#Farley and her daughter are featured more with the Guard

[elane-in-the-shadows]

Red Queen Fan Fiction - Off-Duty

February 2nd - Happy Birthday, Shade Barrow

A/N: This year, not fun edit-making but the finalization of the fic of pure self indulgence I laboured in love for 7 months. It was a marvellous joy, based on two old shit posts of mine (x y)  I now offer to share to celebrate Shade’s birthday. (How much I enjoyed this, seven years after Glass Sword, shows me how much this character and couple still mean to me. Maybe I can believe in lasting love after all. For them.)

5504 words, it is long

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Off-Duty

The rain pounded a rhythm on the makeshift balcony roof both irritating and comfortable. The first because of its dissonance with the ball’s music wafting up, the latter as the sound was certainly more homely than the howls of the storm ruling the skies of the Monfort capital for the last days. It was its own kind of uplifting, despite the wetness and still dark horizon, that Shade gave up keeping Clara indoors and set up their picnic on the balcony. The light at least was shining in a warm red from the gathered night lights beside them, reflecting the colour of the rain protection foils above. To keep them dry, Shade had scavenged umbrellas, wires and canvas and fumbled them into the resemblance of a roof through some risky ledge gymnastics relying on his teleporting ability to save him in case of falling. He hoped the same ability made him fast enough to grab Clara should her constant, curious skygazing lead her to lean too far over the ledge. In fact, he didn’t trust on teleporting alone when it came to her, as he was too nervous to leave her out of his sight for a second too long and eat in peace.

He tried to lure her away with some of the food he’d sacked from the snack buffet for the party downstairs in the palace. Though Clara did turn around, she ignored the orange-glazed yeast cake he held out in favour of a tiny rice and vegetable bowl. Shade exhaled with relief, but Clara seemed barely so. When he offered the rice pudding with cherries next, she shook her head. “For Mama,” she said. “Sure,” he replied with a forced smile. Clara could be more perceptive than he expected at her two and a half years. Did she understand Diana was missing her own party? Or had he been too exact about her anticipated return from the Lakelands? It wasn’t officially “her” party, more an annual ball to remember the fallen and the veterans, but in Davidson’s circle, it was known that General Farley was to meet with representatives from Prairie who finally showed the start of an interest in brokering an alliance – with Monfort and the Scarlet Guard, no less. Diana wasn’t the usual choice for diplomacy though given Ella’s advice, the warlord from Prairie would rather be convinced by a brusque military leader. More so if she brought as a negotiating feature intelligence on the latest lakelander movements. As she’d been engaged in them. Or still was. As of, right now. Shade bit off some spicy bread with a slice of smoked ham. He supposed he would’ve heard of it if things had gone that wrong and Diana’s unit was still tied in battle. But if the situation was that dire, anything could’ve happened and with the communication cut off. No wonder Clara stared at the sky as if she could see the light of the plane returning her mother. He couldn’t wait for it, either. Diana had been set to be back two days ago. Leaving them three whole days of family life before his own mission to Ciron loomed and whose preparations he felt less and less inclined to proceed with. While Mare was with Cal in Piedmont and Kilorn and his brothers in Norta, Shade had been recommended to scout in the western country for possible allies, ideally to initiate first contacts together with other high-profile spies he barely knew. The opposite to quality time with his longed-for beloved and their daughter couldn’t be harsher when the lack of contact also made him worry - if not freaking out - about the well-being of the rest of his family. He felt terribly egoistic and also almost unashamed of it. He was fed up. It broke his heart enough to see Clara staring after a glimpse of her mother, how could he abandon her now, without Diana to relieve him? As if it could be called relieve, like a battle strategy, but it was the plan the two of them had come up with: Just one of them would be engaged in operations at one time, and this had lasted for almost two years now. Only Shade doubted the system more and more. He hardly wanted to leave Clara out of his reach and miss her growing each day. He’d also wanted to welcome Diana, had dreamed of her skin, her smell, her voice. The way she only smiled at Clara. Yesterday should’ve been theirs and this pitiful picnic should’ve included her. In the sunshine. Climbing the hills as if on a vacation, to forget the dangers they were in or just escaped even though she would’ve questioned him about his mission in her way to see him off safe. Thanks to the storm, any part of this became impossible and Clara’s glare at the cloud didn’t lessen in concentration. If she could, she’d challenge the weather itself. Shade risked a second to dip a pig-shaped cake in caramelized milk and devour it in one go before trying to offer another to Clara. This time, she took it, dipping it absentmindedly, yet on the way to her mouth, she let it drop. “There!” she pointed, jumping up. Shade was too startled to think and, still struggling to swallow the food, simply reached for Clara. She grinned, pointing again. But he didn’t see, too relieved to have Clara secure against his chest. Then he heard the aircraft approaching the palace. When he grasped its meaning, his grin mirrored Clara’s. The storm drove rain in his face before Shade was fully materialized, and the ground swayed beneath his feet. The truth about teleporting was that the dizziness never went away, not even for a teleporter himself. The irritations and imbalances coming with contradicting the corporeal world had to be fought with resilience, willpower, and focus, whether you were sneaking behind an enemy or escaping them. Now, though, he was grounded by Clara on his shoulder and before him – Her eyes, bright despite the dark, finding them immediately – The surety of her gait, approaching – Her smile, growing clearer and broader with every step – She was a woman in parts, and he longed to have her whole in his arms, and so he strode to her – until Clara heaved and then he stumbled for real, glancing at his daughter, trying to shift or steadying her. But to no avail, as she puked all over his chest and he was thrown out of his dreamy desires and stood there, frozen and dumbfounded. He jerked his head to the sound of a snort and there she was, Diana standing right before him. “Come here, dove,” she said, taking Clara from Shade and already comforting and cleaning her with her scarf, as efficient as ever. “Mama,” cried Clara, and Diana was quick to answer with soothing phrases. He searched her eyes darting between Clara and him and around and when their gazes locked, he found her glance full of joy and amusement as she bit her lips to keep from laughing. “Well, Dee,” he said finally, “the ball’s food we ate was better than it seems right now.” “Was it?” she asked, smirking, and reached out to caress his cheek with her thumb. It sent a shiver over his whole body. He hoped there wasn’t vomit on his face, too, and he cursed the rain for interfering with the intensity of her touch. He wanted to take her hand and pull her close, despite it all, because who gave a shit, but then her hand was back to hold Clara whose temple she kissed while he was still full of sick. He decided he didn’t care after all and shook off his freeze, just when Diana changed direction. “Ah, there’s Grandma, dove, let’s greet her and Grandpa,” she said as she walked ahead where, indeed, Shade’s parents approached, supposed to have Clara while he and Diana attended the ball. Diana looked over her shoulder. “So we all have to get changed,” she said to him. Winking. “I bring Clara to Ruth and Daniel and we meet upstairs, okay?”                    

“Bye, Papa,” Clara said. “Okay, bye,” he replied with a sigh filled with deprivation as he crossed his arms – wet and dirty. He’d make do with a shower for now.

