even the food in Gath somehow is depressing. I am so glad to be out of there. I can’t wait to be back with Jack again. Do we have a plan in mind for getting him out of Shiloh?” Shay, “It’ll be tricky, but with Monique in the palace, we can do it.” David, “Good. If we’re lucky, maybe we can actually get Silas while we’re at it.” Joel, “Hey, where’s the doctor you came with? He’s gotta be starving, too. Besides, we gotta thank him. If we had medals, we’d have to give him one.” David, “I have a mental list of everyone who’s done something to deserve a medal. He’s definitely going on it.” Joel, “Where is he, though?” David, “I dunno.” Shay, “Go find him. I want him to tell me about how he got those three Phils.” David, “Okay, but he’s ex-Phil, so you can’t say that around him.” Shay, “Got it.” David gets up and goes looking for Othman. He finds him sitting quietly by himself on a bed. David, “Hey, we’ve got some really good food, if you’re hungry, and Shay and Joel want to thank you.” Othman looks at David, sad and quiet, “I killed three of my fellow soldiers today.” David, “I- I’m sorry. I don’t really know what to say to that.” Othman shakes his head, “It’s alright. That’s war. I loved being a soldier. I loved the rush of battle. When I left the army, I couldn’t be happy, because nothing compared to the thrill of a fight. I got help, I put my life back together, I even became a therapist to help my fellow soldiers. And as soon as I got a whiff of the old action, look what it did to me. I took an oath to protect Gath and its citizens. Today, I shattered it in the most profane way possible.” David, “I’m sorry.” Othman, “That’s war. It turns men into beasts.” David, “I’m doing everything I can to end it soon.” Othman, “It’s not enough.”

William walks through his Ammon home, wearing a robe, holding a high ball, looking exhausted. He sits down in his comfy chair, but then jumps and looks over in shock at the space next to him. Amal stands there, pointing a gun at him and smiling wickedly, “Hi, William. I heard you want to be king.”

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11 Royal Family Scandals That Rocked Great Britain Back In The Day

It’s no surprise to find members of the British royal family in the gossip magazines stacked along grocery store checkout aisles. However, the modern royals are hardly the first to shock the world with their “scandalous” actions.

In fact, some of theBritish royal scandals from way back in the day would likely make the princes and princesses of today blush harder than any of their own stories. Sure, we think of Prince Charles and Princess Diana off the bat, but the examples below are so much more surprising, especially considering the time periods involved.

Despite their lofty titles andshiny crowns, they are still humans after all. It can be difficult to imagine those carefully posed portraits from history being anything but personifications of perfection, but hey we all have our flaws.

Unfortunately for the names listed below, their flaws happen to have been broadcast out to thewhole wide world and then stuck in the history books for good.

Take a look to see what shocking scandals the royals cooked up for themselves decades (and even centuries) in the past.

Let us know in the comments if we missed any particularly juicy tales from way back in the day, and be sure to SHARE with your friends!

[H/T: BBC America, Mental Floss]

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1. King Edward VIII’s Brief Time On The Throne

Wikimedia Commons / Vincenzo Laviosa

Following the death of his father, George V, Edward reigned as king for less than a year (just 326 days) beforegivingupthe throne to marry Wallis Simpson, a twice-divorced American woman.

He was named Duke of Windsor while his younger brother Albert took over as King George VI. Edwardand Wallis remained together until his death, retiring to France after World War II.

2. Princess Margaret’s Eyes For A Married Man

Wikimedia Commons / Koch, Eric / Anefo

Captain Peter Townsend was a member of the British Royal Navy who acted as an attendant for the royal family, known as an equerry. That’s how he met and fell in love with Margaret, daughter of George VI and sister of the future Queen Elizabeth II.

Peter divorced his wife and the two went as far as getting engaged, thoughfamily pressure ultimately convinced Margaret to call the whole thing off.

3. Queen Victoria’s Boudoir Painting

Wikimedia Commons / Franz Xaver Winterhalter

The “shocking” painting was unheard of for someone of her stature and deemed so indecent that it waskept hidden in Prince Albert’s office.

Of course by modern standards, the Prince’s favorite photo of his wife is actually quite modest.