He'd hurried cleaning up in the shared bathroom but long hair had its demands, especially in case of an event. With his long hair just dried and out of its bun for the ball, Shade found Diana in their apartment, mistreating a dress uniform in front of a mirror. At the second of his entry, she glanced at him, currently forgetting her battle but revealing the sum of the mess frontally. She couldn’t stop fidgeting with the clothes just for a second, always dragging the sleeves this way or that. The uneven buttoning revealed her bare throat down to her skimpy undershirt, making her look as unstyled as Cal in his workshop clothes and the medals she tried to pin were all over her chest, but not in a becoming pattern. He burst out laughing, in revanche, louder and freer than Diana earlier without a sick Clara in vicinity. Diana flushed, increasing her visible contempt for the outfit. “I suspect medals are really meant for punishment if they come with this horrible dress uniform.” Shade wiped his mouth, stepping closer to inspect the horror. As he touched the jacket where Diana had experimented with shifting the alignment of buttons and buttonholes, she sucked in a breath. He swallowed in turn, a shiver running over his arms. He felt the ghost of their missed welcoming hug. Now, as near as they hadn’t been for weeks, the yearning for reunion was overwhelming. As it was for cupping her breasts. Another swallow ended in a cough. “First of all, try a proper shirt, loose on the shoulder, not a tank top.” “But – “ “I’ll leave the top buttons open and fix your tie in a fancy knot. And the pins I can use to keep the collar from your throat.” Assessing her styling kept him cool. Even as her eyes bored into him. Eyes that should match her style. So he should look – He stepped back but Diana caught his hand. “Help me take it off.” “It is already more off than on,” he said with a snort, pulling away for good to search for the right shirt. Some women were okay with clothes fitted for most men but curvy and broad-shouldered Diana was not one of them. He did not glimpse at her. “I left Clara with your parents,” she called to his back, “as usual at these blasted events. Tsk. As if I wouldn’t rather stay with her right now … she fell asleep before I could barely talk to her.” He heard her walking around. A hand on his shoulder. “You're right,” she said, glimpsing over his shoulder and eating a dish of rice pudding. “The food is great. I hope your parents got some snacks, too.” "I'd be surprised if they didn't." He smirked. "Clara wanted to leave that rice pudding for you, you know", he told her. "Really?" Diana beamed. "She can be so sweet." "Or almost grown up." Diana sighed, the remark nagging at her for a few seconds. He felt for her hand and squeezed it. “Was she better, no more throwing up?” he asked. She shook her as she took the shirt. “It just exhausted her. Maybe she’s just like me, uncomfortable with teleporting.” The thought amused them both, even as they cosseted and worried about Clara the immediate moment. The daughter of a teleporter couldn’t stand the ability. Did that mean she didn’t have the ability herself? He sighed. Suddenly he strongly wished to hold Clara and solace her. Indeed, a blasted event upsetting the millions of things they could better do tonight. Least of all tracing the curves of Diana’s body beneath the formal attire as she changed. Instead, he could talk. Neutrally asking about her recent operation. How did her mission go? Diana seemed hale and whole enough but the relief at the first sight of her washed over him again as she confirmed it. So, what about the rest of her unit? What was left out of the reports, what would affect the negotiations to take place? Would there be repercussions, also on his mission – the very next day? Diana was dry in her replies even as she chattered along nonetheless, playing along if Shade wasn’t open to “taking off” her uniform. He knew they wouldn’t leave the room this night if he gave in to that. As he produced his own dress uniform from the closet and moved to put it on, he cursed at their deal simply cut for unpredictable schedules. He should refrain from his missions. The thought, once appeared, dropped like a stone. He couldn’t imagine abandoning his comrades-to-be on a whim. But he was unable to unthink it. To stand back and steal the time for their family to stay together appeared like a goal. He straightened his posture, the reflection of his prim, military outfit belying his true resolution. “That we should have to steal the time to be together,” he said aloud. She met his eyes, softly for once. “We do it for Clara.” At first, he said nothing as he returned to dressing Diana and paced around her. “Clara needs a lot of things,” he replied finally as he put her jacket back in place. “You've been great with her the last weeks,” Diana whispered as the jacket almost glided onto her with the silky and loose-fitting tunic beneath. It was her favourite pretty shirt, one she hardly had chances to wear. "She already misses you," she said, glancing for the corner of his eye rather than his reflection. As do I, she mouthed. Why don't you say that aloud? he wondered. Her eyes in the mirror sparkled with something unsaid. She felt for his arm and squeezed. “I’ll look after her first thing in the morning. Rise with the dawn, and all that.” “I know, I know, you never forget about the Guard,” Shade answered, though with a dose of humour. He could see before his eyes how Diana would spend the next day spoiling Clara while staying alert for new military developments. He’d rather see it for real than imagine it, though. As he stood behind her, both before a mirror, he stretched out her arms, settling inner and outer sleeves. The he felt for her front for the buttons, watching their reflections as his fingers went up, pressing against her belly. “You’re so nimble,” she whispered. Finished at the front, his hands glided along her arms to entwine their fingers. “You’d know,” he answered quietly into her ear and his lips were just about to kiss her neck when he froze in the act. From the corner of his eyes, he saw Diana’s disappointment flash in the mirror. “I won’t undo my work right when it’s complete,” he said and, without letting go of her hand, spun around as if in a dance. If Diana was still flustered, she didn’t show it but only a wicked, dazzling grin as she swayed along with him. “See, you can move in it,” he said. “More elegant than you claimed once.” She snorted in affront. “These dress-up things are an insult to those who fight in the field, with how little movement they offer.” He increased the pace of their dance. “I find it quite comfortable right now.” Despite her complaints, she went along with the faster, more complicated dance moves he started. “Well, obviously the uniforms have been designed with your body types in mind from the start, all lean and straight.” “Straight.” He tsked. “Only outwardly,” she clarified and initiated a new step. “In a more – most – desirable way,” she added under her breath. “Glad to hear you still find me beautiful.” “Hm. You should say that to me,” she countered before he twisted them around, one, two, three times, until he let go of the dance pose to cup her face. “Has the gorgeous General Diana Farley of the Scarlet Guard and mother of our child finally become vain?” he asked. Her eyes sparkled with amusement. “Just that I’d enjoy to hear it, as a general, mother and your …” she bit her lips. He blinked. “What?” She took his hands to remove them from her face and pull away, turning to the mirror to control whether her outfit had survived. Or to check how deeply red her cheeks were. “A miracle,” she muttered. “Of course you are.” She smiled at him. “When did you even learn that?” Did she really think this obvious shift of topic would work? “From Gisa, for a start. Had to serve as her mannequin and model and you know she had to work for silver tastes.” He rolled his eyes. “But yeah, she also said the basic styles are like designed for sticks like me.” “A beautiful stick.” She cackled. “But good she had other customers and body types now.” “Like you? Truly.” He bit his lips. “Though there were always stockier silvers, too,” he said absentmindedly, though he was already thinking about someone else. Diana noticed. She waited for him to continue, merely blinking once or twice. She was never so calm or patient with anyone else but Clara – or him. It encouraged him as he took to his time to consider his words. “It was before we met, when I was newly conscripted to the nortan army. As an aide, I had to manage an officer’s supply including his clothes. “He treated me like a butler at times. Missed the luxuries from home but didn’t have the chance to bring them. Including servants.” Diana winced. “You only told me he was an idiot before, though smart enough to hire you.” “Smart?” Shade grimaced. “Not so rewarding for him given where we got as he went lost.” “So is he? Lost?” Shade shrugged and Diana prodded further. “I know you’d check what became of him.” Shade glanced away and quieted, listening in for the faint waves of the sound barely reaching them. They were more felt than heard. “It was a dark time I don’t take pleasure in telling and reliving,” Shade admitted finally. She hugged him back as he stood still for good. “But I'm here to listen when you need me to.”

His fingers drummed with the music as Shade glided through the ball. At times, he was about to start humming before stopping himself. At least it managed to distract him; almost too well. He didn’t have the nerve to spy tonight, to chat and deceive while the pressure of the next day loomed over him. Still, as his blood pulsed in anticipation of Diana’s return from conferring with the Prairie warlord, Russell. He had considered following Diana to hide and listen, but for what reason? She knew him too well not to notice and he wouldn’t bother her that way. And he trusted her. She’d succeed in negotiations and either way, he couldn’t look after her from tomorrow on –

“Thinking about me?” he startled and choked on his drink as Diana arrived that very moment to take him by the arm, entwining their fingers. She wasn’t one for public affection, so this display of closeness was as demonstrative as a kiss. It certainly felt almost as intimate as he glanced over the crowd in her grasp, aware of the people who saw them. He set aside the glass and completed their embrace, already pulling her along to sway to the rhythm of the song. “For sure,” he replied with an exaggerated drawl. “I longed to resume our dance where we left off.” She raised an eyebrow in amused doubt as her hand roamed over his back and he sucked in a breath. His own hand on her waist began to prove a temptation he tried to battle by focusing on intensifying the dance steps. He listened for the first beats of a new song, changing into a different dance and he was ready for the shift. A taxed Diana followed his lead. Despite her flush, she enjoyed the challenge of the dance. “You do seem eager.” He shrugged, smiling. “And you seem smug. You have the warlord wrapped around your fingers already?” She made a scale gesture with her fingers. “He’s predictable enough, as was his reluctance before. I know the type. Doesn’t want to state his offers, so I let him dangle and stay vague myself. He’ll spill soon enough.” He let her twirl under his raised arm.” And we have the time?” Her mouth twitched after the spin, unperturbed by the move, dancing as fresh as if just woken from sleep instead of locked in a tumultuous flight. “In this case. He’s so eager for the edge in an alliance he doesn’t grunt about efficiency in meetings.” “So he’s spying.” She mock-hit his shoulder. “Of course he’s spying, Shade Barrow. You’d know best.” He chuckled and she went on. “As I said, I’m acquainted with the type. I know where to bring his attention and Davidson knows how to appear generous.” “But do you want me to shadow his retinue?” Between the quick steps and the movements of the other dancers, speech was limited between catching breaths. Only as the song rolled out and slowed, they did as well, into a lazy motion staying on the spot, two people in their own pace and place, careless of the rest. Their grip on each other grew firmer and their gaze shifted from playful into serious. Diana swallowed, without losing sight of him. “You’d rather stay?” Her grasp became even tighter, almost hopeful. Could she be agreeing with his doubts? Shade traced her face with his figners. “If you hadn’t arrived this eve – right when you did – I wouldn’t be joining my mission tomorrow.” Diana’s eyes widened. “It’s exactly the promise we mode, isn’t it?” he went on. “One would always stay with Clara. So she’ll never see both parents dying in one battle.” For once, Diana hesitated to meet his eyes as she chewed on that. He shook his head. “Even if I’d spoken to you the day before, when your operation was over and you’d only have to return. Anything could’ve happened still, your base attacked, the airplane crashed – it wouldn’t matter. I couldn’t go on if we’d lost you, not knowing what’s become of you.” He stopped, his brow leaning against hers. Diana covered his hand on her face, her eyes aligning with his. “You would fight no longer … without me?” Shade broke her grip, stepping back. “It’s not like anyone can make me fight for them, can they?” he said, glimpsing Diana’s irritated frown before he teleported away. A silly joke, he knew. Jumping exactly out of reach but still in eyesight, urging Diana to follow him through the rush of partygoers. He could hear Diana calling his name, just not enough under her breath to avoid attention. She sped up, her instincts winning over the chaos. “Are we being dramatic now?” she spat, panting, when they’d reached the empty stairs outside the ballroom with only meters between them. The doors slammed shut behind her. He glanced over his shoulder; she was climbing up after him. “But you didn’t ask…!” she said, still panting, and quieter now. “What we could do differently …” She swallowed while her gaze continued to burn at him nonetheless. “Or if you believe our promise is for the gutter. “I’d rather spent this evening watching Clara sleep, too. Relaxing after being stuck in a plane for hours, delayed because of the weather as well as fake threats. Then hear how you and Clara spent these weeks together. How she grows, what she learns. Quarrel about who of us gets to do what with her. “I want so much, Shade. I’m full of it, so full I can only act to live with it. I understand what you say, I'd do the same. But not … forever. I want Clara, and us, any children we might have, our people, to have it better. I can’t and won’t stop before we win. Or we might lose it again.” She pushed through the final step and reached him at arms’ length. Her fingers fluttered against his back until he spun. “Why do you run away?” she muttered. “As long as it’s needed to make you talk as much as this,” he replied. She snorted but grasped his arms tight, nearly ending their balance – or just about keeping it. He gasped, and she leaned her head against his chest. They were rarely in this position, with her being taller than him. The unusual feeling of it both flustered and elated him, as he imagined her hearing the fast throb of his heart, or how that thought alone made it beat even faster. He started to caress her hair almost automatically. “I know you might not…”, Diana began eventually, lifting her face right so he could see her warmed gaze. “Maybe you don’t see it like that anymore.” What? He nearly said it aloud, having forgotten their topic for their embrace. “Maybe you wouldn’t fight no matter what anymore,” she went on. Ah. “Because we have Clara.” “I never said that,” he replied after clearing his throat. Quiet but sharp. Determined. “I can’t give this up no easier than you. But if – if– I lost you, I couldn’t go on like before.” “Then I want to know that!” she cried out, then exhaled until she caught herself. "There're always other jobs to do either way. I have to know. You could do anything, it doesn't have to in the field." She shook her head, pondering. His hand was on her waist, hugging her closer and closer. Indeed, Shade wasn’t sure himself if that was the solution he craved.

Finally, she lifted her piercing eyes. “Will you join your mission tomorrow?” she asked, her voice low. He sighed. He was here, at an event for soldiers and veterans, celebrating success as well as survival while they were about to broker a new military alliance. Diana stood before him, decked in medals earned in spilled blood, her own and others’. “A recon operation in Ciron,” he said. “I confess, I wonder about the point of where it all might lead.” Diana frowned. “Reconnaissance isn’t a coup.” “It might lead to one,” he countered. “So you’d rather leave it wholly in the hands of others?” “Well, in yours,” he admitted. “And you listen to me.” “I’m not sure if that flatters me,” she said with an ice-cold smile. The general’s smile. “Would you be as reluctant if Mare came with you?” His face fell, caught guilty as charged. No wonder she smiled like that. “No, I wouldn’t,” he confirmed. “I’m a terrible soldier, I suppose.” Diana straightened while he only longed to maintain their embrace as a cackle escaped her throat. “Inclined to blatant favoritism,” she said. “Disobeying orders and acting on his own advice. Questioning officers but without intention to take command yourself. Up for the sneaky jobs and avoiding supervision. Expecting personal relations to cover up misdemeanors.” For all the sharp accuracy, Diana listed the call-outs with an amused grin. “You’ve always been an awful soldier, Shade Barrow,” she concluded. “But I think that’s what brought us together in the first place, isn’t it? You aren’t cut to obey but would follow me lead anyway. To be honest, I’m very glad how you’ve kept running after me – ” Shade blushed at the memory he couldn’t deny. “Umm – “ “Indeed,” Diana went on, “I’ve been honoured to follow you as well. To be with you, as we watched each other’s backs. To see new options – to be made to see new options, because of you, as you insisted on my attention.” She took a deep breath. “I’ve changed for meeting you and I don’t regret a minute of it. Whatever you’ll choose, whoever you become, I want to be with you. I ... won't give you orders if you'll disobey in the end." He grimaced at that remark but Diana paused, puzzled until resolve flashed over her face. "I won't command you where to go but I promise to never leave you behind. Whatever the future holds for us or how we’ll react to it.” She swallowed and goosebumps rose over his skin as blood rushed through his head and her voice was warped by a ringing in his ears. “We’ve … made a promise after Clara was born. That one of us will always stay back for her. And maybe this promise doesn’t work out as well as we thought. But we can make other, new, … different promises. Or vows. A vow …” Her face shone with a flush. “Like?” he breathed, barely audible. “Like, Shade Barrow, would you marry me?” And her eyes sparkled as she said that, despite the way she’d stumbled over the words with insecurity. For a moment, he thought it was the bravest speech she’d ever held. As if she didn’t know what he’d reply. Nor did he, actually. “You never cease to surprise me,” he managed to utter and cursed himself next to her heaving breaths. She deserved a better answer. So he grabbed her by the waist and, as she didn’t kneel but still stood below him, lifted her up to the same stair as him and as she yelped, he embraced her so tightly he could bury his face in her neck. He panted now, harder than her, and not only due to the effort of lifting her. Her arms, hugging him back, were force stronger than gravity, so powerful he forgot he even could teleport. It was just what she always did. After he prodded and urged her to come closer, she’d give more than he’d even imagined asking for. Marriage had sounded so plain and formal, it felt pointless for them. They were comrades in arms, relying their lives on each other, as well as parents raising their little, lovely child. Any considerations to deployments or housing were granted them due to that; their intimate relationship no one else’s concern and he thought that only just. Silvers could keep their conjugal restrictions to settle their finances with marriages; any of Diana and Shade’ s endless but fruitless discussions about a second baby felt more significant. Until she asked him and it suddenly was significant, lighting a flame in his heart that filled him with an energy he craved without knowing what to use it for. They were in love, and it mattered. They became who they were and got to this point, in a palace with leaders on their side because of it and if anything, this flame should keep on burning for the world see and feel as they celebrated it. Shade startled, to look into her eyes and finally give her her bleeding reply, but this time, nothing could save their balance as a distraught Diana jerked as well and they would’ve tumbled down the stairs if their hands didn’t find each other, without thinking, and they maintained footing only to fall over each other with Diana on top of him, both loudly exhaling after the shock. Diana tore at her rumpled uniform. “All your work, undone again,” she exclaimed and laughed. “I’ll help your out of it,” he answered and their eyes met, filled with longing, and the centimeters between them broke into kisses like breathing, until they required real oxygen again. "Did you just come up with that?" he asked quietly, nuzzling her neck. Diana grasped his face to make him look at her but didn't say anything, only blinked. Shit. Guilt settled in his belly. “I didn't mean –” An uncertain smile appeared on her face in slow motion. "Partly?" she offered. Almost like she was prepared if he was taking it as a joke. Her flush intensified, but not just from kissing. Her nervosity heightened, too; he could feel that in her pulse. "I mean, it, the idea to ask, came over me in the heat of the moment, but ... well, I did think about it for a while but if it's all too much of a surprise for you, or not your preference at all-" A laugh rose in his throat, a laugh of elation he just about managed to swallow. "Diana, no." Her face froze. "No, sorry, I didn't mean – sorry!" He took he deep breath. Not a breath of hesitation, but one like drinking in the love for this woman. He found her gaze again. “I'll hold on to you for every minute we have. And I'll still rise before dawn to wake Clara with you, before I'll go to Ciron, for one final round of our plan and then I absolutely do want to marry you, Diana Farley. And throw a bloody royal feast for it.”