4. Princess Margaret’s Historical Divorce

Wikimedia Commons

After suffering the heartbreak with Peter, Margaret married a photographer named Antony Armstrong-Jones, shownabove with President Lyndon B. Johnson and wife. However, the couple had a notoriously rocky marriage.

In 1978, Margaretbecame the first royal to geta divorce since Henry VIII in the 1500s.

5. Prince George’s Wild Lifestyle

Wikimedia Commons

The Duke of Kent hadmany affairs behind his wife’s back,Princess Marina of Greece and Denmark. The “forgotten son” of British monarchy also reportedly had a problem with drug abuse, particularlymorphine and cocaine.

His death also sparked controversy, with many speculating whether the plane crash that killed him was orchestrated by his embarrassed family.

6. Queen Victoria’s Scottish Affection

Wikimedia Commons / W. & D. Downey

After she was widowed, the Queensecluded herself in a Scottish country estate where she grew close to one of the servants, John Brown.

A priest admitted on his death bed that he performed a secret marriage ceremony for the two. Supposedly, Victoria was so devastated when John passed away that she erected a statue in his image. Upon her own death, she allegedly requested to be buried with a lock of his hair, his photograph, and a ring he had given her.

7. Princess Anne Following In Her Aunt’s Footsteps

Wikimedia Commons / U.S. Navy

She was married to an Olympic athlete, Mark Phillips, but they were apparently never really that fond of each other. Like her aunt Margaret, she also fell for a member of the royalequerry,Timothy Laurence.

However, Anne had much better luck and was able to divorce her husband and marry Timothy. The pair remain happily together today.

8. King Henry VIII’s Many, Many Wives

Wikimedia Commons / Hans Holbein the Younger

Henry infamously went through six different wives throughout his reign. First, there was Catherine of Aragon, whom he cheated on with his soon-to-be second wifes sister, Mary Boleyn, and likely had two sons from the affair. After breaking from the Catholic church in order to obtain an annulment and marry Anne Boleyn, he had Anne executed after she miscarried three potential male heirs and was accused of several affairs.

Jane Seymour, one of Anne’s ladies in waiting, was next and died after a difficult childbirth that finally supplied him a male heir. His fifth wife, Catherine Howard, was executed after he accused her of affairs with two men.

His last wife, Catherine Parr, luckily outlived him.

9. King George IV’s Indecent Proposals

Wikimedia Commons

Though many think of his father, George III, as the tyrant of the family, it was his son who not only had a notorious gambling habit but also attempted to woo women by offering them copious amounts of money, only to deny them the cash after they relented.

George IV was apparentlyvery lacking in the looks department. He also threatened to kill himself in a 42-page suicide note whenhis main mistress,Maria Fitzherbert, refused him. She eventually agreed to be with him, but only if they were married.

Because she was Catholic and a commoner, the pair were married in secret until he was forced to abandon her (and their children)for a political marriage. However, his reputation remained forever tarnished.

10. King Edward VII’s Sneaky Military Escapades

Wikimedia Commons / John Bingham of Paris

As the son of the famously prudish Queen Victoria and Prince Albert, Edward VII made up for their modesty by reportedly bedding thousands of women in his time.

It was his first foray into the frisky lifestyle, however, that causedhis parents to be taken aback. At 19, they had sent him to a military camp where he was happy to be introduced to the “camp prostitute.”

Though he had many chaperones watching his every move, Edward managed to make his way to the woman three times before being caught. Victoria and Albert were so shocked and ashamed that when Albert became sick and died shortly after, Victoria blamed her son for her loss.

11. King Charles II’s Feuding Mistresses

Wikimedia Commons / Isaac Fuller

Apparently, restoring the monarchy after ousting Oliver Cromwell didn’t keep the king too busy, as he was known to have dozens ofmistresses and to have fathered several illegitimate children.

It was the women themselves, though, who caused a ruckus when they warred for Charles’ affection. Actress Nell Gwynn and the Duchess of Portsmouth, Louise de Krouaille, were known to get especially snippy with each other.

Did we miss any not-so-modern royal scandals from back in the day that you’ve heard about? Let us know below, and be sure to SHARE with your friends!

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