A/N 2: I hope that was a surprise for you! It sure was one for me that I managed to write something that made Me The Aro not disregard marriage as a repulsive patriarchal tool to control money and female sexuality let’s stop here but beam along with my OTP. As I worked really long on this, some things were changed and I want to make a honourary mention of the dancing montage bringing Fade from their room to the ballroom including a time skip - it’d work better in movie version ;-)

@elliemarchetti @lilyharvord @mareshmallow @maudthebookeater @king-maven-calore @samanthaslytherin @evangeline-of-montfort @farleydiana @scxrletguardsdawn @freaky-freiday @petergrantkavinsky @inopinion @hannaharies

#red queen #red queen fan fiction #red queen fanfiction #shade x farley #shade barrow #diana farley #victoria aveyard #war storm #glass sword #king's cage #broken throne #post war storm #death by cuteness #happy birthday #clara farley-barrow #general farley #imagine shade was still #off-duty #steel scars

[fuller-writing]

The Four Horaces of the Epic Relax

The Beast cantered in a rumbling, sputtering, whining orchestra of engine problems. 

The cellophane wrap covering the windows strained toward the four yawning mouths, sheets of frothing saliva. The black paint chipped away in places to reveal the red muscle and white bones of the Ford, the words LAST JUDGEMENT emblazoned on the rear windshield. The front tires were deflated almost to the hubcap; with every tortured revolution, the Beast appeared to nod its head: the confused consent of an animal under the lash of the whip.

The driver tapped his foot on the gas, revving the engine until his metal-toed boot reached the floor, then releasing to a slowing coast. He fiddled with a plastic watch over the wheel and stared more often at the watch than the road. He wove slightly, toeing the guidelines on both sides of the road, sometimes falling onto the rumbles and scratching the guard rail, but never letting a second slide by without his watchful eye. None of the other three men noticed as sparks flew past their flimsy windows or as cars on the opposite vector swerved and honked their displeasure.

“Almost there,” the man sitting behind the driver muttered. He had a voice permanently distorted by the copious amount of mucus clogging his sinuses.

The driver nodded, and skidded across a turn, narrowly avoiding a fatal crash with a silver punch buggy. The turn had not been apparent from the highway, as the cement entrance to the dirt road had decomposed into gravel and thick, prickly plants from years of neglect.

The Beast galloped down the barely-there tire imprints, rearing up over the bumps and diving down into the ditches. The driver took his eyes away from his watch just long enough to slam a foot on the brake and instinctively pull back on the steering wheel. The Beast sighed in relief as the driver turned the key in the ignition.

Suddenly, without discussion, the brother sitting in the backseat behind the driver swung his legs out of the car. He was a stout man with papery skin, pockmarked as though someone had spent their time poking through the yellowy parchment with a pen knife. He wiped his brow with a handkerchief carved from desert sand. He walked with small, shuffling steps toward the front door of a blue farmhouse.

With the same shuffling movements, the man scraped his knuckles across the door. The house awakened, stirring like a hive of bees. A mumble of voices moved closer to the front door, scuffling, shouting. The door banged open, hitting the interior wall and then rebounding off the back of a woman standing in the doorway. A sluice of children surged forward. They pushed and crowded around the doorway, standing on tiptoe to see the visitor but not daring to cross over the threshold.

“Hello,” the woman smiled, both hands gripping the t-shirts of two of the more precocious boys.

“Good afternoon. Are you Sarah Moore? My name is Peter Horace. Would you like to sign up for an unforgettable vacation on ‘Epic Relax tours and cruises?’” Peter clicked a ballpoint pen threateningly, brandishing the clipboard and pamphlet at her.

“Erm, no thank-you,” Mrs. Moore said, already pushing the door closed, “I don’t think it’s in our budget right now.”

Behind them, the Beast’s door slammed as the second Horace brother emerged from the passenger seat.

Peter waved a grimy hand toward the monstrosity of a man, “My brother, Warren Horace.”

Warren shared nothing with Peter in face or body. Large and brutish, he expanded out of his shirt like an overstuffed sausage. He didn’t speak, only nodded curtly at Mrs. Moore. The children shrank back, their chattering dying away like an audience before a play.

“That’s quite alright,” Peter Horace said pleasantly, carefully folding the dusty handkerchief, then swiping at an enormous booger in his cavernous nostril. “Would you be so kind as to offer us something to drink? We have had such a long drive.”

The family had little choice but to scamper out of the way as Warren barreled through the door. The children dissipated into alcoves and corners to watch the adults’ interaction. Sarah Moore led the retreat into the kitchen and strategically placed herself behind the island as the two Horace brothers took seats across from her.

Warren tapped a rhythm on her distressed-wood table and she winced in time to the beat. Long-short-short. Long-short-short. Thud-thwack-thwack.

“Epic Relax tours and cruises offers an installment plan of payment.”

Thud-thwack-thwack.

“Is that so,” thwack-thwack.

“Yes, on the cruise you’ll find five-star chefs, fascinating entertainment, and full service.”

Thud-thwack-thwack.

“I see,” thwack-thwack, “but we are really not interested.”

“Of course, you wouldn’t think so,” thud, thud. Warren ended his pattern abruptly, and somehow Sarah felt as though she had lost an argument.

“Well if that’s all…” she trailed off.

“Then I suppose we’d better have a glass of water. It was rather rude of you not to offer,” it was a new voice. A high snide buzzing, like a gnat eating away at your ear. Mrs. Moore jumped as a third man hobbled into her kitchen. Man, or more accurately, skeleton. Even through baggy clothes, every one of his bones protruded grotesquely, from his bulbous knee caps to the point of his shoulder to every mountainous vertebrae. Every part of him that wasn’t bone—his eyes, his thin skin, his hair—receded into the bone. The bone devoured it, greedy for any sustenance.

“Who are you?” Mrs. Moore asked. From the corner, her oldest girl stared in horror at the skeleton. Mrs. Moore would tell her not to gawk, but felt that would have been hypocritical.

“Farley Horace,” the skeleton said, the corners of his mouth hugging his teeth amorously as his lips moved.

The wooden kitchen stool looked obese next to Farley Horace. His brothers—Sarah didn’t see how any of them could be brothers—scooched down so Farley could rest his pointy elbows on the table. “Is Mr. Moore home?”

“No,” Sarah Moore lied.

Farley Horace may have attempted to raise his eyebrows, but the skin of his forehead so loved his skull, they could not break the embrace.

Proving her lie, just then, Isaac Moore came bounding down the stairs. A boisterous man with a permanent smile, he contrasted with his wife as only two miserably married people can.

“What’s this?”

The three Horace men gave their spiel again, Mrs. Moore’s mouth tightening in displeasure at every word. The family ushered them out of the door only by force of numbers and a battering ram of polite refusals.

“No luck?” the driver asked his brothers as they slammed the Beast’s doors.

“Not yet,” the other three replied, their distinct voices harmonizing with the Beast’s engine.

Pestilence

The sickness came months later, long after Sarah Moore had forgotten the Horace men of the Epic Relax tours and cruises. It came like ants, marching purposefully, attacking in numbers, learning from their mistakes, and resurging once again.

It burrowed through the skin of the children, barging into their open sleeping mouths, biting into their tonsils and sinuses. The refugee germs settled there, fell in love, raised their children to be stronger than themselves. Viruses rarely have trouble achieving the American Dream.

Their hosts started off pleased. They lounged and drank warm soup provided for them by Sarah Moore. At night, they took a dose of cherry-flavored medicine. It was not a bad way to live.

But as the viruses overstayed their welcome and the farm house filled to the rafters with sick, the Moores began to worry. The diagnoses from a shocked doctor was the final straw—smallpox.

“The United States hasn’t seen a natural outbreak for seventy years. The CDC has been notified,” the pediatrician did not disguise the terror in her voice.

The flock of Moore children with their bubble-wrap skin and weak whimpering migrated behind glass walls, their only companions faceless strangers in yellow hazmat suits and breathing tubes, like astronauts. Sarah Moore, declared clear of smallpox, but still quarantined, visited them once and then never again.

She did not feel guilty for her disgust at her children’s affliction. Who would not run at how their ballooning facial features drooped from the weight of the puss; how their emancipated limbs splayed like a body at the bottom of a long fall; how their near blind pupils vibrated. She forced herself to hold her eldest daughter’s bumpy hand and shout comforting words through the welding mask on her face.

“He was here, Mama,” the girl whispered.

“Who, honey?” Mrs. Moore said, although her daughter more resembled a honeycomb at the moment.

“The cruise man.”

Famine

Sarah Moore analyzed each smile of the gorgeous women; yes, she decided, they were happier than she. The magazines bragged of their elation in the lift of their smiles, the straight angles of their visible molars, the flat planes of their stomachs, the sharp peaks of their collarbones, the ridges of their esophagus visible on their necks stretched back in frozen laughter.

Sarah examined her own legs, and still clutching the magazines, pressed her hands to her hips and did her best to press her pelvis together like a trashcompacter.

“Miracle foods! Find out how she lost 40 pounds in a month!” read one cover.

First she drove to the grocery store, hating every cell of adipose and whatever architect had drawn up her bone structure. At the store, she piled her cart up with promising food items she could not afford and compared herself to every customer. In the checkout line, she ran into Farley Horace, although through her haze of self-hatred, she never would have noticed him had he not announced himself.

“If it isn’t Sarah Moore!” The cruise salesman said jovially in his unxious way. He steered an entire shopping cart with only one Weight Watcher granola bar sliding back and forth along the expansive bottom.

Mrs. Moore couldn’t answer him through her revelation: he was beautiful. Every skeletal joint and precious exaggerated indentation. He should pose for those magazines that had recently begun to pollute her doorstep: “How I reached my goal weight of 65 pounds!”

She smiled—her smiles would feel more real when she became thin, she promised herself—and exited the line to return every item of food in her cart, except one Weight Watcher granola bar.

War

It was one of those rare places in the universe where everything moved at half speed by the sheer will of the inhabitants. Glasses skated across the nut-casing strewn bar in a manner that defied the laws of physics; patrons raised their drinks to their lips and closed their jaw around the rim at sloth speeds; their smiles slow, their conversations slovenly, the drone of the television a metronome.

Isaac Moore perched on a bar stool with his elbows pointed to either side and his head hung— perhaps by the weight of his preoccupations—over his glass of bad beer. The bartender, a familiar woman to Isaac from his frequent visits, but as yet nameless to him, continually pushed tarnished bowls of pistachios toward Mr. Moore.

On the other side of the room, two flies buzzed sleepily, circling each other, resting periodically on the screen and embedding their pretarsus claws into the wire. Then, the bar door opened and a draft soared through the room, almost visible by its sheer intensity, a mist spread through the bar. The flies’ wings beat faster, their sectioned eyes staring intently at each other. Then, as if drawn together by magnets, the insects pounced on eachother, clamping their lavolas in a battle against their nature.

Following in the wake of the draft was Warren Horace. He scowled and ignored Isaac Moore so thoroughly that the man, previously immersed in thought, noticed that he was being ignored.

“What?” Mr. Moore growled even though growling was not in his vocabulary.

“Did I do something to you?” Warren growled back.

And then they were nothing but animals, like the flies, drawn together by hate at first sight. A man interceded and both animals turned on him instead, baring their fangs and allowing their saliva to dribble into pistachio shells, sinking the tiny boats. The smaller creature lunged at its prey. It clawed until it could bathe in the blood, then moved onto another target.

That is how Isaac Moore remembered it. Just flashes of euphoria and then, of course, the aftermath. He remembered emerging from his anger as though waking from a dream and finding a broken barstool in his hands and a massacre of near-alcoholics surrounding him. A wail of a siren and the tremulous instructions of a local policeman, completely unprepared for this kind of violence; then the pressure of handcuffs and the air freshener of a police cruiser; some time later, the bang of a judges gavel; before the end, a prick of the needle and the sweet release from the hatred and anger he hadn’t been able to shake since the second time he saw Warren Horace.

Death

Sarah Moore did not have the strength to answer the knock on the door. Starving herself had become easier once she physically could not stand for long enough to buy food. Every waking minute, she ran her hand over her stomach and thighs and waited for her body to finally digest the rest of her fat stores.

“Come in,” she called weakly and propped herself up on the couch. If it was the women from church, she wanted them to notice how much weight she had lost. Then she would smile mysteriously and swear to never tell her secrets.

It was not the church ladies, but a man she had never met. He crouched in front of her and took her bony hands in his. She suddenly became very aware of her fingernails and how they had grown brittle and cracked in places since her diet. He looked upon her with the kindest face imaginable, a face both concerned and proud. She felt a tear leak from her left eye.

“Hello,” he said gently, “my name is David Horace. Would you like to sign up for an unforgettable vacation on Epic Relax tours and cruises?”

Sarah Moore stared at him through blurry vision, both from tears and from her minute of sitting up straight, and then smiled, finally as happy as a woman in a diet magazine.

“Please,” and as she signed in blood red ink, she couldn’t stop laughing.

The world ended that day in a way no one ever expected. In fact, most everyone kept on living after the end of the world. But the name Isaac Moore disappeared from the news as did the reports of a smallpox outbreak. Sarah Moore’s gym membership was obliterated. After all, when the world ends, no one will remember it.

Epic Relax

The Epic Relax cruise ship is alive from every rusty washer to each screw and rivet. Every square inch of hull a waking nightmare, ready to pounce at any passerby. The decorative ropes seem snake-like as they wave back and forth in the blasting, hot wind. The putrid smell of humanity mixes with undertones of iron and bile rising in 100,000 throats in anticipation of the pitching, miserable hell of the cruise. Sarah and Isaac Moore stand on either side of their line of children on the docks and stare up at the rotting carcass.

The port side of the boat glowing red from the tiny flickering ship lights and the setting sun, reluctant to cross the horizon, sets everything aflame: dizzying mirror images of a sun leering at these sinners’ pain. Hands reach down to wave to loved ones, clawing at the naked summer air as the heat oppresses them. There are captains and mates swimming in the brimy crowd of passengers, their hats ironed and starched to rest jauntily, forming parallel creases that point to the sky on either side of their heads. They smile with their eyebrows drawn in and their chins down, crooked and missing teeth on full display.

And the screaming. Children shrieking and writhing through the ship’s railings, grotesquely leering at the newcomers. The adults’ pain is mute. Dull conversations, laughs with drooping eyes and a desperate note, hands clasping one another as though joined by handcuffs as they enjoy themselves under the threatening gaze of the crew. It is back breaking work.

The children cling to Sarah Moore until the last minute when the cantankerous sailor pries off her fingers, now restored to their plump shape, from their shoulders and leads them to the children’s section, where ugly seven-year-old contortionists scream and age endlessly.

Sarah shuffles down the gangplank, the metal under her heels clinking like threatening chains. One of the sailors nods at her cordially. The red light illuminates his face so the shadows of his mouth and nose form a dark mask over his eyes.

From the parking lot by the docks, David, Warren, Peter, and Farley lean against the purring Beast, now guzzling gasoline after another good days work.

“My decision is to gather nations. To assemble kingdoms to pour out on them my indignation, all my burning anger, for all the earth will be devoured by the fire of my zeal,”1 David says conversationally.

The other three brothers nod as the boat drifts away with its screaming, burning, tortured cargo. On a clipboard in front of him, David crosses off the name ‘Moore’ and considers the next.

#horror #short story #four horsemen #apocalypse #long reads #fuller fiction #fuller writing #creative #writing #please read

[fictionalinfinity]

A Fantastic Adventure - Kings Cage AU Part 3

previous / next

I realize my mistake as soon as I reach the water. I get my brother back, and what do I do? Give him the crappiest motivational speech ever.

I want to immediately run back, apologize, and tell him everything about Clara, but I just can’t. I really do need to cool off.

No people are around. I don’t feel the warm air or see the outlines I’ve begun to notice. The longer I was in this rotten place, the clearer I could see the living. They weren’t just warm air now, I saw outlines of bodies, and the features were starting to shine through. All it really seemed to do though was cement the fact that I was trapped here.

I sit by the water, pebbles and dirt crunching beneath me. The capital river seems murky, but I can see some fish occasionally. I choose to sit there and think for a while, recounting the battle. I don’t know if we won or lost, or if the silvers from the Rift ever showed up. The last thing I saw was Cal’s panicked face as I left him with an unfinished sentence.

I want to scream. I want to scream at Maven, at Cal, at Shade, even at Farley, but I can’t. I think of all I could’ve done to prevent what got me here today. I wish Farley had just gotten Kilorn and I out safely when I asked. I wish Cal hadn’t gotten me a position as a servant in the Hall of the Sun. I wish Maven hadn’t been such a good liar. I wish Shade hadn’t jumped back to bring me back to the Guard at Corros Prison.

A lot of good wishes will do me now.

I take a deep breath and then look around me again. In shock, I register that the sun has already begun to set. I must’ve sat there for hours, but I barely noticed. I wasn’t hungry, nor was I thirsty or tired. Did being in this place do something to me?

“Mare! C’mon, Mare, I’m sorry,” Shade calls out from somewhere behind me. I jump at the sound, spinning around to sprint towards him.

“I’m sorry, too,” I mutter into his chest, pulling him into hug. As soon as we both begin to pull away, I bring up my hand and slap his cheek. He quickly flinches away, bringing a hand up to his cheek to take away the stinging feeling. “That was for jumping back for me at Corros.” Before he can do anything about it, I bring Shade into another hug.

“I hate you,” I mutter, causing him to laugh.

“I hate you, too, Mare,” he says lightheartedly, ruffling my hair with his fist. I give him a real smile, something that is rare in these days of war.

“Don’t think you’re off the hook for helping me find a way out of here,” I say pointedly, meeting his eyes, trying to look as intimidating as I can despite the height difference between us.

“Fine. I’ll come as long as you tell me what’s been going on with everyone back at the Guard,” Shade agrees to the idea, which I am thankful for.

“Before we do anything though, I have a question,” I say, watching as Shade quirks an eyebrow.

“Oh?” Is all Shade replies with, and I go on with my question.

“Is the fact that I am not feeling any basic need like thirst or tiredness, does that have anything to do with this place?” I ask and his face lights up with understanding.

“Ah, the benefits of not having a body,” Shade faked a sigh of content and I rolled my eyes.

“Good thing I didn’t gather supplies then,” I mumble, swiping my feet at the ground. Shade laughs, amused by my reaction.

“We could walk around for years and not feel anything. So far the only thing that makes me tired is using my powers. It’s a bodily thing, not a soul thing, so tapping into it makes us tired,” Shade shrugged, “that’s probably the best explanation I can give. I’m not like those smart silvers you like to surround yourself with these days.”

“Oh, come on, Sara, Julian, and Cal aren’t that bad,” I defend my friends, but again he laughs and admits he’s only teasing.

“I’ve been keeping track of all of you. I almost had to jump Diana a few days ago, when she had Clara.” Shade’s tone is no longer playful, instead taking on an air of sadness. I don’t respond, not knowing quite what to say.

We walk back home in silence, but I know in the end things will be alright between us.

-

It’s the third day of our stay at the Rift. Everyone is moving around, attending to their business, planning on how to infiltrate Norta and take back the crown, and Nanabel seems intent on making me King. I’m busy too, and my heart is in it now more than ever, but part of me feels hollow.

Farley and Kilorn do their best to avoid me. Not that I’m exactly seeking them out. Farley is busier than ever, juggling both her duty as a general and now her daughter Clara. I’m not sure what Kilorn’s excuse is, but I know it has something to do with Mare. I haven’t even glimpsed Cameron or her brother. The Barrow’s arrived yesterday afternoon. The Guard had already informed them, but when they saw Mare’s body it was like it was the first time they really believed it. Gisa was still in denial.

Today is the day we bury Mare. As hectic and loud the past two days have been, today feels quiet. There are some here at the Rift that will not be attending, and they seem to be the only one’s still rushing about, talking and planning. Everyone else is solemn and silent. Of course, there are bodies other than Mare that will be laid to rest today, seeing as she was not the only casualty that day.

We stood outside as the sun shone down on us. Farley held Clara, who for some reason could not stop crying, whether she was tired or hungry, we did not know. Gisa tried to hide her tears, constantly wiping at her cheeks with her sleeves. Kilorn was stoic, the only thing out of place being his hand on Gisa’s shoulder. Mare’s two brothers, along with her father just seemed quiet. Her mother resembled the way Gisa was reacting.

I watched as they lowered the coffin into the ground. The moment the last bit of dirt was thrown on top of the grave, I spun around and began to walk back to the estate. I had work to do.

if anyone wants to be tagged, I’m happy to do so. Thanks for reading. Next part up soon!

#a fantastic adventure #mare barrow #cal calore #maven calore #red queen #red queen fan fiction #red queen fandom #kings cage #glass sword #shade barrow #diana farley #farley #clara farley #gisa barrow #kilorn warren #marecal #mare x cal

[eyeofhorus237]

Coneheads is a 1993 American comic science-fiction film from Paramount Pictures, produced by Lorne Michaels, directed by Steve Barron, and starring Dan Aykroyd, Jane Curtin and Michelle Burke. The film is based on the NBC Saturday Night Live comedy sketches about aliens stranded on Earth, who have Anglicized their Remulakian surname to "Conehead". Michelle Burke took over the role played by Laraine Newman on SNL. The film also features roles and cameos by actors and comedians from television series of the time.

Plot

Upon discovering a UFO in American airspace, the National Guard sends fighter jets to investigate, and they fire on the craft when it does not respond. Activating a cloaking device too late, the spaceship crashes into the Atlantic Ocean, near Manhattan. The aliens aboard, Beldar Clorhone and his life-mate Prymaat, survive and quickly adapt to the human way of life, despite standing out with their conical shaped heads. Beldar was assigned by the Highmaster to conquer Earth as a Protoid Re-fueling Station under the title of 'Fuel Survey Underlord of the Wilderness Planet at the end of the Noctolium Solar Chain'. Beldar gets work as an appliance repairman, and when his grateful boss Otto discovers that Beldar has no documentation, he arranges for a false identity, which sends up a red flag that quickly alerts the INS. Meanwhile, after communicating with their world (Remulak) and discovering that a rescue vessel will not arrive for seven "Zurls" (many years), Prymaat informs Beldar that she is pregnant. They now need to completely adapt and safely blend in, in order to raise their child among humans. Ambitious INS agent Gorman Seedling and his assistant Eli attempt to capture Beldar and Prymaat, but they are able to elude the two agents.

Months later, Beldar has become a respected taxi driver, and the couple live in his boss's basement. After the birth of their daughter Connie, they buy a home and move to suburban Paramus, New Jersey, adopting the surname Conehead. Beldar begins a new career, this time as a driving instructor. Meanwhile, Gorman gets a promotion and decides to leave the Coneheads' case to the agent replacing him. His promotion, however, is soon held-up by the case's extreme expense, forcing Gorman to continue until it is closed.

Now a teenager, all Connie Conehead wants to do is fit in with her peers, much to the objections of her father, especially when she begins seeing Ronnie, an auto mechanic. This causes tension between Connie and Beldar, who strongly disapproves of Ronnie, with Beldar going so far as tearing the roof off of Ronnie's car and threatening him after he tries to make love with Connie (an act that angers Connie greatly). Despite this, Connie and Ronnie make up after talking. Meanwhile, Beldar is preoccupied with winning a golfing trophy at his country club, while Prymaat becomes concerned about her attractiveness to Beldar due to one of Beldar's driving students making a pass at him.

Gorman and Eli track the Coneheads down to their home and pose as Jehovah's Witnesses to gain entry to the Conehead home. During the conversation, Prymaat discovers their communication device to Remulak is beeping, and she promptly tells Beldar that he has a phone call from 'the Big Phone'. This causes Beldar to promptly eject Gorman and Eli from their home. Beldar then receives word that their rescue vessel is on its way.

At a costume party that night, Connie is told that they will be rescued soon. She disobeys her parents or "parental units" by returning home with Ronnie. Once there Connie almost consummates their relationship using her parents' "senso-rings". Beldar and Prymaat walk in on them, just as the INS shows up to take the Coneheads into custody. Ronnie helps them stall them while the rescue vessel arrives. Their rescue vessel arrives just in time, and Gorman and Eli are taken aboard with Beldar, Prymaat, and Connie.

On Remulak, Beldar is welcomed home, presenting Highmaster Mintot with a variety of 'gifts' from earth, including Gorman and Eli as slaves. Mintot is at first satisfied with what Beldar has accomplished during his time on Earth, until he notices that Beldar got his teeth capped (something Beldar had done from advice from Otto as a part of blending in). He accuses Beldar of treason and sentences him to fight the ferocious Garthok ("narful the Garthok"), much to Prymaat's distress.

After the Garthok easily and gruesomely kills others who were sentenced to fight it, Beldar uses his Earthly golfing skills to save himself, killing the creature. For his victory, he is then granted a request: Beldar wishes to return to Earth to oversee its conquest, taking Gorman back with him as a minion. Mintot agrees, and Eli is left behind, becoming the Highmaster's personal assistant, acclimating to his new role rather quickly. Beldar leaves for Earth with Prymaat, Connie, and Gorman in tow. He soon demonstrates that Connie's feelings are more important to him than planetary conquest by quickly faking an Earth attack. Beldar orders his invasion force to retreat and proceed to their secondary target in another part of the galaxy, while making it look like his spaceship has been destroyed by a superior weapon. For sparing his life, Gorman agrees to give the Coneheads Green Cards in exchange for Beldar proving he has a marketable talent no other American citizen possesses, to which Beldar confidently agrees.

Two years later, Ronnie arrives to take Connie to the prom. Beldar gives Ronnie 55 words of advice, and then uses a massive flash bulb arrangement on his home-built Polaroid camera to document the happy event. As Connie and a now-sunburned Ronnie depart, Beldar and Prymaat look at the oversized photo, saying, "Memories, we will enjoy them".

Cast

Dan Aykroyd as Beldar Conehead / Donald R. DeCicco

Jane Curtin as Prymaat Conehead / Mary Margaret Rowney

Michelle Burke as Connie Conehead

Michael McKean as INS Deputy Commissioner Gorman Seedling, the main antagonist of the film to anti-hero

David Spade as INS Agent Eli Turnbull

Chris Farley as Ronnie Bradford

Sinbad as Otto

Michael Richards as Motel Clerk

Eddie Griffin as Customer

Phil Hartman as Marlax

Adam Sandler as Carmine Weiner

Mitchell Bobrow as Garthok Combatant

Jason Alexander as Larry Farber

Lisa Jane Persky as Lisa Farber

Dave Thomas as Highmaster Mintot

Laraine Newman as Laarta

Garrett Morris as Captain Orecruiser

Drew Carey as Taxi Passenger

Kevin Nealon as Senator

Jan Hooks as Gladys Johnson

Parker Posey as Stephanie

Joey Lauren Adams as Christina

Julia Sweeney as Principal

Ellen DeGeneres as Coach

Tim Meadows as Athletic Cone

Peter Aykroyd as Highmaster Mentot

Jonathan Penner as Air Traffic captain

Whip Hubley as F-16 pilot

Mark Fulton (uncredited) as Hispanic woman

Jon Lovitz (uncredited) as Dr. Rudolph, dentist

Tom Arnold (uncredited) as Golfer

#science fiction #comedy film

[swipestream]

New Release Roundup, 15 December, 2018: Science Fiction

Starship mages, internet trolls-turned-litRPG trolls, mecha mercenaries, and reprints of two science fiction masters feature in this week’s roundup of the newest releases in science fiction.

After the Galaxy: The Unsung – Scott Bartlett 

We colonized the galaxy – then abandoned it. He defends what’s left.

Joe is nearing the end of a long deployment, and he’s looking forward to some home leave so he can visit his daughter. Protecting digital people pays the bills, but Joe is one of the few who still prefer to spend time with those made of flesh and blood.

His last assignment takes him to Earth, humanity’s deserted homeworld, to learn why all contact has been lost with Sol’s Subverse – the digital utopia where most of humanity now lives. He’s expecting the answer to be boring. Probably, rats chewed their way into the server room again.

He couldn’t be more wrong.

First, he finds a pirate impersonating the corporal responsible for guarding the Subverse terminal. Then he visits Earth’s last settlement to find everyone dead…except the children, who have all been taken.

These are the first clues that lead Joe on an epic journey across a dying galaxy, with only his training and skill to rely on. A mysterious enemy seeks to make slaves of the last real people left, and if Joe can’t put a stop to it, the human dream will die.

Augmented (The Transcended #1) – Anthony James 

Lieutenant Becky Keller’s brain is fitted with a processing core which can outthink and outfly the most advanced battle computers in the Space Corps. Not only that, she’s blessed with the gift of the psi and her intuition is unparalleled in the military.

Keller finds herself partnered with another one from the labs. Joe Nation is packed with so many augmentations, he can’t remember which parts of his body are real anymore. All he knows is covert ops, and with his stealth and assault modules, there’s no one better at it than Nation.

The pair of them are given a mission – take the Retaliator class SC Gundar, infiltrate the Isob-2 processing facility of a semi-hostile alien species known as Estral, and find out if they’re breaking the terms of a peace treaty.

It’s easier said than done. The Estral are spoiling for war and they don’t want human agents poking around in their business. Deep within the Isob-2 facility, something hostile awaits and no one in the Space Corps is prepared for it.

The first of the Transcended have come and they aren’t looking for peace.

The Beast of Eridu (Terran Strike Marines #4) – Richard Fox and Scott Moon 

An ancient Beast awakens, and only Lieutenant Hoffman and his Strike Marines can put it down.

On the sweltering jungle world of Eridu, hidden in an ancient vault is an artefact which will change the course of the war against the ever-encroaching Kesaht armada. But guarding it is a deadly creature, a Beast with the ability to destroy any technology it encounters.

When modern equipment fails the Strike Marines, and with the fledgling human colony on Eridu under threat, they must turn to a hero of the Ember wars and a tracker without peer.

Stueben, the Karigole warrior.

But The Beast isn’t the only threat the Terran Strike Marines still face. Another enemy lurks in the shadows of Eridu. One bent on revenge against Hoffman.

Desperation (Forgotten Colony #3) – M.R. Forbes 

The Deliverance has arrived.

The planet is beautiful, lush, teeming with life and perfectly suited to the colony’s needs. It’s supposed to be everything they ever dreamed of.

Instead, it’s a nightmare.

Caleb knows the truth. The ship’s real mission has nothing to do with settlement. The plan is much more sinister than that.

Now the race is on to prepare for the coming storm, to secure the colony and find the enemy before the enemy finds them.

But when fear leads to a desperate betrayal, will it be the innocent who pay the ultimate price?

The Io Encounter (Ice Moon #3) – Brandon Q. Morris 

Jupiter’s moon Io has an extremely hostile environment. There are hot lava streams, seas of boiling sulfur, and frequent volcanic eruptions straight from Dante’s Inferno, in addition to constant radiation bombardment and a surface temperature hovering at minus 180 degrees Celsius.

Is it really home to a great danger that threatens all of humanity? That’s what a surprise message from the life form discovered on Enceladus seems to indicate.

The crew of ILSE, the International Life Search Expedition, finally on their longed-for return to Earth, reluctantly chooses to accept a diversion to Io, only to discover that an enemy from within is about to destroy all their hopes of ever going home.

The Magnificent Wilf – Gordon R. Dickson 

We are not alone in the galaxy—not by a longshot. And extra-solar civilization has come calling. Now, Tom Parent, his linguist wife Lucy, and their Great Dane Rex must travel the stars as ambassadors of Earth. Their mission: to prove Humanity deserves to be considered equal to the scores of established alien cultures. Earth’s acceptance hinges on building good relationships with these aliens, and the genteel Parents seem the perfect candidates for wooing extra-terrestrials.

Of course, they’ll have to tread carefully among these brave new worlds that have such creatures in them! Soon what starts as a straight-forward goodwill tour is complicated when Lucy is mistaken for a Wilf—a lifeform that manipulates others toward moral behavior—and Tom accidentally joins a galactic council when he sits in the wrong chair. On top of that, their faithful hound Rex starts talking. And maybe it’s best if we don’t mention the singing gelatin-mold-like alien they have to rescue from becoming dessert.

It’s action and adventure for Tom, Lucy, and Rex, and a laugh-riot for the reader in this classic novel from Science Fiction master Gordon R. Dickson!

The Radio Menace (The Argosy Library #37) – Ralph Milne Farley

The Whoomangs have returned! They have invaded the Earth! Those who know are considered crazy! How will the Earth be saved? And who are the Whoomangs?

When Boston’s U.S. Assistant District Attorney disappeared, not even the investigators knew that this was the opening gun of a weird and secret invasion of America. Trailing this disappearance, reporter Larry Larrabee finds himself pitted against amazing adversaries with strange scientific weapons and stranger, non-human allies: an overwhelming army of robots led by beast scientists from the planet Venus.

One of the most beloved of the fantastic story pulp authors akin to Edgar Rice Burroughs, author Ralph Milne Farley pens another installment of his popular Radio series, The Radio Menace.

Sentenced to Troll – S.L. Rowland 

Punished for his toxic online behavior, Chad faces a thirty-day sentence of full-immersion therapy designed to improve his anger issues. For his endless trolling in real life, he’s forced to play the most hated race in Isle of Mythos so that he can finally experience what it’s like to be on the other side.

To make matters worse, the heroes sent to rid the world of evil aren’t heroes at all—they’re violent felons on their own twisted paths to redemption.

Now, Chad must survive his one-month sentence in a world where anything goes.

“LitRPG novels have a very common list of problems; single-dimension immature and narcissistic protagonists, unmotivated characters, implausible dialog and behaviors, excessive focus on game mechanics, Mary Sue / Harvy Stu plots, and above all, massive grammar and spelling issues. This novel (mostly) avoids ALL of that. Huzzah!” – Amazon Reader Review

UnArcana Stars (Starship’s Mage #6) – Glynn Stewart

It has been over a year since the UnArcana Worlds of the Protectorate of the Mage-King of Mars seceded, shattering the unity of the human race. The new Republic of Faith and Reason has raised new banners in defiance of the power of the Protectorate’s Mage aristocracy.

Now, Hand Damien Montgomery commands a relief mission to a Republic world ravaged by famine. His humanitarian mission collides with a newborn military beginning to flex its muscles–and a newborn nation prepared to accept no violations of its sovereignty, regardless of their needs.

Elsewhere, disaster strikes the Nia Kriti Fleet Base as an earthquake shatters their only communication with the rest of the Protectorate. Officer-in-training Roslyn Chambers is in the middle of the recovery effort when she realizes Nia Kriti is under attack.

The Republic is done with peace. They are coming for the Protectorate–and they will see the fleets of Mars break!

When the Axe Falls (The Four Horsemen: Omega War #7) – Jon R. Osborne 

Bjorn Tovesson III, the owner of Bjorn’s Berserkers, is a man tied to the past, but who’s not afraid to innovate. Whether it is new tactics or new equipment, Bjorn is willing to try anything, once, in an effort to grow his company into the status of the fabled Four Horsemen.

Looking to the future with his eyes open, though, he has seen a series of unfortunate occurrences running through the ranks of Earth’s mercenaries. Companies in financial troubles, some taking huge losses on contracts…and others not returning from their contracts at all.

His father always taught him to prepare, and Bjorn is working to diversify his operations, including moving the company to a planet with a sizable portion of aliens who are already members of the Galactic Union. Nothing bad could happen to them there, right?

But as the storm clouds continue to gather, his past is on a collision course with the present, as another of Earth’s mercenary companies is out to get him…and with the support of the Mercenary Guild, they have the forces to overwhelm him! Will Bjorn’s preparations keep the Berserkers safe, or will they become yet another unfortunate occurrence?

New Release Roundup, 15 December, 2018: Science Fiction published first on https://medium.com/@ReloadedPCGames